Space of Pure Love

Written in: Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Date: July, 2009

Reflection on reflection
Desire on desire
Travelling
In places of the mind
In its infinite spaces

Spaces of the heart manifesting
Heart of the soul digesting
Its own contemplative,
Embrace

Soul full of memories
Heart full of love
Mind floating
In its love spaces
With its many faces
In its many phases
And more.

Tibetan flags, airborne... just like love

Written: December 2008

Location: Banff, Canada

Photo Credit: Joao Paulo Barbosa

The memories of what we had still touch me
Although the warmth of your touch is long forgotten
Only distant flashes remain now
It seems unreal, almost like a made-up story

When I look at your photos
I can’t help but be inspired
The sensitivity of your eyes
The beauty of the world you have seen

The places we have been
The way you capture it
The way you smile at life
Even though you don’t fully understand it,
But merely desire it

The way the mountain face is unravelled
With the bright, morning sun
And the way it is lit by the stars in the darkness
The same way my eyes brighten
When I look at the photos, our photos
Tibetan flags flying

... in the cold Himalayan breeze

When I look at the world
Waiting there, being there
Living, breathing, existing
Even now,
Without seeing all its beauty
I can feel all the love

required to receive it...

The love of the universal mother
The earth.

Our life force.

Can love for you be transformed into love for her, the mother?
I desire to give my heart to her
Not to you, or to you, or to you, or to you...
But to her
The sustaining energy
The force which carrries not drowns
The force which revitalizes and not consumes
The force which makes the eyes open and not permanently shut to life

And now thoughts go back to you
The love I loved with all my heart
The love I believed to be my last
The love of all loves
The love which secured
And protected
And softly huged, but not suffocated
The love which sweetly whispered, and not shouted
The love which was wisdom
And not one filled with obligation and tensed moments
The love I was looking for.

Unreal. Imagined even. In my mind.

This love, will I always carry it with me and never find in anyone else?
Is it anyone’s to give? Is it mine to receive?
Love just is... (?)
Accepting
And unassuming
And beautiful in all its appearances.
Love is now.

In each moment.

A Map

Written in: Stockholm, Sweden
Date: February 28, 2009

A map on the wall in an old buidling somewhere in Old Town, Warsaw.

My finger gently touches the surface, exactly where India is located.

With my finger, I go from Leh in the North to the South-Eastern reaches of Kolkata. I imagine the colours, the heat, the sounds, the smells. I imagine chaos, which is mysteriously organized. I hear hundreds of cars and rickshaws honking. I see disfigured people. I smell the warm and moist, almost wet, smells of human excreta. I feel my skin burning from heat; my body like a human inferno. I open my eyes wide while staring at the map, but vividly seeing myself on the street in Old Delhi asking, ‘what am I doing here?’.

I see women with babies wrapped in cloth on their backs. Mother warriors. Rocking their babies to the rhythm of their quick, hurried, steps. Babies learning the motion of movement, resting. Who am I here? A silent observer? An amazed traveler? A tourist? A wanderer? A nomad by choice? Certainly not a warrior; life is easy for me. I have choices. Mother warriors fight each day to survive.

Million of thoughts rushing. I feel squeezed by their weight. Certain despair arises. I have an impulse to do something, to help, to be a friend here, to understand this reality, to... I allowed myself to stand still. And in the midst of this emotional turbulence I recognize that I need to remain still for a while. Clarity comes to those who relax, who can see all without judgment. Flowing with reality, rejecting nothing. Only then mindful and meaningful action may arise.

I stood there, in silence, in front of the map.

I placed the palm of my hand in the heart of India.

I stood for a while longer.

I turned around and walked away, filled with hope.

No Butterflies and No Tortoise

Narrated by: Iwona Roman

Please sit down for a while. Prepare a cup of warm tea. Put a heavy, warm blanket on your body. Relax. Enjoy this 4 minute exceprt from Amos Oz's book The Same Sea.

Shifting Perception

Written in: Stockholm, Sweden
Date: February 19, 2009
Photo Credit: I. Roman

When I look,
through this window
above the street level,
people look like ants,
cars like toys,
concrete structures like playfull installations.
The huge billboard signs
look small enough to put in my bag.
Like a book.

Life observed
in constant motion.
While I sit still.
Unnerved.
Looking from above
to the outside.

I turn my head
inside.
And everything is back.
To proportion.
Strange, these
shifts in perception.

A man staring at me
from across the table.
I, looking down.
Unmoved.
Now, shifting perception
away from the gaze.
To something else.