Journey

I’ve been lying here motionless for about a hundred years on the burning sands or on the freezing snow, and I suppose I do not think of anything. This is when I feel completely free.

But then I’m brought back by the sound of an airplane or a seagull circling above me.In matter of fact I like autumn. I’m admiring one of the trees of the Schlossgarten, with its waning headdress. Under it a small girl with incredible almond eyes feeding a grey sparrow. Other big headed sparrows are being neighborly with each other on a fence, overlooking a sad fact. Autumn promises nothing but a teeth clenching future. There are no exceptions, not even for this beautiful park I’m sitting in. Many bird-week journeys away the torch of a statue points out the hight of freedom. The length of freedom is the shade of the setting sun cast over the harbour.

In My Lady’s garden pale pink rose bushes are reminiscing over the death of summer.

It is getting dark, I go down on the beach once more. Looking at half naked people now gives me the shivers.

The city is washed away in neon lights or a humid climate. 

A year or so ago I used to gaze into the river on Tower bridge. The fog circles of the Thames were slowly strangling the sight.

We’re descending now.

“In a few minutes we will be reaching our destination, we would ask our passengers to stay seated, leaving your seats in a vertical position, keeping your belts fastened. The temperature outside is 15 degrees. We hope you had a pleasant journey. We wish you a great day and hope you choose our flight again!”.

I’ll walk down the stairs after the last person to leave. Dyce is waiting. I put my hands in my pockets and I find a yellow leaf in there. Who knows where it comes from.

Standing on the hill, next to the obelisk my eyes wander over my footprints left behind in the snow.

And in the valley hidden in grey mist I spot the chicken scoop, some of the pigs, a child riding a bycicle, people playing football, a few houses, a small community.

Words flying on a paper plane

This will be yours as soon as it’s finished. I’d like to fiddle with it for as long as I can, before I present it to you, because I wouldn’t feel too good if my thoughts about you wouldn’t be expressed clear enough because of my forgetfulness or clumsiness. I’ll put gentle and nice words into it, so that when you listen to those words, something will fill your soul, I’m thinking of joy or an enormous satisfaction, a very sweet snack which would take you by surprise and will be so tasty that it becomes your favorite, this is the way these words pass through me filling all three dimensions ultimately reaching their own meaning.

These words wouldn’t end when the paper plane reaches the floor, the sounds would run out fulfilling their function, just like frostbitten dragonflies falling after a great flight over a river. When it’s finished, this text would like to belong to you, with it I’ll send it’s flavor to you, so that the taste lives in you, and you would look like a satisfied pastry chef, and when you’d look at me you wouldn’t say anything, only your soul would nod mine. The essence of my words, when I’m ready with them, will be the flight and the sensation that goes with it. Similar to the sensation of satiety, of making love, of reaching home, of being together, of going to bed and going to bed again with you.

Visiting her

Looking through the windows puts a smile on my face. In one room a man is ironing his shirts, in another a cat is stretching on the top of the dressing table, and in yet another a woman wearing black stockings is practicing tango. As if I would’ve been dropped into an old black and white European movie.

I am mesmerized. By the greyish shining rooftops, by rows of chimneys, by a tower in the distance, by being able to see so far, by the feeling, by this stream of dream, by all This.

The city is about to wake up, but it’s still silent, and chilly, everything is still floating in a sleepy fog...trams are still half empty...soon the morning rush...soon I wave one more goodbye, and she’ll be gone. She’ll live her life and I will live mine. 

31

I’m sitting, what else can I do? Fading with every cigarette. I had a few pot plants in the past, I don’t grow plants right now. I’m piling up screw drivers in my drawer for some strange reason. I don’t know anymore what I have on my memory sticks.

I’ve been hoovering my room yesterday, and I saw hundreds of dust particles dancing in front of me. The dust of the city, the dust of the country, the dust of my conscience?

I’m past 31 now. I’m a sweet and sour chicken.

I’d go and look for all the old lovers, like in a Jim Jarmusch movie.

Who said that a moth can't be a butterfly? - random poem of the day

It is in the small things we see courage,
and we realize that they are not so small after all.
Courage is the desire to maintain our integrity
When it's easier to look the other way.
It is the conviction to explore new horizons
When it's easier to believe what we've been told.
To hold fast to our ideals
When it causes us to be looked upon
As strange and peculiar.
To deny ourselves what we can afford.
It is feeling happy and alive, and moving forward
When it's easier to feel sorry for ourselves and stay.
Courage is a requirement in the world of today.
An invisible but shiny web has attracted eleven little moths.
And these little moths with the help of their wit
have the power to untie a lot of knots.
They flew over from distant gardens
one after the other, some recently. They still need to learn.
Ocasionally they get blinded by the light. They fly too close to it.
Others are more experienced.
Sometimes they think they are butterflies.
And who said that a moth can't be a butterfly?
How did they travel here?
What do they want?
Why did they come?
I've opened my ear...
and listened to what they had to say.
One said she's brave to leave the garden she got used to so much.
The second says she'll face the rhythm of any light, and dance to it.
The third reassures us of her kindness.
The fourth is determined to keep watch and organize.
The fifth is a slightly weird one. Thinks he's a busy bee.
The sixth will go through fire and water for the seventh.
The sevent is bold, defies danger sometimes.
The eight doesn't care about the time.
The nineth has virtue and is gallant.
The tenth sticks her head up in any place.
And the elevent inspires and perseveres.
Last but not least I need to say with a sigh,
who said that a moth can't become a butterfly?

Beautiful Dorset

Most of the co-workers and companions go on short walks almost on a weekly basis, depending on the weather conditions. Some don't even mind wind or rain. One of the main walking routes from the Lantern is the walk towards Ringwood, passing the river Avon. Many people have probably noticed that we're extremely close to the county border and there's a post marking the end of Dorset and the beginning of Hampshire and vice versa of course, depending on which side you're on.

I've been lucky enough to experience the beauty of Dorset by going on a trip to the sea side and admiring those white cliffs formed in the Jurassic age. England has many of those nice cliffs, one might say...Seven sisters, Birling Gap near Brighton, the chalky white cliffs of Dover, Orcombe point in Devon, or Old Harry rock in Swanage. Dorset has a beautiful coastline stretching from Weymouth to Lulworth cove and probably even further then that. One of the main touristic attractions here is the famed Durdle Door. It is worth a day trip to see it, and many people from the community have been there several times. Some have even combined their trip with a visit to Corfe castle. And so have I.

One of the great advantages of being in Camphill is, that the pioneers or founders of the many places had a great admiration for nature and they learnt to live with it and cherish it. This is why the Camphill places are always or mostly situated spot on, right in the middle of nature so that today we can all appreciate its calming effects and it makes us all healthier people.

Salisbury - another day off destination

Salisbury is definitely not far from Ringwood. It is very easy to get there by taking a bus from the coach station. Buses go there every half an hour. There's one stop in between, a smaller town called Fordingbridge. Daring co-workers can try this route on a bycicle. It's only 35 miles there and back. If you take the bus and you have time on your hands, then you can take a tour bus from Salisbury coach station and go see Stonehenge.

New Forrest

Well, one of the favourite day off activities for me when I was a co-worker in the Lantern community (for a very short time) was taking a stroll in the forrest. They are very lucky to have the forrest right next to the community, and those who are more daring can do jogging to Moors valley and back, and those who are even more daring could cycle to Poole :).

Anyways, here are a few photos from the forrest: