Oscarem

Between barking and silence

2012-02-01T17:04:00.006+01:00

Barking recognized sometimes as a noise, most likely is a noise. Silence on the other hand is complete opposite of noise and barking. For some people silence also can be a noise but this case we will distinguish from my vision of something that exists between barking and silence, or if some people would like to say between noise and silence. And for me since few weeks it is the best way to experience silence just after a loud barking noise that rips my ears into peaces. That small little thing between noise and silence is attention and highly concentrated minds of barking factor, in this case over two hundred dogs. If you can manage to make them all silent for few seconds it means that you have enormous power of attention over those animals. They get quiet, five hundred eyes stared at you what you will do next, they examine your aura, they smell your anger, and they smell if you can let go, if not they will start to bark again, if you can let go, it means you are a buddy and then they will stay calm for few more seconds just to encode it in their minds, Jacek is a nice buddy, strong and demanding but after all he loves us. When this sentence will hit the neurons to remember this such important information attention is over, silence is broke and first bark heard somewhere far in the corner of a dog yard. A circle of barking and silence is the best way to explain to someone a concept of reincarnation, rebirth, solitude, multitude, almost all possible to be explained can be explained on this simple example of constant continuous cycle of barking, silence and something in between for what mystics from east and scientists of west were searching for thousands of years. All is here and now, between those two that become one...

2012-01-28T10:01:00.002+01:00

It is a perfect morning. Sun is just behind there, one small mountain. Polish poem sang by Robert Kasprzycki gives another level of universe of words, understanding love and happiness.

Even though I live in a super hurry suddenly all is stopped and I can get a long morning with Yoga, staring into fjord, watching rays of sun sliding through different slopes and peaks. Loki is plays with bone, I drink coffee and roll a cigarette. I don't have to go anywhere, i don't have to search, i am just here and I am just me, and small invisible atom of happiness somewhere in my body has a chain reaction and immensely all my body is happiness and all my body disappears and I am just am.

Wowowow,,,, my own language, listening to songs in my own language gives me aftertaste of delicateness in my mind :) some people call it euphoria!!

There is not so many words how to describe the Great Return Of SUn and feelings that follow. Yeah, maybe the Great Return Of Sun is enough.

2012-01-17T23:15:00.002+01:00

The best ideas in general I have while driving by a fjord,

The most beautiful songs I hear when I am on walk with Loki,

The most beautiful love letters I write in the middle of my work,

Stories, ideas, conceptions, solutions, wisdom, all is coming to me in the least expected moments, that i never have time to write them down, they just nourish my mind, my mood, they uncover from the darkness of ignorance, all for a minutes, seconds, after all it all disappears somewhere where i cannot recollect it when i am at home.

Now i lost it again. of fuck. what i wanted to say.?hmmmmmm

2012-01-14T23:14:00.002+01:00

His face was red! Extremely red with anger. Inside his mind he kept his prayers repeated again and again. He was also extremely afraid that maybe a demon will posses also him. When he came to my hut I saw him all red, all was intensively extremely red. And all this red was so extreme that I have even forgot why they actually came. I stood in the middle of the forest as if I wanted to wait for something, something to happen, something that has happened was over me, over me blocking and stopping all my movement. Why shall it be like this I thought? All people were carrying about me and I am thankfully grateful to them.

2012-01-13T09:51:00.002+01:00

One day you wake up and you think that already all is lost, and then after few exercises, few tunes on flute all is perfect again!

2012-01-09T16:05:00.002+01:00

Will I be a gypsy till the end of my days? All again turned out that it might happen. Well, well, well. Today I was dreaming about beautiful house I would like to live in on the side of the fjord with one of the most amazing views I have ever seen. With colors dancing according to the music of a Sun.

But now I am already so fucking tired and pissed off with all this living, flatmates bullshit. I think I buy Lavvoo and just set it up somewhere in the forest. ........Jessssuuuuusss........

2012-01-05T19:26:00.003+01:00

I think that my father always considered me as his brother, that's why maybe he was beating me so hard each time I destroyed his toys. The worst one was with a Disney Movie cassette that unfortunately or because I had to, I put with a leaflet about other cartoon together and then the whole system of video projection for an evening broke down. I sank under a cold water hold like a dog that now I work with, and sometimes I have to be also so determined with them as my father was at that day. I don't put them under the shower to remind them that you shall not destroy your fathers toys, but still sometimes I am quite rough to them. On the other hand I give them food and pet them and scratch and talk to them while cleaning their shit. So maybe all of us have their own shit and others have to clean it. I cleaned my father shit and dog shit. So who the fuck will clean my shit. Also me myself, or maybe it was already done by many women that I passed on my way. So what is the best solution to do? To give shit to others or keep it for yourself at the same time not cleaning others, becoming victim, becoming murderer, becoming yourself? So what about the mother that still thinks that at the age of fifty will give me a brother? Does she feel so guilty about those many boys in between me and my sister that have never seen the light of a day, but maybe saw much stronger light of almighty? Difficult to say, and for sure to late to think about having a brother, but why after twenty five years does she still feel guilty about it? Shall I clean her shit as well or just leave it where it is. And what about all the others unloved daughters, and girls that think that are women but actually small girls needing touching are waking up each time they see a man who smiles to them.

My psychologist told me, or I told to myself. It is enough. I don't want to carry anymore and I cannot. I can still go to mental hospital, still behave like maniac, still become a psychopat, but why shall I do it all. Just because I love or hate them too much or too little.

Why I cannot just live my life, being happy with my dog, admiring the fjord, talk to some random people on the street. Why do I have to now come back to the country I don't even remember, among the people I feel a stranger, why I have to merry this poor girl in the mountains and make her children. Only because my grandfather and my mother will be happy. And still they call me insane and mentally sick. Fuck, fuck, fuck........

And even I write this all I am completely calm, just had some thoughts while taking a hot bath with cold shower at the same time so just wanted to write it down, because I know that I have to disappoint many people to live my way free and happy.

There is actually mainly compassion that they cannot be happy and live their lives free.

(with beautiful melody :) )

2012-01-03T20:02:00.003+01:00

Moooonnnn is rising high

Above our sky

Moooonn is growing fat

Below the midnight Sun

Mooonn is rising high

Free spirits of the world

Are dancing by my side

And I remain calm

We are opening..... we are opening....

Mooonnn is rising high above our sky

All is here and now

So just look and be calm

Voices of void are trying to speak out

Voices of void disturbing our minds

Voices of void, spirits of the world,

Moonnn is rising high so just accept it and die.

we are opening.... we are opening.....

Gadjo Dilo

2012-01-02T00:17:00.002+01:00

Remains a silence over a fjord and feeling that the people I live among are different, that I am different, that all is different.

Beauty of difference and feeling that I could walk towards the world whenever I would like to. Love that shows a path.

All is different when love is transformed into singular being of our own. There is a lot of space that is filled with beauty of nature, and lot of will to remain myself.

New Year welcomed with words of freedom and red burning sky over the mountains, icy wind from Arctica, pleasurable talks and words of truth.

Lights of New Years Eve exploding like colorful flowers.

Snow.

2011-12-27T22:05:00.005+01:00

There was a man whose the whole house was built out of unsent letters. And the man in itself was just writing and writing and his house was getting bigger and bigger. His neighbors were a small mouse and a cat. He was feeding them up with stamps so he could have never sent his letters. He used to write to god to ask him for his plans. Once he loved a woman but she left long time ago from him. He could not sensed whether he was a happy man or not. He was so busy, so occupied that the only one thing he was thinking about was his letters. One day there was a girl passing by his house, amused with the shape and color of the house. She stopped by, knocked on the doors and asked if she can enter. It turned out that she was a beautiful woman and had her all time in the world to spend. She asked whether she could read some of the letters. Man didn't bother at all, he just asked the girl not to read the letters to god because they were quite personal. She nodded and took the first one:

First letter to R.
"There was a time when you were shining over the fjords of Norway as a star of North, that I was following coming back from trips. You were my harbor and my home. Never before and after I could have felt so connected to the world of gods and exctasy, connected to life, connected to sea and mountains. Never before I thought that there could exist someone who could as I believe in the same things, and that no word has to be uttered to understand each other. You embodied a spirit of love and unification for me each time I was looking into the Universe of your eyes. There was nothing except unity flawing in me to understand that one day you will vanish in the world the same as you arrived one day. Standing on the empty dock I smoke a cigarette and think about you in this dark night, dog running around eating rotten fishes heads and barking into a distance as if she would like to call you back. Now nothing has left from your presence except all that exists around. You are in each single move of the Ocean and in each falling snowflake in front of me. You are inside me in the place that once you took me. You are and just are."

Girl put a letter away, having a strange feeling of breaking into intimate world of an old man. She looked at the date of the letter. It was written fourty five years ago. -Strange, thought girl - ink is still as sharp and letters so vivid as if it had been written just an hour ago. She took another one that was subscribed to god, so as the old man told her she just put it away. She saw the first sentence, her eyes were faster than his hand. It was written:

First letter to god.
"Oh Lord want you buy me a Mercedes Benz"

Even stranger letter than the one to R. thought girl and didn't have any eager to look more through the pale of letters.

- Excuse me, sir. I think I will be going now. Thank you for your hospitality but my time is getting short and I need to go.

- Where are you going my dear? - asked an old man. - You have just arrived. I was writing letters for last few decades. Maybe you would like to help me to send them out.
Girl was surprised. What a strange proposition. Of course she could help him, she had nothing else to do for the rest of the day. She just wanted to escape from this weird house and this abnormal man. Finally she answered

- Ok, sir. I can help you but you have to put them into the envelopes, because I don't really want to read any more of your letters.

- There is nothing to worry about my dear. Those letters are just full of love. Like millions other letters sending each day in between people. But I respect your choice and I promise I will pack all of them only by myself.

A girl looked into the windows of letters and suddenly she was in the middle of the forest. An old man was standing by her side and letters were all packed addressed and ready to be sent. It lasted a millisecond and all was enveloped.

- How have you done it? asked surprised girl.

- Just another trick of an old man. Answered old man and grinned and behind his smile there was a warmth of a rising sun. - Let's harry up, a post office will be closed in fifteen minutes.

Girl was totally shocked, she didn't remember how did she get to this place, but now they were standing in the middle of a forest and this old man was telling her to hurry up not to miss a post office. Where the hell was a post office. And if there was really a one in a neighborhood. She couldn't ask him because old man was running far in front of her towards direction that she didn't know. On his left shoulder was sleeping a small mouse and cat was just a step behind him with its beautiful, glorious tale.

Suddenly she felt she could not move, she was immobilized, she wanted to scream but her voice was dumb. Old man turned back and tried to tell her something but she couldn't hear. She thought it's a dream so she tried to wake up. She moved in her bad. Next to her was sleeping her beloved one and in her legs a black dog was groaning while sleeping. She looked at both of them, then she stood up and came into the window. Behind an autumn wind was spreading falling leaves all around her mother's garden. She looked into the moon and sent him kiss. Another letter to god that has not been sent and one received from a friend. - What was it all about. She thought and turned back to her bad. She felt dizzy but after all a dream came upon over her. She was again in this forest of letters. An old man came closer to her. He took her hand and said that now all letters had been sent and that she doesn't have to worry any more about a post office.

When she woke up, the Sun was shinning through the curtains, in the kitchen a smell of frying eggs was snicking towards her room. It seemed that a day will be sunny and warm. A kind of winter day when all is sharp and magical.

2011-12-23T23:05:00.008+01:00

All is here at the moment not possible. Who makes it like that? Why in my head there are only images of you? What shall I do to forget you, to set you free, and if it is really necessary. Why do I have to wake up during the nights and hear the voice that calms me down when one thing I just want to do is to lay by your side, hold you tight and just sleep.

Full spirit, half spirit, non spirit. Notes that emancipate the space with music. Many times i see the glass, that is breaking into thousands millions of pieces, bottles, windows, cups that are exploding until they vanish. My heart that try to express the mosaic of feelings getting trapped in none ability of my hands. I want to sing for you each morning a song of love and freedom and life, my voice too imperfect to manage a task. I want to be as a super nova star by your side, but being only me I cannot reach the sky. Maybe I just have to accept who you are and who I am, but still the Universe that we share is somewhere between the Milky Way. Do I follow you or you just step behind me. Why there is so much silence after you have left?

I began to live my life backwards. I see so many faces that I haven't seen for so long. All somehow connected to you.

Loki lays down by the chimney. Dead. She doesn't move at all unless I start to remind her about svinekottlet, the she gets really happy, but only her tail moves. I try to pet her the way you did that she could be finally happy. I smoke in the computer room. I hope Laurent doesn't read this blog, otherwise he could get pissed. White cat reacts to my grandma's name that is far gone. I supposed that the spirit of grandma came upon this cat. She looks exactly like her. Today I spoke loud her name, I mean my grandma's and the cat immediately took her head up. :) That was a sign :) We all want to write our own story. Story of ourselves.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmafNVimRbI

2011-12-22T12:42:00.001+01:00

Again another dream. But after all that night is coming a day with blue sky, Sun is coming back up here, I found good speakers so music is flowing and all seems to be good :)

2011-12-21T18:30:00.003+01:00

Celebration can be silent. With love shared few moments of presence and absence. Celebration by a dream that I have chosen to be a crazy one and my life as normal as others. A story under cover: two cats, black dog is written as a best script. White cat has just decided to haunt Loki, she is very concerned and determined to do it. I am waiting to the end of this drama and see what will become of a white cat and black dog. Will they make a peace and accept each other, or maybe they have already done and only me don't understand that all these paws and sounds are just a game that they like to play. One or another it looks really funny, scary and sometimes dramatic, as life in itself. Only in the evenings all of this company lay down to their beds or shelves or other hidden cat's place and silence is coming over the beautiful house that I live at the moment. And then comes a dream and another long journey. When I hear an expression the journey will be long I have goose bumps on my skin with all psychedelic visions and interpretations of reality as if it were a dream. I live my journeys in my dream, they talk to me and try the best for me. I made, I see my face that is not mine and at the same time familiar, what is that, what does it mean, the face that I look into a mirror and I see me but not me, and then at the same time I am in so many houses that my head cannot host all of them at the same moment, but I know I have to be there, in those two or three houses at the same time as if it was of some importance. Then I sit in the room of one of them and I try to hide her or find her but she is far gone, I hear a voice in my head that is singing the most beautiful love song ever and that is for her and that is her at the same moment. I know it is just illusion that I was trapped into but still I listen and I cry, and I can see that my face is painted and then all the face lines are changing and I become someone else.

2011-12-10T22:26:00.003+01:00

The battle began.

