Circles in the water

My father asked me yesterday, at about dinnertime: "Have you drawn anything new? Have you written any poetry?" Answer to both questions was at the time, "No, I have not. :(" Well, it seems like a trip to the Botanical Garden and a lingering fascination with some very pretty circles made by waterdrops falling in the stream there helps in getting over months-old writer's-block. :P Enjoy!

Circles

I have seen the circles in the water,

And read in them the hour of our time:

Wave upon wave they came, like the chatter

Of birds arguing in the vineyard climb.

Night has wept dewdrops in the grassy field,

And in my garden; their lights overspill

And what was once a secret so well sealed

From night to day became a joy tranquil.

And though all winds and things be circling fair,

I hold the roundness of a wedding band

As with a spray of flowers in my hair

It rests in the palm of my hand.

The scent of flowers and silver-gilt leaves,

With the stars trapped in the light of the moon –

How artful these circles, these expert thieves!

To hide my blush in skies with awe bestrewn.

Yet why ever should I blush, after all?

Circles I love: they have the perfection

Of spray hitting against an old seawall –

Sweet, dear, tender balm of repetition!

Am I coy; am I infuriating?

Oh really now! I am simply confused

As to how to make the weave of telling

Match these wondrous circles with moon infused.

15 July 2011

Digging up old stuff

Hmmm. I remembered that once, a rather looong time ago, I started writing a series of short stories/a novel. So I searched for it in my laptop and found it. Oh boy. I cannot tell you how bad a writing it actually is. *giggle* I do like some of the ideas there, but much of the text itself sounds stilted, artificial, pompous. A striving for the epic when in fact there is no epic to be found there. :P Three years is a long time to grow up and become more sophisticated. If only I would have refined my skill all the while. :D *amused*

I am on the verge of writing something - either poetry (which I have not done in months or so) or even a short story, if I can get my hands on a decent topic. (Which is, by the way, the hardest part - for me at least.)

And here is an excerpt (I hope I nailed one of the worst):

       ‘Men of the Aellin, your country is in peril. Will you leave it to be destroyed, ravished like a defenceless lady in the woods? Will this country be left to crumble and fall in ruin before its time? I say “nay”, for else you would not have come. Westward lies your fate. Do not be reckless in warding the boar off. Good speed and good luck unfailing. Let no arrow miss its mark!’
        When Griffith finished his speech the men lifted their bows and cried as one: ‘Haste unfailing and luck never-ending!’ Then they mounted and were gone.

They've gone, and good riddance too. :P I'm especially 'fond' of the "defenceless lady in the woods" comparison. Gets me in an exasperated-in-an-amused-sort-of-way every single time.

Ars poetica

It is so easy to write about love when you have never felt it truly. Or is it merely fulfilled love that cannot be fantasized about, because it is perfect and any additions would detract from its beauty, from its charm? Perhaps. But I know that my love killed my inspiration. Which is perfect by me.

I absolutely cannot write well when happy and tranquil. My best poems are those written either on the eve of an exam or when under emotional pressure or stress. A means of calming myself: a refuge. Altogether unnecessary when I have something so much better at hand - so much more fulfilling. If it shall ever cease to be, I might return to poetry. But I hope it to remain a barter and not a reprieve.

Happiness cannot be expressed in words. Not suitable ones, at any rate. Maybe that's why I find it so hard to write poetry where the religious element predominates. Because He, along with everybody else so closely tied to Him, makes me happy.

So... I leave you now, in the posture of an altogether mediocre and tentative poetess, but very happy young woman. Bliss follow all of you wherever you go, dear ones. Doamne ajuta!

Yonder lies little Nell

Yonder lies little Nell,

All with copper tresses

And with eyes of bluebell,

Playing in the grasses.

Then a red-blood poppy

And seven garland roses

Made a banner crafty,

All bestrewn with kisses.

Under the blue heaven

She walked and sang a tune

That all would then listen

Her song with charm commune.

Little maid was this Nell

While her life lasted,

A sweet tale now to tell

Of her sorrow lighted.

For her candle flames still,

If she be extinguished

By the wind on the hill

And suddenly vanished.

She danced on the water

And wove in tapestries

The game of sea otter

And sacred mysteries,

And laughed and lived and prayed

Under the endless sky

And nothing left unsaid

To starry world on high.

