A musical interlude- some of my favourite Estonian ethnic folk

Where else to go other than to more music and back to the roots. Sharing a few of my current favourites from Estonian ethnic folk scene. Enjoy!




Chorus: "So much life So much light So much silence and  graceful clarity above the sleeping fields"

This one's an old Estonian folk song about a girl who's being tempted by men with gold and silver, but she blows them off and lives for herself and the beauty of the world.

"He promised to carry me in his arms for my whole life

And to give me the treasure below the end of the rainbow

I replied to him: ''I'd rather drown myself than give in to the temptation of gold!''

Up and down, with un-tied hair I swing down from the edge of the sky 

Free as a bluebird
To fly here and there
when love and joy fills my chest
It's beauty that keeps me in this world"

"From within darkness 
I find my head
So you never have to 
stay beside me as a guard
Once again I am buying stars
from the sheer light of the sky"


And finally one of my all-time favourites, this ethnic metal band is simply class. The message of it nicely tying up to my previous blog and forming a circle..

"Everyone has a song of their heart Its different for everyone Everyone here has their own song but I can't find mine"

Ikaros, true names, and preparing for Peru

Only one measly month to go till another adventure, another exploration, this time in South America.
It was always the shamanic culture of it that called me, even though I have experienced that also in my native Estonia, which is still somewhat embedded with the same traditions. Same same but different as they say in Asia. :)

Anyway I very much intend to go to the core of it, all or nothing like always. These past couple of days have been spent in preparation for a part of the journey I am at once both most excited and also most nervous about. Research about the shamanic healing tradition with the plant mixture ayahuasca. If such a thing as research is possible.

One of the most enthralling and magical parts of the research has been the introduction to ikaros- plant spirit songs. It's simply such a beautiful idea that I have no trouble at all in trusting and that has an ancient wisdom behind it which I believe we all intuit through our collective unconscious. To basically believe that every single entity- plant, human or mineral, and even concepts such as peace and fear- have their own individual waving pattern of energy and sound. Similar to mantras in the East it also coincides with the concept and notion of a True Name. 

"A true name is a name of a thing or being that expresses, or is somehow identical with, its true nature. The notion that language, or some specific sacred language, refers to things by their true names has been central to philosophical and grammatical study as well as various traditions of magic, religious invocation and mysticism (mantras) since antiquity." See the page on true name in Wikipedia here

The notion of a true melody is to my mind an evolutionary step higher from a true name. How beautiful to envision that every single entity has its own melody, everything has its own song, and if we know this song, we commune with another truly, through the very essence!
Here is an example of ikaros- a clip from a beautiful documentary on ayahuasca "Other worlds" which you can watch online here



"One of the most striking features of Amazonian mestizo shamanism is the icaro, the magic song, whispered, whistled, and sung. The term icaro may come from the Quechua verb ikaray, blow smoke for healing, or perhaps from the Shipibo term ikarra, shaman song. The icaro is given to the shaman by the spirits of the plants and animals, and the shaman uses it to call the spirits for healing, protection, or attack, and for many other purposes as well — to control the visions of another person who has drunk ayahuasca, work love magic, call the spirits of dead shamans, control the weather, ward off snakes, visit distant planets, work sorcery. As one mestizo shaman puts it, you cannot enter the world of spirits while remaining silent.

Communication between the shaman and the plants through the icaro is two-way. Francisco Montes Shuña says that the icaro is the language of the plant. “If you have dieted with the plant and have not learned its icaro,” he says, “then you know nothing.” The icaro is the language by which the shaman communicates with the plant, and through the icaro the plant will reply.

In possessing these songs, the mestizo shaman is not different from shamans found among indigenous peoples throughout the Amazon, for whom songs are a key element of the healing ritual. Anthropologist Jean Matteson Langdon considers the South American shaman to be distinguished from the ordinary person in three ways that constitute the shaman’s power— the visionary experience, the acquisition of spirit allies, and the acquisition of songs. Among the Araweté, “the most frequent and important activity of a shaman is chanting.” Anthropologist Graham Townsley puts it this way: “What Yaminahua shamans do, above everything else, is sing.”

There are thousands of icaros, and shamans assert their prestige depending on how many they have in their repertoire; an experienced shaman will haves scores of icaros, perhaps more than a hundred. The uses of these songs are as varied as the needs of shamans. When the icaro arrives, one may know its use immediately, or its use may become clear as one continues to sing it. There are icaros for calling, for protection, for learning, for exchanging knowledge, for healing". Src

"One ayahuasca vision showed me how all levels of existence, including material and non-material levels as thoughts or feelings, have vibration, or sound underneath their surface manifestation. If one can reproduce the sound, vibration, or "song" of that which you are working with, you can enter into it and change it around! The shaman does just this using themselves as an instrument to effect the joining." Luis Eduardo Luna

Warrior of Light- Paolo Coelho

Painting from summer 2012, I think I shall name it "Alchemy", and will elaborate on it in some later blog perhaps... It simply seemed to fit the theme

Excerpts from "Manual of the Warrior of Light" by Paolo Coelho


A warrior of light knows that he has much to be grateful for.
He was helped in his struggle by the angels; celestial forces placed each thing
in its place, thus allowing him to give of his best.
His companions say: 'He's so lucky!' And the warrior does sometimes achieve
things far beyond his capabilities.
That is why, at sunset, he kneels and gives thanks for the Protective Cloak
surrounding him.
His gratitude, however, is not limited to the spiritual world; he never forgets
his friends, for their blood mingled with his on the battlefield.
A warrior does not need to be reminded of the help given him by others; he is
the first to remember and makes sure to share with them any rewards he receives.


A warrior of light knows that certain moments repeat themselves.
He often finds himself faced by the same problems and situations, and seeing
these difficult situations return, he grows depressed, thinking that he is incapable of
making any progress in life.
'I've been through all this before,' he says to his heart.
'Yes, you have been through all this before,' replies his heart. 'But you have
never been beyond it.'
Then the warrior realises that these repeated experiences have but one aim: to
teach him what he does not want to learn.


A warrior of light is never predictable.
He might dance down the street on his way to work, gaze into the eyes of a
complete stranger and speak of love at first sight, or else defend an apparently absurd
idea. Warriors of light allow themselves days like these.
He is not afraid to weep over ancient sorrows or to feel joy at new discoveries.
When he feels that the moment has arrived, he drops everything and goes off on some
long-dreamed-of adventure. When he realises that he can do no more, he abandons the
fight, but never blames himself for having committed a few unexpected acts of folly.
A warrior does not spend his days trying to play the role that others have
chosen for him.


Warriors of light always keep a certain gleam in their eyes.
They are of this world, they are part of the lives of other people and they set
out on their journey with no saddlebags and no sandals. They are often cowardly.
They do not always make the right decisions.
They suffer over the most trivial things, they have mean thoughts and
sometimes believe they are incapable of growing. They frequently deem themselves
unworthy of any blessing or miracle.
They are not always quite sure what they are doing here. They spend many
sleepless nights, believing that their lives have no meaning.
That is why they are warriors of light. Because they make mistakes. Because
they ask themselves questions. Because they are looking for a reason - and are sure to
find it.


The moment that he begins to walk along it, the warrior of light recognises the
Path.
Each stone, each bend cries welcome to him. He identifies with the mountains
and the streams, he sees something of his own soul in the plants and the animals and
the birds of the field.
Then, accepting the help of God and of God's Signs, he allows his Personal
Legend to guide him towards the tasks that life has reserved for him.
On some nights, he has nowhere to sleep, on others, he suffers from insomnia.
'That's just how it is,' thinks the warrior. 'I was the one who chose to walk this path.'
In these words lies all his power: he chose the path along which he is walking
and so has no complaints.


Every warrior of light has felt afraid of going into battle.
Every warrior of light has, at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.
Every warrior of light has trodden a path that was not his.
Every warrior of light has suffered for the most trivial of reasons.
Every warrior of light has, at least once, believed that he was not a warrior of
light.
Every warrior of light has failed in his spiritual duties.
Every warrior of light has said 'yes' when he wanted to say 'no'.
Every warrior of light has hurt someone he loved.
That is why he is a warrior of light, because he has been through all this and
yet has never lost hope of being better than he is.


A warrior of light is never indifferent to injustice.
He knows that all is one and that each individual action affects everyone on
the planet. That is why, when confronted by the suffering of others, he uses his sword
to restore order.
But even though he fights against oppression, at no point does he attempt to
judge the oppressor. Each person will answer for his actions before God and so, once
the warrior has completed his task, he makes no further comment.
A warrior of light is in the world in order to help his fellow man and not in
order to condemn his neighbour


A warrior of light is never in a hurry.
Time works in his favour; he learns to master his impatience and avoids acting
without thinking.
By walking slowly, he becomes aware of the firmness of his step. He knows
that he is taking part in a decisive moment in the history of humanity and that he
needs to change himself before he can transform the world. That is why he remembers
the words of Lanza del Vasto: 'A revolution takes time to settle in.'
A warrior never picks the fruit while it is still green.


The warrior of light knows the importance of intuition.
In the midst of battle, he does not have time to think about the enemy's blows,
and so he uses his instinct and obeys his angel.
In times of peace, he deciphers the signs that God sends him.
People say: 'He's mad.'
Or: 'He lives in a fantasy world.'
Or even: 'How can he possibly believe in such illogical things?'
But the warrior knows that intuition is God's alphabet and he continues
listening to the wind and talking to the stars.


For the warrior there is no such thing as an impossible love.
He is not intimidated by silence, indifference or rejection. He knows that,
behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire.
This is why the warrior takes more risks than other people. He is constantly
seeking the love of someone, even if that means often having to hear the word 'No',
returning home defeated and feeling rejected in body and soul.
A warrior never gives in to fear when he is searching for what he needs.
Without love, he is nothing.


The warrior of light is a believer.
Because he believes in miracles, miracles begin to happen. Because he is sure
that his thoughts can change his life, his life begins to change. Because he is certain
that he will find love, that love appears.
Now and then, he is disappointed. Sometimes, he gets hurt.
Then he hears people say: 'He's so ingenuous!'
But the warrior knows that it is worth it. For every defeat, he has two victories
in his favour.
All believers know this.


The warrior of light has learned that it is best to follow the light.
He has behaved treacherously, he has lied, he has strayed from the path, he has
courted darkness. And everything was fine, as if nothing had happened.
Then an abyss suddenly opens up; you can take a thousand steps in safety, but
just one step too many can put an end to everything. Then the warrior stops before he
destroys himself.
When he makes that decision, he hears four comments: 'You always do the
wrong thing. You're too old to change. You're no good. You don't deserve it.'
He looks up at the sky. And a voice says: 'My dear, everyone makes mistakes.
You're forgiven, but I cannot force that forgiveness on you. It's your choice.'
The true warrior of light accepts that forgiveness.


The warrior of light is always trying to improve.
Every blow of his sword carries with it centuries of wisdom and meditation.
Every blow needs to have the strength and skill of all the warriors of the past who,
even today, continue to bless the struggle. Each movement during combat honours the
movements that the previous generations tried to transmit through the Tradition.
The warrior develops the beauty of his blows.


A warrior of light is reliable.
He makes a few mistakes, he sometimes thinks he is more important than he
really is, but he does not lie.
When people gather round the fire, he talks to his friends, male and female. He
knows that his words are stored in the memory of the Universe, like a testimony of
what he thinks.
And the warrior asks himself: 'Why do I talk so much, when often I am
incapable of carrying out everything I say?'
His heart replies: 'When you defend your ideas in public, you then have to
make an effort to live accordingly.'
It is because he believes that he is what he says he is that the warrior ends up
becoming precisely that.


The warrior of light is terrified when it comes to making important decisions.
'This is too much for you,' says a friend. 'Go on, be brave,' says another. And
so his doubts grow.
After some days of anxiety, he withdraws to the corner of his tent where he
usually sits to meditate and pray. He sees himself in the future. He sees the people
who will benefit or be harmed by his attitude. He does not want to cause pointless
suffering, but nor does he want to abandon the path.
The warrior allows the decision to reveal itself.
If he has to say 'yes', he will say it bravely. If he has to say 'no', he will say it
without a trace of cowardice.


The warrior of light is now waking from his dream.
He thinks: 'I do not know how to deal with this light that is making me grow.'
The light, however, does not disappear.
The warrior thinks: 'Changes must be made that I do not feel like making.'
The light remains, because 'feel' is a word full of traps.
Then the eyes and heart of the warrior begin to grow accustomed to the light.
It no longer frightens him and he finally accepts his own Legend, even if this means
running risks.
The warrior has been asleep for a long time. It is only natural that he should
wake up very gradually.


The warrior of light has learned that God uses solitude to teach us how to live
with other people.
He uses rage to show us the infinite value of peace. He uses boredom to
underline the importance of adventure and spontaneity.
God uses silence to teach us to use words responsibly. He uses tiredness so
that we can understand the value of waking up. He uses illness to underline the
blessing of good health.
God uses fire to teach us about water. He uses earth so that we can understand
the value of air. He uses death to show us the importance of life.

Thoughts on "Left in the Dark"

Continuing from my last post I felt like putting down some thoughts that have arisen since, I have rarely allowed myself to ramble on my blog, but there is a great passion awake, and it tends to rear its head on this theme in particular.

Even though only half-way through this great book I recognize its importance on many levels, and have to give it praise for something that I have seen missing in science- connecting the dots and having an overview of the whole picture. 

Years ago, as a student of genetics I was taught a view that this paragraph correctly illustrates: 

"DNA is usually thought to be the only conveyance for the passage of information to the next generation and hence to variation,  adaptation and evolution. The mechanism that reads the DNA is assumed to be stable. This is not usually included in the picture as far as inherited change and variation is concerned. The standard evolutionary model is based on the changes that come from glitches in the DNA code. These changes are taken to be accidental (mutation) and usually deleterious, but when they are of benefit, the benefits incurred will create a fitter animal with  enhanced survivability (selection). " 


Wright does a great deal with simply demonstrating that nothing in our body is isolated (nothing indeed at all is isolated but we are so deeply stuck with our paradigm of separation and looking at single separate mechanisms, that now all the different fractions of science are having a measurably hard time to re-unite and move forward which can be done only through recognizing inter-dependence with other fields, this seems such a long way off still). He shows how in fact what we eat can effect our endocrine system, which influences how the DNA is read, which in turn can be an evolutionary mechanism also. This is truly revolutionary.