Who knows the paths of God. Who knows his secret and untouched fields of possibilities and perception. Who knows that time doesn't exist and who knows who is who in this world. Like a card games we are playing our lives, being a King and jsut a minute after a 9. Who knows where to put the feet to step still on the solid ground. Who knew that I will loose my ability to write and rediscover it just in the moment of death. Who knew all that is a man with a great knowledge and still remains a saint. We all knew what will happen and what happened and what is at the present happening to us. All the sighs and aughs we do nobody knows why, but we know and try to not disturb the world with lies. And the worlds that will never be the same as the moments of our death. So we wait still and we observe and we still believe that love will come. Even though we are on top of our lives and our dreams, we still believe that love will come and it does with each our breath. There are white mountains and beautiful fjords, apparently the most beautiful places that we could have ever been. And what we do is what we think, deep inside our cores we miss. We miss the world that was given us, the beauty and the sky. We walk, we talk, we eat and shit but as if it is someone else not we. We in our minds with our plans, with tickets to undiscovered lands, to places that maybe will not remain the same once we got there and discover that we missed the chance to see the light and beauty of its own in dark pitch nights with illuminating lights on the surface that we thought is black. All rum is drunk and songs are sung the woman dying in our own eyes too. So what shall I do father I asked you once. Remained a silence that I thought I knew. And each word is getting out more strange and more like once I asked you what is right, remained the silence in where I sank. I tried to swim, I tried to laugh, I tried to cry and I tried to pass, but nothing seems so easy now, when she is gone and you have passed. I don't kill you anymore because you are already on the bottom of the hell, and he and him and all of us are there together reunited from the past. And where is future, where is past, where is presence and where am I? I asked to fight and so did I. Nowhere was so hard as except my heart. But I know I see the light, and not from her or you or him. I see it in the darkest night that asks me to come in. My body is tired and my mind is fool, my deeds like children's play itself, what can I do i wanted to ask you on your grave, while nature is far from me, and I just pretend I can reconnect with it. But still there is a hope and there is a faith, one thing that was given us as gift, and this time no woman nor the grave but simple joy that you are just are. And you and me and her and him, all we are and all we live. Where and why and how, those questions can be dismissed now, because we are there and now and even as we don't know how. I am still there in this forest and this hut with fire that will never stop. And where is she? I would ask at your grave. And I can answer I don't care. But I do, so does she now, but where is white and where is black, with mustache Sheriff stands on guard he knows that he cannot, but still tries to win the fight. So I ask you Sheriff, who are you? In past lives where have you been? What was wrong between us then that even now I don't know why but hate is coming over me. I tried to love, I tried to save the world, but it seems that even now I cannot save even myself. So tell me Sheriff why you star shines so bright and who are you and who were you in our passed and tangled lives. father is dead and she's on the bad, dying there and me here fighting to brake this spell. So who put it on, was it me myself or was it him. So tell me Sheriff once more the truth that we are one and love is all. You sit with your gaze in the darkness, you try to find the place to hide and shatter. You are a wolf that came that night to break the dream into the nightmare. Or was it me, or was it him, if one is all and all is one, who is here to win and loose and who that forgotten star. The whole in all that matches us. And you smile and you cry and you think I will know, where shall you go even though I am not so sure where my path is heading through. So now you choose and now you take what is good for you and me, and Sheriff looks still gazed on you and he hopes that another night you will cook for him. There is a song and song is right saying that Sheriffs star was blinking once into the night and through the time and Sheriff thought that she was mine. So now please listen me once more, and who is Sheriff and who am I, and who is she and who is who, knows maybe only his almighty God. The script is written and has to act so now take your weapon and shoot the star, and be proud and find the night in where you will hide on the dark blue sky. So father yes, please let me know that I have spoken to the spirits though. They told me that I dont have to more carry the sins that who knows who did. They said that they forgive me so, and him, and her, and all of us. They said go ahead and be kind, and that you don't have to kill anymore. I thanked them then and i was shocked I didn't want to listen to that, but once they were gone I had to write it as I do it now. And institution are knocking hard, on my, your, her, our doors. Please come in and we will give a pill. I am sorry doctor I love you but, I need to go and live my life. And I know that at the moment then she listened as she had known, she smiled, she forgot us all, she flew with me to the place which I call a dream. And even now I would kiss her so, to show her that we all are one, me, her, you, Sheriff and all. So my heart is freed and my soul relieved and I can read it to you all at once. And who is who and who is me, and who is her and who is him. And Geishas grotris, and Ramas range and still behind the divine bless. But once we come back into our simple lives we will love and hate and that is also really fine. The way has changed and writing style, what can I do, or you or him. And some of you will thinks, he's freak but I tell you that there will be day when all is One.

2011-12-08T13:35:00.002+01:00

White sky in the nigth

The moon that shines through dark

Orange that reflects itself

Reindeers running up to Sun

And where are we? Who are we? Who are you and who am I?

By the stone rock you can just sit still and listen to the wind.

2011-11-30T00:22:00.002+01:00

I would like to sleep in your embrace oh my beloved one.

Snow is falling and melting, more a less with frequency of two dinners, that can't really have to be a winner type at all.

Well, well, well... It is still beautiful weather, full of changes and unexpected meetings. Life is a miracle and questions will never be answered. Let's just leave it like this and staring at the bright sky that illuminates in the greenish white Aurora seeing a star falling down, let's it flow its own way and time ans space. Because anyway I need to wake up tomorrow morning. Let's rejoice in peace and in tranquility of our hearts see the beauty of all.

2011-11-23T05:40:00.004+01:00

I had a dream said Martin Luther King and Martin Luther wrote on the wall of the church his significant postulates. I also had a dream or even many dreams in this house. Today I woke up and could not distinguish reality from a dream. We are just waking up again and again and we write about the things that we don't even know. Trying to project the meanings to the actions we are taking and the others. It is almost like to ask why this tree has to give a fruit when it is winter - the sentence Ruthi read yesterday from "Life of Pi". If Universe or other force had a meaning to do so why we bother to understand, why we cannot just get an instrument and play tunes of love in the praise of Almighty, instead of showing our attitude. I put on you tube to catch some music. It doesn't really matter that only the left channel works on my headphones, there is another pair so maybe I can listen to it again on the right channel. Youtube made me laugh with its suggesting videos writing because you watched. I chose Pink Floyd and "Coming back to life". I smoked a cigarette outside and wind chilled me down again after the dream I had. I dreamed about the game that we all are playing and how to maintain balance of your own Universe using organic pills that they appeared in your pockets suddenly and unexpectedly. "How to keep the love" - that would be more a less a title of this game. Good guys, bad guys, no body really knows if they are good or bad, all is mixed up, you cannot trust anyone because you think that all the people are against you, while actually they just try to help you, talking behind backs, telling half truth into face..... Haaaaaaa!!!! I changed the headphones paranoid myself if someone would see me now they would think I am crazy to change headphones to listen on the right ear only this time but no, in madness and our decisions there is a lot of faith and courage included and now I can listen to this beautiful song again on both ears, isn't it wonderful!! As if love could be kept, and where? How you can pack it into your small box hiding it behind the drawer. How can you keep the highest spirit of Earth closed? And why you should do it? You know that all the time and I know it perfectly well because I do it again and again that I think that love is something super special that happened only to me instead of sharing it, instead of giving, instead of accepting all that is coming with love, then even the darkest demon with drink morning coffee by your side laughing to your jokes and will feel loved and that what we all need and that is we can all give to each other. So it is as in this game that when you think that you are an enemy of someone or someone want to cheat you it is only for your good. But don't try to think that you are Panchenlama or some other significant person of this world because you will probably end up with non-organic pills.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVxnNNGjubg&feature=feedrec_grec_index

I listen to it already the third time and on both ears really amazing stereo!! I tell you!!

Few days ago I listened also to one of my brother when he played three strings instrument and his fellow played on darbuka and another guy was jamming on contrabase.(this word is made from the Polish one and means more a less the same instrument that jazz players use 0 the huge bass). He opened again my heart floating with appreciantion to life, with respect to life and people, with thankfulness to things that help us, to our bodies that carry us on, to our parents that once they gave us beginning. Now I listen to the craziest Shaman on Earth that I know and his name is David Gilmour. Just standing and just playing there. JUST playing that immediately all your strings of your soul start to pull your body into dance and ecstasy of beauty, art, God, gods, your beloved one. And I could even put louder!!!!! Such a happiness of mine today night. During the day there is also night but this one is real, this one is when you dream the great dreams, when you lay down naked to the woman that you love the most in the whole world, when you wake up you think you are getting mad and that all the people hate you and are against you, and the moment when you sit just behind the keyboard and listen to this amazing tunes of the Universe embodied in guitar and voice of David Gilmour, and apparently millions of musicians all over the world or apparently in seven billions musicians All over the World. And I just read the comment under the same youtube vide that someone is sick when people comparing David Gilmour to God. HEHEHEHEHHEHEHHEHEHEEEEE...... and someone writes that (God apparently) is great and all but is no David Gilmour. Yeah the God has to be fiercfull, judgmental, and this poor David he only plays so beautifully that people are crying in the dark nights over their shortages and how they cannot break the walls to say to others that they love them. Hmmmmmmm. Now it is six thirty and probably Laurent will wake up to the day and maybe we will get some tea together and listen to some more music. And then the day will come and after this a night.... so for all crazy diamonds one more beautiful piece of peace from God - heehehhehhee

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQYaVb4px7U&NR=1

2011-11-19T00:07:00.003+01:00

I came back to the North as I used to call this place. It is not Norway with its Norwegians, it is not a country. This is the purest North of Norths. You can go and walk on the streets staring at the shopping windows behind where is the world of any city in the world. But once you are there in the vast of nature and landscape of eternal spacious wilderness then you are here in North. The wind is passing through you and you are wind.

2011-10-28T08:50:00.003+02:00

I lived in a dream. I tried to catch reality in the moment and digest it in eternity. It hit me when I realized that I can not hold the time, that in its abstraction it is not possible to get something that doesn't even exist. As if life would be only a moment, and whose life, life is a moment of eternity and eternity is a moment of life. How you would not look at it you will understand that you are already gone, that all illusions are dismissed and that instead of enlightenment you are standing on the crossroad of depression and enjoyment. Your one leg takes you forward the left another one to the right. You cannot walk on the both ones. So now is a time to choose a path.

2011-10-20T17:46:00.002+02:00

I played for him once. Tunes were simple but at the moment magical, they were dancing on the stairs reaching my fathers ears on the first floor. I heard that he stopped, sitting in his wheelchair he listened. I thought he will ask me to stop but I knew that those tunes are for him, with such a power that will block him in the moment, let him forget about reality and bring closer to something that gives him happiness and light at the end of a tunnel. I played and played, only those five tunes repetitively circulating under my fingers, blown by my heart with the whole universe coming through the mouth. It felt strange, like this kind of a moment when you don't really know what is happening, when only the tune remains and is screwing your mind upside down, where you disappear and the music takes over. Unfortunately some called me and I had to go. While running down the stairs and passing my father he sent to me a question, why don't you play anymore? I hope that one day in some winter evening while i will be far away, those tunes will come back to him while staring into the fire and will bring him that moment. But now I take my magic flute to play for some other people somewhere else around the world.

For Ruthi

2011-10-20T12:11:00.003+02:00

In the midst of surreality and longing to ultimate love that will save the world in el secundo del mundo, on the sounds of perfection I travel to the places of my inferior child, clasping hands up in the sky,my head spinning around, my thoughts so much clear, so much visible, those rays coming up here on this desk, this music that makes all different for those thirteen minutes in where there exists nothing else except the love all is blurring through the diamonds in my eyes, memory of you while we were laying down there in this room, in this warm day. It is almost like I have seen these days in that one particular long visualized moment that expanded into the violet moon over the fjord turning around, spinning itself shining and shining and shining. That moment where the wind blows you up, where all look the same, where world and past and future and all is there, where you want to run into the moon, where you want to dance and wirrle on the wind, where you love all, good bad, me and her. Where you become one, you are a world, you are a god, you are the point where you get while you are almost there. Shine on you crazy diamond!!! It is like a spirit is sleeping under the sea, it is like a falling angel is dancing in the sky, falling down, crying and sinking in light of perception. Always when I listen to Pink Floyd it gives me this feeling of absolute beauty of high spirit of music and art and love and life that for a moment I am there with them and then I could just be like this with you.

Only the way of interpratation is real interpratation

2011-10-19T17:21:00.005+02:00

Indians they eat rice with curry. Yesterday I have decided to be happy. Today I ate curry but it was not as good as the one in India. My wolfs inside me fight intensively and don't try to make love even though one of them is talking about it constantly. Second one is stubborn like a mountain of hell, that I haven't seen and I don't even know weather it exists or not. I could ask a wise man but around none than my own interior voice of void. Two days ago I understood that I am a beautiful man only for myself without any appreciation from the female part of the world. It made me feel so good to understand it finally. Today I almost slipped on a piece of my mind where I feel safety the most. The hungry evil of mine was happy because he got a bone of my twisted thoughts that he could chew on it in a manner with his left paw over the right one. But love still hides somewhere on the bottom of my heart and trembles the walls of my temple inside where lives.... Void? Emptiness? Colorful gardens? Thousands head of Gods? Me? You?

To Asiek

2011-10-16T21:58:00.005+02:00

Owls mountains are the place where all was born, where imagination got spoiled, where I was born, where I got spoiled.

All the rest is vast in which we all swim daily from the breakfast till late night. Why not?

And Oscar once was a beautiful vehicle that took me through the mountains of Pakistan.

And yes I will be back in North doing dogsled-ing but till then I am here. In Bielawa!!!!!!!!!!!

In between in the Ooouls Mountains

2011-10-06T18:20:00.001+02:00

Under Bielawian sky

2011-10-05T21:09:00.005+02:00

The tree was cut down - my mother told me on the way to my grandmothers apartment. At that day when it happened she has already knew that my grandmother would die. I was still driving in the sunny day along the fjord watching the passing cars and thinking - Who the hell will pray now for me if my grandmother will die. It seems that the time has come that there is no one than myself any more.

If you were walking by my side then you would see that the wind is still there within inside the tops of trees, closer to the sky with dark blue stars exploding towards us. And all our thoughts like crumbled stones on the shore that try to get to the awe of a blue fresh jaws of the ocean that will swallow all.

And stories running through the minds and people coming by in them. Me, my mother and her we all are laughing loud in the moments when we shall cry, but even though we see it all as the drama of its own where they and me and him and all just playing script of broken souls. And we are laughing there more and more and smoke is coming up the nose and drinks are rumbling down the throats as if that, this and all was just a fucking joke.

And moon is shining still, and clouds are passing by, the tower somewhere far reminds where shall we come, to pray, to smoke and laugh in manners that all we try.

And all the broken souls, once gathered by its own, they think, they sink, they try to love, and even though the words are gone we all know the change is not. So why to struggle and why to fight when battle has already been fought twice, sometimes millions and ones and now we here and now again in the scenario of god damn.

Yes we will play, as the dice were played. But who is six and who is three and who the middle one. Just play and gamble and feel fine, because you can not to cheat the fans.

To cry or to laugh, all will come once when you are done.

For my all beloved family which I am a part of and I've always been. With Love Jacek Maciej Orasinski (Troll of Norway)

2011-07-09T17:44:00.009+02:00

Past 1

(when I see the situations from the past that brought me to this place - and curiosity)

(when I'm not afraid of loosing my ego)

(when I learn how precious life is)

(when I learn how to break a fear of death)

and Princess is freed from controlling

It's a part of a game that
you can win if you are brave
enough. TO decide whether
if you want to learn more
or not. And don't be
afraid because we are
all here to help you to
understand that real life
is when you are conscious what
you are doing, what you are
saying, what you are thinking.
And while being awaken see
the world in it's beauty, in
it's fullness, in your

own special, subtle way.
And what will always help
you is your own heart.
And learn from children
because they know how to
listen to their hearts and
put it into their
own box of experiences.
And better if you are not
in a dreamland, not
to speak about it loud.
As old men say - sometimes
it's better not to look under
the dwarf.
But once you are there,
you go all the way, up
and down and rather
not stay in the middle.
And what is middle for you
is not a middle for me.
Children are outside so am I.
I am a child that want to
wander among Norwegian islands
in the old cab and with little
money, sleeping in a tent
and rest for a while in the forest.

It's a story of an ordinary man who
imagined one day that was a shaman
with such a great power that could
change the whole world that once
was written down by some order of
men who knew how to listen to other
peoples stories, you know in this
real life that people thought
they have. But children, you better
listen to your own hearts,that bit
with love that you get from your
parents, and they from their
parent, and they from
their parents. As I would say that
shit happens because people don't
know, whether their own fathers
are serious or only play tricks
on them. And children remember
that words are powerful but
actually let's say this way -
all will be as you want to be -
but be conscious. So as once
the sun was burning in its
golden flames on the surface
of our lake all was perfect and
all was good because I knew
where is the home for my love
and what love does mean :).
Only few old folks were doing
lot of noise in long wave that
I have recognized.

And what about all this weddings and others. Well, let first Estonian dance their hearts out and then we will see. Who knows what Norwegian Troll will come up with :) But even though the tricks are the best, he still makes them with his heart in his head. And now I would like to write something that children know and adults avoid. The Serpents. And call of the Birds. But those who listen to the order of the shell they will find sooner or later their own Gralls encoded in the dreamland of its own. AND the tree of life will grow light up to the sky because you and me, we are all one, big family with the roots deep inside our minds, so let it go and far from noises sink into your own pool of love. And when reality will follow your thoughts than it means you are on the right side of the river, under the tree with Pärt, listening to his heart. The world is a miracle and let it be like this. SO one thing you can do about it is just to enjoy and don't worry whether you are already awaken or not. And when the tears come than cry, because in this summer time all are out and only few inside. Where belongs your mind there belongs you trickster ancient little bird. So dance, dance, dance the dance of a coliber and it will bring you down.

"Idzie wojna polna droga
Gdzie nastapi i tam blogo
W serca wkracza slowem
Dobrym i ustawia i klopoce
A na koniec niczym kocur
Na zapiecku polozyla i umarla
Strach co malo go nie zabil"

I 'm coming home to the place where I belong.....

