Thursday, 29 December 2011


Since I am an adult, the end of the years always makes me nostalgic. It is like a call to look over the year that has past, count my blessings and failures, balance the things I learned. I can't seem able anymore to welcome the new year without saying good bye to the one that passes.

For the first time ever, this year I will welcome the new year without any of my loved ones. No family, no children, no friends that I consider family. Just me and strangers and acquaintances... It should make me sad, but I just laugh at it. If things were different, I would have at least had a boyfriend by my side, and then I would have had to worry about his wishes. But I welcome the thought that things are not different. Because one of the lessons I learned was to be mostly independent. And to trully belong to myself.

Last year I wished for solitude, time to make myself whole again. I did get it. I received enough solitude to read all the books I wanted to read, to take walk alone, time to dedicate to my craft. Other then my children, I had no one to worry about or to please.

2011 was an interesting year.

I fell in love when I wanted least and I had my heart ripped out of me. I managed to cry only a little (couple of hours) after which I decided that keeping the memory of the good times was more important. And I have learned that I am strong, in soul and mind.

It was a year in which I painfully missed my far away family. There were days I would have given anything, just to be with all of them, even if only for a day.

It was an year when I watched my little one finding a dream and flying with it. As a parent, it was an education, a surprise and a blessing.

I found out that I am sick and will always be so. Medication will keep it under control, but it did not change the fact that I am sick. And after feeling pity for myself, I stood up and counted my blessings.

It was an year in which I achieved a semblance of peace with people I did not think I could.

A year in which I learned to say Yes or No, according to my heart's needs. Looking back, I just had to step away from guilt. And what a liberating lesson it was!

A year in which I have truly learned how to love myself through ups and most importantly through downs.

I did not achieve all the things I wanted to achieve, and there were quite a few and harsh set backs. But all in one, it was an important and blessed year for me.

Sunday, 25 December 2011

Christmas and Rain

For me, Christmas has nothing to do with religion. It never did, as far back as I can think. Christmas always was a holiday for the family and loved ones, a holiday for coming together. It was a holiday of being close and enjoying a break from the insanity of life.

Christmas means snow falling from the sky in an endless dance of joy. Nights with dark orange sky and fresh snow shining like diamonds. Smoke lifting into the sky like gray doric columns from tall brick chimneys. Mountains covered in white, only the dark green of firtrees breaking the heavy blanket of white. Cold, very cold, and children that ignored it on in snow ball fights.

Christmas means children singing carols from door to door for hot bread, and money and nuts. It means trees that smell of forests raisig tall with gloges and lights. Days of cooking and white tablecloths. Christmas means families getting together.

Or at least, this is what Christmas used to mean. Sitting with my brother undr the tree, next to a hot terrcotta stove, telling stories and sharing dreams. Cooking with my mother in the kitchen and gossiping with my sister. A glass of crisp red wine with my father. Presents opened late at night in the Christmas Eve.

It is nt the same anymore. Now Christmas means endless days of rain. Maybe not to the extent it used to. This year the entire summer is only dark, gray, killing rain.

It is now living out of memories and tears from missing my loved ones. A plactic green tree that I decorate wth my children at the begining of December. Cooking mostly on my own, dishes innapropiate to the heat of Australia. Presents opened while the sun is still up behind the clouds on Christmas Eve. The carols come off YouTube, and start with adds.

Only my children are here. I drink a glass of wine only with myself as company, dreaming of being there, far away, with crisp smell of snow and a family that is way too far away, on the other side of the planet...

Christmas now is only rain and bitter knowing that one more year has passed since I could be with my loved ones.

Thursday, 22 December 2011

Low and High

Lately I felt low, down, melting into the hot asphalt with no power left to pull myself up. Usually it is easy for me to find enough joy in little things to pull myself out from the hole my soul chooses to hide in. But not lately.

I allowed stress to eat away at me as it used to in long ago past days. I allowed myself to be dragged into situations I promised myself I will never be again. Maybe I needed a reminder or maybe I just forgot. Once I went down, everything else came crashing. Black thoughts of not being good enough, black thoughts of self loathing. I forgot that the me I am needed love, self love as much as everyone else around me. Giving without replenishing myself left me empty and lost.

I forgot about my connection to the Universe, I forgot about myself. Give, give, give with no moment of peace, because peace resides in myself and carelessly I threw it away.

And empty, without the cane of support I used to offer myself, I got dragged deeper and deeper in a world without light or darkness. The ever judging ego screams at me that I should have known better. That I have enough experience not to be fooled by illusions. And yet, at those moments, I knew no better.

Everything happens for a reason, or so my lucid contemplation of my life says. Maybe if I did not allow myself to go so down, I would have paid no attention to the screams of my body. Just maybe. A million hammers pounding in my head would have been hard to ignore. Or maybe I would have succeeded in keeping my ego busy enough not to notice. I am good at being busy and filling every moment to the max. But usually I am aware of it and I admit that to myself enough to give my mind, body and soul a break. Not this time. And because I was too down to really care about anything else, I got the chance to hear my body crying me, me. And the chance to observe myself eating pain killers like lollies.

Not that I like tablets. The only tablets I like are the very old ones, made of earth or stone that the ancients used instead of paper. But when I am busy, it is easy to forget or ignore exactly how many I swallow to push myself through yet another day filled to the brim. But with my ego hurt enough to be down, I could pay attention to the rest.

To how my body felt like after a night of carrying rocks. How my head hurt like being pounded by hammers. How sick I was.

I am arrogant. Arrogant enough not to accept the fact that one of the only things I take for granted might give up on me and yell for me to stop. Arrogant enough to say that all is good when it is not so. Arrogant enough to think that I am invincible.

But I am not. And for once, I did the right thing by my body. Low enough to not want to do anything else except mopping around saying poor me, I noticed how I chewed on codeine and ibuprofen, one after another until I managed to get rid of the plaguing headaches, but to feel even more sick then before. I went to the doctor, a thing that I normally avoid. Cleansing my chakras, connecting to the Universe is enough for me to be OK, so doctors are rare in my life. Better said, I only visit one when I am threatened and bullied into it. Not that I am against doctors. I take my kids to them often enough.

Long story short, after enough of my poor me I'm fine but I'm not routine, I ended up going to one. I am wise enough to have known in big part the whys of feeling so sick. I was proved right in terms of why. My ego can take satisfaction in that. But in the same time, I was reduced to a whiny child when I found out I left it going for long enough to put my own life in danger. Prime example of arrogance. So, I am not fine. As a matter of fact, without doping myself with medications, I will never be fine.

Not a pleasant thought at the best of times. For me, arrogant and proud to never admit exactly how hard things are, it is even more so. But it does hurt and quite plainly I don't like it. It could have been worse. No matter how bad things are, they can always be worse, and I was never that arrogant as not to see that. So while I do count my lucky stars and everyone that bullied me into checking it, it is still hard. Hard enough to make me mop around even more. Poor me. I will never be healthy again. Poor me, my life as I knew it is over. If I am to be honest, my life as I knew it was over about one year ago. Or maybe more. But it still does not change the fact that until not long ago my well stocked medicine cabinet was never used.

I am happy not to take pain killers as lollies. And as much as I could, I did avoid it. But not in a wise way. Ok, I am sick. I will always be sick if I don't take a handful of pills a day. Brrr... Boo hoo... It still did not change the fact that I was doing my Christmas shopping feeling very sorry for myself. To make things worse, my feet clad in dainty high heels, were killing me after hours of walking in them. Another reason to feel even more sorry for myself.

As I was walking around the very pretty and modern shopping center, pushing the full trolley ahead of me, I stopped my a stall. So many delicate and beautiful things, made from heart. Admiring them, a shadow of a smile played on the corner of my lips. As I turned to go, something turned my head one last time. In front of me, in the same place I looked three times before, a lovely jade set of runes. I am a Witch, even though a stupid one at times. Maybe not stupid. Just arrogant enough to be stupid. Anything mystical attracts me like a bee to a flower. Did I mention that I actually dislike jade? I do. It is the only crystal I can not stand. But today, looking at it, I did not see the prejudice I carry around. All I have seen was a beautiful set of stones, hand carved and hand inscribed. 

I don't know if it is beautiful. For me, as I seen it with electric light playing on the inch long piece of rocks, emanating a light of their own, so pure, they were magical. Magical enough to zap me to reality. With a smile on my face, I accepted that some people are worse then the worst. I also accepted that I am sick. No hiding around, no dumb rebellion, no poor me. I am sick. Bravo. Done. Said and accepted. But that does not change the light inside of me, inside the jade I truly seen for the first time in that brief look. It does not changes who or what I am. I am still a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover. I still love the sun shine playing on green leaves between the clouds. I still take photos, I still read my books... I am the same. Still me.

Holding the runes, the jade I felt love for that first time, it daunted on me that I still love the same things, just maybe with another layer of understanding. And I still love myself, no matter what changes. The light inside the jade, the magic of the runes, entered my soul and reflected all around me, in my connection to the Universe that was still perfect. That will always be perfect. In forgetting to love myself, I automatically forgot to love the All around me.  Falling in love with a piece of All was falling in love again with the All, including myself. Magic will always be around me as long as I accept it, as long as I want it.

