Berlin Underground

UBahn

It’s 3.19 am. Berlin time. I am dancing in the underground. Sweet violin plays the strings of my heart. Ride of the Valkyries. My soul in question.

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Love is

Lovers

I am passing through countries, discarding them like forgotten lovers. Now when I think about love, I have many more things to say. I think love is a vulnerability, a willingness to trust someone with a precious heart. To be so child-like and joyous that dancing and singing is a natural state. A heightened awareness of the beloved. A look, a tiny movement, a sigh, a tremor, a breath, a heartbeat, these are the signs that reveal the inner state. But love passes, in the same way that that cities fade into the distance as I travel across Europe. That is what you tell me. And so, I continue my journey.

‘Take your joy and spread it across the world, he wrote.

At least begin with a smile and hug yourself, she thought.’

Vaporous perfection

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Clouds, so impermanent, advise her that reality is a mere dream. The illusion of solidity in their shape and comforting forms is exactly that, illusion, disappearing as temperature changes, wind blows or night extinguishes day. Why would a cloud be other than this? I marvel at such simplicity. I will endeavour to leave clouds to their journey, not fall in love with them in any other way than to share their pleasure of being vaporous perfection.

Budapest Blues

budapest

It’s Sunday and I’m in the most beautiful city in the world.

Cigarette butts crushed into broken tiles.

At my feet is another death, in the street,

Broken buildings and hollow dreams.

I’m in her arms like a stillborn child.

Feeling nothing, it seems,

But old.

Weather Report

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It is Minus 11 in Berlin.

Heart rate slow.

Breath freezing.

It’s Minus 12 in Berlin.

Heart is warming.

Breath responding.

I think of the Life, Death, Rebirth cycle.

Again and again and again.

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Thank you Clarissa Pinkola Estés.

 

 

 

Delirious Sky

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It is a delicious moment,

Delirious sky.

The sun burning deeply,

Her skin starts to fry.

She gathers her senses,

Surrounded by life.

When death beckons shyly,

She submits to his knife.

It’s only a metaphor,

We grow and we die,

And laugh at the Present,

The Goddess on High.

Dreaming

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She sat by the river,

Dreaming.

Singing to water birds,

And frogs in the slime.

Distant places alive in her mind.

It’s not so hard, called the grasses wild,

You’re rooted to earth,

This isn’t your fault.

It’s a breathing, crumbling, uplifting result.

Her thoughts began shifting,

She rustled her leaves.

Wind carried her desires,

And soon there was peace.

The elements colluded,

Earth, water, air and fire.

She picked up her roots,

And flew to the sky.