SO much music is hidding,
so much music inside me,
so please let me go for
the tunes that never glow
wit pride and puff off
only with peace and love.
only with smile and joke
only with you and me
only with reality that
I have chosen
to live in freedom :)

SO that was Rõnno as I called him. A, yes and one more crazy guy living the same room as I do. He represents all the fears and all the worlds, me you, everyone. But still he is not us and we are not him. It is just representation of something much more powerful than you can imagine. It's the world of mythology.

Fantasy and dream. Maybe I just have to relax and lay down and wait for better times for me and for princess that will come to free me from this mad house of towers. I just have to trust her and all will be fine.
And so it was. Sparkles of bliss on green leaves, we lost in a nearby jungle. Loki splashing the oCEAN while running on the Sun, me just standing there seeing how world is amazing and she just behind as a real Queen just waiting for another lovely kiss. Life is a bliss. Life is amazing. Life is a wonderful gift from nature to us.

All people are playing alone but the victory is ours, shared, owned. Freedom of being itself and being loved, and giving, and giving, and giving is the keyword for all.

THE-END of 1st Part

Le presence - in the world of pills

Given with love even a poison tastes like wine. The horse was laughing laud. The dream was going home. All left I remained centered in Himalayas of my Heart.

There are many roads and paths that take you inside the forest. And it is only your choice when and how you will do it. There might be even someone in old tree resting his heart that asks you to come inside. With all the fears and all shortages it will make you see your own face, your own heart reflected in the midnight sun. And after that terrible night after you have faced the ups and downs you will know that all blinds once will become wise. And celebration of your own heart will break the ice and free the soul and as Murakami writes one thing that people should do more is Dance, Dance, Dance.... (of life)

You are like my fairytale
You are like my dream
I can see you anytime
When I speak out your secret spell
From the bottom to the tops
All will dance like you and me
oooo,ooo,o,ooo my fairytale
dance, dance, dance

ooooooo my dream

Le cart de blanche and winner stands alone. Ready to go, ready to home, National, birds, sudoku and all is coming back from where it goes. SO better not or actually why not to live one blank page of all. hmmmmm. I think I just don't know. :)

All is constant change. The house is getting emptied. New people coming home. For us the last perception of the light that passing by an old owk stopped close to ring bell for while. Somebody is snoring, someone is sleeping, where do we go now? TO dreamland of pills or reality of dreams. Somewhere or not. For sure.

How much effort does the Universe give to give a birth to a star? As woman waiting for a child, like madman trying to get fine, like Andrey trying to wake up, like you, like me, like him and her. Le Balance.

Why not to make few folks, pressing exit and go home but in hearts love and friendship and the golden one that spreads around the globe as net and that inter but the outer game. Friendship is the most as one polish wise man said. Yes, it is Mr.X, thank you all and excuse me but now I am going back home, to the place where I belong.

LIFE

LOVE

ART

DANCE

DANCE

DANCE of trance

Lets start from the middle

2011-07-08T08:03:00.002+02:00

There are many roads and paths that take you inside the rorest. And it is only your choice when and how you will do it. There might be even someone in old tree resting his heart that asks you to come inside. With all the fears and all shortages it will make you see your own face, your own heart reflected in the midnight sun. And after that terrible night afer you have faced the ups and downs you will know that all blinds once will become wise. And celebration of your own heart will break the ice and free the soul and as Murakami writes one thing that people should do more is Dance, Dance, Dance.... (of life)

2011-05-15T14:55:00.002+02:00

It is gonna finish. one thought that run through my mind. another that followed was not it is not gonna finish. You live in this moment and now and here it is all happening and even though you will not be here any more than this old man will again come to small shrine just by the road and lit the oil lamp praying his gods and ringing bell that will sound out loudly on this street. Nothing will finish only because you won't be here. Nostalgic thought that yes, it is true. Only the difference is that where I am heading there are no shrines on the streets and no old men to come to pray the gods. Familiar faces that I will encounter again and the one that I know will not understand. Dream of a community hidden in the mountains will collapse as a soap bubble once we will meet again all together and we will see that we live only in our dreams and because our expectations are so high that no one will see the singing birds behind the fence and rays of light coming through old walls. As always the strong feeling of a presence as that one when I played few tunes just before the night traffic exploded on the street below. Those few moments during the day when there is a sound space for the tune that is supposed to played by my flute. Silence that lasts millisecond and noise that erects just after. This micro moment of consciousness expanding through the space and time in which everything is perfect and silent. When all our egos disappear in dissolution of magnificent union between the tunes and waves of world, Universe, single beings and endless landscapes of our perceptions. So it will not finish because it has already passed but this moment in between this man who had lit up the oil lamp and noises that ruled the street just after his prayer will last forever and never in its own space of creation and destruction. So I am happy that I was there and that I shared the moment of life and its expressiveness that has chosen this old man to go to the shrine and pray. Where is the next one? Is it possible to collect them all from early morning through the hot midday until the late evening and later on during the pitch dark nights that will again reincarnate into the uprising suns and chantings for upcoming days?

.........:::::::::::Maybe:::::::::................

for Sonia and others :)

2011-03-26T16:01:00.007+01:00

What do you feel while passing flowering mango trees on your road?

What do you think when during this walk on both sides the gardens are hiding the small houses of people who has chosen their lives to live by the river that refreshes you each morning when all your dreams and problems vanish with its strong current, where you feel like in the mother's womb, where all is good and still unexplored, where you are connected with all by the tiny string of perception through your heart?

What do you see while staring into the drops of water falling in front of you in the magnificent flamboyant saturation of your own?

What would you like to whisper when your soul is there where you always dreamed to be? while walking down the road with the moonlight on your back, with the monkeys screaming around and two buffaloes following both of you in the same vibration as yours, you just are.

What would you feel while sitting alone in your regular dining place you see the presence of all, your closer ones and those farther ones.

You are alone but not any more. And this aloneliness is the most appreciated moment. Where even the waitress is staring into the far distance of falling night vanishing as you into the oneness that is felt and never talked about.

And you? Where are you and what do you think about?

Are you with me? Do you follow what I am writing about?

Sonia you for sure understand me :)

I am still in India where my English is getting worse and worse, where the Sun is shining and Loki drifting in the waves of Ganga, where bonfires illuminate through the nights to surprise with it's pinkish glows on whitish sand and greenish waters of life still flowing by side and inside, where wind is touching gently the waves of unsuppressed expression of love..... here... there... now... then... ..............

.................................:::just:::.....................................

and people are coming and going. the time is given and there is nothing you can do about it. so better enjoy!!! and don't think what you will do next summer on not even this autumn. And pray to the sky because of Sun and because of rain. pray to whatever you want and be grateful for your being, or maybe rather for your consciousness of all, and pray even more for this consciousness to let go things happen and accept them as they are. Drift with the flow and smile, and be good to other people, and don't judge because maybe one day you will be and then incarnated into the indian dog you will have one hell of a life. Passing and dogs...... yes.... I met Roger in Rishikesh five weeks ago. French man with longer hair and dense mustache, always on ease, drinking chai and talking to people that by chance have sit by his side. Once we talked about the dogs and he told me that he has also one back home in France, and that he waits to get back and that he has a fly ticket on 8th of April and that his wife knows when he will be back and his dog doesn't so he is waiting each day the same, each day is eternity and for dog Roger is no more there. He had few tears in his eyes while talking about his labrador. And also he had even few more three weeks later when we went to the hospital and the doctor said that he has rabies. Roger was a brave man. More brave than anyone I have met that facing the death he was just sitting there on a chair while i was crying on his arm, firm and calm, uttering only one sentence - it is just like this. Roger was a crazy man but not because of his disease, he was crazy about life, crazy about the moment, crazy about our presence, about the love and friendship that we gave him with Mika during this night and day when we were with him. And we still are. Still we are sitting in front of the Hospital, still Roger is eating oranges, still the sun is setting, we still are waiting for ambulance that french embassy is supossed to send for him, to bring him to Delhi and maybe fly to France. Still the demon of disease is hidden and doesn't show off because of love that we all share and life that we are all living together. Just before Roger left he was setting up camera and then running during the ten seconds he got to sit between me and Mika and smile and laugh. All the Indians were looking at us as if we all had the same disease, the all knew us already after we spend ten hours in this hospital, and they have seen Roger while having panic attacks because of the wind, water, blood, and other people. We forgot!!! We were there laughing and sharing. We thought we will visit him in France during the summer, that maybe this Rabies is not really Rabies, that maybe he just went mad, that maybe he will be again with his dog sailing on French shore in the rays of summer ligth.

And he does. That was the last time I have seen him. It was one day before he died. I have put up the candles, and pray to all the gods of India and Tibet, I laid down on my bed and I crossed my hands on my heart. I knew that he will die and that he is in coma, and that he will not do it till France, but i still believed and I still wanted to give him a healing. Through the corridors of time and space, through amazing shapes of universe on the wings of light I took him away from the demon that possessed his body and mind and then we drifted and drifted and drifted into to place where I knew was his heaven and where I know he is now at this moment. He was sailing with his yellow Labrador on his sailing boat, behind there was his house in a distance, the sun was shining and the wind was strong. Roger was smiling in his fullest and purest smile, he was keeping his right hand on his dog and left on the steer.

Two days later Mika called embassy and heard that Roger passed away a day before.

...................................:::just:::........................................

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sonYFxHHvaM&feature=related

...................................:::just:::........................................

2011-01-30T11:58:00.003+01:00

Everything explodes like a light bubble and then the world becomes a flamboyant mozaik of emotions and love. Love that accompanies us in all we do, in all we are becoming, in all we had already been and are, and all that we will be and are at the same time.

Consciousness that starts to unroll in the spin of life and experience. Buddhas and others. January in Hampi and Tiruvanamalai.

India.

to be continued.....

2010-12-31T09:37:00.008+01:00

I had a dog. Cream colored six weeks old puppy was crying when I found him dragged away from his brothers and sisters for a death in pain and being eaten by the warms. I took him with me. Protected by light we crossed the streets of the city to the pharmacy where I got all surgery equipment to make his life or death easier. I believed he will stay alive. I met the gazes of misunderstanding, compassionate looks, blessing gestures. When we were flying above the world to give him a chance the love was spread around us. A trigger to the hearts that maybe it is worth to try. We took away all the warms, we put the cream and bandage, we calmed him down and fed with milk. We caressed him a while by the bonfire where later he slept in my feet. During this short night of the moonlight we encountered many voices. In the morning he got a name - Diego. After he got baptized and I got love and courage to go and fight we left the paradise. We got to the bus stop and tried to get on one to seek salvation in the city. The morning was full of light, full of love, full of hope and full of wishes. I sat on the back sit trying to avoid people while I cried. The blue light run through my finger when Diego merged with the stars. There he laid, my small dog, dead with an open mouth. At the same moment just before when I have still seen his little belly moving up and down the words of one polish song came upon me. The words were simple and timeless, talked about the world that has to change, and that there are still people which hearts are fulfilled with intentions to give a love and that it is worth to trust and believe in change, in light and in life. After Diego has passed away, silence like a sea wave took me away to the vanish of thoughts. I got off on the first bus stop just by the Ganesha temple. I sat under the tree and connected to it with myself. For a moment I understood the stupidity of humans, of changing destiny driven by desire, candles, Indian sticks, prayers, to become someone else, to escape from what is waiting for you, not to accept your path.

On my way back I got flowers and coconut oil for Diego. I buried him under one tree with a beautiful sight on sea. Later on I met Johanna, we cried together a bit and watched the sea in silence. People were playing on the beach. The sea was untouched. Full of power with five meters high waves didn't let anyone to its kingdom. Familiar hawks were flying over our heads. Both of us drawn deep inside perception and affirmation of life and death. We were sad and happy at the same time. Diego passed away but at least he saved a life from living on an Indian street, where disrespect to animals is covered by the bells of poojas.

Sun, hawks, the Ocean.

Disrespect, careless, stupidity.

India.

2010-12-01T22:53:00.005+01:00

Moments. That's all what we need, that;s all what we create, that's all what is given to us. Sometimes disconnected and feeling miserable, other time in full life, touching the air with the fingers of sensations.

Around me there are so many moments. Each is alive in its own space of time being sphere. All is real and mortal, all at the same time that sometimes I think I already died and now I am awakening, That all is a dream that breaks through to the realm of experience. Gestures, words, music, tones, sub tones, missed tunes, screams and whispers of love.

Lots of meetings, faces that stay in the memory, shared pieces of fear and ecstasy, nature, mature and fragility. The big pot of life boiling inside me. Who has a spoon to mix the soup, and if really needed. Thoughts those mine and those from outside. Loki crying behind the doors expecting some love and attention. She has no borders to show how important is to share and be together. How enough is to have a piece of meat a day and a bone to chew on and a companion to live with.

I lit a cigarette, yes I know, but again tobacco opens the gates to the world that we can only imagine. All around is a mozaik painted with feelings. Eyes that can not bare any more suffering of innocents. Transformation and migration. National Geographic and the Moon that try to communicate. Abandoned from centuries caves by the shore of a Black Sea, magical acoustic forests, wide spread euphoric dances, incredibly powerful mountains and landscapes, dull people who dare to think they are the most precious species of a planet, beautiful souls fighting in the name of love, stray dogs that also would like to have an owner, calm Bosphorus giving a time to reflection, heavy traffic that gives a time to dispersion, mails from friends and invisible net of our non existence, families who hold thumbs and friends those here and now. Our love, our questions, our unanswered speculations, our dreams and our fears, our lives and our ends. That's it what is happening in my universe with the slight difference that all the Europe sucks in snow and I wear a T-short searching for a cold drink while sweating of my happiness and dilemmas.

On the balcony of constant blowing wind, in the squares of repetitive lights and darkness I vanish for a moment of this moment to regain what I am looking for and what I have been already given. Being like a cube box I receive and perceive the life, the dream, or maybe both of them at the same time, with a reflection of images that show up in front of my heart.

I am glad that I can share it with you my friends and fellows.

Tomorrow I follow my love, heading east while west is burning in the flames.

2010-10-24T22:48:00.002+02:00

Before the world will end

there are songs to be sing

the one once sang

pour toia

So keep my friend on singing the song of life

of fire and water

of wind and birds

of love that you lived

!Africa! chanterai pour toia!!!

full power and hours before le grand exodus de Sour! et Est!

electro fibres of life are running through my veins. Africa Africa Africa!!!!!! dzika, dziksza i ta naj! tylko czemu kierunek Rumunia?

well well well

fair fair fair

2010-10-23T00:21:00.003+02:00

Falling snow, thunder storm, lightnings, yellowish orange leaves still grabbing tightly half frozen branches, full moon, god speed passing clouds. All that during the one and the same night! or rather one walk around the walls of Vana Tallinn :)

Amazing spectacle of life!

2010-10-22T21:40:00.003+02:00

To collect the pieces of my own and others lives. Like a mosaic build the bridge of subtle elements of comparison and similarity.

2010-10-22T16:58:00.004+02:00

Suddenly all seems that has never existed. The faces on the photographs, even though our own ones, reflect the light in the directions where we can not follow. We can not grasp those moments, they look so unfamiliar even though our faces as the spells once uttered are figuring out from the frames of mind. It is so violent memory that somehow we prefer to erase and postpone the feeling like the lines that superimposed are leading to misinterpret the base from where all has expanded.

Violence of various fragrances are being cooled down by the repetitive chance of cleared mind.

And suddenly the whiteness sounds with the thousand unshakable memories.

TO live the presence, while past becoming the moment and future merge with both of them - gaining eternity, but only in the streams of thoughts, interpreting and understanding all, on the paper, from the prof. But where has disappeared a naive soul that used to not to ask but only tune itself to wind and sun, the blows and flows, without a single read book, she already knew while sitting on the stone by the fjord, that all is one and all is love.

2010-10-17T22:09:00.002+02:00

Memories echoing with images of places that once I was so afraid of, later I loved and now I am missing.

Snow, dogs, endless night and icy cold wind...... all unexpectedly becoming my life, I don't ask for anything and I am receiving all what I can imagine. Dreams are plain, only with demons to remind me that all those can vanish one day and there will be time when I will have to again lay down to sleep, to feel and see the ice and fjords, to hear the crunching snow below my feet and singing wind in the corner of the doors.

Around me there are so many words, so many sentences and sophisticated meanings. I am in the box of some others dreams, I try to breath but all is so airtight. I walk on the pavements but I see the trees and meadows, I hear the cars that are roaring like the strings of the guitar in one song. The song is about the river and living free, about the nature that grows through our bodies into our thoughts, that we are becoming the gods and stars, and where there is no confusion about the reason and deed. This song brings me again into the moments where laugh is long, where joy stays on the doorstep, where the all is purified in the cattle and where I can be myself without asking whether my soul is again escaping in the corridors of my thoughts, into the fearless valleys from where there is no return.

That was the history of passed and present.

Where do the future lay? In natural mystic Indian subcontinent, in the backpack and following straight ahead to the places of undiscovered beauty? On the old truck, in the dirty hut, by the lake, on the sea shore, in one or maybe two compassionate looks.

Tell me my friend.

2010-10-08T10:13:00.006+02:00

Life is not like a museum

You cannot expect people to enter a room and not touch a thing

Exchange or interchange? or ex in inter by the molecules of change

Let go and fall down to the bottom of your garden

Catch untouchable and smile

Take a time and leave the space

Open and with doubts

Wish that world is a better place

Where all is pure and all is one

And then by chance while stepping down

Look up to sky and see the clash

Melt your wings and fly to cry

2010-09-29T22:55:00.002+02:00

I thought that you will never come to North - a sentence of love that reminds how much our life is precious and how important is to feel complete.

2010-09-29T21:04:00.006+02:00

I would like to stop.

In my thoughts, in my breath, in my mind. But not definitely or with purpose.

All the time going forward as if our steps would mean something. Once fixed life can't stand still so without too much choice of stagnation I catch up on the boat and float with the returning waves on the shore from where I think I have never left.

This continuance of our lives give the feeling that already this one is for ever or doesn't exist at all. In the tunes of the music, in the breaths of the forest, in the sparkles of the falling leaves, in the unsharpness of shape, in the passing gaze, below your foot if only the eyes could remain opened and mind fly to the clouds, that would be easier to live. Just start to stare and the world is creating itself by the beauty of your eyes. Perceptual coincidence of encountered lovers that try to grab their hands in the midst of nights.

The visits to other Universes, Galactics, painful dissapointment carved in the humans hearts that explodes because of smile and laugh. Someone died, someone was born. This pearl in the depths of the eye that shines now through the minds. Beauty and life in the purest form of desolation. Fragility that can't be sensed without any other words than silence. In silence of breathing forest, while tired you bend your knees down to the ground, ready to sleep forever in the softness of belief. Life that came to us so unexpectedly like the leaf that instead of falling down is turning hole in the air, cutting the structure of gravity into the molecules of excitement and ecstasy of unbelievability. Like a mirror reflecting our moments of being awaited. Our as we are reflecting the world that never has existed, that we all only imagined, that the trip has never been taken, that nothing was encountered, that all was lost from the moment of taking the first breath. And how to accept it, how to laugh loudly out the impossibility of being while disappearing in the moments of light, that still is given to us with a chance that maybe once we will stop and look. That we will gaze and in the emptiness we will start to see the things that are just there, in the middle of breathing forest, below our feet, ahead in the mystery of shades and bright lights of spiders strings, somewhere in the up flying leaf that no one ever could expect to happen. Somewhere there, where you have to enter in naked and dead. As at the moment when you have already done it once.

To live outside the time of consuming society.
For me it is impossible at the moment but I try not to think about the time and forget about the clock, get closer to non-time being where all the moments are equally important, where encounters live forever in the spheres of their meetings, when the the day is day and night is night for the life being, where love is always and hate just next to it in its own time space being life. Where your soul begins to live its own life and when you are ready and free to pass away. Or rather only your body like a piece of a tree need to burn to give a warmth or fire to make a fresh bread.

Name: jacek
Age: 27 in 5 days
Occupation: beauties perceptionist
Drugs: air, silence and eyes

And not so long time ago I became an Estonian mushroom picker. That was really funny, as well as my outfit :)

once upon a time.....

2010-09-17T12:19:00.005+02:00

Cycling with Lori after being picked up with Florek – which at the end remains the same and one but about this later.

Sometimes the things become invisible that you could see through them. Laying on the corner, in the center, just in front, are disappearing for a short while that you could come back. Come back or rather gather your soul back together and get ready for a mystery of road that is spreading ahead. But those things give you time, give you privacy and intimacy, give you the freedom to sing wild on the empty road that wakes up to day, reflecting its dreams in the surface of the fjord, give you the opportunity to see the mix of gray and dark yellow that create the hidden mushroom of the stairways to heaven. In between the wind that whisper the words of love that again are hidden in all that surround you but you still can't see it. With eyes wide opened all is dark and invisible. But when I am getting closer to Lori I catch it, get it, unfold it and laugh loudly because of another coincidence that shows that all is connected, that all is as if it doesn't, that I am leaving this time for sure. I collect my left invisible things that suddenly are just there, just in front of the same room where we have been playing drums with Florek few months earlier on my arrival day. I pick up my soul from the corners of deep blue wild fjord, hide her deeply in the corners where only I know how to pace and leave all behind. Lori whose nick name I suddenly changed yesterday is sleeping while I am leaving, followed by the same crew as at the day when I was driven from the airport by Florek.

Decorative neither with meaning, the circle of life is spinning as an old caravan wheel on the sands of a desert accompanied by the tunes of the motionless waves.

2010-08-27T12:07:00.001+02:00

There is nothing else we can do than just simply run into the Sun, listening to our wheels spinning on the wind, see farther and closer. There is nothing else we can do then to grow into the flames and rain. Or we shall all just simply laugh more and untangle the ways of our twisted thoughts. See far behind the last wave. To sit on the beach and just wait for another beautiful moment to be lived fully. And stop to listen to the stupid people and sharpen ears not for the wise on but for the wind. And while leaving imagine the circus that once filmed become the beginning of our endless journey by light in light with light. And while leaving switch off the lamp to see that the other is being lighted by your side. Become a butterfly and enjoy the fly to nowhere.

2010-07-31T11:08:00.007+02:00

He is swirling his head, drunk, surprised, amazed that you can buy a bicycle. All the time in his thoughts and thinks: yes I am the best.

then this car - small polish one. so many people inside, my family, summer, sun, flat tire....

and now here, in this light that communicates. the dates cover each other, the ones that have left and upcoming one. all in the dot and in the spot. exists and doesn't.

And then this woman who screams and demands to kill them all - spiders that try to attack her. Today I have seen one - was walking on the paths of the wall. Beautiful one and even when I started to talk to him he stopped, listened, greeted me by letting me see him. Letting see the beauty of this creation, patterns, colors, delightful fragility.

And now I drink a coffe from the cup that has been manufactured. Yesterday I did from a hand made. I work for my ceramic teacher. We don't have lessons, but she makes me coffee and shows like this spider. I like to sit at her veranda and observe or just write as i do it now.

Loki sleeps by my feet, now wakes up responding to some other barking dog.

Yes coffee was good.

Answers are easy:

why India not North Korea
why steingod not the factored one
why to talk than to kill

The last mim

2010-07-04T20:36:00.001+02:00

The most important is to have a passion. Passion for life. Passion for performance. Passion for living. The second most important thing is to have a fantasy. To adapt reality to the feelings of people. To adopt the silence with her noise. To try remain constant while moving. To understand the needs and support them. To see the chance and grab her tightly. To give her fire, give her air, give her without any doubt your passion. Sometimes people are just passing each other. Only a few try to have a conversation. Those ones won. Won the life. Won companions, won eternity. They are not alone any more. They share, they contribute into the life even when they know that their destiny is already written in the stars. Estrella. The magnificent of the letters that try to name the perfection. Stars those far and those just inside. They are the same. They spin with the same attribute. They dance inside us. They burn. And sometimes they burn out when our lives are finished. Those are the actions without doubts. Those are the flames of god. Those are the chances that we try to avoid to not complicate our lives too much. Those are the chances that when you see them you won!

2010-06-30T18:33:00.005+02:00

There are so many people that I want to write to. There are so many faces which even while losing intensity still shine through the curtains of my memories. People who once were closed, the one who will always remain. I eat orange. Behind the window there is still sun because of a midnight sun period, up here in north. Because of the orange I have slight thoughts about Christmas.

Since last time I have been writing it has already passed three months.

I haven't been writing for three months.

Life is good.
Quiet.
Intimate.
Rumbling in its own way.
Creating the moments who will let us live over the death, together in the bless of rays.
While the summer was getting completed during its birthdays, full moon was getting fatter or rather I should say the fattest, we were creating the screenplay or rather we were actors as always, but without any negative abbreviation. Opposite we were the witnesses and actors of the theater of life, light, death and darkness. In two words – complete wholeness of mystery of life.
Last Thursday there was Tor Gunar's funeral.
There are no words to describe this few days other than – It was magical and very very beautiful. Beautiful magic or magical beauty. Both mean the same in this case.

2010-06-13T11:07:00.003+02:00

The words are echoing by silence. Africa or Arctica. Both merge in the simplest purity of enjoyment.

In the words spelled the beauty and old wisdom. The first one, divine. Just from the center of your being.

Buddhas all around.
And sunny day with sharp cutting wind.

Music.

2010-04-25T11:41:00.001+02:00

2010-04-12T15:50:00.004+02:00

96 till one.

Tor Gunar passed to the endless tunes of his bird song. There is no more voice who can teach you few practical things around the house and squeeze your sensitivity into the juice of perceptive observation and constant contemplation of nature. I sit outside the house and try to grasp the ray of his absence by the presence of the spring birds song. He is around walking with his dogs towards the light that brightened in his chest.

It rains outside.

Loki sleeps 80% of her life time.

People behave miserable.

Life is still beautiful in this stormy weather.

2010-03-26T23:04:00.002+01:00

Me, Loki, and north norwegian landscape

Tromso - Alta - Hamerfest - Alta - Tromso

2010-03-23T14:02:00.001+01:00

2010-03-17T14:43:00.003+01:00

2010-03-15T16:59:00.018+01:00

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.

2010-03-11T16:48:00.001+01:00

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.

At the library

2010-03-04T10:56:00.003+01:00

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.

2010-03-01T09:38:00.003+01:00

!!!!!!!BUSY BUSY BUSY!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!BUSY BUSY BUSY!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!MORE BUSY BUSY BUSY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DONDESTA BUENA VIDA :)?

Villmarksenter again

2010-02-27T18:52:00.011+01:00

After a night party at Maya Mi place I went to bad around three o'clock. My phone rung at eight thirty to tell me that the time has come. I woke up with headache. Smoked one stolen cigarette in the kitchen, brushed my teeth and got out just in time to catch the bus number 42 to Storelva. It was Saturday morning so the streets were deserted and no one in the bus except me. I listened to the tunes from Africa while crossing this north landscape. I was on my way to meet my friends that I left one day in April last year. It had been ten months but at this day i just felt as if the time had never passed, as if I was still living that winter, as if there were no arguments, no straggling about the money, no negative energies. I felt like if I never had been leaving this place. I got off on the last bus stop and still had ten kilometers to pass to get to the Villmark. I began to walk. I paced very calm, only the snow was crunching under my feet. I tried to hitchhike but no one wanted to stop. I saw Stephani passing me by, the girl that works at Villmark. i waved to her but she hasn't spotted me at that time. I walked and walked. I got to the Eidehandel, one shope on the crossroad, bought my favorite chocolate cookies and one energetic bar. In its name is New Energy, and I believe so much in it that always after having one I can feel my strength growing. Then I continued to walk. I saw Silvia and Vidar passing me by in their car. The world started to look so small again, with so many friends on this road. This road that I crossed hundreds of times. Sometimes walking as today, sometimes biking, sometimes skiing and sometimes passing in a car. So I walked and walked. I crossed Hakoya Island, where there is one small wooden love hut. Where I spent beautiful time with so much love. Then I walked and walked, I didn't care about the time, I had no regretting, I had no desires, I had no wishes. i was just walking in the morning freezing cold air. I was just heading to the point where I had to say sorry, I had to apologize for the last time I had been there, I had to feed the dogs and say them how much I love them, I had to get their smell again on my clothes and my body. I had to do all of that to ease my pain, to finish this period of my life. To brake this dream that I have been having for ten months now. This dream that was occurring during that period sequentially every week. This dream where I could have seen me behind the sledges, me feeding the dogs, me waiting for the run the dogs, me chatting to my ex-boss, me talking to my friends, me having a common food with my coworkers. All that dreams when I was waking up I regretted that I had to get up.

And now I was just walking trying to catch some car but without tensioned motivation. But one car stopped. Two guys inside were driving to the parking lot from where they were supposed to start their trip in the mountains. They drove me all the way to Villmark. I thanked them and got off. I was again in this place. From the kitchen window was staring Istvan and Greg. They opened me the doors. I entered this room and felt as if I have never been leaving this place. We haven't seen each other since last April. Nevertheless we just started to talk as if I were only in the city for a night. We talked and talked and talked and talked. Then I went to Tove. I said hello, and that I am back. I apologized her for the last time and explained that now I am better. I think she was glad I said that. She welcomed me with words that I should feel as in my own home. I really did. I thanked her and came back to the kitchen. I met Nadja, I met Merete, some new faces as well. Then I said to Greg that was a time to go into the dogyard to see the dogs. He agreed. We went out. I greeted Tore in Norwegian. One sentence between me and him. Hope he didn't have any objections that I was there again. First we went to see Gregs dogs on the left side on the dog yard and then we just crossed all the lines with dogs to the last one on the right. It took us fifty minutes but I felt as time didn't exist at that moment. I was again there. I recognized so many dogs. Almost all that I knew from the last year. Actually I remembered more dogs names than peoples names that worked last year. There is three hundreds dogs, and last year there were thirty people. Lot of dogs have recognized me. That was so snsitive meeting. Greg was pretty much surprised that I rememberd so many names but I explained him that in my mind I feel that I have never been leaving, maybe that's why. We came back to the kitchen and I met Grant, buena persona de Scotia, and Franck and Stephanie. We had dinner together. I felt so naturally there. I was a part of this family even though I haven't worked there any more. Then it was a feeding time. I wanted to do it so much. Greg said no problem as other people did. It is always nice when there is one person more to help. I got working trousers and boots. Again I felt warmness of this perfect large moon shoes. I went into the dogyard. Except running the dogs and picking up the shit feeding is one of the best things you can do for these animals. I fed of course the Tove side of dogyard. All the dogs that I knew so well. I fed four rows. I worked fast, I wanted to give food to all of them. I could have felt like the dops of sweat are running on my back. I didn't care. I was doing one of the best things in my life. I was feeding the dogs. I heard Tove screaming from the other side of the yard - Jacek!!!! GOOOOODDDDDD!!!! Even if we had argument last year I really like her and I think she feels the same. After I finished the last row I saw that two guys they fed together only two while I did four. I was cheerful and felt the blessing of opportunity I received from life. I came back to the feeding room where we used to prepare food and just started to refill the buckets with dry food for the next day. I knew that the next step in this daily habits is to make teams. Suddenly I felt it is over. Even if they agreed for feeding the dogs I wasn't working there any more. I knew I cannot cross this line. I looked into Gregs eyes and saw in them appreciation that I am back. At the same time it was so contemporary. We knew it is so unique and special. I was watching them disappearing among the dogs building their teams. I loved all that dogs and all that people. I loved that atmosphere of hard work and pleasure of running the dogs. I loved that place even if sometimes they were things I didn't agree with. After that I took off my working shoes and pants. I thanked Tove for being there and proposed her that anytime she needed a person to work I could come and work for free. She said nothing. She greeted me and then I left. On my way back I talked to Grant. I like this guy so much. In his room on his computer he was talking with his woman - Marie. She had been there last season. With this virtual conversation we became united again. My friends. My place. My emotions. My feelings. My thoughts. My past.

I walked down the road with my skies on my shoulder. I was walking down with my heart fully calm. I did what I was dreaming about. I was so cheerful that those people were waiting for me. That they consider me as the part of them. They are my friends and we both knew that.

I got to the road, walked fifty meters and then decided to cross this beautiful landscape on my skies. It was snowing heavily. I was merging with this whiteness, wilderness and my thoughts. I still could have heard the dogs barking as if they wanted to say good bye to me, or it was just my imagination. I paced in this powder snow for an hour. I got to one hill. It was getting late so I put off my skies and prepared to ski down. Before I did it I sit down on the snow in the lotus position, closed my eyes, took few breaths and disappeared in meditation. I saw around me many wolfs, they tried to attack me. I resisted creating invisible barrier of my spirit. They were only illusion. After few minutes I was in a space. Calm. Only noise of wind was disappearing faintly behind my ears. I opened my eyes. I saw the most beautiful blue color of the north. I saw the graphics in front of me draw from the birches. I put my skies on and skied down the hill. It was a perfect day. It was like my dream but real. It was a reality but as if it was a dream. The world was dragging down in the blackness of night and i was ready to come back to my ordinary life.

Completing

2010-02-24T18:37:00.003+01:00

One day.

2010-02-21T18:32:00.003+01:00

In the loudspeakers pilot announced that the temperature in Oslo was minus fifteen. I was sitting in the plane to North. To the place where i think is my home. But as soon as I saw all Norwegian coming back from Morocco I thought that maybe i belong to that landscape but I never will belong to Norway. I will be hidden in the wind and in the flakes of snow. yes snow. I arrived and now I am just sitting at Oslo airport. I went outside and first what I felt wasn't the cold, I wasn't surprised because of the snow. First thing that completely got me on the knees was the air. So fresh. So unpolluted. So clear. So perfect. I knew I am back even if till the north I still have two thousands kilometers. I know I am back but my mind and behavior is still this Moroccan. If only we could connect those two, the smell of Norway and mentality of Morocco than it would become utopia. I try to speak Norwegian because I understand what the guy is asking me but instead I answer him in mix of French and Arabic. He looks at me confused. I excuse him trying to explain in English that last seven weeks I was using those two completely new for me languages. And now again I am afraid that I will forget all my French which started to be understandable. With Mohamed we were only using French. And now again this Norwegian that I cannot articulate and English that became so bad since last I have been here in the North. Yes in the North not in Europe. Europe is in Poland or in Spain. Here is North and that how it will remain for me. And my mothers language - Polish. Hope it will return easier then all the other that I mentioned. But what I wanted to tell is a story from Morocco that began yesterday evening and probably still continues here. For the first time during my changes of places of habitant I don't feel the gap. That when I am coming here I am loosing what I left in Morocco and I have to start again rebuild all. No, not this time. Today is two o'clock in the morning, Oslo airport. In less then twelve hours I am supposed to meet with Dennise and visit our common friend Laurent. If only the wind will blow into direction of Hakoya I will encounter again ones of my best friends on Hakoya. In the city is waiting Maya Mi and polish gang. I think I can easily say that I am coming back home. but at the same time I left the home in Tetuan with Julia, Berange, Oriane, Ale and other people in the city. And that is actually what I want to write about. From the beginning, linear story, without any exceptions on the secondary anecdotes. But unfortunately all this story is an anecdote. So I begin........

If you have never been to Morocco you just have to close your eyes and imagine the country where to talk to people is like breathing. Where none looks strange at you when you are just starting with him five minutes conversation. If you have been to Belgium it is very similar. That's maybe I like Belgium so much.(I promised without anecdotes and already the first occurred). And you have to imagine constant motion of people, not like in India but still. And with your closed eyes you have to sharpen your ears to hear all those sounds, all those incredible noise that is becoming the song of the city. When you can hear it then open our nose and grab all the difference smells of the street. We enter the fish market, please don't puke, it looks amazing but your eyes are closed so the nose order you o follow farther. Next one are spices. There you can breath briefly but not to deep because then your mind will get dizzy of too much smells that you don't know. When we enter the street of food, then all those two markets become one, the fishes this time smell with the crunchy burned skin, couscous covered with vegetables spread the smell that at once makes you feel hungry. So you are there in this galimatias. Imagine that you are there for seven weeks. You go with me to the bus stop. We buy a ticket and the last time we watch the city. The atmosphere we create is really seldom. I am leaving all good people behind me, all my thoughts, all my experience, all that I learned, is behind me and now I am supposed to take a bus at eight p.m. BUT!!!! The bus is not there. The next one in two hours. I invite you to go with me to visit my house, because sitting two hours on this obscured bus station is not what you shall remember from your last hours in Tetuan. But I forgot to tell you that the same days morning I was just in Chefchauen where I visited Candelaria and Mohamed and Pau. I have to tell you about that place because it is amazing. Now you have to imagine the city, doesn't matter how it looks like. And now if you have an image take a blue pencil and color all the houses in this saturation. And I only have to mention that there is one house where your dreams start to come on the straight line without any curves of unpredictable devils in them. You sleep like new born child without any distortion. So you have to know that I just came back from Chefchauen in the morning and now I was supposed to take a bus to Marrakech. But what to do with those two hours. We take a taxi and we drive straight to home. When Berange encounter me at the doorstep she is shocked. -What the hell are you doing here- she greets me with smile. I answer that I love her so much that I couldn't have left and fuck all this Europe I am staying with them. She laughs and try to get the truth. I continue this play but finally I tell her why we are there. She cannot see you because you are there now, not then. But it is just the matter of construction of the time. But no anecdotes so I will not even begin. So last two hours we spend in completely cheerful atmosphere and then finally take this bus. All night bus. I arrive to Marrakech at seven in the morning and walk directly to get some breakfast. I pay as for gold, but have no energy to argue all the time about this fucking twenty euro cents. But this time I should because in my pocket there is only fifty Dirhams. Next I go to buy two boxes of tea and i am left with fifteen. I still have ten Euros but in polish bank-notes so no one want to exchange me that. Because I believe in Buena Vida – or at least try – and take the things as they come, and because everything is almost closed I just sit close to Jama Elfna in this beautiful morning light, without any tourists and locals around. I just sit under the huge green tree and smoke a cigarette. It looked as if we had an appointment. After two minutes Mohamed Wazazir arrives. He sit close to me and start some kind of conversation. I explain him my trip and that I don't have any money, and that maybe he knows where we can exchange some polish dinero, and that I will not pay him if he follows me because I am as poor as he is. He agree and we go together to one place where maybe I can exchange this polish forty zloty. No chance. Today is Saturday and all is closed. Woman tells me come back tomorrow or after tomorrow. Jasne! Then we go to one place where people are boiling cafe since the morning in the large pot. We are still fifty meters from Jama but for that coffee we pay two dirhams instead of eight. And this one is not actually coffee but some kind of liquid based on coffee with lot lot of strange herbs that make your pinga growing. Why not – aphrodisiac from the early morning. Mohamed explains my story to the all morning coffee people. They are all homeless as he. We share those moments. I am in need, same as them, and they can understand that. Suddenly from that crowd of tourists I became a beggar on Jama Elfna. I still have my juggling balls that I found on the streets of Tetuan so i take them out form my rucksack and start to train. You cannot tell it juggling – it is miles from the art. I just try not to loose all the balls at the same time. After a while convincing myself that i am the best juggler in the world something is working out. But then I see one Spanish woman who looks for me so familiar. I walk to her and ask if maybe U haven't met her in Granada or somewhere there. She answers that she is from Madrid. I explain her why I am juggling and walk away. After five minutes she comes and gives me twenty dirhams. I am so glad. I hug her and thank her for this gift. Later on one shoe cleaner sees what I am doing that i try to collect some money. The SHOECLENER, he comes, buys me tea and give bread. BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!!!!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!!!!! AND ALL THOSE WHO WANT TO BUY YOU FOOD WHEN YOU ARE TRAVELLING WITH THEM!!!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!!!!!!!! (anecdote – I am in norwegian plane. I talked a little to my co-sitter. He says that they took with his wife a taxi from Agadir to Marrakech – 280kilomters. He doesn't ask how do I feel, how is my family, how am I. He doesn't mention anything about himself as well. he just says I took taxi from Agadir to Marrakech. Later on the stuardess asks if we want to eat something. Of course I want but pretend to watch a movie that is screening. The guy is taking two large sandwiches, coffees, coca-cola, my stomach is crying and makes a fucking huge noise just thirty centimeters from this guy ears. - Nothing. No question whether he could buy something for me. A cookie at least. Nothing. More you have less you share.)
So i got this bread from this SHOECLENER that I just finished to eat on Oslo airport :). After we got twenty dirhams from that Spanish girl we could go to eat some cheap lentils with Mohamed. but i first asked him to go to print my ticket on the internet. And when I was checking emails – EUREKA!!!!! - while I travel I always put the coins from the country that I am leaving in one place in my bag. And last one was Spain. AND!!!! HAPINNESS – I found seven Euros. I give two to Mohamed and five exchange for food and cigarettes and bus to the airport. After that we are going to eat. He explains me his story. And now maybe thousands of voices that I was cheated. Maybe but I saw the tears of touched boy in his eyes when I gave him my polar jacket, after he said it is really cold to sleep on the bus stop. I can imagine. I was freezing in the bus and what about the open space on the bus stop. I know I am coming to minus fifteen but what a hell, i just gave him this jacket. And that forty zloty as well with hope that maybe he can exchange it somewhere. The boys eyes shines!!! He is a tough guy who lives on the street, each day he starts with empty stomach drinking this coffee for two dirhams and smoking cigarette. He sleeps on the bus stop. he want to get a job but he was stolen his Id card and now he doesn't have enough money to get back south to Sahara where he lives. And have no choice. And maybe all that was just stake of bullshit telling to the tourist but I don't think so. I was drinking coffee with those poor people and they treated me as one of them. When I shared all I got to share with that boy he wrote immediately his number and his fathers number and the name of his village and he shook my hand with unstable voice telling thank you. For this morning he was my friend. My good friend and I didn't care about tomorrow. He was there I was there, I could help him and I did because I know that tomorrow maybe someone will help me. After that I took bus to the airport. And then this long fly to Norway.
When we got out from the plane and were waiting close to the belt for our luggage's, there were few Moroccan in the crowd. I saw one guy staring at me. i looked into his eyes and felt so strong connection. My heart started to bit faster and in his eyes I saw that he recognized me. Recognized me as a person with the same attitude, with the same mood, with the same pleasure of sharing. And not money, but life, smile, talk and presence. Then he turned back. For a while I thought – What the fuck,did I become Muslim? And what does it mean. That I love people and want to give them love. If so Inshallah :) Habdullah :) I can be a Muslim.

And only the last sentence about Norwegians. They are also good and generous. On this airport I have already found the bottle of Pepsi and cheeps :) They share but different :)

2010-02-16T11:16:00.004+01:00

There is a house. Similar to others. Has four walls, doors and rooftop. There is a house where you can find the peace. There are people who know how important you are. There is a house where conversation never end, and laugh is lauding to the end. There is a house where you can feel at home. There is a house.

2010-02-16T11:03:00.003+01:00

Because the question why? will remain as long as there will be a single human being living on this world. The easier one is why why? that one you can answer yourself and create the world around you in a way that you want to see it.

Thousands of images.

Reflective realities.

Visions of god and death.

Utopias.

And only one heart to love.

2010-02-16T10:58:00.011+01:00

"I don't miss anything. I am just here. People if they want they can find me. But since the last few years no one is visiting me. You are the first man after this girl left. I do not miss her, but I liked her. She was giving so much life to this place. This place was like her. Calm but at the same time very serious. Warm and with lot of birds. But today as you see there are no birds in the sky any more. Even they understood that something is missing here."

"By the end of the day, in the last rays of Sun the old man took his last bath in the Ocean. The young man was sitting on the rocks watching this scene of merging the old wisdom with old Knowledge. The old man was pacing gently on the sand. When he got to the shore he turned back and bow his head in gesture of returning to his previous form. He steeped forward. His knees were already under the water. He could have felt the floating motion of oblivion. He was serene. He knew he will reborn again and again because that was his destiny and his story. The last thought he had before he disappeared in the water was that he will never understand this cycle. And he will never forget this girl. He was rambling on the bottom of the Ocean. It was his favorite part. He started to live as an image that he was admiring for last decades of his life. At the end he transfigured into the red fish and swam away into the darkness of reality."

"" - fragments of "Waiting" written by Jacek Orasinski

Le Roia est moia!!!!

2010-02-14T19:27:00.003+01:00

So as I wrote that morning was very intensive. At 1530 I just walked to Instituo Cervantes to meet Julia and have a lunch together. Unfortunatelly the column of cars with king was supposed to drive through so all the road was blocked. I couldnt have passed the street so I just stood close to barriers and waited. The crowd was waiting. Me as well but more for crossing the road then for a king. An old village woman as well didnt seem to be too much interested in this spectacle and told me that she had to wait and she was in a hurry. Even though I havent understood a word, translation in my mind came so naturally. She saw that I tried to cross the road as well and then we just started to laugh. I love this old womens laugh. It is so pure. After ten minutes the car with king approched....... and just stopped five meters from the place were I was standing. The crowd move forward to greet him and me as well as if sharing the collevtive enthusiasm I just run to the barriers and was jumping to shake his hand. He shaked all the hands before me and when mine was next he looked at me and PASSED!!!!!! shaking other hands behind me. Fuck I thought - what a rasist! But feeling of this energical crowd was so astonishing! After this even all the evening I was in super perfect mood!!! The king has arrived and I remained in a crowd.

Le Roia est l'a ville.

2010-02-11T10:45:00.004+01:00

Le Roia est l'a ville.

after week of preparations Mohamed VI is going to arrive today at five pm. Now when I write it is 09:23 but the streets are alraedy blocked, secret service pace along looking at the passing crowd, trying to find a mismatched puzzle in all this image and destroy it before the kind arrived. i slept only few hours. I am totally tired and in the mood that I missed so much. Since the morning I talk bullshit, make jokes, telling anegdots, not irritating but kind of the people around me. They laugh taking this behaviour as an omen that maybe Jacek came back, maybe smile will not disappear from my face till the evening and in this cheerful atmosphere we will share the night. Inshallah. BUt before that the KING IS GONA COME!!!!!!! I joked to one seller on the street asking him if the king is already here because I didnt take my morning coffee so why not to tell some rumores about Morocco and Moroccuise with the best one. The king. yes. I feel like in the middle ages. I am just in a crowd. But this crowd today reached its higly level of affirmation and excitement. All city is in tender. Atmosphere is so high even without the drugs. And in my mind thousends of stories and situations appear because of this event. Now I go to the people and observe them and watch their reactions and behaviour. As one guy sang in song TODAY IS GONA BE A GOOD not night but day :) Shallah.

2010-01-31T12:40:00.004+01:00

I am in Marrakech! And why and for what. What a devil brought me here. I could have enjoyed the full moon with Rainbow family in the valley called Paradise. But not. I chose Marrakech and my farther destination Merzouga. Fine. Since the morning I had some strange feeling that Rainbow maybe later but not this time. I got a ride with Carlos, Mohamed and Yunes to Marrakech. I remember this city while I have been here before four years ago. Maybe it looked exactly the same. Maybe peoples behavior was as I experienced it today. Maybe there were drunk men asking you for a money for their poor children, maybe there were teenagers who course on you when you refuse to give them a cigarette. Maybe all that was already here four years ago. But at that time I haven't been to Tetouan, Chefchauen, Guelmim and Merleft. I haven't' met friends who invited me to their families houses where I was experiencing normal daily life. Where respect is not only the empty phrase and where people on the street leave you alone because they know you are a human as them. At that time I haven't met them and image of Marrakech I had in my mind till this evening shall remain as before. But on this trip, which is actually not my trip any more, is not my travel, is not the period of time when I am out and then I have to come back to my house in Europe and continue my work. This is a choice. Of living, of experiencing, of thinking. This is a choice where I want to go and with who. Which path to take and which ignore. I don't become Moroccan, I don't become Berber, I don't become Saharoui. I am myself but I live here. And maybe those are the last images that I see in my life. Maybe there will be not returning. Maybe I have no place to come back. I move forward. As we laugh with Mohamed that Allah didn't give me too much talents but he said: go go go go! SO i go. I go farther and farther. I make a thousand steps forward but at the same time I try to to make few inside. To see who I am, and who I will never become. As Carlos once made conclusion: I am where I live. I extended this to proverb: I live where I am, I am where I live. I think those two sentences can express at least a little bit me who become. I live here because it is my present life. I don't forget about my past. But I don't want it to rule me completely. My passed is good. As all of us. But there is only few who can say that present for them is enough. I think I can consider myself as a person who after he wakes up and makes few steps is smiling that is still alive. That can still share the beauty of this world with the mass. Yes with the mass. When you enter the street people are smiling, or more they are laughing. They laugh because they are alive. They have their problems but they stay positive because they know that you have to take it easy as if in the evening your life would finish. They trust god that he knows how much time has left for them. They enjoy themselves in a group. In the mass. And that is the most incredible phenomenon for me. They are all poor. They don't have computers, macbooks, plasma Tv-screens, they don't have cars. They travel by 6 in a cab. And they still can find optimism and respect for life when you talk to them. They smile, they are opened. If they can they would give you the last glass of water while dyeing from the suffer, if only by this way they could survive your life. Life. The most precious treasure of our existence. They know that. They know how to protect your physical side to stay alive as long as possible. They don't eat Hamburgers, even if they know how to make a really good kebab. The bread from their houses taste something different. Smells the grains and the fields. Smells the Sun and the wind. That is exceptional and unbelievable. They drink strong tea. Never coffee. They don't smoke because it kills. They use thousands of herbs, none of antibiotic. And they keep smiling when they are eighty.