With a smile shining on my face, I knew happiness. True happiness that comes from openly loving. And with love, hope and trust, acceptance and power weave together again to form happiness. 

Thursday, 15 December 2011


Lately I find myself more and more in the position of explaining my believes... And it is hard... How can one explain the knowing of the soul and all those little things that are beyond the words... How can one explain the Divine in letters... How can one explain that which has no label?

It is easy for me to explain what I am not... But being not leaves me with the necessity of putting into human words what I am...

I believe in more then one god, which I prefer to call a Goddess, and yet I am not a polytheist. Because for me, all gods and One God, all goddesses One Goddess and God and Goddess One thing that has no word. So maybe I just believe in The One that is All and yet everything. The One that is me and the rock, my child and the river, my friend and the skies, my enemy and yet the air, and fire, and wind...

I am in the same time a slave and a master, as there are no boundaries... I am the daughter, and yet I am the rivers and the oceans, the light and the dark, the Moon and the stars, the dawn and the dusk... I am the daughter and yet I am the trees that bend in the wind and the wind itself, the springs that start high and the mountains themselves, the Sun and the fire from the beginning of time... I am Me, and yet I am One with everything from the beginning of nothing until the end of All... Because I am All and All is Me, in a circle with no beginning and no end...

I believe in this God that I call a Goddess as giver of life, that is All and yet nothing... Wisdom and pain, blessing and curse, life and death... Maybe my All is the life then ends in death just to be reborn again as Life...

I believe in magic and the Witch as the old wisdom that is so easily lost in a battle for power. Being the All and yet nothing at all, I believe that I can shape my reality... Being just energy I can bend the energy according to my will. And yet while I have complete freedom, to do the good or bad that might be the good that is bad and the bad that is good, I can harm none without having to pay the price of tying myself down into someone else reality...

And yet I believe in those things I see and I feel... The Moon that has the power over my body and my planet... The planet as Earth and giver of life, hence as the Mother... I believe in spring as the Virgin, in summer as the Mother, in autumn as the Crone and winter as Ianus the god that looks one side to the past in death and the other to the future in life... I believe in Yin and Yang as The One that is neither male nor female, neither good nor bad...

How can the All be anything but neither good nor bad since the rain has the power of life and blessing but also of death and curse in floods... When the sun, the very same sun can make my plants grow and yet starve to death another? How can I believe into pure good and pure bad when I have the power to happiness and pain, mine and another?

And more, how can I reject the dark when only out of dark light can come to life? How can I reject the part of me and of All that suffers and lies broken only to find the magic of raising again, wiser then before? How can I only love the light when it would not exist without the dark to show it off? How can I believe only in good when I owe my wisdom to the dark times that nearly broke me?

And like the All that I call god, how can I not believe in that which most call magic? How can I not when from myself I can heal another? How can I not when wishes upon the stars that die come true? And yet, magic like the All is neither good, nor bad... It just Is...

I believe that life is fallowed by death fallowed by rebirth... and how can I not when my plants that die with winter get new leaves in spring, the same plant and yet another? How can I not when the sun raises and goes away each dawn and each dusk? How can I not when every winter is fallowed by another spring?

How can i not believe in the All as Goddess as Virgin, Mother and Crone when the one cycle of the seasons is so? How can I not when I, myself went from the carefree virgin to the powerful mother and going soon to what I hope will be the old wise woman? How can I not believe in the All as both male and female when life exists not without both?

I don't know what label to put on my believes. Pagan and Wiccan are the closest I have, but I can put no labels on That that has no label...

Long Lost

I remember a time when I did not know I was free and yet I was more so then ever after. I remember of time of innocence when everything was possible and dreams had no strings to tie them up to the Earth I belong to. If I allow myself to go down on the memory lane, I can still feel the magic and the promises, I can still feel my soul stirring towards new boundaries...

I remember a young woman, no more a child and in the same time not yet a woman, walking in a summer afternoon towards a dusty library where stories from afar were waiting to be discovered. And later, in the green grass, under the deep blue sky, protected by my mountains, I could get lost in stories that belonged to other times and other places. I was trying then, in those long summers of freedom, to understand love and responsibility, morals and histories, winner and looser. And in those long ago summers everything was black and white, with clear posts to announce the ways, with boundaries that could not be crossed.

Little did I know that nothing was so clear, that in order to pay for my dreams I had to let scattered pieces of my heart. Little did I know then that good can result in bad, or that I will ever be grateful of the moments of sorrow... No matter what dusty books were saying, everything was simple for me then...

And yet, as other summers passed on the journey of no return, the days got shorter and the summers shrunk away in a never ending circle of decision making... I thought then, so long ago, that love can conquer everything... But no story went far enough to show me what happens when love dies away and one is faced with wrong over wrong decisions... I thought that faced with love was a blessing that I wished for... And even after I had my heart broken in million little pieces, I still wished for love...

I did not know then that love an heal equally as much as it can destroy... Little did I know that most of the good deeds I was doing to offer would be recognized in sorrow and betrayal... Little did I know that gods would change for me and with them my illusions would be lost...

And now, when summers fly away with me barely aware that yet another year is gone, I find myself grateful for the sorrow that strengthened my soul, grateful for having my heart broken to the point f having to rebuild it, grateful for every new beginning that was an ending in itself... And yet, with the wisdom of today, I miss the long lost summers with their freedom and not knowing...

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Good? Bad?

I am a good person. Mostly. But I am good enough to consider other people needs and from the little I have to share with the ones that have less. I'm not only talking about tax deductible money for charities. I'm also talking about emptying my change into the hat of a beggar. About in general sharing what I have.

Sometimes that sharing is only being a smart assed clown to bring a smile on the face of a person that feels low. Other times is offering a little gift to someone I don't know. And yet other times is putting myself in danger to help someone that is clearly in danger.

When I do it, I don't wonder if I am being good or bad or just insane and irresponsible. I just do it because someone needs it more then I do. I am the type of person that picks up other people rubbish to keep the planet a tiny bit cleaner. That donates blood and signed the papers to be used as a donor if something happens with me. It is just who I am.

Oh, I used to be arrogant and stingy. Maybe because I had never been on the other side of the barricade, because I never needed anything from anyone. But the hard way, I learned how it is to go without. Without many things. And even if sometimes I still do ithout, I had learned the lesson of compassion and generosity from others that had generosity and compassion for me when I needed it most.

Anyhow... I tried to help someone in need and I ended up with my home trashed and getting the blame for it...

Thursday, 1 December 2011

Moon- Mother and Child

I feel the Moon caressing my eyes. Soft, so soft touch that i can feel it all the way into my soul. Silvery queen, forever the same, forever changing. And i remember the Moon, so shining and so gentle, rising between mountains full of mysteries and strength.

I open my hand and softly hold onto a ray of light that guided me through days and listen through my nights. I have no more secrets, I have no more dreams to offer the Queen, so i just let it touch me like a silver mesh. It reaches deep whiting my soul, cleansing and comforting like a Mother. I feel how it tugs to a string of my heart, and hear the voice that gently, but firmly pushes. But i lack the courage to listen to the Moon, as much today as ever.

A soft smile lifts my lips and i give myself to the Moon as i never gave myself to another. Memories of lost days of suffering and self inflicted pain, pass though my eyes. I try to stop them, to shake them, to hide away or silence them, but the Moon light shines within my soul and keeps me prisoner to my own memories. The tiny toddler begging a grandmother not to die, an older child frozen in fear of an adult, a teenager with the confidence of a dead butterfly. I see them all as they were, but for once, under the gently tugging of the Moon, i see them as they belong to another. A toddler, a child, a teenager. Me and yet not me. I feel love for the toddler that cried, i feel love for the child that never dared, i feel love for the teenager that did not believe. With the aid of the Moon, i reach out to them in a loving embrace and tell them that they are loved and it was not their fault. And my soul fills with love as my eyes fill with the Moon light. I see the young woman that used to be. I shut my eyes, trying not to see the mistakes, the blame, the pain, but the Moon is stronger then me and shines between my eye lids. I look up asking for mercy, asking to stop. It is so beautiful, so gentle that i can not refuse to let it into my soul. The woman. The woman is me and yet just another young lost woman. I reach to her and hug her tight asking to stop blaming herself, but that does not help and eases no torment, so i hug tighter and i kiss and surrounded by love and forgiveness, by acceptance and understanding, the woman smiles, melts into the toddler, into the child, into the teenager, into me.

Under the Moon i start dancing, twirling around and much later, i lie on the grass, eyes to the Moon, soul open until there is no me, and no Moon but only one in many.

As the Moon hides between the trees to leave space for the energy of Sun, i open my eyes and call: "Mother! You are the Mother and the daughter, the wise and the innocent!" The last of the Moon smiles like a Mother and whispers: "So are you, my child! So are you." Tears sting in my eyes, in happiness for belonging, for accepting, for loving, for forgiving.

Day after day and night after night i watch the Moon and include it as part of my soul, allowing it with gratitude, to teach me the power of love, the power of the Mother.

Friday, 25 November 2011


It is almost December... And like every other December, for so many years, my soul calls for what there is no more, for the paths that are lost in time, for the memories of long ago, for the ones that only my heart still knows.

December should kick in with my grandmother's birthday on the national day of my far away country.