"The standard model is totally DNA based: inherited traits are passed on via DNA codes but, if a different reading system can be inherited and passed on, there is, in effect, a transmission of a different DNA expression. The DNA and the reading system do not work in isolation. They go together. The reading system is built in the uterus. A change in this reading system will result in different structures, including the structures that read the DNA. If these are stable, the way the DNA is read will be changed permanently. This is a new and radical theory that has huge implications. It is a mechanism for inheritance that does not depend on changes in DNA. It is an inherited reading change.
This theory is not incompatible with the standard DNA model for inheritance. It is merely a variation that, we propose, had a marked affect on the evolution of the ape/hominid lineage. The key point is that the variation is coming from the neural-endocrine system and it is this variation which is inherited. However this does not preclude DNA variation working with, alongside, in response to, or independently of this mechanism."

"Steroid hormones in particular are an integral part of the mechanism that reads the DNA, the blueprint that ultimately dictates the structure  and chemistry of what is built and ultimately
how it works."

There are also brave and visionary people who have been doing studies on how emotions are affecting the coding of our DNA, postulating that the heart has even a bigger electro-magnetic field than the brain and feelings of love can actually change us right down to the cellular level. In short we are truly living in the time when the forgotten wisdoms are coming back to science.

This was always my main issue with some scientific fields, namely the ones looking after the well-being of humanity- they do not look at the whole picture, so how can we trust them to tell us a valid truth about how to look after ourselves? Apart from that- they are also corrupt so the notion of caring is even impossible.
Nutritionists live in a seeming la-la-land which takes into account no scientific evidence at all apparently and as shown in this book- no evolutionary evidence in particular. It is dominated rather by economics.
Doctors live in another la-la-land where they think that what we eat is only remotely connected to our well-being, it boggles the mind that nutritional studies are not really included in studying to be a doctor. But then if it was then would it really benefit as it is another impoverished separatist non-wisdom? And also there is no profit in knowing about food being the only true medicine, it would make the whole enterprise fall.
Psychology is a discipline of blind leading the blind. As Wright points out- a poorly functioning left-brain dominance, riddled with fear, separation, deceit, illusion- is a systematic disease that is not isolated to a percentage of human populace but present in all, including the psychologists we go to for healing. And once again- the pharmaceutical companies are really in charge.

We know almost nothing about human consciousness though it is long shown through physics in particular that consciousness plays a vital part in physical phenomena. 

We know almost nothing. We pin our puny microscopes on particular moments of life happening and say- this is what happens. This is perfectly fine as an evolutionary process of science, but it is certainly not fine if the paradigms and common dogmas from this way of looking at things- dictate what we put into our bodies, how to heal and in general meddle with our bodies- which of course are vehicles and seats of our souls.  

Evidence stares us in our face- we are getting more unhealthy by the decade. 

"Left in the Dark" seems like a pessimistic theory- stating that human beings as a species have been degenerating, and operate from a dominance of a deeply impoverished and hurt left-hemisphere. But it is also completely hopeful. Unless we recognize the problem, there won't be a solution. If we understand the cause and mechanism of the problem-the solutions are many. It is the denial that holds most humans back at this particular point.

As I always try to emphasize- we live in such a crazy, corrupt world where taking charge of our own well-being is really the only option. Questioning the system and self-education, looking at alternatives is really the only option. If we care about our well-being that is. If we are not dulled down in blind faith and trust and mollified by our inherent self-destructiveness. If we care to not only survive, but if we dream to actualize and reach our best possible state. 

Hence I have to always mentally applaud all those who give glimpses of a new possible paradigm and a healing of science. Such a long way off, but all the journeys start from small steps.

An investigation into the evolution of the human brain- Tony Wright

"A new theory of human evolution, proposed by Tony Wright and Graham Gynn in ‘Left in the Dark’, convincingly argues that the human brain owes part of its extraordinary development to the biochemistry of a specialist fruit diet. The hormone-related chemicals in tropical fruit initiated an internal hormone mechanism that increasingly promoted brain growth and elevated neural activity. When humans were forced from their tropical forest ‘Garden of Eden’ some two hundred thousand years ago, this link with biochemically rich fruit was lost.

The internal hormone mechanism that fuelled brain expansion stalled, and the process went into reverse. This caused a breakdown in part of the brain; some functions were lost and our sense of self changed for the worse – a golden age descended in stages to our present materialist, fear-based age of plastic and Prozac. These neurological effects are now being revealed and verified by today’s cutting edge science.

Virtually all cultures preserve myths with an almost identical theme; that from a past golden age humanity has suffered a progressive degeneration. Is this near universal tradition based on real events? The answer appears to be ‘yes’. Recent scientific evidence supports the idea that we suffer from an inherited hormonal condition that has damaged part of our brain. In an unexpected twist, it is the damaged part that is not only driven to play the major role in telling us who we are but also dominates our basic biological functions.
Such a scenario explains some extraordinary anomalies that have emerged from research into how our brains function. It provides an underlying reason for the present crises in health, from the dysfunction of the immune system to the declining age of puberty. It also makes sense of the diverse mystic and religious practices that are said to lead to enlightened states or ‘oneness with God’.

If our common experience of near constant low-level fear and anxiety is actually a consequence of a neurological disorder, there may be a fundamental solution to the problem. We all know that fear, distrust and a lack of connection lead to conflict and ultimately war. Such a solution therefore could be of crucial importance to our global future."

Read more www.leftinthedark.org.uk

Read the book "Left in the Dark" here


I accidentally stumbled on an interview with Tony Wright and was instantly fascinated. Kudos to Wright for explaining thoroughly and extremely well his theories, this with almost inhuman patience with the interviewer, watch and you will see what I mean. The interviewer and the interviewed wonderfully demonstrating the difference between the left brain and right brain action respectively, to my mind at least. I was convinced, and I cannot wait to read the book.

Keeping Quiet                      

                         ~                        

                          Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.


This one time upon the earth,
let's not speak any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.


It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.


The fishermen in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.


Those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.


What I want shouldn't be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
I want nothing to do with death.


If we weren't unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,


if we could do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would
interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive.


Now I will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and I'll go.

-from Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon
Translated by Stephen Mitchell


Read this poem in Spanish

Causal reactions and all-encompassing Buddha nature

This one is going to be a controversial blog to others as much as it will be to myself.

I was re-listening to a wonderful Alan Watts lecture tonight "Zen Bones" which ends with a Zen poem.

He who would understand the meaning of Buddha nature

must watch for the seasons 

and for causal relations. 

Every voice is the voice of Buddha, 

every form is the Buddha form.

I felt it, I knew it. So I wanted to test it.

I chose the most awful experience I could get my hands on. To make it my meditation tonight.

