Friday, 26 March 2010
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
I am on Karlsøya. I sit in a press room that was used during the festival. Now emptied with only posters on the walls and one mattress in a corner. It is actually a school. No longer in use because last two students had to move out in lack of pupils. I am here because I think I shall be here. There is no better place in the world by this moment where I can situate myself more correctly than here. I am on this beautiful small Island somewhere at the end of the world. Far from cities, people, hate, brutality and aggression. I am here because I need to be here. I am here that one deadly sick person can call me his angel when I make a food for him. I cook simply. He can't eat too much spiced food. In fact he can't even eat any spiced food. Only a bit of salt that can heal him in a way as one diet expert said. So I cook everything on water. Actually I boil the food. I boil chicken on a pan, broccoli with carrots in the pot. Rice I do regularly with a bit of olive oil. But all those things I do with my fully opened heart. With love to this man, that I don't even know. But I do know him in a way as long as the light has passed. I feel as his student. He is a teacher of life. At the doorsteps to eternity he has still critic to improve my deeds, and I listen to his advices, to his knowledge, to his appreciation of life, his love to music. His love to the fresh air and skies. I look at him and I don't believe that his whole body is full of cancer. I follow him while he is skiing back home from the ferry that we took. It is about kilometer long walk. It is snowing gently but the wind increases with each minute. My shoes are getting soaking wet but he is still walking. Sometimes he rests to take deeper breath. He asks Ruth whether she is cold. She answers she isn't. Me as well try to keep face and deny that there is everything else in this world except coldness. I ask him. He replies that moving forward to his home is getting him warmer. I walk behind him. It is beautiful winter night. It is very cold. In my thoughts appears conclusion that we are all freezing but still no one says a word. We are tough warriors. We are the warriors of light. We want to fight for his life. And he as well is very determined to do that. TO over fight impossible. To release enough positive energy to fight the illness.
The feelings here are indescribable. There is this amazing beautiful nature, the nights shine with the stars, days are followed by the rays of Sun. The Ocean lives his own life, the snow sparkles and the air is fulfilling the world to the borderless ends. Love is all around us. We couldn't find the better place to live at this moment. At the same time there is so much struggle with pain, so much silent fight, so many thoughts about passing and eternity. Those thoughts are not strange for me tough. Last few months I was contemplating the mystery of passing. And here I am. In the middle of unbreakable disease - but still there is so much positive energy, so much willing to live, to experience, to feel the life with all your senses. To learn from nature the simplest joys of day. Sometimes it is too beautiful. It is so unreal, so untouched by evil. It is so so much pure.
But now I am here in this school. I just opened facebook and saw what Ruth wrote about this place few hours ago. Her words are so beautiful. All the feelings that I had since last few days are just in her words. Perception of world and our interaction with illness.
But this illness is somewhere above us. Somewhere behind the doors to Tors' beautiful house. Behind him or in front of him. I look at him and I am impressed. I am impressed how he fights, how he struggle, how he is still stubborn and reject all the system of so called normal society life. He is a hero. He is a bird. He is free, sensitive and so much beautiful person.
Today I spent morning with him while Ruth was roving around in the village. Description of the weather and atmosphere outside is impossible to name at the moment. It is only one of the strongest feelings that I know so far. Last few days we used lot of plates and cups. Today was a cleaning day. Also because Tors' son is gonna visit him tonight. I wanted to make the house as clean as possible and as nicest looking as possible. For the first two hours I was doing dishes listening to the tones from Africa. Tor woke up and came to the kitchen. He sat on the chair and said that this music is very beautiful. I knew he would like it. He talked a while, giving me instructions where to put the wet plates and where to find the cloth to dry them up. He lived there in this life for last twenty five years. He has system for all daily habits. I learn them by his side. Relation we build between us is in a way getting into his shoes and see how does his life look like. When I finished dishes I thought that it might be nice if I vacuum the carpets. He said that apparently he would handle the noise and I started to clean the most beautiful kitchen I have ever seen. I thin it became for me the most beautiful because in a way he gave me house. He gave me shelter to hide. He gave me so much protection and stability by inviting me into his space. I started to treat the house as my own. I started to care more and more. I cleaned the kitchen that is as all the kitchens shall be in the middle of the house. From that room you can enter two bedrooms and a storage room. In the corner there are doors that take you down to the first floor. I cleaned our room first and then I wanted to clean his bedroom.
