Making up for lost time

Honey macadamias and a tiny shot of kirch.

Alive in the living room seeing spring sunset bleaching the garden with a golden glow

Perfect warm breeze sieving through the sliding patio door.

Pearls of tranquil thoughts adorning the mind

Yes , why didn't I think of doing this earlier?

Journey of an independant citizen

Life is damn hard. Even if you get what you want.

There is still work to be done in maintaining the self. Why , I would love to do the things I can do now I am a free person, or am I? Yes I am free of a bad relationship, and the diseases that came with it. However, I am not free of mental slavery. How do I exist in this shell called a body?

Time and time again, I feel the urge to just sleep. That is only because I tire easily from mental chatter, some of which is worsened by exposure to work stress (read: beaches and suns of beaches). Hate to say it but I still can't really deal with them for fear of them hurting me. So I try to stay away and the body sympathises by giving me illnesses to slow me down.

So much for existing in a massochistic mind. How do you get the voodoo pins out when you stick them into yourself? Not intentionally I could say, but out of years of habit and learning complemented by punishment both physical and mental. Feel like a rehab dog just being adopted back to society but with behaviours still matching a tortured existence. The scars are still visible and still in memory. The dog either bites or stay still. I either get extremely upset or shut in.

I was told that a way to adapt is to mix with independant society gradually. People who are able to live in their own right and do not depress me. Sounds good in theory. But if you get the blind to see for the first time, the light can blind them again. Similarly, observing the way these people live normally hurts me. I can't run as fast as they can to catch the balls that life throws at me, or let go of the balls without feeling afraid of consequences because I don't know which balls can potentially be dangerous - eg it turns out to be a bomb which has to be dealt with first.

In the ideal world, leaders should be there to assist with the wisdom of life, what is important and what is not. My primary leader is invisible though most trustworthy and is symbolised by a cross. My work leaders are pretty much non-existent and I have to carry my own cross. Life leaders are scarce, save for a few catch ups here and there that cools the parched soul and lets it rest on the emotional chairs of these gifted people. Life leaders are scarce as I am selective as to who these people are. Absent of elders in the family I could speak to, I just don't trust many.

Despite all this, I would still like to be back in the community by slowly working my way outof this mental and emotional constipation. Maybe I should just be a little pushier when it comes to fulfilling the needs of an independant citizen, out of that scarcity mindset which just accepts things that are not working any longer for the self - giving it to others thinking my own self is not worthy enough to receive help and other resources.

I thought being a free citizen means that I dont have to fight any more but it seems I do less I get trampled by unsuspecting others or worse, end up in slavery again whatever it manifests itself as. But if I do I hope to know that some of these so called tramples are just jostling around alike gentle waves in the sea, rather than a tsunami. And ease up a little.

Wonder if there are anybody out there feeling this way too despite being an independant homosapien. How do you exist?

Grape or garbage

This grape is all that is left after I ate all of its friends. Horror.

Second Class Citizen

If I could have a cent to every thing I see I lack,
I would be a millionaire now.
After a seven year freshly failed union
I grew to be even more unsure of myself.

I whisper, I hide my voice
so people do not see or hear me
just in case they decide to be mad at me
or if I made a human error,
which I avoid at all cost because of God and his whip,
no wait, maybe it was that sadistic school headmistress
or guardian figureheads.
No one made me see there is only me.

At least it won't be so obvious I thought
or the punishment less great
if I just let them do what they like
even if it inflicts pain on me
diabolically, to avoid pain.

Absence of physical presence, when I relate to others
I speak my own mind,
I "talk" louder,
I am funnier,
I am happier.

Lately I was shaken
or I had I stranger give me a real good dusting.
I didn't know I had that much .... dirt ... on me
memory dirts generous like there in the wild west.

He pointed my persona of physical presence
and virtual,
tattoed the point of "got to move on"
from a bad relationship
over and over and over.

The needles of his words hurt extremely,
with the repute of a carbon laser brazilian
but it was probably my own voice trying to tell me something I ignored
and it came in the stronger authoritative voice of a stranger
which I had to hear.
By fluke of by universe precision
my voice came to me in a second human form
of an eccentric mathematician Doctor.

I learnt to let my voice grow
to defend myself better
in the realm of physical living
to avoid or stop outright what does not work for me.