My country is old, lost in the mists of time. Millennium after millennium, it lived in the hearts of my people, through wars and celebrations, through plagues and rejoicing, the same mountains holding us close. The Geto-Dacians  and the Celts were neighbors once and stories are similar from one world to another. Even before the Celts, before Sumer, my people invented writing. Not that anyone talks about it. In rare history books, there is only a tiny notation about the writing found at Tartaraia that is at least one millennium older then Sumer. And yet, in the hearts of my people, hidden in the middle of tiny villages, the Dacians live still, in practices as old as time.

And in the same way, every time my gifts call to open yet another deck of cards, I see my grandmother's eyes, black as night, teaching me to read them. And other times, I look into my daughter's eyes, black as the Mother and shining like the sun, and I see her, the one that should still be around to rejoice into the children of the child of her child. But she is gone, leaving behind a pair of eyes black as jet, pouting lips and memories of readings. And now, as December approaches, her memory still lives in my soul, sometimes like a dream or illusion, other times as a teacher. Most times, however, I remember the faults of the woman and the total love of the grandmother that would have stole the sun from the skies to give it to me, had I wished it.

In my so new country, new in history and new in my soul, December is always wrong. Because December should start with military parades and birthday cakes for my grandmother. It should start with snow falling in a dance to cover all in a blanket of white. It should start with orange skies in the night, tiny ballerinas in the air and fir-trees forever green braking up the world of white. Out of old chimneys, smoke should dance up and up towards the sky until is lost in the blanket of clouds.

In the evenings, with families close, whine should be boiled with sugar and spices, wine that heats the blood and mellows the heart.  And, as after the harvest the veggies were pickled for winter, sausages and bacon would sit in smoke to last over the long months of cold.

The nights would fall early, bringing wit them storms of snow and music playing. And children would rehearse carols to sing from gate to gate for cookies and money, for apples and nuts.

But here, in my so new country, December is summer with lazy days at the beach, with days without end and plastic fir trees that tell no story. And my soul cries for the smell of the ever green trees, lost in the fresh smell of snow, lost in the perfume of spiced wine, wood fires in the stoves, food being prepared for days without end, all lost in the pure voices of the children singing carols, all lost in the heated and happy voices of my family. 

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Perfect Love and Perfect Trust

What does "Perfect love and perfect trust" mean?  Perfect loving our "loved ones", our enemies? Perfectly trusting everyone? It would be such a beautiful world! Such a world of peace and fairness and understanding!

I've mediated on this saying for long hours, and as utopian as it would be to live in a perfect world, i think that it would change our humanity, our need to learn the lessons of life. Maybe it would make us all in the Enlightened beings. But that would be being somewhere above humanity in it's most singular sense.  It would mean becoming "gods", and as appealing as that idea is, i, personally, like to be human.

Not that i am masochistic, at least not most times. But i do love the trials of life, because only those trails change my perception. Exactly how i love the ecstasy of life, because those moments change my reality. I love the downs that show me how brilliant the ups are. I love the night and the dark, because without it, the magic of light would pass unnoticed. Joy can be born out of pain, day and light out of night and dark, hope out of despair. These extremes are the core of my humanity. Without them, i would be something else, maybe better, maybe purer, but not a human.

And in that case, what does "perfect love and perfect trust" mean?  For me, it goes beyond loving all my fellow humans, or trusting them. Which as long as i am human, is impossible in a literary sense.

Therefore, for me a perfect love of Life, makes more sense. It leaves me the liberty of totally disliking whatever i dislike- for example my enemies- but it allows me to love the life force that sustain them. It also, reminds me to love LIFE every moment, even in the moments of total despair. Because those moments have a beauty of their own.  It might be a dark, wild beauty, but is still majestic. And loving life, with it's ups and downs, with its beauty and terror, allows me to appreciate and respect every moment of it, to trust it.

Perfect trust... For me, this perfect trust means that i can trust Life... Trust it that it will take me where it needs to take me and teaching me the lessons my spirit requires... Trust that after a moment of sublime pain, with follow a moment of agonizing happiness... Trust that every end is a beginning and every beginning is an end...  Trust the cycle of life, the wheel of life as i trust the wheel of the year...

If perfect love for me means loving every single moment of this existence, perfect trust means trusting that the downs will be followed by ups, by downs, by ups... and Accepting it.

And once i am there, at this terrifying moment of truth, when i realize that the only road to the peacefulness of my soul is trough acceptance of the cycle of life, i can start loving every leaf in a tree, every whole in the road, every other human or non human. But in order to get there, at the end of the road, i first need to love and trust Life.

Tuesday, 8 November 2011


I listen to the rain hitting the roof with welcomed fury. As the water that pours, my soul seems to be bubbling in heat. Not sure what sort of heat is pulling me like the string on an arch, but it is there, regardless if I see it or not. Like water left on fire for too long, my edges are spilling, looking for new boundaries and new experiences.

Being Earth, for me Water is a need that goes back to the peace of the primordial dream. Because my roots run too deep and I only feel the tremors of Earth when the volcano starts erupting, I need the free fall of water in order to feel and connect my emotions. In different ways, I respond to water as much as to mountains, two of the loves of my spirit.

Between mountains, looking at their rocky crowns that lived there for day after day from the beginning of time, I feel the peace of that which does not change. I listen to their story and, less human, I can just belong and be one. It tells me of storms that beat, of fires that ravage, of life, and yet all pass, almost without a mark. Mountains remind me that once  the inferno is gone, I can still stand straight asking for more. They teach me that peace runs deep, away from my tiny human struggles. That like the mountains that should be cherished, so my soul lives from age to age and life to life. Mountains sing of my roots that run deep, in generations gone and yet to come. Like water, they calm me.

Out of the water, the most I love the ocean and the storms. They sing to me of all that changes, and yet it stays the same. With every white crest of wave, my soul can dance and jump and remembers to live in the magic of the moments. Because like the waves of the ocean that are lost if one doesn't look, so it life that flows by second after second. Storms sing of the wilderness I dream of, of being without censure, of forgetting thought and allowing feeling to exist.

The rivers, the lakes are so much calmer, like a meditation for awareness. One needs to be still and silent to see the river flowing in the ocean ad the lakes gently expanding on the shores. And yet, even with almost still water, my heart longs for the tumult of the tide, when all is changed or transformed into another illusion.

Because I'm too much Earth, too deep, almost but not really stuck, I need the tumult of water, the force of emotion to discover change.

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Domestic Violence

There are some things that piss me of big time. The sort of things that throw me into a complete rage. One of such things is domestic violence.

I don't know about other people, but domestic violence is something I keep bumping into, one way or another. Once upon a time, the path of fear belonged to me as much as to others. There are so many way to abuse and be abused! Some of them, people don't even recognize as violence. Jealousy, possessiveness,  put downs, punishing silences, extreme manipulation, financial, emotional... Of course, there are the black eyes and the bumping into things, the rapes and the anger that becomes destructive, that people easily see for what they are. But most times, those are the last resort to control. Most times, there is a combination of abuse that destroy lives.

I'm going to start with the emotional, simply because people recognize it the last.  Sometimes, in the middle of what should be a conversation, one partner stops talking. You talk, and there is only silence. You don't need much intelligence to figure out that you angered your partner. But instead of a normal discussion about it, there is just silence. Punishing and hurtful. You have no idea what you have done or said, if anything. Drives one to second guess every action, every word. It is a nightmare.

And then you have the jealousy. You don't need to do anything in order to make your partner jealous. It does not even imply a person of the opposite sex. Or an adult. Everything can birth a jealous rage. Family, children, friends... One second too long spent with other people can create at the bare minimum sulking and reproaches. "You don't care about me! You are never there when I need you! Everyone ele matters more then me!" On the higher end, same actions can get as far as shouting, screaming, yelling, physical violence. The jealousy goes hand in hand with possessiveness.

On top of that, in the same time, put downs are as common as water. You are too fat, too skinny (sometimes in the same day), too smart or too dumb, too outgoing or not enough, not a good cook/wife/lover... Most likely it goes hand in hand with being negatively compared to other people. Very often, the put downs are made in front of other people. "It's ok, my... is too... to know". Sometimes in front of your children or family. If you dare to say anything to defend yourself, silences or violence (verbal or physical) are called for to teach you a lesson.

Social abuse goes hand in hand with possessiveness and jealousy. You are not allowed any friends whatsoever, god forbid someone would open your eyes. Not that your abusive partner would ever say so, but tat is the gist of it.

Economical abuse, where you are allowed to have no money to yourself if any at all, starts kindly, most likely with put downs of the sort of you not being able to budget and gets worse as time goes by. Because of course, if you have no money, you are totally dependent on your partner.

And so one. Slowly, before you even notice it, another form of abuse creeps in, until you manage to tick all the boxes: emotional, social, economical, physical and sexual. Not necessary in that order.

And this things tick me of the wrong way. Badly. Because no one, ever, has any right to abuse and control another. Because no one, ever, has the right to put fear in another. Because no one has the right to destroy someone else's life. Ever!

And I, personally, will never again stand by an watch anyone being abused. 

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Dance upon the Stars

I feel the night flowing into my veins. Before the sun sets to raise again as a new journey begins, I feel its descent into my blood. The slowing of the rhythm, the dreams that are appearing out of nowhere. As the light changes to golden, my mind gets stuck into a rhythm of its own. Out of nothing, memories flood my soul.