I opened the doors and could see him bending on his knees close to long player. He put on some Norwegian jazz and just sat down in large armchair. We started to talk about the music - his favorite subject. He knew some polish bands and he didn't forget to mention about them. Yesterday there had been ski jump competition on TV. As well he mentioned Adam Malysz. I think because of me he started to like polish nation in general :). We listened to his records. Then I left to my room to smoke a cigarette in a window. He set up one classical long play. The music was so touching, so much about enjoyment of life that I started to cry. But not unstoppable, only few drops slided down my chicks. I was watching the white covered fields with the line of the forest at the end of horizon. Few birds flew by. I was smoking and simply crying. Then I came back to his room and we both listened some more with closed eyes. After that I cleaned his room and went outside to get some water from a dwell. Surprisingly today the ice was thin and I could brake through to the inner source of water. He was surprised as well but took it as a sign that spring is close. I boiled some more water and kept it on the stove. Again he thanked me so much that I am his angel and that me and Ruth we want to stay with him in his own house. Each time when he says this sentence about his own house, chilled stream of feelings is running through my body. I don't want him to thank me like this but maybe still I don't really realize what am I doing. But I know I am doing what I shall do.
I wanted to come back to Morocco soon but now I started to think that I can stay in his house endlessly. There is nothing that I am missing. Nothing. All is cumulated in our hearts. All supplies we need from life are just here. In this kitchen, in front of the house, behind the mountain on the sandy beach. I don't have to move any more. I am here and that is so much enough for me. I am happy even if sometimes I cry. But I cry positively. I cry because the world is so amazing place to live and still there is so many people who can't see that. I cry because the ones who want to live have to fight for their lives the battle that is almost lost. But still we are here to become the tribe of warriors. Warriors for life and for light. Warriors for smile and enjoyment. Warriors for contemplation and reflection. Warriors for the world of sincerity. Warriors of love. And three of us really are. And we don't need more people around because we have three of each other. And we feel that this connection can't be broken down. Can't be broken down by the death that one day will come for three of us. Till then we remain where we are. Fighting with the smallest kindnesses of our daily lives.
The feelings here are indescribable. There is this amazing beautiful nature, the nights shine with the stars, days are followed by the rays of Sun. The Ocean lives his own life, the snow sparkles and the air is fulfilling the world to the borderless ends. Love is all around us. We couldn't find the better place to live at this moment. At the same time there is so much struggle with pain, so much silent fight, so many thoughts about passing and eternity. Those thoughts are not strange for me tough. Last few months I was contemplating the mystery of passing. And here I am. In the middle of unbreakable disease - but still there is so much positive energy, so much willing to live, to experience, to feel the life with all your senses. To learn from nature the simplest joys of day. Sometimes it is too beautiful. It is so unreal, so untouched by evil. It is so so much pure.
But now I am here in this school. I just opened facebook and saw what Ruth wrote about this place few hours ago. Her words are so beautiful. All the feelings that I had since last few days are just in her words. Perception of world and our interaction with illness.
But this illness is somewhere above us. Somewhere behind the doors to Tors' beautiful house. Behind him or in front of him. I look at him and I am impressed. I am impressed how he fights, how he struggle, how he is still stubborn and reject all the system of so called normal society life. He is a hero. He is a bird. He is free, sensitive and so much beautiful person.
Today I spent morning with him while Ruth was roving around in the village. Description of the weather and atmosphere outside is impossible to name at the moment. It is only one of the strongest feelings that I know so far. Last few days we used lot of plates and cups. Today was a cleaning day. Also because Tors' son is gonna visit him tonight. I wanted to make the house as clean as possible and as nicest looking as possible. For the first two hours I was doing dishes listening to the tones from Africa. Tor woke up and came to the kitchen. He sat on the chair and said that this music is very beautiful. I knew he would like it. He talked a while, giving me instructions where to put the wet plates and where to find the cloth to dry them up. He lived there in this life for last twenty five years. He has system for all daily habits. I learn them by his side. Relation we build between us is in a way getting into his shoes and see how does his life look like. When I finished dishes I thought that it might be nice if I vacuum the carpets. He said that apparently he would handle the noise and I started to clean the most beautiful kitchen I have ever seen. I thin it became for me the most beautiful because in a way he gave me house. He gave me shelter to hide. He gave me so much protection and stability by inviting me into his space. I started to treat the house as my own. I started to care more and more. I cleaned the kitchen that is as all the kitchens shall be in the middle of the house. From that room you can enter two bedrooms and a storage room. In the corner there are doors that take you down to the first floor. I cleaned our room first and then I wanted to clean his bedroom.