This is a video which has made me suffer above all sights, animals are my true weakness, my love for them goes past even the love for humans. So this is truly intolerable cruelty for me. It has made me cry, shout and scream in anger, awful extreme rage. 

It was different- to watch it. Absolutely different. What I ended up with was this realization.

My reaction is also a season, a causal reaction, also a Buddha form, just as the cruelty on display, just as the suffering on display. Whatever the reaction is.

The sadistic tendencies of those who suffer and cause suffering
vs my warrior spirit which has suffered and gone into a violent outburst against the sadists
vs a non-dual state of being which can watch cruelty at peace with an understanding it is all light Are they different in nature?

It is a controversial state for myself, that I find myself in. Me- who at one time had deep crises when I discovered the nature of the world and cruelty. Who had panic attacks at work when I had to sell foie gras as a special, and I couldn't do it- I said to my boss to fire me- but I wouldn't do it! Many panic attacks, many identity crises, not from being me, but from being a human being cause of all the animal cruelty I found out bit by bit... I didn't want to be part of a species who was capable of the worst. 

Yet slowly it balanced from seeing the whole struggle of us humans. Acceptance emerged of being in-between darkness and light. And then slowly the understanding came that light cannot exist without darkness. That there are really neither alone. Both of divine essence.

And now- I am here. Is it less unjust, less horrendous? No. And yes. The peace that I have in me now- I am still at a loss- what is this peace- I am with the poem, the essence of it, I know that the peace comes from that same source. But this meditation was unsettling- the peace itself disturbing- its a strange dichotomy. My mind tells me that, it tells me I shouldn't be at peace, remembering the past feelings. Of course my ego is part of this also- what- take away the main identity of who "I" am...? The main thing "I" am against? Whats the point when there is nothing to be against...?

I am guessing I am at a stepping stone from one state to another, polar opposite states. Unsettling to be at peace with something that was the deepest unsettlement! 

It is a meditation I chose which will still be difficult for some time.

But its good to grab the Bull by the Horns I feel.

Homeless and at home

I live in a big apartment block, but it is the roof of it that is my real home. I go to the roof to connect to the sky, when I have crossed the safety bar and am dangling my feet above the whole distance, but at the same time under the vista of the whole city and the sky- I am truly at home. On the border of it all I feel safe. This has always been my place.

So tonight I was making my way up there again. To my surprise the door to the roof was blocked by two homeless huddling in their sleeping bags. For a second I was unsure. Then I saw one of them open their eyes and look at me. At once my uncertainty disappeared, I smiled to him, stepped over both of them and pushed open the door.

Of course after taking my comfort seat between all things, with the lyrics blasting into my ears from my earphones "This city is for strangers as the sky is for the stars", I felt a tap on my shoulder, across the bar, and I shuddered, I had never been disturbed here. It was the homeless. He had awoken cause I think he was worried about me. Later he called me- "a crazy girl on the roof", I think he thought I had gone up there to the ledge with an intention. 

So I explained. He wasn't too sure. Till the end he kept asking me, "Are you in trouble, did you have a fight with your boyfriend?" etc etc. My answer that I was there cause I wanted to feel the joy just didn't compute till the end. He was a simple and straight-forward guy from Mongolia gone on tough times and I know I must have looked mad for him. He asked me why I wasn't scared when I saw two men sleeping in the hallway, wasn't I afraid they were dangerous. I answered, "I know that you are here to find comfort and warmth and a refuge, and I am here too to enjoy my refuge, so we are equal. I believe that people are good." 

He stayed beside me talking with me, telling me about the reasons he was homeless. I was at home, complete, and he was like an old friend, we talked about everything. No masks from the beginning, a soul meeting a soul- me at my most private place and him at his, as he would tell none of his friends of his troubles, his culture forbade that.
I gave him my last cigarette, and then brought him some soup and some wine. We kept talking. 

It was a wonderful night. The place where I go to be alone to enjoy the sky, was the sky as I knew it, even at a time I shared it with a homeless even if I haven't really shared it before, it was a hundred per cent natural, we were both sky people and I reveled in the truth of this. I have brought a few of my friends there yet it has been a social gathering and the sky has got side-tracked. Of course we all belong there. Insecurity and impermanence is the home of everyone, its just the openness to that that is rare to find. 

I finally convinced him to cross the bars and sit with me on the ledge. He held on to the bars and breathed hard, it was the same for me-my first time. I asked him how he felt. Didn't he feel free. But then I felt embarrassed- he was free. Totally and utterly free, without a home or a job, and perhaps I am mad that I admired his bravery to sneak into a random apartment block, perhaps I am mad that I admired his absolute freedom. He was more brave by far to keep his smile in his situation, I was merely home. 

We had a long talk about Mongolia, Ghengis Khan, Estonia, religion, politics, friends, you name it. 

I will never forget the humanity of this night. It is rare. And its a pity that the freedom between souls comes from these extreme moments so easily and harder in everyday connections.

He didn't understand till the end why I was there, in the cold, between sky and earth, for him- in danger. The only glimpse for him was when I said I wanted to feel the sky- he said his only idol Ghengis Khan was also a shaman, and if I believed in that-really? No matter the alien situation for both of us though- it was a night to understand what it is to be a human being.

What a beautiful night under the sky.

Love me, love me

Say you do


Let me fly away

With you


We're creatures of the wind

Wild is the wind


Give me more than one grasp

Satisfy this hungryness

We're creatures of the wind

Wild is the wind


You touch me

I hear the sound of mandolines

You kiss me

With your kiss my life begins


Like a leaf clings to a tree

Baby please cling to me

We're creatures of the wind

Wild is the wind


You touch me

I hear the sound of mandolins

And you kiss me

With your kiss my life begins


Love me, love me

Say you do


Let me fly away

With you

The first time they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the "graduation" ceremony from my kinder-garden- I answered book-keeper. My mother was a librarian, that's all I knew of professions and I loved books. I didn't know I had mixed up the word a little. But why would someone ask you what your professional dream is when you are 5 anyway? I am 32 now and I still don't know!

When I went to school, they asked us to write a creative story for a competition. I chose the theme of happiness. I wrote a piece of tragedy, of a person who had followed the worlds desire for happiness and all the society's guidelines to get there- she got a career, family, house, possessions- and didn't feel happy at all. She ended up killing herself, her final words- now I am finally happy cause I no longer have to be. It ended with a question- does the pursuit of happiness actually hinder/block the possibility of happiness. I had no idea what happiness was at that time or how to do it, but somehow I knew something in the world was off. My teacher told me she had read the story 5 times, she still didn't understand it, but she was kind enough to award it a prize, and I knew I must have stepped on something worth investigation.

