maple leaves are letters from the past

It is half-read. The other half is yellow. The stalk Is very thin. It has departed, It has fled. The writing is fading: All colours Crumble to brown. It is a flat letter Of green and rain And dust and sunshine, And frost. Encoded in chlorophyll To sing when you Cut a slice of Old-school…

the taboo words

and so i said – i will die one day, that’s a fact. and my colleagues at work went berserk with ‘shush, don’t say so’ and ‘you do not mean it’, and ‘how can you say so, we must think of living forever’. and i thought – why should i succumb to the cult of…

not fallen off the map

status update: i have not fallen off the map. i’ve been under influence. of a creepy virus, freely donated by countless students. when i am not asleep, or in class, i read. and suddenly here was this need to quote this to the wide world, which is limited only by my perception: 6.43 If good…

rain

is a sign of autumn, the smell of raw water in the nostrils of all people splashing, hurrying, covering themselves improperly in umbrellas and raincoats. rain reminds. of thick morning fogs skewered by sunshine, the fragrant sod, freshly cut open, and potatoes, pale and moist, just discovered, ripe to be picked. rain sloshes up thoughts,…

wrong

it seems  there are three realms of occupations where every member of public feels the obligation to contribute advice, know better or pronounce the professionals wrong by default. Teaching, Healing and Spiritual ministry. everyone knows what the professionals should do and how they should act and how not to. here’s the catch: why the uneducated,…

healing

well, i had another epic tumble down a flight of stairs last sunday. now i look like an ill-drawn map, all blackish, plum-colour, bruises-starting-to heal. and i have been feeling so sleepy.  and misanthropic. the best healing for me is this: no human people around, regardless of their attitude. loads of sleep. loads of hot,…

the small places we come from

wind scoops handfuls of coloured leaves and carries them up towards the pure indigo of the maple-lit autumn; they glow in lamplight, as the quarter-moon cuts a triangular window across the clouds, and then remain somewhere there, big stones in the endless river of sky. the small places we come from, little more than so…

apple memories

skeins of geese calling, mingling over fresh-rent potato earth, your hands, bruised from too much mechanics pick up another one the crate full of fragrances almost unliftable; memories enter and leave like the birds of flight swooshing through the air.

a note

when tradition meets common sense, common sense has to go. it is amazing, really amazing, to what lengths people would go to do as has been done before. look at the lemmings. they traditionally jump from the rocks. right into the sea.  

the dead, liturgy, control issues and living backwards

‘when people get to pray for their dead to rest in peace,’ she said, ‘they feel more at rest.’ this was part of discussion of the things to be done on the last sunday of the church year. the argument of why there should be another worship service dedicated to prayers for the dead ran…

rose vs. begonia

roses look cool, and are interesting to raise. begonias look green and red and white and yellow, and are not presumptuous. but if asked to choose between them, i will probably say that i like chrysanthemums best. those shaggy, yellow or white, heavy-headed flowers with the bitter smell. kiku-no-hana.

memories – or maybe false

a song about how life is like a ball of yarn, made from that one single moment of truth, that one meeting, that one memory, around which all else rests. and that sometimes the making of the ball becomes far more important than the moment in the centre.

it can get crazy (another epic story)

so, i decide to make that buckwheat pie with a bit of mincemeat, loads of onions, some garlic and tomatoes. the buckwheat is boiling happily, most onions are fried up, now i have the last onion and tomatoes to fry, and i am i the process of cutting them. little wolfie has been doing stuff…

symptoms

when you try to turn a page on your coffee-mug, and take a sip from your e-reader; when you press a word on a paper book, and wonder why the inbuilt dictionary does not work; when you ask for a manual or communication protocols to talk to a friend; when you think of restarting your…

epic again

so, this far: i have forgotten the mobile modem in riga. goodbye, internet communication. i clicked ‘do not save’ on a document i had been working on for six hours. goodbye, sanity (or is it reason?) i spent 3.5 hours travelling by coach, and listened to “Would It Kill You to Stop Doing That: A…

when all else fails

pain remains. in its incapacitating, insane clarity, pain remains. and suddenly, there is no space for questions of why and what for, because there is only that which is. pain. it will pass, at some point, i know, this is only a bout, a fit, incomplete and unfinished, searing the edges of what i thought…

of poison, insanity, balance* and void

‘you may say, this is my poison,’ she said. ‘i think, you already know mine,’ i said. ‘…?’ she said. ‘pain.’ i said. pain is boring. and the knowledge that it will not go away, ever, is boring, too. pain bores through my bones, and head, and creates this everlasting background of… well, pain. from…

having and needing not

the whole need no healer. the satiated need no food. those who have a god, need no other gods. let’s stop here and think for a moment. how is your wholeness? are you still hungry? what god do you have? ========================= on a happier note – winter arrived explosively tonight, with a storm, blizzard, snow…

no, not a feminist

“i can see right away, you have a real man in the house,” she said. “why?” i asked her. “all your knives are very sharp,” she replied. and i took offence. even when she said it was only in jest, i felt offended. there has never been, and never will be a man, real or…

october 11, 2012

creativity at all-time low. anything else?… i do not know. the birds told me there will be snow soon. should i put out some bird food in the bird feeder? (wow, what an indo-european vowel gradation in the previous sentence) i miss the forest across the river. the forest here is not a forest, it…