I opened the doors and could see him bending on his knees close to long player. He put on some Norwegian jazz and just sat down in large armchair. We started to talk about the music - his favorite subject. He knew some polish bands and he didn't forget to mention about them. Yesterday there had been ski jump competition on TV. As well he mentioned Adam Malysz. I think because of me he started to like polish nation in general :). We listened to his records. Then I left to my room to smoke a cigarette in a window. He set up one classical long play. The music was so touching, so much about enjoyment of life that I started to cry. But not unstoppable, only few drops slided down my chicks. I was watching the white covered fields with the line of the forest at the end of horizon. Few birds flew by. I was smoking and simply crying. Then I came back to his room and we both listened some more with closed eyes. After that I cleaned his room and went outside to get some water from a dwell. Surprisingly today the ice was thin and I could brake through to the inner source of water. He was surprised as well but took it as a sign that spring is close. I boiled some more water and kept it on the stove. Again he thanked me so much that I am his angel and that me and Ruth we want to stay with him in his own house. Each time when he says this sentence about his own house, chilled stream of feelings is running through my body. I don't want him to thank me like this but maybe still I don't really realize what am I doing. But I know I am doing what I shall do.
I wanted to come back to Morocco soon but now I started to think that I can stay in his house endlessly. There is nothing that I am missing. Nothing. All is cumulated in our hearts. All supplies we need from life are just here. In this kitchen, in front of the house, behind the mountain on the sandy beach. I don't have to move any more. I am here and that is so much enough for me. I am happy even if sometimes I cry. But I cry positively. I cry because the world is so amazing place to live and still there is so many people who can't see that. I cry because the ones who want to live have to fight for their lives the battle that is almost lost. But still we are here to become the tribe of warriors. Warriors for life and for light. Warriors for smile and enjoyment. Warriors for contemplation and reflection. Warriors for the world of sincerity. Warriors of love. And three of us really are. And we don't need more people around because we have three of each other. And we feel that this connection can't be broken down. Can't be broken down by the death that one day will come for three of us. Till then we remain where we are. Fighting with the smallest kindnesses of our daily lives.
Thursday, 11 March 2010
If only I had known.
Talk the people regretting their choices. Other ones look through and stay in trust.
Again I listen to the same song, the same lyrics, the same repetitive chorus and one sentence that is already curved in my mind – “Africa, mon ami”. It gives me so many reflective images, so many feelings, so many emotions. Each day I start with the same melody. Each page that I start to write I listen to those tunes. It gives me peace and clarity. I can see through. My mind is clear. I know where to go and what to say to people. I know what to write. I know what to think to still remain myself. Not to be dragged into the river of the system, of collective consciousness. Like now. It is 3:34 a.m. and I know I will write. First this text and if inspiration stays blissful maybe another one. What I want to tell is that this song reminds me about the past and create beautiful future. It means that I can build my presence into the melody of continent that I don't even know but that is calling me so strongly. It gives relief from the moment and creates the images that I want to live and I already lived. I am sitting in a kitchen. Two meters behind the window is most adorable peace of yellow wall with its paint that scratched by wind, rain and snow creates meditative fragment of our existence. Now only darkness but in my mind those few bricks that showed up below.
Last few days I had aching pain. I slept all those time. In between my dreams I was sipping tea after tea watching that wall. I had no wanders. I felt calm. At the same time awaken from my dream, from my visions, from my illusions. I faced reality. It crashed on me suddenly. Then I felt stupid. Nevertheless connection was unquestioned and ultimate. The will of sharing love, pain and choice. Freedom of choice. Choice of freedom. In my mind the wind had enough space to cross it without feeling any resistance. The feeling was kind of those when you are going to fly on paraglide. First you have to climb the hill in the morning, to catch the wind which starts to blow after midday. Then you have to untangle all the lines that you could lift the glide. After that you wait and get prepared in your mind to fly. When the times comes, you put on a harness and click the holders of your helmet. The sign is that you can start. Adrenaline is rising in your veins, you can see only this endless landscape below your feet. The fact that in few minutes you will be there in this space pumps up your blood faster. You infiltrate your glide, you stabilize it, you give it a speed, then you load it and then you............................................
feel nothing. Emptiness. You are in the sky but suddenly the wind does not exist any more. There is no fear, no adrenaline, no higher feelings. You start to fall down. You feel very calm and you enjoy this emptiness.