But there are many folk

Who have yet to address

This maid in her white cloak

And ask of her redress.

For storm upon a day

Swift came and unlooked-for,

And child with her play

Are to be seen no more.

Yonder lies little Nell

Under the open sky,

The tolling of a bell

Telling where she does lie.

23-24 June 2010

How much do we need money?

Yesterday's trip was very much on a whim. I had on me only my clothes, keys, phone and about 4 lei or whatever in my pocket. And I felt free... Free to go wherever I desired.

So here comes my question: do we really need a plethora of objects to make us happy? I've always been surrounded by an immense quantity of objects. Now, I desire simplicity. As little a material burden as possible. My father heartily disagrees on this view. To him, everything comes down to money in the end. He IS right, to an extent. In today's world, one can do very little without money. Money is not evil, in and of itself. It only becomes evil in light of an ill usage. But then, what about monastics? They took upon themselves a voluntary vow of poverty - not a blade of grass belongs to them personally.

I'm tempted by such a life, such a view... Hippy counterculture meets the One Most High. Monastics are much happier than we will ever be, in our shrinking world filled with superfluous objects.

So I come again to my question. How much do we really need money? Perhaps there is no universal answer. For people like my father, money will always play a central role. For others, they are just something that is all right if they have them, and ideal if they don't.

As for me... I change my mind too often to give a personal opinion. But I think, in the here and now, that we should not completely rely on the world for anything. There are better things than things themselves - joy, peace and love are some of them. And you cannot buy someone's love, no matter how much you are willing to pay for it.

The noon wanderer

Today I climbed up on Cetatuia to see the city again. Winter still keeps its hold up there, among the trees and the wind. It was quiet... barely any people, and most of them just lounging in the sun, like oddly-shaped cats. We're having blue skies and distant memories for breakfast, lunch and dinner these days.

I took a long walk as I once used to. Just myself dancing with my shadow and my thoughts in a never ending ballet number. I think it's the story of a tragedy, personally, but you never know when a hint of comedy might creep in.

It was soothing to see the river sparkling and glittering in the light of noon... the same that flows through my own town. Soothing to see the sunlight flooding all corners and banishing all mystery. I have no love for the dark, but for the day. For eyes looking upon me with kindness and joy, for a candle lit with a trembling hand and unwavering love in One Most High.

I love because I need do nothing else. Because by loving I live. I am happy in solitude, yet I need someone else to take comfort in. I now know how it is to be loved back by the man I love: I finally had and have my love story. Only this time it was not unrequited, as all others were.

Peace, joy and all good things your way, with bright stars in the sky and the Sun in your hearts. Doamne ajuta!

Tăcerea călugărilor

Una din cele mai grele ascultări e tăcerea. Tăcerea, pentru o femeie, pentru mine, e grea. Există întotdeauna tendinţa de a-ţi pierde sinele în mărunţişuri, în vorbărie goală, insipidă, fără rost. Logoree care disipează esenţa. Tristă îndeletnicire a uneia a cărei pasiune sunt cuvintele. Pervertire, la urma urmei. Şi o înşelătoare uitare.

Logosul e sfânt... Prin Cuvântul întrupat ne-am mântuit. Unde s-a pierdut capacitatea creatoare a cuvântului? Unde e Cuvântul din inimile noastre? Unde e Hristos, în fond?

Spuneam nu demult celui pe care îl iubesc că eu mă deşertez prin cuvinte, în speranţa că aşa el va avea acces la sinele meu. Am realizat apoi că greşisem. El vrea tăcere - iar tăcerea asta e cea care face posibilă comunicarea din adânc, existenţială, spirituală, mai presus de fire. Nu hărmălaia ce o făceam eu mereu - un imens obstacol şi subtil, extrem de subtil egoism.

Călugării vorbesc doar când sunt întrebaţi. Sau măcar cei ce şi-au luat asupră-le minunata nevoinţă a tăcerii. O tăcere în care Domnul descoperă şi Maica-Fecioară povăţuieşte. Să tăcem deci, şi să-l lăsăm şi pe Bunelul să zică ceva. Că săracul, la cât tot trăncănim, nu prea mai are când să contribuie şi El gândurilor noastre.

Doamne ajută!