Days from long ago are alive again for a split second. Sometime, long, long ago, it was summer in the mountains. With a book in my hands, I was lying on the grass, my eyes lost in the movement of clouds. But there were no clouds I was seeing. In front of my eyes tiny atoms were dancing in the air until I was lost in their movement and color. I could feel life pulsing in my veins, summer playing in my soul while my eyes were lost in a world no one else could see. And as the sun dissolves into the night, a long forgotten memory comes without a calling. It was another summer, even longer ago, when lost in the freedom of being a child, I would sit in the grass. I could see then the particles of light, the energy flowing. But no one else could and all thought I had imagined.

Before the first stars come to life, I feel them rising. And yet, the stories of this stars are unknown to me. In another world, a long ago, I would learn the stories of other stars, stories lost in legend and times without time. As this stars are foreign to me, I can make up my own stories as I get lost in their beauty.

And memories come again, of nights long lost, when I learned to recognize the first constellations. I would watch the sky, long and deep without a thought and my grandmother would come, showing me the way the stars were connected and telling me stories I could find in no books. Stories that lived with my people from age to age and millennium to millennium. Stories that no one else knows, from the mother that lost her children and was reunited with them by becoming a hen, to the carriage that carries the souls of my ancestors.

And now, like then, in the quiet of the night, when no one is awake, I can run to the stars ad get lost between them. With falling ones I dream and weave my wishes, now and then, dreaming of a better day, a better world.

And other memories come, of a rainy day long ago, when young enough and full of dreams I told my friend I wish to change the world in a better place for all. And, without my dreams, without my innocence, my friend replied that as I will wish to change the world, the world will be changing me. I argued then that if we would all be dreaming, nothing would be impossible.

And today, as I dance on the stars of long forgotten dreams, I can still catch a glimpse of the girl I was. And I know that magic is still alive in my heart, that my dreams of a better, healthier world in which we would know love, not hate, are still very much awake, very much present. And other times, between the stars, I find tiny pieces of the choices I did not make, of the roads I did not fallow. As my soul belongs to the starts it is lost in, I can see those roads and their own magic, but the calling is not there anymore, and I can touch them with no regret, just with the gentle memory of those dreams that could be brought back to life again. Other times, I can meet the dreams I gave up not, just hid out of sight. And those dreams are waiting, waiting for my courage, for my faith, but it is not their time yet.

And yet, other times, between the stars I see not the what was, but the what will be, the shining mirrors of possibilities and dreams non existing yet. I can feel their touch, even though I can not hold them.

Willingly over and over again, I get lost between the stars, with trust and love, knowing my road back.

Beltane Eve

Beltane is gone now... A year has passed since I danced last around a May Pole after jumping over the Fires of blessing and fertility. A year of blessings, of wishes, of hard work. A year of wishes come true. A year of refining my craft and learning to trust myself. A year of rebirth.

Out of the year, there are two holidays I love the most. Beltane and Samhain. Two halves, mirror images. Life and death, both part of the same journey, so different and yet so alike. For me, the year ends and starts with Samhain. As the God-Sun is dying, so is the year. For me, it is a time to reflect on my loved ones that passed into the Otherworld, to spend time with my memories of them that hopefully will bring their presence. As the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest, I can look over to mine. It is the night spent in the understanding that life is fallowed by death, fallowed by rebirth. The end is nothing but a beginning and every beginning is an end.

At the other end of the spectrum, after the Goddess births the God-Sun at Yule after the longest night, is Beltane. Seasons passed and the God is now a man, forever growing. The Goddess as Virgin, after going on it's own journey of growth as the Earth, after meeting the God, falls in love. Beltane is the night when the Earth as Virgin Goddess marries the Sun as nearly adult man. The marriage between them creates the Baby Corn, conceived in this first union between the gods.  It is a day of joy, of promises made to one self and others. As the spring says good bye to welcome the summer, passion and dreams are ripe in the moment of saying good bye to childhood and welcoming the maturity. The Earth becomes ripe, the Goddess, no longer Virgin becomes Mother, the God  grows stronger with the Sun.

Last year on Beltane, I wished for freedom and love. I got both. The freedom to be my own master and love to myself. As Beltane came again, happy with the result of my last year wishes, I asked for blessings for all my loved ones. I forgot to ask for success, but maybe it was intentional as I measure success in the number of good deeds, rather then financial gain. I remembered to bless the Goddess and be blessed in turn by Her.

This year Beltane has passed without the elaborate ritual I had so carefully planed.  It passed without the one person I wanted there. In some ways, that made it sad and just a touch lonely. It certainly raised questions of ifs and whys. But, somehow, as the energies grew to a swirl, I forgot about what was missing and focused on what I had. My very talented children that are growing into soon to be young women. The man that at least for that night was to be my companion and soul mate. My far away family, so close in my heart. I focused on the magic that grows in me as I discover the woman I am. On the blessings and surprises that danced through my life in this half of the year.

As I closed my ritual of blessing, I could feel the power in me more strong then ever, the Goddess closer then I could have imagined. Now Beltane passed like a dream, and yet the joy, the passion, the gratefulness and blessing of it warms my heart. And it will wait for me at the other end, as the Sun is dying and the Goddess becomes Crone, when the memories of spring will birth dreams in my heart. But for now, I will welcome the ripe promise of summer, enjoying my days as a Mother.

Wednesday, 26 October 2011


Out of the entire Wheel of the Year, Beltane is my favorite holiday. Followed by Samhain, but Beltane is always first. Like spring, the moment that hangs between the worlds, that moment when childhood is over but maturity did not arrive yet, fills me with wonder.

Last year, at Beltane, as I tied the knot of wishes I wished for freedom and love. I learned to be free, to say yes or no according to my soul's needs. And i learned the most important loves of all: towards myself.

And yet, as Beltane approaches, in between the plans to celebrate the holiday, there is always coming back to the girl I used to be, before I get lost again in the mother that I am. Such a short time between girl and woman! Time flies too fast, but at Beltane, for a moment, I can be the girl, the child, the virgin again. I can hold the innocence for that one second before it is lost.

This year, the innocence will be celebrated in mocking around with my girls, in remembering how it is to be a child. The laughter, the lack of worry, the joy. As it is Halloween as well, the fun of it, in between dancing around the May Pole (which I still need to make), in between jumping over the fire for fertility and blessing (I still need to work out the logistics, as we live in a unit) will be going with the kids for treat or trick. Dressed as witches.

Instead of a group celebration, Beltane this year will be spent with the people that matter to me. My children, my friends, my lover.

And my next post will be the classical story of Beltane and the Wheel of the Year.


I love spring. The promise of a new summer, the promise of life. For me spring is like a song that slowly creeps into my heart, bringing with it the joy and the awareness that it is there. It makes me think of childhood and innocence, some of which I lost on the long and twisting roads of life. And yet, as the trees are starting to sparkle in new green, as the flowers are riot all around me, as the sun promises another hot summer, for brief moments, I forget the responsibilities of being an adult and I remember to just be a child.

I love spring the most in Europe, where the changes are fast and easily felt. Here, in the country of Oz, the seasons don't have clear cut lines and one flows into the other almost without notice.

But now, in the middle of spring, it feels like I can touch the spirit of the plants. The innocence is ripe, hanging for a short moment before getting lost in the maturity of summer. The days have been growing, steadily, the nights became shorter and with them I can just hang in that moment between the world, remembering and being.

Because it is so much easier to see the laughter of the child growing towards womanhood, and so much easier to see the dreams for what summer would be.It is that moment of hanging in mid air, of not knowing but feeling it deep within your soul.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011


Sometimes I wonder how many years have to pass until my heart will stop longing... And other times I am scared of the day when longing will not be anymore...Longing hurts. Years after and it still hurts. But longing also keeps the memory alive.

There are moments, when suck into my own mind, not really looking around me, and I see someone I think is him. My head snaps and I stare. Of course I know it is impossible to see him. Too many worlds are between us. But my heart chooses to fool itself for few seconds and I feel like running to tell him how much I still love him. And it is just a stranger... And then longing hits me. It feels like my heart is held painfully tight, like a void swallows me. I sigh.

And then are the moments when the memories don't come. Days, sometimes weeks pass, and I'm not thinking. And when something does remind me, I get scared that maybe I will forget. And that is fear as the only connection now are the memories.

It hurts to remember. But it is also filled with sweetness, with memories of warmth and peace and safety. In a way it is like looking back towards an Eden lost. I selfishly want it back. Because not matter how many years passed, how much my life changed, I still want the safety of love.

Because love it was. Just pure, giving love. It was the safety of knowing that no matter what, the love will always be there, equally as strong. And sometimes I took it for granted, fooled into the idea that it will always be there. I thought that it will always be tomorrow, that I can always go back.

But when I did went back it was too late. And when life crushed around me, when I felt crushed by the weight of my sorrows, when I needed the most, it was too late, and all I had left were memories.

Sometimes an old man, with white hear and slow step, reminds me of him. And I want to run into his arms as I so often did. But I can't. All my arms touch is empty air. I wanted him to always be there, to see my daughters grow. I wanted that for him, because I knew how much he loved me, and I wanted it for them. But the moments when they had each other were brief. I was too busy living on the other side of the planet.