And now, after many lessons in the school of life- all I want too- is to be happy. The ultimate difference is-I know now what makes me happy. I know I would be happy with a bare minimum surrounded by a natural and free culture, I know I need my time of solitude to commune with mother earth and father sky, I know I need to move like the wind sometimes. Personal. Simple. Doable. Actual.
Why do we live in a society which makes such a simple goal like happiness so hard for us.. In a world where only tremendous free spirits like John Lennon can understand it from a young age! (My utter respect!) 
We all want to be happy. We all want to be free. To understand that what we are told and what we are sold is not the way to happiness- that usually takes time. Making mistakes, suffering, waves, confusions... Above all courage to break free of the opinion of others. Willingness to search for our own way. Why is that so lacking? 
Travelers in the fog. No matter how many people ahead tell us of the way to clarity- we can never learn or know until our own steps have reached the end of our own maze. 
All I want to say in this particular ramble is- keep on your path, years are minuscule in comparison to the infinity that the essence of you will come to. Get lost, so utterly lost that you don't know who you are, that nothing makes sense, get as lost as you possibly can if you want. Or find your way now. Same difference. :)

My love story with the Divine or a short version of my history of the Dance

        I was wondering today if and how has my love for the Divine changed over the years, from the first "communion" through the years of union. From passion to commitment? So I dug up my diary...

Excerpt from diary, 2005

        I have been in love many times. I have lost myself in others countless moments. This has been a search, an escape, a hope!? Why fall in love? And out of love? It never lasts, this initial miracle. People stay together, and they have happiness, but the flame subdues to a quiet comfort, feeling of safety and warmth. It falls into a state of polarity- you start to fight, you wish to change the other. You make up. And finally you find a balance. Or maybe you don‘t. 
The impermanent world is such. Maybe I have become a slight cynic. At the same time I do believe people should share, should love each other, should help each other grow.

I have another lover. She is permanent. As long as I have a heart to feel, I will love Him. This love makes me fall to my knees, but without lowering myself; makes me cry, but only of happiness; makes me laugh, but only in awe and respect. My love for the Divine. Can I possibly measure it? Can anything else compare to it? She comprises all- He holds within himself all creatures, great or small, every leaf, stone, ant, snake, man, ape. Every contraction of music and every subtraction of silence. She only frustrates me with this- She cannot be put into words. He cannot be put into gender and yet I cannot say It, for that in linguistic terms means a lifeless thing. Yet nothing is lifeless about this All. There is nothing less lifeless than the All at all! How can I praise the Divine? How can I sing about the Divine? Only with my heart, only without words. Only by living.  

The thing I can describe is the love itself. I feel the love with me- I do not kneel to hope to get something- I receive total love by loving totally, by understanding. And this gift- this feeling of being loved so much, so completely, without boundaries, unconditionally, whatever I do, good or bad, for this Source, this Essence never judges you- this gift of being loved is what makes me love so much. This KNOWING of being loved makes me fall on my knees and live only for this love. In fact you can't even say- the universe loves me and I love the universe, because in this experience there is no lover and no beloved- it all mixes up and it comes together and there is nothing else but love, everything just IS love. Love that has nothing to do with giving, getting, being together or without, ownership, possession, hope, clinging, needing. Pure love, utter devotion that spreads so far and wide and deep that there is no receiver and no giver.

But then... 
2005

I become more of a hermit every day, each day I loathe the social mask I have to wear more and more. When I am in a room filled with people I see wild horses run past me, through me, beckoning me to jump on, they’re going to meet the stars in the dark nightly sky, and I cannot bear it. I want to fly too, alone and free.

Can you vomit up all the pain that comes from the nonsense, can you forcefully remove all that cold soulless existence that grows in you like a tumour? You eat and eat and eat (food and gossip and regret, the waves from the tv-set- the list is endless) to fill the void but as you become the junk in your belly, your whole being twists and turns and disgusts you so you throw it all up only to feel the void again. I guess for me the darkness beats the artificial light any day. It cannot be filled with the fake. I can learn to love companionship, I can even learn to like the sun, it has shown me its grace on occasions. Yet the night remains my master, my addiction, my only true friend. It’s a safe place for me to roam with all the other slugs and serpents, unseen and undisturbed.

And...

        How do you find the heat regulator button on the radiator and turn it from explosive to mild? Can you have burning passion, love and inspiration and loose its dark counter part of frustration, self-destruction and anger? Is there matter without antimatter? Or how do you rid yourself of the illusion of both?

        All I know is that there is such a huge dimension to the word feel at those times. I don’t just feel, I burn down to my very core of being. When I feel self-hatred it’s not a mild wallowing in pity, it’s the scream in the pillow, pulling hair and in the past self-hurt kind. Maybe it’s just life. If you want to taste life, smell it, feel it, hear it to the extreme then you will end up wanting to kill it. I desire the fear and fear the desire.

And...

I guess because I have come to understand that everyone suffers I have in some way ended up reaching an underlining level of peace in my mind. I have gained an understanding about the constant change that everything is subject to. How can you fight with the law of nature? All you can do is flow with the tide and surrender to the madness, give yourself up to the universe. 

At the same time it makes me so much more sensitive to seeing all the suffering in the world. It’s so strange- I thought that I was so lucky to gain an insight that will protect me from pain, but now I find that this has only opened me up to feeling EVERYONE’S hurt at the same time- what do you do with that? I walk on the street and I hear people shouting and screaming at each other, I see violence and it makes me cry, this blindness, the hurt that people cause themselves. If that is the salvation in the loss of ego then its grotesquely hilarious. But at the same time an inescapable fact I guess. On this earthly plain there is no pleasure without pain, never mind your vision and perspective, when the pleasure gets greater then so does the pain.

The strength of it is scary. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders so much that my head wants to explode, my neck longs to shatter into thousands of pieces.      


If death is not the answer and life kills you day by day then what do you do?

I’m numb. After one implosion, waiting another. I can sense it already though my awareness is concentrated on the level of my skin, as thick as an elephants.
Maybe the next one is the last. Does it matter? Joy is as far as the moon.

And..

Darkness. Guilt. Suffering. Sin.
        The winds are howling, battering the tiny birds as they fight to keep their direction. Not a soul outside, though its midday.
I sit in this moment and try to hold it. This desperate and beautiful moment. The atmosphere is dark and yet filled with little specks of carefree laughter, tiny bits of hope.
        Or is it my mind?
        I sit and I play with my vision like the wind is playing with the trees and the birds. Bending it, twisting and turning everything and yet not changing a thing. The birds will fly in a straight line, the trees will reach to the skies after the wind goes once again. My essence will remain constant. Nothing matters. How beautiful.

And..

Still 2005

Little glimpses of truth. I am chopping a tomato to make a fresh salad. My mind is empty, the thoughts have tired of themselves, time has gotten over it’s pompous self-delusion and has left me be. So all I do is chop a tomato. I do not think- I am chopping a tomato, I have quite forgotten words. But I am here, now, still, with a full awareness. And this way, suddenly- I am for the first time chopping a tomato. Quite unexpectedly I am filled with joy and peace. I know, this very instant, that the meaning of life is chopping a tomato. Chuckling I fall to a seat and sigh, “Thank you- tomato! Thank you- divine, for allowing me to chop into your essence!”  I have a fleeting feeling maybe I was actually chopping up myself. 

Somewhere in India, 2006

We are all free, nonexistent, without beginning and end. Bubbles of air, drops of water, grains of sand. Who am I? Who are you? Take a microscope and still you won’t find the answer. But in that ocean, cloud, in that desert of sand, nobody stands alone, separate. There are no quarrels or misunderstandings. This if we step out of our tiny little shell for a moment and look around. Or turn inward and take a look at our hearts. We will discover that someone has tried to pull our leg- nothing is as it seems, nowhere is the person we call “I”. 