And now I am in Marrakech. This second one. That I didn't know. The one where I encounter the man from Vienna and he tells me that all boys in India are gays, because he was there for one year and he knows. When I try to tell him that Moroccan people are super nice and I have just visited some friends, he answers with anxious that they all want only our money. When I explain to him that I want to stay with one family in the mountains for two months and learn pottery, he makes a gesture that for sure I have a daughter to fuck, thats why I want to live there. Our conversation was very very strange. I told him that maybe he was in India one year but he doesn't know India, the same as he stayed in Marrakech and he doesn't know Morocco. After this sentence he excused me and left to sleep. Maybe better for both of us. Who was right and who was wrong. Maybe none of us. Maybe we just see the world differently and that's it. After he left I could enjoy the full moon that was probably as bright as in Paradise Valley where I was supposed to be at the moment and maybe have conversation with the people who feel and see the world more similar like me. Rainbow never finish. There is always the rain and the Sun that provokes the colors. Next one Inshallah is mine.

2010-01-29T11:36:00.002+01:00

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ATLANTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:)

2010-01-23T01:37:00.002+01:00

http://www.couchsurfing.org/group_read.html?gid=955&post=4810326

ulalalalalalallalalalaaaaaa

From Sahara to the North Pole

2010-01-19T20:20:00.001+01:00

Tromso be prepaired!!!!!

Jeg kommer tilbake Inshallah!!!!! aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

But first Sahara and endless landscape and much more!!!!!

See you guys in a month!!!!

2010-01-11T13:49:00.001+01:00

Faces of Maghreb

Tetouan

2010-01-05T13:55:00.009+01:00

I sit in a small room somewhere between the first and the second floor. Behind the window voices whisper the melody of Maghreb. I live over one of the Medina's tiny streets. Dormitory is simple. Two beds, one small cupboard. In the corner someone put the pottery lamp. Again it makes me thinking why I am here. Why I have already met all those extraordinary people on my way. Why since the beginning in this realm I have been offered help from Abraham and Mohammed and one hour later just cheated by local guide - Mustafa. Why while crossing Gibraltar I could have felt more like in Norway. Why instead of reflections of ancient Greek's, Rome's or Arab's ships I had image of little Island on the North Sea. Why I situated myself with dogs in fully covered snowy mountains, in the kitchen where after work we used to eat the common food and drink Mack Ol to ease us falling asleep. Why I could have seen all beautiful people that I had met and felt them so strongly inside my heart. Why?

Maybe there is no answer, maybe I will never learn how to make pottery or ceramic. Maybe I will never become the master of clay. But already I know for what reason I am here.

To discover my passed life again and look with smile into the future. Understand peoples behavior and unity that I believe in so much – exists. I am here because I dreamed about the Sun and summer.

But when I was getting closer to my infinitive aim I saw the snow and Northern Lights. All world so much connected. Each place so unique. Each moment so important. And some may say: - I would like to be there, there is so beautiful. The World is beautiful in itself. Either Tromso, either Brussels, either Bielawa, either Granada, either Tetouan. All of them are beautiful in their only unique sense.

And now I go outside on those obscured little streets where the roofs sink in bright blinding light, where the people hide themselves inside their long monks suits where I stay open and hopefuly ready.

- Parlez vous francais? I wanted to ask anglais but the vision of getting closer to the teacher of pottery was so fascinating that my mind just switched the words. I am in Artisan School. Young boys study handcraft professions. It is warm morning. The clouds still hanged over the mountains are frightening with density. I try to explain to Ali that I want to learn pottery. After few sentences Ali disappeares in unknown direction. I remain with the young scholar. The boy is mixing the clay. Now he can use the hammer and large pieces of material, instead of collecting the little ones as before he was told by the teacher. It provokes the whole process to be done much much more faster. I observe him with curiosity. After he finished he showes me the works of Art Students. By accident he brakes one piece of minor art product. Aware of his did but with sparkles in his eyes he startes to repair two pieces looking from time to time by the doors whether the teacher is not approaching. Few minutes later smile is coming back on his face and he begins to color his drawing. I decide to act. I find Ali and talk francais to him. Finally he understands what I am looking for and he calls his friend Abderkala – my future teacher. We discuss the rules, dinero, managna and I become a scholar.

- Bsaha, Bsaha, Bsaha!!!!!!!! I try to sleep but Nordil is shouting his appreciation of delecting tea. Disadavntage of my room is that I live close to so called ”living room” of the house. Smoking kif and drinking tea are major activities of Nordil daily life.

24th

2009-12-27T19:41:00.007+01:00

There was a day. Called as others by the names. There were once a boy and a girl. Once all was magical and untouched by the hands of evil. Once was a man. Once was a woman.

Then by chance occurred the ray. Called by some the light.

Others couldn't spot a thing.

But I've been there.

2009-12-01T14:13:00.002+01:00

All the doors were closed. She was laying down in pink coffin. The Sun was spreading the dimmed light through the dancing leaves to the song of the passing wind. She was laying with her head covered with snow. There was no one who could wipe it off from her transparent face. Around the coffin was empty space. All the people from the village has already passed to eternity. She was the last. With no wander of love, with no wander of man, she stayed last fifteen years alone. She lived close to the stream, and not too far from the forest. Her neighbors house was fifty meters from the last tree that belonged to her. Now everything looked condemned. Everything looked like falling to awaited sleep. The first snowflakes were dancing in the reddish sky. Clouds were spreading their arms through the emptiness of sky. Only dog was barking and few birds singing. Above the coffin there was a single snapshot of light. Almost nothing. But suddenly the point illuminated with colors. The coffin turned around few times and disappeared in the dot that remained over the ground where seconds ago stood coffin. Dog was still barking. The birds remained singing. There was no other motion any more in the village where houses and barns could fall asleep and rest in undisturbed peace.

Through the layers of skin you can sea the see. It is floating in the motions of repetitive rhythm. On the edge it stops and look through the clouds to see the moon. It backs while you sleep. Thousands of moves. Ballet of purity.

B makes difference

2009-11-26T16:54:00.001+01:00

I wrote one text and then all dissapeared if it were completely untrue. I will try again. No it's almost impossible. Like the images that I face again. Like my country and hometown which look more like from deep eastern europe. From the capital of Europe to Bielawa. Still B. Almost like B. And it doesnt really matter how far I will go, I will return to the same ground as my anccessors. And it is just like this. And rivers still rummble the rocks down the stream.

2009-11-25T00:18:00.006+01:00

To trochę tak jakbym się zatrzymał. Po raz kolejny. Nie pierwszy i nie ostatni. Już ten wcześniejszy był jakby nieodwracalny i na samym dnie. A prosze, jednak nie.
Czasami słowa przychodzą w takich miejscach, gdzie trudno je zapisać. Przyłapane na krawężniku zamiast trzymać się ręki, uciekając bębnią hałaśliwie po zebrze. Czasami siedzę sam. Całymi godzinami nikogo. Nic nie widzę. Chciałoby się coś napisać, a tu nic. W głowie jakby otchłań. Taka przestrzeń, taka pustka. Myśl czasami przemknie. Naiwna. Taka jakby już powtórzona po raz setny lub któryś. Taka myśl, że strach ją zapisać. Bo cóż, gdyby okazała się prawdziwą. Taka myśl: A co jeśli, wszystko to co myślę o świecie, co sobie wyobrażam i interpretuje, wszystko to co mówię innym, co myślę do siebie, co jeśli wszystkie obrazy boga które mi migotają w głowie, co jeśli to wszystko jest nie prawdą. Co jeśli cały czas się mylę. Taka myśl. Jedna. Prosta. Wbrew pozorom wywołująca uśmiech.
A jak już wchodzisz w świat ciągłych inspiracji i rządz, wszystko ożywa, słowa na skrzydłach fantazji fruwają po korytarzach pamięci. I są takie proste i piękne, otwierające furtki do bram niebios, do wiecznej chwały i owacji na stojąco. Trochę jakby z obawy, że może nie są najpiękniejszymi pozwalam im uciec. Rozpłynąć się w delikatną chmurkę niespełnienia. Potem już nikogo nie widząc, na oślep i przed siebie brnę z wyrzutami sumienia. Spotykam osobę. Od tygodni nie rozmawiałem więc wyciągam najsubtelniejsze z barw mojego życia. Karmię odbiorcę łechcąc tym samym swoją próżność. Próżność w której trwam i której za każdym razem myślę że to już kres, a to dopiero początek. Ale nie mówię o tym, bo i po co. Nie warto zaprzątać głowy banałami, jak już znalazło się odbiorcę. Więc nadaję, antenuję prosto w niego, bez skrupółów i przyczaji. Wale wszystko co wiem, że będzie odebrane z zachwytem. A na koniec jeszcze dopierdole, że mam starego inwalide, to dopiero zadziała.......

Gówno.

Nic nie mówię. Siedzę, patrzę, przypatruję się przepięknym drzewom na tle pogodnego nieba. Wysokim, dostojnym, rosnącym w iście Brukselskim porządku (to nic że taki nie istnieje - nieważne - baw się, bo za chwilę może już cię nie być) Więc bawię się. Kręcę sobie kuleczkami, piłeczkę podrzucam do góry tak wysoko, że jak chcę za nią nadążyć to widzę tylko błekit. Taki ciepły i obiecujący. Błękit ciepły? A jednak. Baw się. Nie bądź taki na maksa serio. To przecież ten dzień jest tak piękny, Słońce tak chojne. wszystko jest ciepłe, nawet błekity. Potem jak już trochę się zmęczę, rozprzestrzenię kilka dzwięków dookoła. Przystanie kobieta z psem. Młody więc zżera moje pałeczki, którymi przed chwilą grałem i leci ale nie też tak bardzo na serio. Takie spotkanie. Park, południe, ja nic nie muszę i wszystko jeśli tylko chcę. Pani też wydaje się nie musi, tylko chce. Razem spoglądamy za jej psem. Taka więź, takie spotkanie, takie bardzo "pure", bez dąsania i wybrednych min. Bez nadymki i imponowania. Takie spokojne, miłe, ludzkie a przecież psie jakby.

Jupiler - a jednak dałem się wciągnąć. Picie tak jak życie ;) po wolutku aż do skutku.

Imponuje mi ile ludzie potrafią mówić. A jeszcze więcej pisać. Tylu filozofów, artystów, malarzy, żebraków, sierot, starców. I tylko niektórzy wydają się ważni.

A to, że właśnie teraz razem tak jakby nikomu nie potrzebne. A gdy zanika obraz świętości porządania, odradza się na nowo utopijność względności efemerycznych. I tak wciaż na nowo, bajkom się wpatrując w dno oka niewidzącego, zataczam się do kresów mojej świadomości nie widzącej. I wszystko obłudnie wyuzdane się wydaje znowu. I obraz domu wujka minionego błyszczy niczym kryształ w dupie księżniczki niewyobrażalnej tęsknoty niczyjej za wszystkim co podłościom gardzi i wzgardzając odpych od siebie nawzajem zarzucone rękoma dziecie orze burty odprawionych od setnych setek lat i włóczęg towarzyszy moich którzy obrawszy kursy na opak dopłyneli jednak do celu. A więc chwała im i kamieni kupa.

Ciao ciao bradodhsalkfjlkhasdlgjhaosdivacv kasdliuhwe;ofi lrf ahdfkahsdfjasdh;jsd;g;sdlasd,mv.,cm.v ,xzcmv;lawjdgw;ojeradfkshgajoihfuuuucjkvxzjedksfbbcvzhkfljsdnefhwiiickmvzjvliurhhhhcmn,zjsaeklwdszmx,c

fra Belgia 2

2009-11-15T23:55:00.003+01:00

Once I heard from my mother that she remembered the nights when she could hear the voice that scared her whispering the versus about the death. She ignored them, apparently as well not enough defined to have an answer. After the violent silence of absence she was falling asleep again. Into the kingdom of the most spectacular adventures of your life. Into the freedom of space behind the closed eyes.

Lately she smiled with a grimace when I told her about my anxiousness.

I didn't try to explain. I just fell asleep again.

lazy Brussels

2009-10-28T10:00:00.006+01:00

I sit in a large room. Full of french music. Belgian walls invite me to become the part of them. I feel calm and peaceful. Those are first impressions. I already saw this flat in my dream. At that time exaggerated into the huge apartment with thousands years old trees in the middle of the garden that was at the same time the hall. From the garden you could enter the rooms, like in the chain they were following one another. At the end was small room, with small window. Full of blood and single bed. I was already in this flat. Now I am again.

The road was enough long to get not enough sleep and make me feel so tired that now my brain is playing with me. Is giving the ideas of projects that I could realize. The sun is here again. Somewhere behind me the bird is singing the autumn song. In front I can see the bricks wall. It looks so strange in this place. It is covered by the plant that like invader is spreading down their long arms of destruction. But this time it is not destroying. It is illuminating the old monks monastery. I also feel a little bit like this here. So ridiculous and true. To be in the center of European Union and feel like in some remote cloister. And the walls are high. 3,5m - that's what I like, and missed from Wroclaw :)

From the road I remember countless number of trucks. Like if they wanted to export and import everything just in opposite direction. If they were trying to convert the map, make the positive from the negative or maybe just in the other way. Sleepless nights of trucks. Following the lines of Europe again forward and back. The vision from "Cagoj" comic book if revived in front of my dreaming eyes. There is no more car during that blackness. All the people decided to take off from one place and cross the sky to avoid time, avoid the sad vision of reality. In tax free shops, cheap but still exclusive vodkas and liqueurs. Perfumes that they would like to buy but finally they only water themselves with the free testers. The roads in Europe are empty. So wide, so empty, so free, so static and so dynamic at the same time. The roads in Europe belong to trucks and their drivers. Each time when we were passing one I looked back to see if there is a free space next to the driver. I imagined few times I sit by his side in this specific mood that is only in trucks, when you are crossing the world during the night, I drive with him, listening to the radio or his stories from the road. Each time we passed the truck and I could see the empty sit I smiled. People around looked at me if I were at least weird. I knew they don't understand and I didn't care.

My first lesson of French was already given to me by a guy that I asked about direction. I asked him in English. Probably he only understood Avenue de Maelbeek and he frown in beautiful French. I tried to follow him as fast as I could understand some words. He talked and talked and talked.... probably as typical french. i listened and listened and listened and suddenly I stopped to listen to him any more and I just felt happy. Simply happy. Next guy took me to the train station and showed me with his finger the train I had to take. Again I entered the world of smiled people. It is 6:20 the train half full or half empty of people. Half of them are smiling. That's so positive. Unfortunately on Esterbeek metro station I got off. I tried to ask about my street but there was no answer. I even typed it on my laptop and google map showed me the root to some mystic house that i couldn't see at that time. After one hour of roving around I decided to wake up Louise so that she could help me to find out where the fuck I was. The rest you know, if you don't remember start from the begging :)

so quiet

2009-09-24T18:44:00.002+02:00

Few times I concluded: It is like in Canada. But now when again the feeling is coming back into my veins, I would rather say: In Canada was like in Poland. And in few weeks in Poland I will probably utter: It is like in Norway. It is probably like everywhere when the Earth is preparing to fall asleep into the winter dream. The colors are so powerful, the atmosphere so clear and chilled that with every breath you can feel the sharpness of the invisible life giving air. And maybe because you are freezing all the time, the darkness is coming earlier with each day, and only the city lamps have fun in reflective dance on the puddles.

2009-09-22T20:07:00.013+02:00

I will not die before the Queen.

The sentence that has just been thrown to the space as the seven words without any deeper meaning. Seven words that made all difference. Unpredictable wave of following single letters built the world of remarkable power.

.:First:.