He taught me to play cards and to trust. He taught me to have patience and understanding. He taught me that I deserved love even when I made mistakes. Oh, I loved him. I always did, and even now, when other worlds are between us, I still do.

I was too far away and it was too late. Way too late to even manage to jump in a plane. I needed to tell him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. I wanted to thank him. But it was too late. I tell him now, in my thoughts. As I tell him about my daughters, his great granddaughters. But it is too late. And I would so much want him too see then growing up and following their dreams. I'd so much want to sit with him in silence again, letting love talk without words.

And my heart still cries for him. The pain and the longing are still alive in me. And sometimes I feel him round me, gentle and understanding. But I can't hug him again. Does he hear me when I tell him that he was the best grandfather anyone would want? I miss him so much my heart breaks.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Parenting and Respect

(This should have come about one month before my previous post. But one month ago I was writing in my dairy instead of blogging, so I'm just copying from there. )

Day one... Two cells meet to become a child... Soon after, the formation of ever growing cells, starts developing and soon enough starts moving... There is a lot to say for the feeling of wonder when your baby first starts to kick... And like in the blink of an eye, that little human that started as two cells, is someone you can hold in your arms, you can touch... so tiny and so helpless... But fast, way too fast, the tiny bundle starts crawling, walking... Talking, having opinions and preferences of their own...

But that tiny person is still small, still helpless, still needy and sometimes is hard to remember that in that little body is a soul equally as old as anyone else's.

From the day I first held my oldest daughter, I have always been aware that while she was my child, she did not belonged to me, but to herself... I made a choice to have her and that resulted into the tremendous responsibility of teaching and offering the best that I knew in terms of wings. And when my second daughter came to be, I become too busy to use philosophy in looking after them. I loved them. I love them. I would have and still would jumped in fire or worse for either of them. I allowed them to be as much of their own person as I could have done. But somehow, between worry and lack of time, between bills to be paid and 3 lives to nurture, I forgot that my tiny tots were their own individual. Of course, I knew that they were their own persons so similar, and yet so different from any of us. As much as I could, I stopped to just look at them, with love and with pride...

Days become weeks, weeks become months, years... And all of a sudden, as a parent you realize you missed some of the signs... I wish I was a better parent, but I wasn't... All I know is that I have tried to offer my undivided attention to whoever needed it the most at any given time. If I could have divided myself in two, to always be there fully for each of my children, I would have done it, but it was not possible. So I turned my attention to the one I perceived as more week, as more in need...

So to one, I gave all the physical love she needed. To the other, I gave my attention and wisdom. Not that I regretted. She needed my wisdom to heal from a situation that I put her in... As a parent, as an adult, I was at my most happiest when I realized that from a child with no confidence and no belief in herself, I managed to stir her steps towards confidence, self love and self respect... And for that I am grateful, even if I know that there is so much more to do.

But in giving my all to the one that needed it most, I lost track of the other one. The one that needed cuddles and hugs, that needed to be held, but little else... And I gave her hugs, and cuddles... But I missed the signs to her development...

She was the strong one, the one that needed less... And by focusing on the one that needed most, I missed how the other one grew...

And all of a sudden, like a light going on in a dark room, I was faced with my little one, my strong one... Oh, I knew she was strong, stubborn, cute, lovable, funny, cuddly, smart, beautiful, quick tempered, sweet... I wasn't that blinded that I have not seen all of that... But there were still things about her that I missed... Like her determination, her ability of being honest not only to others, but to herself, her willingness to work hard, to go through whatever necessary to achieve her own goals... And as a parent, I regret not being able to see all of that...

Because one day, I was confronted with a face of this little person that has been around me since two cells met, that I just din not know... Because a person she is!

In the space of two weeks, my stubborn, temperamental child, showed me that behind her otherwise quiet personality, was a determined, ambitious, hard working, honest, wise person... In two weeks, I seen her choosing a goal, working with hard determination regardless of the pain in order to achieve the first step. I was amazed that something that 14 days ago seemed just the bumbling of a child, after only 6 days she attracted the attention of the one person able to help her in what was not her bumbling, but her dream... Oh, I have seen her working hard for one week, working extra, way extra... In a very quiet way, that I would have missed entirely if I wasn't paying attention...  And in the last 4 days I realized that I had in front of me an individual worth of respect.

Oh... My baby took her first step in a road that will be long and hard... Step after step of insanely hard work to achieve a dream that many have tried for many tens of years...

How did I get from looking at her as my baby to looking at her as a person worthy of respect? I'm not sure. I guess it all started with seeing her courage... Her ability to really focus... Her hard, hard work... Day after day, the same quiet way, she worked harder then many adults... Without advice from any of the adults around her, she figured out a way to do what she wanted and do it well. Smart. Determined.

And yet, maybe I would have still believed that it was a childish dream, similar to what her older sister was saying... But tonight, after a two and a half hours of gruesome training, I teased her that I will tie up her legs in order to remember to keep them together in her exercises. I was only kidding. From the back of the car, her little, clear now voice, said '"maybe you should. What I want is hard and I need help"... It made me think. it made me wonder from where so much objectivity, and knowledge from a barely 5 year old that just started... And before I tucked her in bed, as I was hugging her tight and long as she always liked, she told me that she knows she didn't give her all today. She was a bit disappointed because while she understood the requirements properly, she decided to listen to a colleague that knew even less then she did. But she promised that next time, she will just focus and do her best. I told her I think she managed wonderfully, which she did, and that I don't need that promise. "But I do, mama. If I really want to be the second Nadia Comaneci, I need it... And if you can't buy the beam and bars to work extra at home, maybe you can help me with the other stuff that I need." My baby wasn't joking. It was not a tiny child talking. It was someone that chose a path, was realistic, way way mature and incredibly determined. Not to say ambitious. My baby decided to repeat perfection...

I respect her. Not only for her close to impossible dream, but because she is realistic and honest with herself. Because she is willing to work so hard for something many would treat as just a dream. Because she gives her all for the dream she chose.

Olympic Dreams

My 5 year old daughter dreams of being the second Nadia Comaneci. I know nothing about gymnastics and personally I chose education over sports.

I took my girls to gymnastics in a school holiday when both were screaming that they are bored. All that I thought at the time was that they will spend one hour doing something fun and that will be the end of it. It wasn't. The girls begged and begged to actually enroll them. Not being too happy with the idea of having to drive them around even more then I'm already doing, I showed them some YouTube clips with Nadia Comaneci. My thought was that they will get scared and that will be the end of it. Achived the opposite result.

My youngest decided that she will be the second Nadia. So, not too willingly, I enrolled them in the closest club to home. Little did I know that it was one of the best clubs in Sydney or that one week later my 5 year old baby will be sitting an assessment for a pre levels class. I had even less idea about what pre levels means so, after she passed the assessment, I just asked the coach who happily told me that it is the class from which Elite gymnasts are chosen. The problem was that I had no idea what Elite means either. Later, I have been told that is the international competition class. Hmmm... I was very happy for my little one, and selfishly not that much for myself. Not only that we spend 5 hours a week training, but we need to extra train at home at lest 1 hour a day.

And to make things worse, my little gymnast announced me that she can't live without a beam and at least one bar. Considering that we live in an unit, bars were out of the question (lucky for my budget), but I could not find good enough reasons against a beam, so Santa will deliver.

As I said, my knowledge about gymnastics is non existent. So I started to learn in order to keep up with my girls.  (Both of them do gymnastics and one hates me for life at the moment because she was "too old" at 8 years. But I will focus on the little one for now). First thing, I tried to learn the names of all those amazing moves my kid does. I gave up quickly. Then I started to watch documentaries on YouTube. That gives me an education about a sport that seems will occupy at least few years of my life.

The documentaries are amazingly educative. The comments underneath make me angry often. Apparently parents and coaches force children to train in total disregard of injuries. It seems parents are imposing their own dreams on the little girls.

Hmm... To begin with I cherish no dream of spending thousands and thousands of dollars an year for gymnastics. At the moment, without calculating lost hours of work, home equipment, leotards and so on, and fucusing only on the little one's training classes, I'm paying over 2000$ a year. Yuck.

Secondly, I have no particular passion on standing up in a gym to watch my daughter through a window. My feet are totally revolting and I got as far as having to buy flat shoes, instead of my usual high heels.

Thirdly, I'd rather read a book in the bed with my beauties.

Injuries... In gymnastics is a reality. Thankfully, until now I did not have to deal with broken bones or torn ligaments. However, my tiny tot managed to get rips. Rips are blisters that break. Having gotten few myself along the way, I know how painful they are. So, my little child comes out of the gym and shows me her palm. Three red marks where the first layer of skin is gone adorn her palm. I gave her a hug, took her to wash the chalk of her hands and suggested we go home. My well thought suggestion was faced with anger. She refused to go home. Ok, I thought. She will do something else except bars.

I let her go back into the gym and Missy goes straight to the coach. From what I can see, Missy is arguing with the coach. Did I mention that Leyla (my daughter) is only 5? Oh well, her coach, a fantastic woman that I respect, is older then me. Soon after, I see Leyla back onto the bars. Hmm... Not much that I can do other then having a word with her coach after. Which I did. She told me she tried to convince my stubborn child not to do bars for the rest of the day. But she totally ignored that and went straight back into training.

I was not too happy to have no control over   5 year old. So, after we got home and had dinner, I sat her down to give her a piece of my mind. Surprisingly she listened. She rarely does. After I finished, secure in my illusion that I made myself clear, she starts talking.

"Look, mama. I know that today I didn't do as good as I could. I will do better tomorrow. And I know I hurt my hand. And it hurts. But if I want to be the next Nadia, I need to work much harder."

What to say? Where from so much logic all of a sudden? I tried to continue explaining my point, but all I got was that she wants a Perfect 10. I could reproach her the fact that she is stubborn, but would be hypocritical of me as I am stubborn myself. I just had to accept that my 5 year old has a mind of her own and all I can do is to make sure I will be there to catch her when she falls.

I know for a fact that I don't push my child. What is hard to come to terms with is the fact that are areas where I have no control. And I try to be happy that at a bare minimum she chose a sport to channel all her stubbornness into. 

Other then that, right now I pray. Pray for my child to not get hurt, to not break her soul striving for perfection, to not pick up eating disorders... Pray that she achieves her dreams... Not much else I can do other then striving for the impossible myself. That impossible for me is forking all the money for her dream. Because I do not have the power to say no to her. Not to a dream. 

Saturday, 3 September 2011

Mother Nature

Feeling a bit off from many points of view, I decided that a bush walk might be in order. Considering that the beautiful Australian bush is right behind my unit, it wasn't such a hard feat to achieve. The reason for why I don't do it more often is because lack of time gives me an excuse for being lazy.

I love my solitary bush walk. Because I leave my worries and my thoughts next to the first tree, it is very much like meditation, just that I carry my loyal photo camera with me. Today was the same like always. A sunny day with deep blue skies that bless the city mainly in spring, nature coming to life and me with my Nikon around the neck.

I'm not sure if it was beautiful. Or better said, only beautiful. It was real. The leaves just moving in the breeze, things moving under the dead leaves, most likely lizards but as i am terrified of reptiles I trying to pretend they were not there, birds softly singing, the water slowly flowing, flowers that came to life... Rocks older then time suspended in physics defying positions... It was real and it was alive.

I love all nature, but the parts of nature that resonate most with me are the mountains and forests. Could be because I spent a good pat of my life in the mountains, or it could be because i am an Earth sign. Most likely are both. Sydney can not offer me mountains or dense forests. But in the bush I find enough of my beloved mountain forests to captivate me.

If I am quiet enough, I can feel the life force of nature resonating in me. Not only forests. But nature in general, pushes me to accept the fact that beyond me and my limited capacity of understanding, there is so much more, that something that I can not see. It reminds me that the same life force that sustains me, exists in every other atom. I'm not good at physics, but I studied it enough to know that once we look at atomic level there is an energy or magnetic field that holds the atoms together. It is what I call life force. And sometimes, stolen by life, I forget to step beyond my ego and see that there is not much difference between me and a rock. I get lost in the egoism typical to my race and consider myself better then the rock.

A walk in the nature reminds me that it is not so. I'm no better or worse that anything else on this planet. The only difference is that I think of myself as more important.

It also fills me with gratitude, another think that I tend to forget in the storms of life. Gratitude that I exist in order to see the beauty around me, gratitude that I can feel, listen, touch, smell, taste and hear. Gratitude that no matter how hard my life seems to be, there are other beings that have it harder.

Nature goes into all my senses. It is real... It is beautiful or terrifying, majestic and gentle, forceful and kind. It can also be unforgiving, more so when we provoke it.

Walking, I wasn't thinking. The entire purpose of my walking was to be a meditation, not a schizophrenic discussion with myself. However, as I was happily losing my self  in nature, I notices all the rubbish around me. Normally it makes me angry when people just dump their rubbish everywhere. But today it made me sad. I was looking at a flower trying to get a little bit of sun from under  an empty can of soft drink and I felt like crying. Not only for that flower. But for every millimiter of this planet drowned in rubbish. For every tree that can not breathe and grow because someone threw their dirty towel on. For every flower that could not exist because a plastic bag was on the ground.

Sitting there, with the empty can in my hand, I could imagine my children stepping on the same path in few years and not being able to see the beauty I was seeing, but only the rubbish dumped everywhere. What a loss! And how unfair!

My walk became a rubbish collection. In one of the plastic bags I so easily found on the ground, I started to pick up empty cans, broken balloons, broken bottles, pieces of plastic and cartoon... I won't go into all the things I picked up and carried to the rubbish bin... I won't even go in all the things I could not pick up...

Why? Why can we not respect the beauty around us? Why do we dump our rubbish everywhere, even though we would not do it in our homes? Isn't our planet the home of our home?

Monday, 29 August 2011

Parenting LOL

I was thinking that all want to be parents need to be warned that nerves of steel, patience of a saint, awareness of a Buddhist and self control of a yogi, are absolute necessities. Or, at a bare minimum, the creativity of a witch and the tricks of a magician.

If someone would have explained that to me, I would have thought twice before having children. I'm not saying that I regret having my children. Mine are two wonderful brats that I love with all my heart and thank to for the number of white hairs that adorn my head. But, before having them, I woud have first learned the above mentioned skills. Why? Because are needed.

Now... To give an example. We were driving to the school, or the driving was done by me, and the kids were more or less settled on the back seats. Seat belts on, my youngest daughter in one of those insanely expensive safety seats... For once, the car was quiet. No one was talking, everyone followed their own thoughts. i should have known that trouble was brewing. After nearly 9 year of parenting, I should have known. However, misled by a morning of peace where only love and nice words were exchanged in my house, I let myself be carried by the illusion that from now on, my kids learned how to get along.  As soon as my brain formulated the thought, I hear:
"Give my pen back. I'm going to kill you!"
"It'  myyyyyy peeen! I gave you mine!!"
Now, when my girls fight, the voices are so loud they could wake up the dead out of their graves. And sharp. I feel my inner ear vibrating in pain. Like that was not enough, soon enough fists start flying. I don't have nerves of steel. Actually my fuse is quite short. I'm totally lacking patience as well. Occasionally I have some self control and as I so nicely found out, I'm not always aware. Therefore, my first instinct was to do what I always do in these situations. Turn around, grab their hands and make then hug. But I could not do that as it would have caused an accident. So, quickly, I wondered what is one thing that my kids can't resist to. Music. They love music and singing along out of tune. So, I quickly put the radio on, and like dolls my kids start singing which is keeping their mouths busy and can't insult each other. Bingo. Ok, in order to achieve that, the music needs to be blasting, but that is a million times better then screaming from the top of their lungs.

So... Self control of a yogi... Did I mention that parenting is painful equally as much as it is a bliss, if not more? If not, it is done now. Parenting is painful. It starts with the labor contractions and never ends. Done wrongly, so is yoga. Given that I do that couple of times a week, I know. The only way to go through pain in yoga is by breathing deeply. Very deeply and very slowly. If you remember that, all is good and relaxing. However, I think that as a parent I need to breathe deeply, slowly, in and out, most moments of the day. Like when I find tiny bits of toilet paper all over the house, thanks to one of my kids' games. Or when I try to enter their bedroom and is impossible because piles and piles of clothes are all over the floor. The reason for that is either a fashion game or a moment of "I can't find my clothes". The worst was when my oldest daughter tried sewing  and forgot to pick up the needles of the carpet. I did. With my bare foot. I can give plenty of examples, one more ridiculous then other. The only way to deal with it without losing my minds, is by breathing. Deeply and slowly.

Patience of a saint... That I was sure I totally lacked, and I still have doubts if it is there or not. Why do you need patience? Because, as a parent, you find yourself repeating the same things day after day. I thought about recording myself and just playing the tape in order to save my voice. It would be awesome if I could explain one thing to my kids only once. And yet, dinner after dinner, 7 times a week, they need explaining and demonstrating how to use the knife, and why. Or homework. Or picking up after themselves. Or why does it rain? Or why can't we eat chocolate all day long. Or why they need to get into bed at a certain hour. Most of these, need in depth explanations at least few times a week, every week, year after year. One needs plenty of patience not to scream and run away.

Nerves of steel... I find that it is very hard to see my children hitting each other without feeling the need to go in and hit both of them, for good measure. Or to deal with my nearly nine year old telling me she is in love and tried to shave her legs. Or to do any of the above without jumping through the roof. Therefore, I need good nerves.

Or perfect self control. Given that I am totally against hitting kids... I do need to control myself so the back of my hand does not fly on it's on...

The awareness is an absolute must because one never knows what their kids are up to. For example, few years back, I bought some CDs and tapes  from my country. Now, I hardly ever visit my country anymore and what I buy from there is precious. As I was doing some work, at the time film producing, my daughter got stuck into my tapes. She tried to make me a surprise by unwinding every single one of them and making pretty knots. As you can imagine, it was a surprise that was very hard to appreciate. However, if I would have been aware of what my daughter was up to, it would have been easily avoided.

The creativity of a witch. Or an artist. Which ever one you prefer. That is for the necessity of figuring up very fast how can you push your kids in a different direction. Like when one of my daughters got stuck into my nail polish collection, and a collection it is, and decided to try and paint with it on the door. For damage control I had to figure really fast another activity that would have been more appealing for my artist of a kid. That is creativity used to the max. Hardly any is left for my job.