And now? What happens now? Will all the storms in the world sail past me now? Of course not. But who will they shake? Who will they hurt? In fact are there any storms at all outside our own little inner world? Or do the rivers of suffering start from here and run into myself?

I have caught hold of the carriage of now and pulled myself to its comfy seat. This moment is the only one that exists, that matters. I, who have since childhood searched for a reason to be, have jumped from one view to another, like a piece of wood on stormy waves, a prey for the forces of nature, victim of my own emotions and passions, have reached the simple truth that no reason is necessary. The solidity of myself has separated me before from this truth, the search itself has prevented finding. Dissolved in the sea there are no more questions. Everything just is.  

And perhaps even a more wonderful realization- there are really no polarities. I have said that this is true before. I have believed that this is true before. I have even, in brief magical glimpses experienced that this is true, yet somehow I have never truly understood the real essence of this truth. If I am lost at any time in my life, then it only appears to my very limited consciousness then, at that moment, that I am lost, that I am not whole at the same time. I am simply playing the game of the cosmos- the appearing and the dissolving, blindness and vision, good and bad.  But that game itself is also a part of the divine essence. The divine is whole. So how did I think that when I didn’t have my mystical vision I was not whole? That when I was shaking with torrents of torture I was not also peacefully laughing? That when I was deeply ridden with all sorts of complexes and diseases I was not also shining with health, light and confidence. In reality all these are words, concepts, feelings. Ever-changing protrusions from the centre that doesn’t change. 

All that there is leaves me in deep awe. 

All that there is, is a playful dance of all the opposites, all the possibilities. A natural rhythm and energy. A heart, that goes on beating no matter where the legs run and how the hands bang and gesticulate.  A heart that keeps on beating no matter what dreams the head dreams.

...... October 2012

       My love came out of the night. How impassioned it was in those beginning stages! How painful was its beauty! I was a prayer then. Nothing else mattered. Days were obstacles cause I couldn't wait to fall to my knees and cherish. I was consumed by the union and I longed and needed the solitude that allowed it. 

      This love is not bound by the night anymore. The pendulum used to rock hard and fast from ecstasy to despair, it was such a difficult existence for many years, constantly torn up and then flinged to the heavens and torn up again by these extremes. I had no control whatsoever, I had no idea why the Divine had one day simply filled me from above, and I had no idea how to stop myself from falling into Hell. It was the opposite of constant at those times- namely because of that despair I felt when I was without it. It was all or nothing then. 
      When I wanted it all and devoured all the Universe I needed to empty myself after a while. It was a spiritual bulimia which then expressed itself as a physical bulimia. 
      When I had it all, then my mind collapsed into fear for a while- too high, too fast! It was a spiritual vertigo which then expressed itself as the physical vertigo also- the ground was literally falling and rising under my feet, I couldn't even work for a while, walking was a huge mile-stone I had to conquer again. In other words- with the spiritual gymnastics- the body follows- beware!
      It was a spiritual death which made me go out and test the limits of danger, to feel as alive as I possibly could. And then it was a spiritual birth which made me long for physical death. And again it was those moments when I was ready to give up that actually sparked Life! Death! Life! Death! Life!
      Yes, it was a passion then! 
      Yet it is through this rocking- that I know that there is no good or bad. Yet it's through the experience that the love remained by my side, saving me time and again from the ultimate threat I posed to myself- that I developed my absolute and unshakable trust in the Universe, my rock-solid faith that everything happens for the best, despite all the seeming suffering on the surface reality. 

     How can I describe my love now? It is such a quiet feeling now compared to all that, despite its stealthy strength. A silent under-current of everything. A saving grace for every disappointment, an indestructible net underneath every fall. The arms of this love always catch me. Every unpleasant thought is subdued by it. When before I loved to fall cause it meant first the void and then the flying and dissolution in ecstasy, then now I have  learned to love the simple walk on the ground of being. For some years, they can be called the stabilizing years I guess- I did not fall at all, and I was shocked by this, it was the polar opposite of what I knew and was used to. Of course life goes on and suffering returns. It returns so much smaller though, and more importantly- it returns within the loving arms of the Divine.       

      This feeling has spread out over a myriad of tempos and tonalities now. There is no frustration with describing it, cause there is no need to describe it- it is there, just there, in day-light and at night. Sometimes the awareness of it sleeps also. But when the sleep has lasted for longer than I can bear, for days or weeks, the love soars through my heart refreshed with such a tumultuous ecstasy that I still kneel, I still shout out to the heavens and laugh for hours with tears of gratitude rolling down my face. And I am grateful for the temporary solitude cause I get to feel the over-flowing joining. Its just that I don't need the rapture anymore, I am utterly happy to find the quiet energy of love behind small things.

       I am married to You- to Myself. No earthly love or the loss of it makes me suffer for long. Most of my friends are shocked at how fast I get over things. But they don't know about my real love, which encompasses and immortalizes these loves also. 
       I have no more ambitions in life cause You were my only ambition. I only want to live when I live, and to die when I die, with You by my side, around, within- 
       in Love.

The dance starts out slowly, fueled by a vague longing in the heart and a strong curiosity of mind.

The dance quickens into fire- both igniting and purging darkness.

The dance settles into the dance. 

A day of unrest- a short story

Decided to share a little short story of mine from about 5 years ago, from a time, when breath was writing and nothing was real unless put into a font. Peace can be an enemy of creativity I find... A day of unrest can be more fruitful than many a day of peace, at least as far as self-expression goes.
...

A DAY OF UNREST


He was sitting under the canopy of a colossal chestnut tree, leaning against its majestic thick trunk; sitting with one leg bent up and on it a tatty note-book where he was scribbling into with haste, almost frantically. His forehead was furrowed and there was a deep crease between his thick black brows. A fly landed on his knee and started to test this newfound potential source of food by rubbing its hind legs together. To this harmless annoyance the man was left blissfully unaware.

“Boo!”

A Child had jumped up to him from behind the tree and this made the Writer in turn jump as if he had just fallen out of a deep sleep.  It was the fly who probably got the biggest scare, comparable to an earthquake and flew away.

“What are you doing on such a wonderful summer’s day?”  

He glanced at the wilderness beyond him, with dazed eyes that seemed still slightly unfocused. What a wonderful day it was indeed! How bright was the sun! How the sunbeams danced in the air, how the whole atmosphere seemed to shine and sparkle in a tiny spectra from white to silver to gold. “Like fairy dust,” he mumbled and smiled.

He put his pen back to work while the Child was curiously leaning over to see what he was writing.

“The sun is sprinkling the Earth with fairy dust. In these rare brilliant summer days all the hearts of people are blessed with purely joyous, optimistic thoughts. Nothing seems impossible with the power of the sun behind us. We become for one day like magical children, like Gods themselves.”