When I sense panic and terror
to my guts,
tearful often,
I stopped.
And I told myself, girl, take time to think calmly
how to solve the situation
rather than point the finger to myself when I find myself in a pickle.

Then I got to know how scared I was
by shadows of the past
when I look at them closer,
they are like little mice that look bigger
under the dramatising lights of the subconcious stage.

I laughed
and laughed at my own comedy.

I still walk pretty slowly, not talk loud unless the situation requires me to.
It is the inner voice within me that I now give more trust
because the old threats and dangers are no longer real.
My inner voice is still quiet and steady
yet it is noticably stronger
guiding me back to visibility.

I am working on my passport to freedom
to speak and vote and live my own way in this world
so I am no longer a second class citizen.

Miracle

Today a miracle happened. I spoke up and was not shot to pieces.

I opened my mouth
and asked to meet.
The big chief agreed
and even said let's get something to eat.

At the lift I said
this is about something you said,
two sick days and a weekend passed
I have not been able to let it be laid to rest.

So we walked to 896
the cafe behind the bank,
We made our orders
then on the chairs our backs just sank.

Without much ado
I said things true,
My heart a-jump
a million beats and anxious too.

Off with her head
I feared he would say,
As I continued on
my world blurred save his big found face.

Alright he said
My poor soul stopped moving.
We'll hire a contractor
for that task that becomes your detractor.

Praise the Lord
my mumbling mind mimed.
I am alive
trying not to look like I was five.

Thank you I profusely uttered
Before long came my toast jammed and buttered.
The chief had eggs and bacon
and even talked on a "losing-weight battle" he is on.

I found myself revealing some more
bits I tried to lock from the world,
of Divorce and damaged emotions
Hey presto, the chief turned into a kitten.

His tears disguised as motorcycle eyes,
I proceeded to share that, Aye,
I also rode in to work once
and what tragic helmet hair I endured.

All things ended well,

Rapor built and world off my shoulders,
what little children that came out
of the two of us both fed and watered.

I thanked also my Lord above
for his mighty guidance and protection
Heaven forbid more evil
specially the resident evil whose name is Depression.

On to my personal Dr Phil
that same afternoon,
Her name is Dr Jill.
I told her, her advises worked a thrill.

She was impressed at my fast learning
and said "on me you won't be needing",
but recommending a referral she did.
As well as breathing technique to do once a day.

So here I am back in the world,
too good for my own good
I shall set out using Dr Jill's tool
so that I am no banking fool.

Of course the Devil came to visit
Ha-Ha! He said I am here to stay.
Still afraid being on this tender time
I wrote and instead enjoyed a glass of wine.

The Great Wall was not constructed in a day
or was that for Rome they say,
So is the rebuilding of my self
yet shall persevere and continue daily on my way.

Fantasies

Untitled

Als je echt van iemand houdt
Iemand alles toevertrouwt
Een die echt weet wie je bent
Ook je zwakke plekken kent
Die je bijstaat en vergeeft
Een die naast en in je leeft
Dan voel je pas wat leven is
En dat liefde geven is

~.~.~.~

If you really love someone
someone you trust with anything
one who really knows who you are
and also know all your weaknesses
One who is there for you and forgives you
One who lives next to you and in you
then you really know what life is
and that love is to give

~.~.~.~

The translation does not quite cover the rythms of the prose, the main reason the poem is here, but for the curious, it offers a hint of what the prose contains...

A messy string ball belonging to a cat

one string is red, for responsibility
one string is blue, for friendship
one string is white, for family
one string is yellow, for paw art

another is green, for peace
another is grey, for all the unknown things
another is pink, for fun stuff
another is purple, for that special someone

some are hairy, for all complicated matters
some are smooth, for the things that go well
others have dead knots on them, for closed doors
and some nearly become dust because of time wear

these strings are all wound up in a ball that the cat plays with
sometimes the cat gets tangled too
but most of the time the cat needs that ball
even though when the cat is trapped it hates the ball

there is one string that gets the cat out all the time
especially if its tangled too long in the ball
and that is the string of gold
it is a magic string to let the cat out

once the cat is out, the cat keeps punching the ball
it does not mean that the cat is happy once its out
the cat used to fight to get out of the tangle
so when it is out it does not know what to do

it starts to play with the ball again.
and again....