I - so actually who? My hairy belly or my thoughts that with the god speed travel through my mind, that sometimes I wonder if they hadnt flown directly into the space yet. And of course I am the first. There might be someone else for sure. But as the first comes "I" with capital letter to give the sense of importance and required respect. I dont care about others. Maybe later, but firstly I.

.:Second:.

will - apparently from the beginning to the endless end, always was and 'will' will be. It becomes because someone or somewhat wants. I want you! I want to kiss you! I want to kill you! I want to fuck you! I want to die! I want to survive! I want to fly! I want to cry! When I realize that all I want is just the pale of shit. And that the willing will survive. The hope, Inshallah, belief and retrieve, with the heart fully opened and the mind completely free. Then it comes like this. Like rain and awaited guest. So dont hesitate to dream your wish, and if it is right it might will will.

.:Third:.

not - the best compose with do: don't steal the truth. For me that is enough.

.:Forth:.

die - ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

.:Fifht:.

before - there were always some people more wise, more talented, more famous. The past that determines the future but we still don't know how to open the front page and read form this book of knowledge.

.:Sixth:.

the - definite article. Precised with no single thought of doubt.

.:Seventh:.

Queen.

------

The Queen was elder nice lady. She owned a big dog and few black cats. The animals didn't love each other, neither there were fighting. They were present and that was enough. The elder lady used to bath twice a week, and on Saturdays evenings she usually visited her younger sister on the fourteenth floor of the house where she lived. Excitement aroused in her while she was approaching the floor of her sister. She could have felt like in the dream of a bird, that she used to become, and fly away with her thoughts to the places where no one knew her. She didn't have so many things to hide, but there were some rumors in the neighborhood that the old lady had a son, somewhere far, where nor the eye of a man could handle the lightness of the place. She used to dream about this flight, freedom of moving wings, heading into lightness, where behind the curtain she could recognize his face. She could see his eyes. Deeply blue with the green remarks. His skin was painted with the colors of her touch. In the moments when she tried to embrace him with her wings, she woke up. Each night the same. Each awaking in the same mood of not accomplished fulfillment.
The elevator made a tinny noise of moving upward. Old lady stared at the buttons that were alive for the moments of passing floors. She counted them quietly in her mind. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, stop, stop, stop. The doors opened and let the red light from the corridor. From her place, old lady could see endless queue of colorful worn people. - Good evening madam. She could here from the mass but couldn't notice the person who uttered those sentence. A little bit ashamed and confused the Queen entered the corridor. She was pacing slowly into the doors of her sister. Passing faces were giving her glances of interest and curiosity. - Who are all those people, just on the day of my visit to Susan.

Fra Belgia

2009-09-08T21:00:00.003+02:00

Je sui la Pologne.

I came back from Belgium, the country when only once I had to hide my ethnicity in front of young snob girl, who instead of playing with her friends with dolls, plays usually golf!(sic!)

I don't really think that I am typisk Polsk neither. And actually what does it mean to be typisk. There were few surprised eyes that I don't like vodka, yes and even I don't steal cars. Thats fact I work as a grass cutter but before I was a dog musher. Anyway I almost finished my second faculty and maybe soon will become the man with the title. Not the knight or prince, but still some. I am not also Chopin or Czajkowski, not even Mickiewicz or Slowacki, I cant see the Sun as it did Kopernik. So maybe I am not so typisk polsk as some may think I am.

I live where I stay, where is my bad and my plate. I live where my soul is smiling and getting fright. I live where my heart is beating and air fulfill my breath.

And where do I come from?
My mother womb and my father bone.

I am here defined as predicted, with all my shortage and all my fullness.

I am here.

2009-08-12T22:37:00.001+02:00

Outside there is getting darker. The night is coming back as the warrior from the taken battle. Returning closer and smoother each night, getting more and more of the sky, more of the light that can be finally displaced.

I enter the corridor of the African-Asian mix. The sounds of music, the whispers of talks, the smell of food. On one corner I meet Nepal, my eyes shine, reminds are watering my head like the rivers of wild greenness that I remember, the soft smells of the old Bhaktapur City and taste of unforgettable momos still remains in mouths. I got more and more excited, I explode with words into smiled but little bit ashamed eyes of my new incomer. I talk to him and her at the same time painting in the air the way that I crossed with Grisza three years ago. I can feel the smell of the wind that was blowing close to the Pass, and the Sun that was burning our skin when we were getting closer to the lower parts of Himalayas. I could hardly breath with the moisture and high temperatures in the forests of beautiful Nepalese mountains. Behind the window I can see the moving waves of the Ocean but with my mind I am still smoking joint with Bebe and Grisza on the back side of the small gift shop, can still see in the shadow the waitress bringing us the fried potatoes that at that time were the best spiced in the entire world. I can feel all of that, all is alive in my beautiful world of images that once I captured with my eyes and senses. More with my senses than my eyes but all of them make the picture more visible, more clear, without the blurring of the western world.

The western world where I presently stay. More northern world than western. What does it mean. Does it have any meaning, all those worlds, atmospheres, gentle dialects of the culture. We remain human, but our attributes change at once if only we cross the imaginary borders of the world in where people decided to separate the unity of the earth. but on earth we walk, we can not see the borders, they are on papers, in our minds, in our ways of thinking in our worlds where once created we remain forever. So I sit in the north. Before I lived on monkey Island, now I stay in the city so just became the city boy from Tromso. I have never lived in the pink girls district or gangs streets, neither close to the farmers or other so called people. We live close to each other. We are actually neighbours. There might be differences in our appearances but we can still communicate in one language and share the bus stop. But in some minds our destinations are completely opposite, inverse, vanishing. And all those barriers and names and pseudonyms in one closed mind, that cant see farther than the fence of her own farm, behind where all are strangers and bad.
But in the northern world here are also few beings that make all different, special and unique. For sure at least there are 280 dogs that i miss so much and now I already realized that the last winter was a gift. Even if exhausting, even if sometimes too much indicated into peoples behaviours, still remain the one that I will remember till the finish line. I can open the box with the images from this period. First there is only whiteness, it is snowing, snowflakes are falling down on our hoods. We stay in the darkness that sometimes reflects the headlights attached to our bodies to give us the space where visible truck will be followed. There are so many dogs, I don't know them yet. Later they became my friends and loves, but now I am still in the morning darkness, standing with Grzegorz-the best polish musher in Tromso- I am picking up the shit and think what the hell am I doing in this condemned place. Adaptation. First I don't talk. I sit calm and observe, listen and try to behave as much freely as I can pretend to do that. After a while the things develop, there is rain and snow. There is darkness that I truly love, and there is a woman that is given me to love. She shines with the read hair, she burns in front of me. I don't want to posses her, I want her to love me for the rest of her life. The red is spinning around her neck, I am getting more drunk and hallucinations become stronger. I want to kiss her. I take her on my hands and I follow to the room that become our love place for next few months. We clung to each other and we want to stay in this embracement to the end of the night, that hopefully will never finish. But the night was dense and long, with the sparkling lights of the city seeing across the fjord. The night was superior with the ballets of the dancer that covered with green was performing in the endless space of universe. we were given those moments only once in our life time. That was so perfect and unrepeatable. The dogs were amazing. So clever, so brave, so non demanding. So powerful and strong. They were excellent. The life was simply good even if at that time seemed a little bit complicated. So night is coming back but I am leaving. If for constant or just a period of another great adventure of the play in life. Who knows. Nobody even dared to suppose that the last winter will look as it did. Why I think about the winter. It is the 12th of August, the middle of the summer and i already started to think about the winter. I am weird.

it is still summer, the 13th of August. My mothers birthdays. My mother created from the pieces of never discovered passed. The pieces that provoke to move, to search and to find on the bottom of the heart that it really doesn't matter. The wind is cold today. This kind of autumn one, the light as well changed the saturation to more dramatic.

- Father, and what if we never wake up?
- Dont bother son. we will.
- but what if not. will be there also the sun and the flowers, father.
- dont think about it.
- but i wander what will happen when during the mysterious moments of transformation from the realm to the dream i will fall down to the bottom of my soul and will decide to die.
- how old are you my son?
- I am 25.
- You are still to young to die. You can still enjoy the Sun, and the women and dance. Look at me. i am twice older then you and the darkness of oblivion stays away from my heart. why do you think about all those black moments and the eternity.
- I dont know. I just wandered what if i fall asleep and never wake up.
- there is always the path that you can choose. The willing to live will drug you up and situate you in the moments that you would have never expected. There are still the tops to be climb and seas to be sailed. You can dye in thousands of way but dont follow the darkness of the dream. Force the illusion of divine happiness to leave you on the ground. On the place where the man should stay. Stay alive and full of willing to discover. Now you can pace your path son, your lesson is finished. Enjoy your life and return when you will find the answer to your question. What if you will follow the darkness of the dream. but be careful, son. It is not an easy way. Now go and leave me alone.
- Thank you father.

***

- Be welcomed my son. I see you managed to wake up each down and follow your path.
- Indeed father. In last twenty five years that has passed since our last meeting I have discovered and experienced all realities of the dream, and all illusions of the world. I tried to break it into pieces and then build again. Each time the new creation has been made and brought me into different troubles and rejoices. I met lot of people. Many of them have already died. Some are still alive and still in the battle somewhere in their realms. I came my father because the darkness can be followed, can be adapted, can be understandable and can be over-fought. There were many of demons that tried to tempt me with their tricks. Not all i rejected. There were some so tempting and so desirable that I couldn't handle their beauty. I danced with them all the nights, embraced in spasmodic orgies, i fucked them all and they were giving me their bodies without the thoughts of doubt, without a word, without any sound against my invasion on their bodies. They were demons father. They have the thousands orgasm of my betrayed mind, they enjoyed all my fallings into deeper parts of my subconscious. Sometimes I slept the weeks, I didnt want to wake up from their dreams that became my world, became my small room of vanishment. I wander father how much I lost during those nights that became the months of constant and undisturbed dream. I died few times during those sessions. Each time reborn again to life with only one thought. To go farther father. To go to the limits. To find in each piece of sand the perfection of the universe. To dont turn back. To follow the path. To sleep less and act more. To move. To become the nomad, the man without land, the man without the house and man without the bad that can sleep each night in the arms of the same lover. I became nothing and became everything. I existed and I didnt. I felt completely free, I became the wind, I became the bird that flew over the people, over the moments of life into the point where I came now. I am free of feelings and I want to die, father.
- It is not so easy son, you havent loved, you lived in the life of constant illusion. You became wind that blows over the mountains never rich the top. You became the bird but you have never settled up the nest. You are not free my son. You think you are but you dont. You are not free of death. It will come in the moment when you will not expect, in the moment when you love, and that love will become your life, will become the only realm that you would like to live forever. Then she will come and invite you to the common dance and then you will regret your willing to die that you had in the previous life. You died many times, when you had to be ready to sink into the dreams, but now my son wake up, reborn the last time go and find the woman. This is the last lesson I give you my son. I am too old to be alive here when you will come to visit me again. I am too old to teach you more. What I know now you will get it when you visit me on my grave. Then the death will reunite us in thoughts. but now my son, leave and let me die in peace.
- yes father, as you ordered.

***

The wind was blowing over the graveyard in forgotten kingdom of entire wisdom. The knowledge has been buried down below the inches of cold dirt that start to cover with the white layer of frozen air. There was only one person. He stepped forward to the graveyard, opened the front doors and entered the garden of endless emptiness. Never he felt more close to death and never he felt so lonely and abandoned as at that time. He crossed the life with only one thought - to understand. And now he is standing in front of his father, of his teacher, his knowledge. The man took of his clothes. He didnt feel the coldness, couldnt feel aching razors of cutting encounter.

- Here I am father!!!!!! Listen to me you old bustard!!!!!!! Can you hear me you fucking prick!!!!!!!!! I know that you are there. You also know that I am here!!!!! You hear me!!!! I am here!!!!!! I came again and not the last!!!!! I will never die!!!! I will live forever and constant to the end of this kingdom. I am the kingdom and you know about this. I am the castle of your knowledge that you tried to transfer to me through all those years. Here I am father because I understood! Now I know that the death is in each act of our deeds, in every thought that flashes in our minds, the death is the part of us and will never leave us alone. There will be always she that walks the step behind me and takes with her all that I touch, all that I love, all that I have ever decided to called mine. I understood father that she is coming in the moments of happiness and take what is hers. Takes the lives and people that we love without asking us about the word of permission and confirmation. She is uncontested and always true. Without the masks of illusions. She comes and breaks, possess and vanishes. She is the queen of life and the light of darkness. She is the goddess of forgotten and loved one.
- Here I am father!!!!! You knew I will come in the same conditions as you predicted. You left the kingdom and I am still here. You died but you are still in the center of the knowledge. You are still in my mind and you live. I can hear you in the whisper of wind and the movement of coldness that streams down my body. You are in me, i became you. NOW father I listen to you. I want to hear your last speech before the night of death will come down to the only woman I truly loved, to the one that now is dieing in her bed, lonely, without the child that could be with her in her last moments. The children has been taken few years after they have appeared. She lays in her bed alone only with the breath of the endless on her arm, with the queen that waits for another servant in her kingdom of vanishment. Here I am father because you expected me to come in the time when the death will come. And she comes but not for me but for her. You knew that also but you didnt dare to utter a single word about the course that lies upon our kingdom.
- Here I am father. I am ready. Continue what is inescapable. I am here. Fight!!!!!!

........

After the last sentence and order to the battle the fathers spirit revived in the body of his son. The battle began.

........

Fra Mandallen

2009-07-19T22:33:00.000+02:00

Girl opens the doors. She sees the Ocean and the waves that belonging to their master have forgotten that he is made of them. Her father left in the time where the time was still in front of his own reflection, in the times when people didn´t know about his existence.
Sometimes she dreams that she can recognize his face amongst the ones that are spinning on the wheel of whispered wishes. She tries to grab his profile, to encounter the glance that she has never been given, to embrace the hair that smell no other that she knows. From the savage rage, from the bottom of her shell, she can observe the world that remains her own imaginary fantasies about the love, about the past, about her hidden half that she couldn't have established. She enters the room full of sparkling lights, the candles invite her to the common walk. Step by step, uncertain of the next one, she sinks deeper in the ,moving train. Even if she knows that those can't stand together, that the train cannot cross the river, that the water could easily kill the light, even though she knows that she dreams and she dreams her own dream, where impossible becomes real, where real creates only the structure on which she hangs the images. She sits comfortable on the sofa. In front of her like in private cinema the movie has been screening. She applies more volume that she could hear more clearly, that the sound becomes unbearably obsessive. She wants to listen to the words, she wants to see behind them thousands different worlds that created by the single waves can multiply her visions, that she could try to select the one that will remain even after.
A girl is accompanied by a man. They pace together on the colorful streets of abstract and undiscovered smells of spices. They try to talk the language that they can barely understand. They look into their eyes and they know the words are over them, over the market, over the street, even over the realm of the dream in which they perform to be actors. They know that in front of the screen there is a woman that waits for words, that waits for the ensure of her thoughts. But mouths of both of them are closed, only eyes smile and glimpses dance along the road of hidden senses. Suddenly the road is followed by the path, the path is followed by the stream, the stream is followed by the drops, small pieces o cry that falls on them with tension. The girl takes the mans hand and drug him to the tree.
- Look there is no leaves on this tree.
- You can hang them if you want. Answers the man, and he room is fulfilled with the words, echoing the last 'want' in serpentine of thoughts.
- No, I will not do that. People should hang them, not me.

The end of tape wakes her up from this strange dream. She tries to carry her body up, but in the head like the bombs explode the last sentence of her dream. Why does it have to happen to her. Why all this sounds and images terrorize her each time when she want to rest from her life, from the presence. Why cannot she dream about something else. Actually, why she has to dream at all.

Back on the road

2009-06-25T16:24:00.000+02:00

We are moving between Tromøya, Kvaloya, Hakoya, between kitchens, cottage houses, rooms, bathrooms, dreams enhanced with the views that passing in front leave us in the places of unpredictable beauty and unique.