The Child smiled at this but to herself she was thinking, “Crazy. He is totally crazy but I like him. Why sit here under this beautiful tree, see the wonder of this gorgeous day and do nothing but write? Write, write, write. That’s all he ever does. But at least he's not like that horrid Queen. Although she can‘t help being like she is I suppose either.”

“Do you wanna come and play with the rocks on the seashore?” the Child jumped up and down in front of the Writer. “There are such great rocks there. If you find the really magical ones and hold them in your hand for a while then they make your palm tingle. I swear!! It was the Mystic who showed me. You really must come!”

The writer started to explain that what he was doing was quite important here and he would perhaps come and see the rocks later, in fact he would promise her that, when he noticed another figure approaching from the little path in the forest.

“Oh, no”, they both thought simultaneously. “The Saboteur.”

The slightly hunched older man walked slowly. He always paced himself for he never seemed to be quite sure where he was, even though he had of course lived here for over 30 years now. Or perhaps he didn’t quite have the faith that if he did indeed start to walk a bit faster with his right leg his left leg would follow? There were always strange uncertainties in his head; he had grown to accept them, even though for others they became slightly intolerable after a while. His eyes seemed to be narrow slits; they kept flying from left to right as if always trying to catch some unseen enemy.

“I have had an idea. I spoke about this with the Queen and she did seem to understand, so I think that it’s fair to say that I have saved us once again.”

Both the Child and the Writer remained quiet. The Writer kept flicking over the pages in his notebook, pretending to be re-reading his story, while the Child had found a beetle on the grass to play with. The lack of a willing audience had however never stopped the Saboteur.

“So this is the problem. We have lived here on this island for a long time. We have been doing fine. It’s peaceful here, nobody ever disturbs us. But lately I have begun to hear people whispering about going out to the World. I hear everything, never doubt that.”

The Child was still happy enough playing with the beetle who she had named Didi and adopted to be her- oh, about five hundredth adopted child, but only about the fourteenth beetle and definitely the first with its shell with that sort of marvellous tiny little crack which made the Child love this beetle most of all, she was certain of that. But the Writer had stopped fumbling with the pages and had turned his face up to the Saboteur now.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Oh there’s no need to play stupid. I know that there has been talk and I know that you have started to write your manuscript about f-ffrreed-om.” The last word was almost spat out and distorted as if with a deliberate attempt to make even the sound itself ridiculous.

“I have written about many things. Although you have never seemed to take an interest in the subject of my writing before, an addictive waste of time as you have always just called it.”

“Yes. Of course it’s a waste of time. I mean what have you accomplished by this annoying habit of yours? All you seem to do is write but there is no audience to read what you write, and will never be an audience. So who are you writing for? Furthermore- if you don‘t have an audience then how do you even know that what you write makes sense or if it is worth while? You don‘t have enough talent to be a true writer, surely you know that.”

The Writer had become defensive but he had hunched his shoulders a little, just like the man standing before him.

“I am writing because I need to write. Because I need to express all the beauty that I see in the world and I hope to inspire people to see it too some day. But have we not gone over this a thousand times? Leave me be.”

“I have always let you be and do what you want and waste your time. But this stuff about… hggghh…ff-freeedom”, he cleared his throat of sudden phlegm, “That stuff is dangerous. We all know what can happen. So I have made a suggestion to the Queen to find a better outlet for your energy. I have proposed to her to build an iron fence around our land. “

“We are living on an island for god’s sakes!” This time the Saboteur has really lost it, he thought.
Even the Child had started to take an interest in the conversation now.

“Yes! We are going to the World! Oh, I simply can’t wait! It will be wonderful! There will be other people, and other trees and fields and seas and mountains and animals and birds and…. Ah! Won’t there, Writer? Won’t there?”

The Writer was once again saved by the bell as now there were three more figures approaching from the other side.

The first one walked slightly ahead of others. He was dressed in his favourite Che Guevara T-shirt, wearing a pair of scarlet shorts and his usual tough walking boots. He seemed to move in the thick grass like a tank, bending down every tall plant and vine that came on his way. There was a path right there beside him but he never walked on paths, he preferred to make his own way, always one where nobody had seemed to walk before.

A little way behind the Pioneer was the Mystic. What a contrast his peaceful energy seemed to the previous one. He walked with confidence as well but each of his steps spoke of his love and awareness for the nature around him, he carefully avoided an ant’s nest and then caressed a passing branch with his palm as if greeting an old friend. All the while laughingly trying to imitate a blackbird that had just finished its refrain.

Last behind was a puffy-eyed and red-nosed teenager, dragging his feet and holding his gaze to the ground.

The Pioneer spoke first. He had pulled himself up to sit on the lowest branch of the chestnut tree and was dangling his feet now right above the head of the Writer.

“I have started to build the boat. It won’t be weeks till we can finally leave.” His voice was trembling with excitement and joy and at the same time he had never sounded more secure, more at ease with himself. How long had he thought about leaving this island! How tired he had become of the same roads and paths, the same meadow, the same farm, the same faces of people day in and day out! Then he had started to climb the trees. That had been fun for a while but even this joy was soon exhausted. A few months ago he had taken to swimming. He had swum further and further, as far as his strong physique had allowed him, sometimes turning back only at the very last minute and had barely been able to crawl back to the shore coughing salt water from his lungs. He had seen everything on this pathetic small peace of land for about a million times and he was utterly, killingly, depressingly sick, sick, sick of it. That moment he had discovered the way to string together planks of wood that he could float on, and had made his first raft which, yes- had fallen apart after a few moments but nevertheless was undeniable proof that escape was possible, had been the happiest time of his life. And now the boat was almost ready.

“Really? Are we really leaving? Oh!” the Child could barely hide his excitement.

“No. We are not leaving. This is our home. We will never leave this place.” The Saboteur had said this. His face was grave and sombre. This was worse than he had thought.

“Oh yes we are!” said the Pioneer with an arrogant, rebellious tone of voice. “Everybody wants to leave this prison of yours. Me, the Child, the Writer…” He had turned over to the Writer, waiting for the latter to speak and lend him some support.

The Writer had not moved since the argument had started. He had been so peaceful and happy and full of life and the power of dreams. And now it was all gone. He was sad. He had pulled his other knee close to his chest, huddled them both and remained silent while drifting away in his thoughts, desperate thoughts of inability and futility.

Nobody had noticed that the birds were not singing anymore. The blossoming flowers had an ever so slightly duller colour; the wind had stopped playing with the leaves and the strands of hay. The beetles and flies and bees had crawled and flown away. They had sensed the storm coming before anybody else and had gone to find refuge in the little cavities of the trees and the earth.

“You understand me at least,” the Pioneer was addressing the Mystic. “You have always talked to me about the wonder of the World, the love and the beauty of it. Why are you never saying anything when we need you to speak?”

“What is there to be said?” the Mystic said with his ever-calm and peaceful eyes sparkling as if he found the question humorous. “What can be said is never true. That is to say it is true, but so is the opposite if we voice that. I find no meaning in words. They break up the infinity, the absolute truth into little pieces, into polarities and render them without the beauty of their wholeness. We are all One and we can be happy with experiencing this directly, without words and concepts and opinions.”

