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.

Balance and Harmony

Photo Credit: I. Roman

Natural Beauty

Photo Credit: I. Roman

Humanness

Written in: Stockholm, Sweden

Date: February 16, 2009

Photo Credit: JP Barbosa

I am always so pleased to read about pieces of humanness in all of us. We can always relate to each others human nature, especially our states of nostalgia, sacred memories, and longing. Although a cliche, sometimes I do feel like a trapped bird in a cage. Trapped in this life of responsibility and process. The process I love because it is the journey that matters in life the most, and not the destination. However, I wish that sometimes my 'process' was a bit more exciting, a bit more alive, a bit more of... something else. Fire perhaps. Passion. Craziness and spontaneity. Adventure. Complete freedom.

The endless questions, the desire to make more predictible what isn't. The constant desire and dreams to be with a man that will love me for life. The desire to be nomadic and not to worry about money, or job, or destination. To be able to be with my parents and take care of them when they need me. To be able to express this immense gratitude to them for raising me and teaching me the way that they have. All of these fleeting moments of thought are so precious, and so enjoyable. What wonder is our imagination! Sometimes I feel like I can have my own secret world in my head of dreams. Beautiful dreams, some of which have become real.

Perhaps it is true that it all starts with a dream. That it is possible to turn something seemingly impossible into reality. It is important to believe, but not to believe blindly. I often wish I will some day tap into my most sacred intelligence. Intelligence, where I can find my genius. I don't believe that people 'are' geniuses, but rather that people 'have' genius. These moments, or years, of extraordinary brilliance are never ours to hold. It is so delicate and illusory that if we try to keep it, we lose it. An author, Elizabeth Gilbert had a great talk about this on TED (http://www.ted.com/). She is such a special woman: funny, beautiful, intelligent, humble, and just lovely. Her talk really inspired me to believe in whatever I do, since often, when things get really hard, I want to run. I want someone to open the cage and let me go. Over the years I realized that in moments like this it is so important to just keep going, to keep writing that paper that I think is just THE WORST in the whole world. To just keep going on keeping going, because the moment, perhaps even a flash, of brilliance will return and it will colour the work with colours unimaginable. So what plays a role here, patience or perserverance, or focus, or all? Does it even matter?

Perhaps what is most important in this is having the heart. It is feeling the love in all that one does. I often feel so much love, so much of this sacred inner energy-- and often I feel it dies somehow without being properly released. I mean, released with a purpose. There is a lot of creative power in this. I just have to find the right channel to tap into it. Perhaps I just have to see it. Simple.

Mistaking Memories for Love

Written in: Stockholm

Date: January, 2009

Photo Credit: Iwona Roman

Is my life a mirror to yours?

I keep thinking of you.

Imagining you are thinking of me.

Am I a fool?

Everyone keeps telling me,

'move on' and 'forget'.

But I keep holding on.

Trusting my instinct

that you are with me

Am I believing illusions?

Are my memories displaced?

Or am I following

the essence of the love,

once so familiar and warm.

Are you there,

also thinking like me?

Everyday filled with memories

of our confused hearts,

erected

on a pedestal.

Krishnamurti says that

missing someone is not love.

I believe him.

Missing you is an illusion, an image.

A blind alley.

A waste of time.

Perhaps,

all of the memories we made

are not worth remembering.

Perhaps,

all my hopes are not worth having.

After all, you are not here.

You are not even trying.

Where is this road taking me?

Photo Credit: JP Barbosa

"The fact is there is nothing that you can trust; and that is a terrible fact, whether you like it or not. Psychologically there is nothing in the world, that you can put your faith, your trust, or your belief in. Neither your gods, nor your science can save you, can bring you psychological certainty; and you have to accept that you can trust in absolutely nothing"

-Krishnamurti (1895-1986)

When this is profoundly understood, through living life as it is, one can start trusting absolutely everything. Life becomes easeful and requires no effort. Life becomes itself. Then, we experience the essence of life- its natural beautiful flow.

Being the Moment

Written at: Arlanda Airport, Sweden, just before taking off to India
Date: June 9, 2008
Photo Credit: I. Roman

My journey begins on this beautiful sunny morning of June 9, 2008. A journey where time is travel and travel is time. Where all the spacious gaps are filled with inquisition and self reflection. Where dull moments are momentous, and where boredom turns into curiosity. A time, where love and pure joy can move to tears.

Months passing by timelessly. Days colourful, curious, adventurous. To enter this new dimension of nomadic existence, means to completely open to the freedom of movement. Living only for the sake of living. Should there ever be any other purpose? Shouldn’t life bring joy purely because it is life and it is living us?

Yes, life is living us beautifully.

I am watching all the faces. Some tired faces, some happy ones. Many look indifferent, some coloured by the look of excitement, perhaps even escapism. What is contained with us? Within our heads with never-ending space? Heads with physically defined parameters, but endless abyss of information, secrets, pain, happiness, love, enjoyment, memories, concepts, ideas, stress, aspirations, inspiration, desires, wants.

Someone talking on the mobile beside me, at 530am. What could possibly be so important? Why can’t we give ourselves space even in the quiet hours of the morning? Why are many afraid of self-intimate moments? Why are many running away from the simplicity of being with oneself? Instead, moments seem to be filled with ‘doing’ as though space always needs filling. As though moments of complete mystery need to be blocked, killed, muted, and made predictable, safe, and comfortable. Why do we often invent moments, rather than just be the moments?