Some pictures of Rome

Frankfurt aerial view from Rotterdam flight to Rome

Alps aerial view from Rotterdam flight to Rome

Rome view from a bus heading towards Vatican City

St Peter's Basilica, Vatican City

St Peter's Basilica, Vatican City (square)

St Peter's Basilica, Vatican City (arch)

St Peter's Basilica, Vatican City (clock)

Fontana Di Trevi (wishing fountain)

Piazza Di Trevi

Colloseum

Memorial of Unknown Soldier

Rome view from Memorial

What is it like to have a dream come true - Part 2

I felt puny. Puny great. I felt like a speck of dust due to the astronomical size of the Vatican City. Yet it felt touchingly wonderful because that is my dream there, embodied in the form of St Peter's Basilica right before my excited eyes, solid on the ground in all its majesty.

Entering through the right side of the twin parabolic columnar gates to St Peter's square, dotted by gigantic angels and saints at the top, it took mother and I an hour of marveling including walking time to the entrance of the Basilica. Mother kept asking, how did they manage to place the statues up there. A question she finds dancing solo for I was baffled too.

The black cobblestones beneath us were polished shiny from wear, I took my feet out of my shoes and when my skin touched the ground, it felt amazing as to how smooth the stones were, its warmth offered a mini therapy for blood circulation from the feet back to its pumping cleanser.

Mother spent another hour at the Vatican Post Office sending evidences that we are here to family and friends around the world. Postcards with Pope Benedict XVI's smiling face on all the stamps destined for European countries. I sent a couple, one of it with very little words for the space was pasted with the Pope's large stamp header containing his autograph. I told my friend the "Pope" is on his way to see him.

Going through the Basilica was another world in itself. Gregorian chants gently soothed the ears, post the noisy Italian traffic outside where ambulance and police sirens are often heard, and caused a surreal feeling to the already surreal place. We first passed by the tombs of all the previous Popes, then came to Pope Ioannes Paulus II (John Paul). There were a couple of very serene purple orchids at the head of the tomb.

To be so close to the figurehead of the Catholic church that rulled during most of my lifetime, thus far, places some perspective to things. He was once out of reach, now he is present in spirit next to me. There was a crowd bottleneck through the underground tunnel but it dissipated after passing Pope John Paul II's tomb. In my opinion it is perhaps due to the other Popes existing beyond our times, some existed far back in history books, so that we are not acquainted enough and therefore spend less time on their tombs compared to the tomb of the late Pope John Paul II. It was also as if we were paying our last respects to him and he has not gone that long yet...

Snaking our way out through the Basilica, we found ourselves on the Grand Foyer where we entered earlier but via the right most door. Crowd traffic is strictly one way and the guards mean no nonsense here. This centre door where we entered was the one to the actual church, where Christmas services are broadcasted around the world annually.

I was humbled as I looked up to the domes, left and right through the massive columns, at all the colours and images. My eyes did not know where to look and the mind started to become like a computer receiving too much information at the same time. Thankfully the super fine sculpture of Michaelangelo, The Pieta, illuminated behind a glass wall to the right of the entrance offered a starting focus point.

My feet awoke for it too did not know where to go, it took me closer to the sculpture, and then through the same right section of the cathedral. Nationalities of all continents mixed in this one spot, African, European, Asian, Americans, save for the Eski's because they look like Asian anyway.

There was a Service when we were there and as this was the only Service of the day we sat at mother's suggestion and participated. It was all in Latin but the order is the same wherever one goes and whatever language it is in. If my thoughts and emotions were numbed in a pandora's box somewhere before having realised a dream so meaningful to my heart, it went out in streams of tears here...

Once the service was over, we continued through the left section of the church, pass the great statue of St Veronica depicted holding a scarf with Christ's image imprinted on it. I attempted to photograph but my camera just would not focus. I left it. Mother was getting tired so I had to quickly browse through the remaining works of the great artists that adorn the cathedral.

We came at two in the afternoon, we finished at six thirty at San Pietro in the evening and arrived back at our humble place at the Piazza di Porta Maggiore around eight. Staying right in the centre of Rome at somewhere affordable meant traffic noises were unavoidable, it was hot and I did not expect to sleep that night. As I lay down the bottom bunker of a double decker bed, a little cool evening wind crept through the window and enveloped my aching feet like satin stokings.

I slept peacefully like a content child through the full Italian moon till morning sunlight peeked through the venetian window and greeted me ... Buon Giorno.