Pulling rabbits out of the hat... I don't wear hats and have no particular talent in pulling rabbits out of anywhere. However, it is useful to be able to achieve the impossible when one has kids. For example, in order to settle them down. The music in the morning, or any as such, are good examples. Useful... Often a necessity... But there is one more instance in which one needs to know how to pull rabbits... or anything else... For example, sometimes, as my income is dependent on finding clients, if I don't find enough of them, I'm short with money. I think that most of us can relate to that. And that day, when the budget is very tight, the beauty of the child, decides that will die instantly if they don't have a specific type of chocolate... or anything else... Ipods, laptops ad so on... Now, chocolate I can pull out of my hat offering to make some at home. The only solution to fix the other ones is either to say NO, which in my experience ends with screaming, crying, banged doors and "you destroy my life", or to find a way to satisfying that need. Most times, I say no and ignore the tantrum, even if I need to stick my headphones in my ears and put music on in order to not hear it. But are other times, when I either have to be creative in my explanations are promises, or pull the rabbit out. Usually that means borrowing my things to my kids for a period of time...

I just wish there was a book to explain all the above to me before I had children. I would have been so grateful! I would have had a career first, traveled the world, spent months in a yoga retreat, took  whole bunch of seminars so I don't have to learn on the go, and then I would have had kids... And just maybe, I would have avoided half the situations I'm confronted with in this wonderful and non stop job of being a parent. LOL

Sunday, 28 August 2011

Who am I and who am I not

I am a very determined, mostly stubborn, highly cultured woman that loves herself. It happens that I am a woman that loves others as well. Not only other people, but other things. Like books, many books, sunsets, rock, crystals, plants, my planet. For my planet I do what I can. I pick up my rubbish and occasionally other people’s rubbish, I recycle, I use green energy… Not nearly enough, but it is what I can do right now.

I am a mother. a single mother of two girls and as such I go through all the joy and desperation of parenting. I love my children. I respect my children. I would jump in fire for them without a second thought. But while they came of me, they don’t belong to me, but to themselves…

I am a daughter and a sister… In that area I don’t do much other then existing. If  I could, I would do fancy dinners at home, coffees and lots of chats. Probably I would also help where possible. As it happens, I live on the other side of the planet from my parents and siblings so I don’t do much.
Occasionally, when the mood strikes me, I am a lover. Not very often but as I don’t have enough time to dedicate to relationships, since I have so many other interests that keep my busy. I am independent, highly capable of looking after myself therefore I am not needy for relationships. I only do it for pleasure.

I am a friend. I can only hope that a good one, but that remains for my friends to decide.

Sometimes, as my children so carefully and half embarrassed point out, I am weird. I think that in a broad sense that means that I don’t conform to the norms.  I dance barefoot in the worst rains, I wear summer dresses in winter if the mood strikes, I wear hand painted hippy clothes one day, business clothes the next and maybe next to noting another day… I’m allergic to my own hair, I cry if I break a nail, I laugh when I’m sad and cry when I’m happy, I state my opinions regardless if everyone else thinks differently. Also, I am totally able to do crazy things that make no sense to anyone but me.

I am a witch… By that I don’t mean that my wardrobe is only composed of black clothes that belonged few centuries back or that my favorite way of spending my time is burning in fire, even though I do love a good open fire next to which I can relax. However, my element is Earth and as such I could spend a life time gazing at the mountains. By being a witch I mean that I think that with the power of my thoughts I can change my reality. I also mean that sometimes I weave a spell, other times I meditate, always respect All life, including the one I eat and occasionally heal others. For me, it means as well, that all gods are equally as good, even though I relate to Goddesses more.

I am a photographer. By that I mean that I love taking photographs even when I am paid to do it. Also, I create clothes. I make them, paint them… Both are ways of expressing myself that have the added benefit on sometimes being paid for it.

I am not greedy. I totally understand the value of money and utterly enjoy spending them, but I don’t see them as important in the big scheme of things.

I am addicted to coffee. I could drink up to ten coffees a day and then have a perfectly peaceful sleep.

I am a dreamer. I dream of  world in which no one will die of starvation, wars, or religion and our children will have an unpolluted planet to live on.

What am I not? I’m not a follower. I make my own decisions and trends.

I am not patient person, especially with ignorance. If I can read and expand my horizons, everyone can do it. No excuses accepted. If one is ignorant, with me are only two options: either inform oneself or shut up. Black and white. I don’t have an issue with anyone that say’s I don’t know. I only have an issue with not knowing and still talking about the subject. For example, I have no idea about physics. Not only that I have no idea, but I have no interest in it whatsoever. So if I am in a group that talks physics, I listen, but I don’t express opinions as I don’t know enough to have an opinion.

I am not intolerant. By that I mean that there are things I am highly intolerant of, like child abuse and domestic violence, and very tolerant with other things, like other people’s religions as long as they don’t try to convert me.

I am not stupid. As a matter of fact I have a very high IQ and I do my best to use more then 10% of my brain. While I do understand that not everyone has a high IQ, I don’t understand why other people refuse to use more then 10% of their brain, such as it is.

I am not a man. That means that I am a woman and hence I think and I feel like one.

And I care nothing about what other people think of me. I love and respect myself too much to allow other people opinions about me to drag me down.

I am not humble. More so, I see no point in being one. However, while I am arrogant, I am smart enough to listen to other people and be able to change my opinions if there are good enough reasons to do so.

Because I have no need for people to like me, I tend to be mostly honest.

Arrogance ramblings

In the last couple of days I have been told countless times that I am arrogant. What is arrogance? And does it have any uses at all?

The dictionary says “arrogance – overbearing pride evidenced by a superior manner toward inferiors”. I must admit that I was feeling a bit stuck and that is a feeling that I don’t like in particular. I have a need to know that goes way beyond intellectual curiosity. For me, this need to know everything, most importantly myself goes beyond hunger… Is an elemental need. I don’t say it should be the same for everyone. I just say that that’s how it is for me. Not liking this feeling of being stuck without an answer, I went into the search for an answer. Am I arrogant? And what exactly is perceived as arrogance? Does it have any uses?  I’m good at research. I’m very good at it. But what I am even better at is finding answers within myself, so I went on the journey of finding it as I know best. I meditated. I sat down in a quiet place, at an hour when everything was still within and without. Lit a candle, for whatever reason I find it easier to focus with a candle. And I took many calming breaths. More so as I knew that whatever answers I find, chances are that I will be affected by them one way or another.

What did i find? Oh well, to begin with, i do have a very healthy dose of arrogance. Yes, i do feel superior to others. Does not sound pleasant, but that’s who i am. Why do i have this feeling of superiority? Oh well, because i am proud of myself. Very proud of myself. I even give myself pats on the back for the things i achieved that matter to me. Why do i feel so proud of myself? Because i worked damn hard for everything i have, from possessions to culture and education. Because nothing came on a platter as much as i would have liked, and in order to be who i am, i have made sacrifices… The one i sacrificed the most was my ego.

That sounds like a contradiction, isn’t it? How could have i sacrificed my ego but still be arrogant? To begin with, i had to accept that i know nothing. Again, something that i don’t really like doing. My ego tells me that i know everything and some. But in order to reach a point of being proud of myself, i had to accept that no matter how much i try, there will be countless things i will know nothing about, For example quantum physics. Oh well, my ego tells me that if i really try, i can come up with couple of sentences to describe this type of physics. By sheer chance, those sentences might be even accurate. But the reality is that i have no idea about physics. And not only the quantum one. My brain had no interest in it, therefore i am totally uneducated in that area. Stings. A lot. I pride myself through my culture. But i know nothing. So, i can either go and research it to the point where i have an understanding of it, or i can just leave it at i don’t know. Me, being me, most likely i will go and research it in depth, until i know some. And that requests that i put a lot of effort and time into it. For me, that time and effort are well used. If i go past the ego that tells me i know everything, i can actually admit that i know nothing and do something constructive about knowing it. And because i have to put so much effort into that and sacrificed not only my ego, but my pleasures as well, i am proud of myself. I gave up an hour of gossiping with friends for one hour of making a little bit more light into the dark cavern that is my brain. And for that, i am very proud of myself. Even more so when i can look myself in the eyes and tell myself :”Alex, the more you know, the less you know. and you know nothing while you know everything”. That asks for courage.

Why is accepting courage? Because i don’t like accepting something that tells me that i am not as good as i want to be. I mean, i want to think of myself as smart, cultured, well educated, wise. I don’t like to say that i know nothing because first of all it denies all the things i worked so hard to know. But first of all saying that i know nothing, accepting this terrible blow to my ego, leaves me room for improvement. So the one hour i give up, becomes two.

And this brings me to my favorite parts about arrogance. I am proud of myself because i make the effort and because i worked hard to improve myself and because i know a whole lot of teensy-winsy things about a whole bunch of things. Now, arrogance comes into it when i put all the effort, make all the sacrifices in order to know (in my case) and others not only that refuse to put the effort into it, but expect everything nicely delivered in their lap. And i am arrogant because i do openly admit that i am better then them. I am not perfect and are other people that know much more then i do, about much more things. But i make an effort and i simply don’t get it why others refuse to make it.

The opposite of arrogance s humbleness which is defined as “humbleness – the state of being humble and unimportant”.  I have a very healthy dose of humbleness as well. It goes hand in hand with arrogance at me, like the other side of the coin. I want to be feel superior and I’m certainly happy with being proud of myself. But if i want to stay as such (proud, superior), i need to admit to myself that i have a lot of space for improvement. That admission is my humbleness. What i don’t see any point in doing, though, is to say that i am dumb when i know for a fact that i am not. Or to say that i am ugly when i am not. For me, that is not being humble. For me, that is committing a crime against myself by not respecting myself.

Why do we need to respect ourselves? Let see. An example that came into my head while i was meditating, that combined self respect with arrogance and humbleness was the following.
Over the millenniums of our civilasation, people, scientists of a kind or another, made discoveries. Lets take for example, the wheel. Someone, very wise, obserrved that if you take a round stone and push it on the ground it moves smoothly and with quite a bit of speed. He, or she, took that information and created the first stone wheel. What that did was to create wonders for agriculture. Some year later, another person thought that that wheel could be improved. That was arrogance because the person would have thought of himself as being more smart then the others. If that person had a humbelness complex, would have thought that he/she is not important enough to tell other people how to make changes. On the other hand, if that person had enough sef respect to admit that he/she is important and smart enough, would have gone and told his fellow tribesmen that he can make a better wheel. The head of the trbe would have looked at this person and thought that is insanity. But with the self respect, that person started to work hard to create this new way of having a better wheel. After a while, he ended up with a much better wheel. He could be very proud of both the result and the effort. And he or she, was superior to his fellow men because he invented something. Therefore, that person was arrogant. 

Whitout enough arrogance of thinking that a difference can be made, we would still have a stone wheel. And so on. we ca take everything and recognize the same blue print for it.
Why would i choose to put myself down by being practicing humbleness when i can make a difference into my own life by being arrogant? Why should i not respect the effort i put into everything? What benefit would that have for me or for the society i live in? Nix. Nada. Nothing. Putting myself down will achieve only into being another unhappy person, and there are plenty of those. There is no need for me to add one more to that group. And chances are that because i put myself down by practicing a fake humbleness that tells me i am not important enough, i will not even start doing something. I will condemn myself to a life where nothing will ever be achieved or improved. That is unhealthy for me and all the ones around me. On the other hand, if i practice the real humbleness – i am good, i am nearly perfect and i can always improve- i will feel nothing but encouraged to start putting the effort into something. Putting that effort into something, will result in me being proud of myself, putting even more effort into it and ending up being superior, which is a good place to be. And that i arrogance. And it is healthy. Yeap, there are others more superior then me, but that will not stop me. Why should i build a two levels building if i can build a hundred levels building?

Anyway, this are the ramblings of my brain during meditation. 

So yeah, i am humble enough to admit that i can be better, and arrogant enough to know that if i put the effort into it, i am better.

Phoenix Bird

A bird. The most beautiful of birds that has an incredible long life and at the end, builds a nest, puts it on fire and becomes ashes. From ashes it comes back anew, younger, starting the circle again.

I have read the myth when I was still a child, probably no more then 10. I have been, and still am, passionate, or obsessive about the mythology of the world. Anyway, the Phoenix Bird myth caught my imagination and over the years remained one of those myths that play into my head trying to find a meaning. I understand now, that regardless how beautiful is for a child to read it, it is a myth for adults.

It does not matter if the Fire Bird existed or not. I think that it is quite irrelevant. The reality or lack of it of the Bird, does not change the wisdom of the Myth.

Sometimes I imagine a really old wise person. It is irrelevant if it was a wise woman or a wise man. This really wise person, after had passed through the years and journeys of life with eyes wide open, notices that people in general, put themselves in fire, without seeming to have a meaning, a purpose.
Why do we chose to enter situations that come close to destroying us? Because we did not know? Looking back and after talking to people that looked back, one thing is clear. One way or another, for some reason or other, we all knew on some elemental level, that the situation not only that is not as rose as we have tried to see it, but is actually quite dangerous. One thing that always comes out goes along the lines of I knew it, but did not want to see it. Why? Why do we know the danger and still step blindly into it?

The only reason I can think of, is that we need, we are compelled to do it in order to regenerate ourself.  Like the bird that puts itself on fire, we put our lives in fire with the hope that something radical will change. Why? Because we, humans, don’t seem to learn through happiness. No matter how may times our parents tell us that the fire is hot, we seem to get it only after we burn our little fingers by touching it. We need the pain of the situation in order to learn it’s lesson. Why? Because it in our nature. Learning, understanding, thinking and emotions are what defines us as being humans.  And we lack the wisdom to learn from other people mistakes.

I have read somewhere, can’t remember where as I am obsessed with reading, that A wise man learns from watching others, an intelligent man learns by doing and a dumb man never learns. Now, few of us actually have wisdom, me included. Some of us, never learn, for varied reasons. Most of us, manage to learn sooner or later by repeating the same mistakes. For the purpose of figuring on the myth, I will focus on the most.

We need to learn. As humans, our need to learn goes beyond will, into the territory of the unknown. Let’s be honest. We don’t like learning. We don’t like to go to school, but we do it because someone, parents, law, society pushes us. We don’t like to listen to our parents because we think they know nothing and we know all. We don’t learn new skills unless the old ones proved to not help. We don’t learn to cook unless we are hungry. And so on. We don’t learn, or most of us don’t, because learning is a pleasure. We learn because we have to learn, because we are forced, goaded or slapped into it.
Same goes with life lessons. I honestly doubt that any off us like going through unpleasant situations, much less painful ones. We don’t like pain, of any kind. But going through pain is the only way to learn, regardless if it is the pain of spending six hours in a classroom on a really sunny day when we could be playing on the beach, cooking a new meal and burning it therefore going without dinner (or having to spend money for take away) or getting into messy life situations because our unconscious mind pushes us to learn one more lesson. We only learn because we are pushed into it.
Because I said that the Phoenix Bird myth is mainly for adults, I shall leave classrooms behind in thought as I have done in age. And I will focus on the situations we get ourselves into once that we are old enough to think we have a choice. But do we really have a choice?

According to my spiritual believes, I have chosen for myself what lessons to learn in this life. It has the advantage of putting all the responsibility onto my own shoulders and as much as I like whining, it is a good thing to blame myself, not others. However, not all share my believes so i shall leave that train of thought behind. Most believe in a god that takes care of us and it is nothing wrong with that. But if we choose to see god as a parent, we have to remember that our parents request of us many things. Manners for one. Or we can only hope that mum and dad are trying to teach us manners, as it is an important skill in life. Now, if not manners, it could be something as simple as picking up the spoon and feeding ourselves. I’m quite sure that our parents are not too happy when first give us the spoon and the food flies all over the kitchen. Not happy because they will have to clean up the mess. God, if we believe in one, puts the spoon into our hand and tells us to feed ourselves. Or to learn a lesson he deems necessary. Leaving the age with the spoon, the lessons get harder. and more and more unpleasant. Here I go back into we have to learn. There is not a choice, it is a fact. Because I am so big onto personal responsibility I chose to think that I have mapped out the lessons for myself. But if I would chose to believe in god as a parent, it would be irrelevant because no matter who decides I need to learn, I still have to do it.

And once that we established that we have to learn, regardless what we believe in, we have to figure out why. For me, the necessity of learning is because I want to spiritually grow in order to become Nirvana, the god like force. But for others, it can be in order to go to heaven. same story, different words. Now, that heaven or nirvana, can not accept us unless we are as pure as It is. Of course, it is a different theory for atheists, but not really that different once you get passed dogmas.  Simply put, we need to learn in order to grow up and stop being helpless infants.

The Phoenix Bird, lives and lives and then needs to put herself in fire in order to regenerate.
As humans, we choose a different fire with the hope that we will grow up. That fire is the life lessons I nagged before. So, regardless of the believes we enter these fires of knowledge willingly or not. The more grown up we are, the harder the fires are. Simple logic. I’m bigger, I need bigger clothes and more food in order to function. Same with the lessons. The more advanced we are, the harder the lesson.

What is the purpose of these lessons other then getting into heaven? I think, part of it is the fact that we are meant to try and teach others as the old wise person tried to teach of by relating the myth. I’m not saying that we all need to become writers. But we all need to become more compassionate, more loving, more wise. In order to achieve that, we step into the fire. And after we went into it, and we understood it’s lesson, we are starting the circle again, exactly like the Phoenix Bird. A new understanding, more evolved let’s say, gives us joy. That’s after we got out of the fire with the treasure of knowledge.  Simple joy is the attribute of the very young that can laugh with tears at a leaf falling out of the tree and making twirls in the air. The purpose of the fire is to show as the joy that can be found in simple things. That makes us “young” again. But in order we keep that ability to be young (we people have a habit of wanting to be older and better then we are today), we need new lessons and so we start inviting them into our lives. Phoenix Bird.

So, at the end, I think that the wise person from the beginning, the one that stepped through life with eyes wide open, was indeed very wise and served us a lesson. We can not have joy without pain. The two faces of the coin. We can not enjoy only one. A coin needs two faces, because everything in our world has at least two sides. Actually because we live in a 3D world, it has more then two. But in order to simplify, we need pain to know joy. We need lessons to grow up.

I love the Phoenix Bird myth. And I welcome being the bird itself.