It was still spitting in the early afternoon, heavy clouds hung over the mountains, hiding their picks in the unbreakable moist. After few hours, in shining Sun we were hitchhiking in the middle of the crossroad trying to stop the cars that were heading towards the west, more a less till Kvaloya, where we were supposed to have a dinner at our friend place. All the drivers or passengers were eating ice creams, what wasn't really surprising considering fact that the Sun was really hot since one hour. After twentieth ice cream, licking obsessively by the frighten possessor that maybe it it the last time that he can enjoy this coldness and sweetness during this unstable summer. Or maybe that was the reason why, because of the first day of the summer. The time was passing lazily, but we were in a hurry, and there was not a single sign from our apparent drives that we can be picked up. Suddenly the group of youths stopped and proposed the lift. When the driver tried to clean the back sit for us he realized there are tones of chips and wanted to flee but I stopped him with the shout that is perfect unless he drives us a little bit forward, over the bridge. We settled down on the comfy back sit with another passenger, in front the blond young Norwegian farmer with his girlfriend or wife, considering his gold ring on his right forth finger. Bass filled up the interior of our vehicle with the sounds of Norwegian disco music and at that time I realized ow different is the landscape when you can look at it by someones eyes. How all is relative and diverse. Even when Hakoya was far forward from the destination of their ride, they drove us almost into the bonfire, which was our aim that evening. The driver was so excited that he received back his driving license and also so sure that he will lose it again the same day that without a word of doubt he drove all the way like trapping by some ghosts or mare of north.
After this frantic ride we were ready to enjoy the evening in the rays of sun jumping high to catch the one and bouncing on the chair into the rhythm of waving ocean.
And I think I can decide that I will never belong to this place, and that the road is opened and the track is obvious, the lands undiscovered and faith in the heart that one day there will be the sand on which the walls will grow up to the sky with the feeling of certainty.
As far - BON VOYAGE!!!!

2009-06-12T22:56:00.001+02:00

There are only breaking points.

All the rest if not incarnated in travel is just slowly passing time into the eternity.

There is no "ALE" curve. There are many points that make all difference and only because of its frequency it matters if the life is boring or not. There are not more any aims because all is aimless. The aims are not needed. What is needed are the points that break and change the all. The periods between are motionless reminds of the images that once flashed as the stars remains in our memories.

2009-06-12T20:24:00.000+02:00

It starts mainly by the hit, that splash the wings of your dreams on the watery misery of the truth that comes down on you with the restless breath of death.
Then you have to face with the end that lines the border of your life.
And then you realize that the path is followed by two but only one will be let inside. The pairs that arm by arm walk through all, they have to separate while time has come. There are no singles, not a dot of pot, inside where you vanish with your soul. So they step foot by foot together with the arm in arm, but we have to die alone like the Sun that sinks by night. Even when reflection remains without the change there is time when we will close the doors behind which the shadow dies, and return by our own with no one by one side, the steps with half of noise that disappears at once.

We can pace together but we die alone.

2009-05-30T00:29:00.000+02:00

one tak szybko mkna, pedza jakby na spotkanie, na ostatni sabat. Tuz przed koncem zimy jeszcze chcialyby zaskoczyc, ale waitr je tylko gna, wygania niechciane kurwy po skonczonym spektaklu niebios.

2009-05-19T00:15:00.001+02:00

It is only sometimes when I get out from the shell and then try to contact through the unbreakable barriers with people.

It was mainly raining while I was here last time. By chance met few known persons. Then I left to the country called home, but this time this real one, gardenia one, with the roots deeply hidden in the nerves of youth. The playground full of passed but still remaining faces that reappear like the ghosts in forgotten obscured streets where only the rats can find the absence of the beauty and regardlessly are favored with that. The paths which don't exist any more but the feet are crossing the well known stones with the eyes stared high above the horizon where always wanted to steal them and rarely were able to move farther than to the closest shop with the non luxury products. The place of unchanged figures, the actors with the roles ones taught, with no doubts in dialogs, with not a single blink in the eye. The mouths which repeat the phrases on the self recorded vinyls of the mind. They will survive the heaviest storms and will not suffer the single day from the lack of conversations. The shells became their houses, became their skins, became themselves. Two shells standing arm by arm behind the desk that separate You from them. The desk where You receive Your daily amount of survival kit and where You can ask about the forgotten friend. In the place where the shell doesn't want to remember her son and where the second one is smiling with flat grimace of indiscretion. With the bag fully packed by the scrupulous vendors of Your reminds You enter the home, this real one.
On the stairs, instead of the always exultant, spinning with her tail like a comet, dog You can see the broken branch of the authority that planted out to the new garden try to raise its body and let the leaves get some Sun. By the constantly repetition it moves forward to the point of once fixed judgment. Only on the tiny line, behind which the concealed jarring teeth play the song of the battle between the troops of karmas deeds, You can notice the hope, sitting with her left leg over the lower lip and the right one stretching on the drop of sweat. You jump over the stairs like You would like to say: "you will never grow up", but the tongue is being dragged back into the hall sounded with unspeakable rage. And then You enter the home, this real one and irreplaceable.

The rain came back after the week sunk in the Sun. The events get shape after.

Through the gates of old book at the end of the corridor there is a place where behind invisible transparent curtain you immerse into the ocean of knowledge. In a dimmed light you can recognize the shape of the curve, while the inverse figure is still hidden between the conventions. The view that spreads behind the projections of never shoot movie. The actress stays in between. Her gaze is pointed towards me, in the eyes I can notice the big question mark which was there from the beginning. Then she is leaving. The greenness remains as the lamp and two white squares that paint the circles around the windows. And then You enter....

On the white cupboard there is always the place for the ashtray in which the rests of our dreams are burning in the flames of the boundaries that created in front of our plans took over our lives. He is growing fast in the unmeasurable tact of his passion to smoke, his passion to think, his passion to let the beard steering his wheel, the wheel of uncompressed desire that erected during the endless nights spotting the fields of her forgotten unsolicited pussy. It is like reflection - the mirror behind which I reflect him and he becomes me, but there is no certainty which one is real and who is only the image, the play card image of the flipped over king.

Darek - the person without the role. Simplicity in the roots of freshness. Darek is simple, and so much real, so much close to the life, so serious and naive at the same time. Darek dreams sometimes, he knows what is true and what is the constant illusion. He doesn't choose, he ain't no choice - he knows. He is the saddest person I have met. He owns two motorbikes and one car.

In the midst of evaporating lungs of the south end of the Island called home I entered the dreams world. Completely condemned, hidden against the tourists, precisely concealed in the darkness of the forest Alice in Wonderland world.

overdosed

2009-04-29T13:40:00.000+02:00

All the people are running around. Acting, doing, finding sense in their deeds, or maybe try to cover the lack of it by constant motion. They have no time to think because they are always busy, they can't find the moment to reverse because they are still on the same wave. They can not see the end so they think that is the only thing they can do. They are afraid about passing to the point where everything is done, everything is accomplished, everything is once finished and concluded.

I found myself in this position. I lost meaning for the world. I start to become useless to the people and they try to expunge me from the landscape, from the faces they used to watch each day. I became a little bit not fit in the system, a little bit too clunky. A little bit without the sense of life that they are achieving in endless passing.

I took off on the one station and I still wait for another train and another destination where I will follow. But for those people I am already lost. They will breath with relief when I will finally check my ticket and leave. They can not wait. They can not let the thought about the motionless traveler. It doesn't match to the once established rhythm of life.

In my static position I found the infinite space of the north and crashed with the mismatching. I stay calm because the all is illusion and the all is only the moment that will vanish into the endless rivers of oblivion. And after a while no one will recognize me and my name will be mentioned with blur because I didn't find myself in the stream.

But as usually the circle of life turns quit fast and the moments of illusion disperse into thousands sparkling stars.

wild wild west

2009-04-28T10:23:00.000+02:00

Where is the border of the nature and the savage garden of infinite lakes and forests of the North?

Another lesson about the life, environment and self-established belief.

Multiplication of images, people, deeds and actions. The sounds of the past playing loudly in the room of the future. Proportion determines the taste. Pinch of experience and half tea spoon of dreams makes the flavour of the morning coffee and smile and love and blalblalbalbalaaa. wowowowowaawowoaawowooawwwoaoowaawwa.
Balance on the emotions, weary steps forward the feelings, with each the fear of fall, after the breath of relief.

Testimonial

2009-04-19T10:39:00.000+02:00

You enter the world that before was only imaginative image of something that people can do and enjoy. Finally you reached the point where you can stand on the runners, look forward into the wilderness and in front of you, you can see few of your friends that are making job for you to pull your sledges.

And all that is damned by one fucking stupid mother fucker that thinks is the god of the tales. One fucking hyperactive idiot who is throwing the piece of the corns and few plates of bidos.

You have to face the point where the love is forgotten by dignity. Respectfulness that bump the blood in your veins and make the final step.

I left Poland to avoid people like that. Even when called family I had to reject the behaviors that were curving my low self-confidence during my childhood. One day I stood up for my rights, chose the path I am following. I haven't come back for more than a year, I don't send sensitive greetings from the places where I got on my own, I don't share the feelings that surrounded me while facing the beauty of the places where my feet took me. I don't want to listen to excuses, I don't want to tolerate fascism, racism and chauvinism. I hate the motherfuckers who are only strong when they can feel your fright. And I don't escape from the problem. I am just leaving cause as I found the world is huge, the world is full of positive people, open-minded, tolerant, warm and friendly. I could try to change, but it is meaningless, and the small coffee shops on the corner of the worlds are waiting with the hot chocolate and a piece of cake, as the life sometimes is.

So that is the most reason - why?

On the other hand the feelings I left one day in June in the bushes close to Asgard while I wanted to escape from my broken heart try to posses me once again. The despair that I read so much about in Neils Gaiman books stands on the doorstep of my consciousnesses. I left 280 dog souls behind, and few nice guys I met. But the life is still rumbling and maybe one day I will find myself again behind the steer and once again I will be given to explore the wilderness with the best animals ever. Animals which in the reincarnation process became the dogs, and animals that are more human than we could expect. I left behind my friends, the beautiful women and handsome men. But memories remain and the best moments of this adventure had been already done. I smile even when I know it is finished. I smile because I learned more about myself, about the world and about priorities who have to follow if you don't want to lose yourself. That was good winter, full of snow, full of dogs, full of people, full of experience. All is closed in my museum of imagination and I am glad about it. And the despair tried once again but I know how to recognize her and say that is not the right time to enter, not yet and hope so not soon.

I am the second best polish musher in Tromso and that makes me proud :)

Aaaaouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-04-18T19:12:00.000+02:00

I can only hear the noise outside. No yowling, no barking, no crying. All my four feet friends left behind. Small Sas with hyper active front legs when waiting for a bowl with food, obsessed by love Alaska waiting for the warm hand, beautiful eyes of Asterix sending You glance while passing. Spinning tales when they hear your voice, smile when they jump on you.

And all that behind because of self-imposed exile. I had to quit my job but now I am so sad and sick.

Finish.

How to revive your optimism - short trip to Sweden with Alaskan Huskies

2009-04-11T22:34:00.000+02:00

I woke up 6:30, took a shower, fed the dogs. It was Sunday morning and I was supposed to leave Tromso for one week, heading north till Signaldalen and then with six lovely dogs and few tourists behind me dog sleded till Kiruna.

And you know what - I did it!!!!!!!

And that was one of the most amazing things I have done since last December.

Tired with Villmarksenter scandals whith head full of doubts I stood behind the line becoming the dog tale, we started to climb up the valley, the Sun surprised us with its presence and even when I had to catch some lost teams I was smiling inside that I was in the place like that and I was doing the things I wouldn't have expected few months earlier.

I forgot soon about my dejection and enjoyed the arctic cold, heavy winds and whiteness that surrounded us all over.

Fairy tale

2009-04-01T20:28:00.000+02:00

Outside is so quiet.

There was a long time ago when I was cycling with Oscar but my blog has the same name.

And what about all the fairy tales. Provoked by the fright are the canon of our books, we start them as the childrens and later on we convert them to the stories of American writers, fascinated by their lives, with thoughts of our misery experiences, the lives that usually ended up in the hotel room with loads of boos around, the lives that left us so much potential in the words but owners exile from their bodies.
And what about the people. Do we always need them attention to declare our beings as important. What about the words we communicate with others. No order, no sense when we try to free our voice. The head full of thoughts that transparent through our tongs die on the corner of our mouths.
Four months past since I have arrived to Tromso. Today disagreement of treatment almost push me to quit my job and start again the searching of undiscovered. We try bring to the light the wisdom of our experiences but where is the knowledge of the solitude. Where are the examples of humans that possessing wisdom means being alone. Solitude in the piece of art. Solitude in the art of piece. Gathering them together create the mask of our invisible faces. Stupidity in the name of order, lost in the name of obedience.
Freedom of choice or another uncertain searching for love.

I write to so many people but in fact in their behaviors I find myself. The mirror of lack of authenticity. Everything once shown, once spotted. Repetitive circle of deeds flashed once more in front of our eyes. The balls of light that try to blow from the place we believed is soul.

And love and the creation of desires looking up for the words that come in the moment when we feel it. The words once more inspired and reincarnated by the language of hearts.

And thats it. Another fairy tell closed by the magical world of the letters.

2009-03-19T10:57:00.000+01:00

Głupie kurwy na całym Swiecie

2009-03-02T14:10:00.000+01:00

So You got known something. Few words spread as the part of pleasant conversation. One sentence that after which your mind start to squeeze the thoughts of disagreement. And why and for what and from which reason and with which result. Nonsense. The asnwer is nonsense and even when it is nonsense it is still something that push the control button in your mind and ask for evacuation.

2009-02-19T13:56:00.000+01:00

Our fright try to posses us in every aspect of the life. Firstly we are afraid that there will be no more Sun, even when it is shining just into us, we stay on the top of the hill, can observe our expanding shadows, we are still afraid that is the last time when we feel so special, that it is the last time that we deserve it. In the time when there was no Sun we were more calm, relaxed, in the position of the sleeping warriors waiting for the call to the battle. And it started - invaders spreading around their rays attack us each day with more powerful strength. But we don't trust them, it is too rapid to be real, it is too unpredictable to be origin, it exists and we are afraid.

In the nights we dream about the Sun that reincarnates into constantly reviving world of our desires, people we need, lips we want to kiss, and eyes in which all the Universe is represented as the big black hole into where we want to be drugged and forgotten. We are so afraid about the future that we start to convert into the caricaturist that points out what he wants to show us.

And there is so many lands to discover, so much space to be filled with our presence, so many wines to be drunk with different encounters, and so many joints to be smoked under the cover of the Asian sky.

Because love as the travels even in singular can reincarnate into various souls that wait for us, sipping the green tea on the market of Marrakesh or searching for the right direction on the crossroad in the endless floating Ocean.

And there is the Sun outside - and that is all.

2009-02-18T22:57:00.000+01:00

...

2009-02-14T15:26:00.000+01:00

I moved my books into Casino. I opened the one that I read in Chinese train to Xi'an and I read:

"It is not life" - he delivered himself dogmatically. "In life little girl die or get well. Something happen in life. In picture nothing happen. No, I do not understand pictures" ; Jack London, "The SUn-Dog Trail".

One more I started in Toronto International Airport and finished on the couch in Aasgaard during Sunday afternoon:

"How much do you love me?" - Midori asked
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter," I said; Haruki Murakami, "Norwegian Wood"

As a dog tale

2009-02-11T03:35:00.000+01:00

It is 0330. North Norway, Troms, Kvaloya. In one hour I go for a 5hour dogsleding trip. Do You think I am dreai=ming or I am crazy? I am completely conscious.
And on more - in last 16 hours I was as a dog tale for ten of them.

Welcome to my job:)
nice?he?:)

2009-02-08T23:30:00.000+01:00

The place where all my dreams are being caught by the bread of the shape of circularity between our souls.

The place where I used to return each time when I arrive.

The bridge or the age, where behind so much confusion.

Without the words

2009-02-04T23:06:00.000+01:00

ach

oui

je've

si

Ambigous life of words

2009-02-02T16:28:00.000+01:00

Bo czyż nie wolności miarą wciąż oceniamy nasze życie, w którym utkane nicie wyswobodzenia prują wzór w nieskończonych pętelkach supłów wybauszonych oczu przejezdnych. Jak wspaniale jest pisać w języku, który się zna, albo przynajmniej się tak człowiekowi wydaje, że zna. Właśnie Schulza do poduszki czytam dlatego może tak mnie z pierwszym zdaniem wzięło:)

I sit in my Casion room, listen to French music, snow is covering the Norwegian Island, on my European computer I watch the photos from Asia!!!!! Amazing!!!!!

Today sinking in the whiteness of visualized world that I believed was behind that curtain I felt like walking in the space without any other dimension than wide spread tense of color that balancing my steps almost drove me into paranoid state of solitude. In time I reached the pick and then without any orientation skied down.