Today I woke up. I put on Africa song and I knew it will be a good day. I will meet all those beautiful people of the North, I will enjoy their presence and try to squeeze from the life as much as I can. And all those actions I put into the life. Sometimes they seemed so stupid, so useless, so pointless. I questioned so many times myself – why are you taking those photos? You will never have a vernisage. Maybe only few will see them, you spend too much money on this material. Why have you just bought this printer when you barely can pay in the shopping mall. All those questions of demons in my mind that try to make me unmoved. I didn't try to answer those questions. Maybe they were in the place where they were supposed to be. But the feelings coming up from the opposite side were repeating- Just do it and stay in trust. So I did. I took those photos, that I never showed to anyone. Even few large prints are still getting dust on my grandfather's shelve. I bought this printer, starving for a while. Few days ago I woke up and I knew I will use those things. The photos have been waiting for this day half a year, the printer a little bit less. I chose three and made from them an image that for all of those who are reading now this text mean nothing. But for one person mean all his life. After that, today I heard one sentence – Thank you for photos, they are very beautiful. The feeling that I had and still have is indescribable, the tears are falling down no one knows why. Again this trust that saved me so many times. That I was in the right place and in the right moment. That I give to people something that they are glad about. Those small things that many don't even notice, those small gestures that change all our lives, those small moments that remain in our hearts, echoing with theirs intensity for ages, to the end.
And it is not about money, not about fancy presents, not about luxury gifts. It is about the presence, about unquestioned and ultimate empathy. About the willing of sharing love, pain and choice. Choice of presence. Presence of choice.
It is about the beauty that surrounds us from each corner of our eyes. But still we have to want to perceive it.
And tomorrow I will wake up. I will call my friend if he can cut few birches for me. And again I will cross streets of this city admiring my choice of presence here, even if sometimes demons try to tell me I shouldn't be here. I will watch all this beautiful white powder on the streets and remember the last night when I was fighting for my life while skiing them down to get to the main square. And again I will rise my look up. I will point out from uncountable numbers of windows the one where the day before I saw the silhouettes of my beautiful north souls watching me climbing up the most amazing illusional mountain in this city. The mountain of snow that without any reason someone built up in the middle of the square from the snow that had been taken away from the pavements. I will see the marks. The marks of my presence in this city. I will pass by and see where is the best place for spreading my stories' words to the passing crowd. To exist for a while. Maybe it is pointless. As many other actions I has already taken in my life. But maybe there will be this one person who will not be in a hurry, who will stop in this Arctic freezing cold and listen to the stories that I wrote in Africa. Maybe someone will just be there – present as I will be. And even without saying anything I will know it was a right decision. Because I love people. And I love beauty of this world. And when those two go together the tears are dropping down. The tears of this unquestioned ultimate Love. This willing of sharing love, pain and choice. Choice of Love. Love of Choice.
------------------------------------------------------
I finished. Same my music. I put the last dot in the last sentence and the last song just cut off. It is cut off somehow in itself. But the music stopped exactly in the moment this text is finished. Now I will open the story that I want to finish as well and put again the first song about Africa. To get again into my interior calmness. To my concentration. To think about my past and about the future. And what will come will be the best. Good night. It is 4:25 am. Thursday night. 11th of March.
Talk the people regretting their choices. Other ones look through and stay in trust.
Again I listen to the same song, the same lyrics, the same repetitive chorus and one sentence that is already curved in my mind – “Africa, mon ami”. It gives me so many reflective images, so many feelings, so many emotions. Each day I start with the same melody. Each page that I start to write I listen to those tunes. It gives me peace and clarity. I can see through. My mind is clear. I know where to go and what to say to people. I know what to write. I know what to think to still remain myself. Not to be dragged into the river of the system, of collective consciousness. Like now. It is 3:34 a.m. and I know I will write. First this text and if inspiration stays blissful maybe another one. What I want to tell is that this song reminds me about the past and create beautiful future. It means that I can build my presence into the melody of continent that I don't even know but that is calling me so strongly. It gives relief from the moment and creates the images that I want to live and I already lived. I am sitting in a kitchen. Two meters behind the window is most adorable peace of yellow wall with its paint that scratched by wind, rain and snow creates meditative fragment of our existence. Now only darkness but in my mind those few bricks that showed up below.