Thinking for thinking's sake

I've been thinking these past days. I've been thinking long enough and late enough to miss some things that perhaps I should have not. I've been writing, too, which I haven't decided yet if it's a good or bad thing. We'll see.

As a rule, you must know that I talk too much. Some say I hyperanalyze things and thoughts and gestures. Perhaps I do, but that is how I am. Change at any rate is good, if it is done to serve a higher purpose than change itself - draw a parallel, if you wish, with "art for art's sake". And it's yabbering versus me locking myself up in the depths of my uncounsciousness, far, far away from the world. I either give all, or nothing at all. And I'd rather have the former than the latter, though the means are a bit deficient and badly chosen.

We have started walking on a road that I once knew where it will lead us... I had then a certainty naught could shake. Then doubts came, your manner of handling some things came, and I started censoring myself. And now... now I decided to bring back our beginning and make it even fairer. And after all, I think I know again where the road will end. It may be that a hope that stubbornly refuses to die will eventually become reality - it has been so in the past, so why wouldn't it be so in the future? We are given in the measure of our hope... "Fie mila Ta spre noi precum am nadajduit si noi intru Tine."

On another note, here's what I found today: http://www.lumeacredintei.com/sct_4/art_1230/criza_noastr_major_este_una_moral_i.htm . I was rather surprised to find it (pleasantly so, by all means).

And now we wait for the unfolding of the dream, until the dreamer wakes and finds...

Recollections and confessions

Love is very simple, as a rule. The by-word for love is sacrifice. The highest degree of love is not desiring perpetual (even if innocent) touch between the two lovers, but a spiritual communion - to feel the other like yourself, to give up your own desires in favour of the other's happiness. To have the desire to give up love itself so that the other might be saved. Everything revolves around one's soul... At least in our world. Or so it should be.

Perhaps I'm being too idealistic though. Well, I AM too idealistic as a rule. *giggle* Hm... time tells everything one needs to know, if one sits and listens to it. Do I regret what I have done and where I've gotten? Certainly. There is a great degree of foolishness in being impatient, because it can get you to where it has gotten me.

This is a new beginning. A fresh start, as they say. We begin anew with the hope for the best. With hope, especially. And on my part, let it be with realism also. I forgot caution and espoused uncontrolled optimism. We cannot see the future - as such, all we can do is wait. And He always proves the wait well-worth it.

So I leave you for now, pondering on sacrifice and beginnings and the fair sunshine outside my window. Pondering on the blue skies where He always lies. Doamne ajuta in everything!

P.S. I'm not referring to modern or even youthful love. I'm talking about perfection, about how the One Most High loves us - and how we ourselves should love. But we so seldom do. Saints are rare and hard to find. But each of us has the chance and priviledge to become one. Where there's a will there's a way. :)

Who knew writing on a blog could be so technically challenging?

I'm apparently unable to find from where I can delete a post on my own blog. If it's possible in the first place. So now I've edited this post and have one more very empty post left to use. Hm... I'll come up with something. But not right now. I'm having an exam tomorrow and I'm not willing to make a pig's ear out of the examinations like I did in the summer. I was burnt once, I don't want to be burned again because of repetitive folly, of all things.

ETA: Well, I'm being silly and tired. "Edit posts" does the job. *sigh*

New Year and the days thereafter...

...were rather full, really. In one way or another.

I'm not even too certain of what to write. 2010 in recap: full of wonder and diversity, I guess. 2011 in prospect: I have absolutely no idea. I dare not think of how it shall be.

From these first days of the year I was made to realise that I need to learn to be more patient. I need to wait for things to come to me, instead of me grasping after them. I've learnt my lesson, I hope. If only I could stick it to my mind perpetually. That would be a boon to cherish for a lifetime. But alas, the human mind is a bit more stubborn and, dare I say, irresolute and forgetful. Yet I was also told, among other things (and by several people in different points in my life, not only now) to have hope. And one time, that advice went into my heart and stayed there (Facebook friends, you might remember, though it is so far back now). And I'm not altogether keen on disobeying - in a way - my father confessor or anyone else who wants all that is good for me.

I too need to think and I too need to make up my mind as to what I want. For some reason, I cannot worry anymore. Because I know everything will be taken care of most magnificently. And on that very high and optimistic note, I take my leave and return to the world with its stylistics.