Last few days I had aching pain. I slept all those time. In between my dreams I was sipping tea after tea watching that wall. I had no wanders. I felt calm. At the same time awaken from my dream, from my visions, from my illusions. I faced reality. It crashed on me suddenly. Then I felt stupid. Nevertheless connection was unquestioned and ultimate. The will of sharing love, pain and choice. Freedom of choice. Choice of freedom. In my mind the wind had enough space to cross it without feeling any resistance. The feeling was kind of those when you are going to fly on paraglide. First you have to climb the hill in the morning, to catch the wind which starts to blow after midday. Then you have to untangle all the lines that you could lift the glide. After that you wait and get prepared in your mind to fly. When the times comes, you put on a harness and click the holders of your helmet. The sign is that you can start. Adrenaline is rising in your veins, you can see only this endless landscape below your feet. The fact that in few minutes you will be there in this space pumps up your blood faster. You infiltrate your glide, you stabilize it, you give it a speed, then you load it and then you............................................
feel nothing. Emptiness. You are in the sky but suddenly the wind does not exist any more. There is no fear, no adrenaline, no higher feelings. You start to fall down. You feel very calm and you enjoy this emptiness.
Today I woke up. I put on Africa song and I knew it will be a good day. I will meet all those beautiful people of the North, I will enjoy their presence and try to squeeze from the life as much as I can. And all those actions I put into the life. Sometimes they seemed so stupid, so useless, so pointless. I questioned so many times myself – why are you taking those photos? You will never have a vernisage. Maybe only few will see them, you spend too much money on this material. Why have you just bought this printer when you barely can pay in the shopping mall. All those questions of demons in my mind that try to make me unmoved. I didn't try to answer those questions. Maybe they were in the place where they were supposed to be. But the feelings coming up from the opposite side were repeating- Just do it and stay in trust. So I did. I took those photos, that I never showed to anyone. Even few large prints are still getting dust on my grandfather's shelve. I bought this printer, starving for a while. Few days ago I woke up and I knew I will use those things. The photos have been waiting for this day half a year, the printer a little bit less. I chose three and made from them an image that for all of those who are reading now this text mean nothing. But for one person mean all his life. After that, today I heard one sentence – Thank you for photos, they are very beautiful. The feeling that I had and still have is indescribable, the tears are falling down no one knows why. Again this trust that saved me so many times. That I was in the right place and in the right moment. That I give to people something that they are glad about. Those small things that many don't even notice, those small gestures that change all our lives, those small moments that remain in our hearts, echoing with theirs intensity for ages, to the end.
And it is not about money, not about fancy presents, not about luxury gifts. It is about the presence, about unquestioned and ultimate empathy. About the willing of sharing love, pain and choice. Choice of presence. Presence of choice.
It is about the beauty that surrounds us from each corner of our eyes. But still we have to want to perceive it.
And tomorrow I will wake up. I will call my friend if he can cut few birches for me. And again I will cross streets of this city admiring my choice of presence here, even if sometimes demons try to tell me I shouldn't be here. I will watch all this beautiful white powder on the streets and remember the last night when I was fighting for my life while skiing them down to get to the main square. And again I will rise my look up. I will point out from uncountable numbers of windows the one where the day before I saw the silhouettes of my beautiful north souls watching me climbing up the most amazing illusional mountain in this city. The mountain of snow that without any reason someone built up in the middle of the square from the snow that had been taken away from the pavements. I will see the marks. The marks of my presence in this city. I will pass by and see where is the best place for spreading my stories' words to the passing crowd. To exist for a while. Maybe it is pointless. As many other actions I has already taken in my life. But maybe there will be this one person who will not be in a hurry, who will stop in this Arctic freezing cold and listen to the stories that I wrote in Africa. Maybe someone will just be there – present as I will be. And even without saying anything I will know it was a right decision. Because I love people. And I love beauty of this world. And when those two go together the tears are dropping down. The tears of this unquestioned ultimate Love. This willing of sharing love, pain and choice. Choice of Love. Love of Choice.
------------------------------------------------------
I finished. Same my music. I put the last dot in the last sentence and the last song just cut off. It is cut off somehow in itself. But the music stopped exactly in the moment this text is finished. Now I will open the story that I want to finish as well and put again the first song about Africa. To get again into my interior calmness. To my concentration. To think about my past and about the future. And what will come will be the best. Good night. It is 4:25 am. Thursday night. 11th of March.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
At the library
I come here regularly. Always when I set up my computer I look through the shelves. All books are in Norwegian but I only read the titles. Last time I have been here I saw one cover with the title of one of Carlos Ruiz Zafon's books "The Angels Game". Today the same library and title in Norwegian "Frem og tilbake er dobbelt saa langt". Yes and I was just thinking about going to Tallin by hitchhiking and coming back the same way. I know it is far but actually very close inside.
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