The Writer looked up. “But I understand that as well. Yet the Unity can play with words, words can fall out of the great mystery of oneness without dividing it but exploring its many-faceted appearance, finding symbols and links between the seemingly opposing forces, thus enriching the minds of people.”

“Yes. That is your joy and we must all follow our own joy. I prefer the sound of silence, and to let my love for the world come out with my breath, you prefer to release it with your pen. There is no right or wrong. It is not wrong to stay here on this island or to go out to the World. It is only the outer circumstance that will change; the inner truth will remain the same. I can love the world from here or from there, I am never outside it.”

The Pioneer was getting extremely impatient now. “We are going. If I have to drag each and every one of your pathetic bottoms onto my boat, I will. If I have to set fire on this island, I will do that. We are not going to stay in this prison for another month and there is nothing anybody can do about that!”

“I always knew that you were a fool!” snorted the Saboteur. “But that you had a secret desire to kill us all, that I didn‘t expect even from you!”

“Oh shut up, you old fart! I have had enough of your pitiful excuses, and your pessimism and your never-ending fears and stupidity! I have had enough of you, do you hear!” There was a passion of anger behind the Pioneers voice that he had never expressed or even felt before and everybody was taken aback, sensing for the first time that their quiet little imaginary idyll was not so idyllic after all. It was as if there were deep cracks beneath the very earth they were standing on and for the first time everybody knew it, knew it but could not think of it. Thinking about it made them all shudder as if faced with more than a fear of unrest and arguments; they had experienced plenty of those before. But this crack made them fear something far more terrible, something far more fatal, it was as if death itself knocked at their door. But they could not not think about it, for it was right there, it had been right there in the voice of the Pioneer and nobody could think about anything else.

Even the Saboteur sensed this. Even he knew that the dreaded freedom was no longer the issue; there was something far more dangerous at hand.

The weather was starting to change. The air was thick, hot and falling heavy on the lungs. Huge dark clouds had drifted onto the previously pure and empty blueness and they hung there threateningly, standing completely still as if to pretend that they were merely figments of artistry and imagination on a huge canvas. Yet they would be alive soon enough, their inner essence and the danger behind their immobility was not to be mistaken.

It was a quiet little voice of the teenager that put an end to the tension of silence in the air.
“But what will become of me? What will become of me?” He broke into tears, a fountain of sobs was released as if from behind a dam, so strong, powerful and unrelenting from such a small skinny weak body that the Child started to cry as well with conforming sympathy and fear.

This encouraged the Victim to enter the next phase of his wailing, one that everybody was familiar with by now. The stage when the tears were punctuated with brief spells of sentences. The same story, the same words, time after time.

“But I… I… have been out there… in the World… there were terrible monsters there… men who… did horrible things… to me… They made me… they hurt me… I could not… defend myself… I am too weak… too sensitive… I cannot handle… the World… other People… They… Will… Kill… Me…”

The Pioneer who usually stopped talking about his plans and his dreams when he was faced with this incessantly crying boy for the first time made his heart cold and refused to be moved away from his resolution.

“You will be fine,” he said. “I am tired of your constant crying as well. Can you not just pull yourself together for once? We have played up to your scenes and tears for too long. Get over it.”

The Victim was shaking violently now. He looked around to find the Mystic, who had always been the only one able to calm and console him. But the Mystic had distanced himself from this scene. He was struggling to walk, his steps were shaky, and he seemed to have lost all balance. He was tormented down to his very soul. He had felt the tremor of the island with greater power than anybody else. He had felt something else that made his heart contort with spasms, his breath rapid and shallow. Rather it was something he didn’t feel. He didn’t feel the Divine, he didn’t feel the love from the universal soul, he felt as if the link that had always fed and enlivened him was suddenly cut away, leaving all of his body a huge scar, bleeding with anguish, with desolation, with fear. He felt he could not breathe; the air just could not enter his lungs. He gasped in this terrible sudden asthma attack. Why would the air not enter? Where was the Divine? Where? How could he live without it?

There was a sudden rumbling sound heard from the cloud directly above them. Silence. Another rumble. It sounded as if the heavens themselves were suffering from a violent argument or perhaps indigestion.

The first person that the Queen noticed as she hurried into the opening in the forest was the Mystic lying on the ground and clasping his stomach as if in a death agony.

Then she heard the sobs of the Child and the Victim. They were holding each other and shaking with quiet groans, their tears had spent up their force, and their voices had grown weak and husky.

Where were the rest of them?

She found the Pioneer and the Writer underneath a tree, sitting with stony, expressionless, empty faces, not resembling living beings at all. The Saboteur was standing like a statue. His eyes were blank; he was staring at the Mystic.

It was a sight the Queen scarcely dared to believe. She didn’t recognize any of her subjects at all. She had gotten used to their periodic rebellious streaks and annoying arguments and childish behaviour. But this was something terrible. Something so terrible that she had to act at once or all of them would be lost forever.
She had punished them many times when they had tried to subvert her authority. When they had argued and made plans behind her back without consulting her. She had restricted their movement; she had been vicious and cruel. Yes, she had been cruel. But it had been for their own good. The peace in her land came first.
But this time she decided that ruthlessness was not an option. They were all suffering and there was a deep benevolence and compassion in the Queens soul, for the first time perhaps.

One by one she went up to all of her royal subjects. She whispered words of strength, of wisdom, of comfort to each of their ears. The Mystic was the most difficult one to console. But as the man lying on the ground looked into the Queens eyes he suddenly saw in them a glimpse of the Divine. He had always respected the Queen but had never realised that in her humanity, in her many human flaws, in her desire to control and cling to her subjects, was simply another face of the Divine Soul. And he knew that he could never be separated from the universal unity. Even if he lost contact with it, it was there. Where else would it be? Oneness was oneness always, not merely at the times when he felt it. The small group of people suddenly awoke and with the Queens command ran to their little farm house, ran in togetherness and in friendship, ran to take shelter from the rain.

It was the Queen who brought peace to me. I had a deep anxiety attack, I had been crying for what seemed like forever. A part of me felt dead, closed off from awareness, numb, almost void.
It had all started when I sat down in my garden with my notebook, trying to put down all the thoughts and feelings in my ever-restless soul. There were countless different feelings, countless different personalities, and forces battling inside me. This had always been so. But this time they poured out of me and didn’t seem to find a common language, all the different sides of me seemed to disagree, leaving me with a deep discomfort, indecision, desperation.

A battle between creative urges and a desire to simply enjoy the summer weather and the nature around me like a magical child. That had been harmless enough.

The push towards new frontiers, a profound need to break free from my comfort zone. Colliding with the
distrust in humanity and fear of the unknown and my own self-sabotaging voice telling me I wasn’t able to fulfil my dreams or to survive outside my little safety net.

Past feelings of abuse fighting with the forceful drive to open myself up and become more of a social being, to re-enter the world again from my self-imposed solitude.

These had been already more difficult experiences.

Then there had been a peaceful joy of feeling the unity of the world. And suddenly that had disappeared. Disappeared together with all faith and hope. This had been terrible; I was not able to even breathe from this fear of never feeling the love of the Divine again.  

But the crisis had been resolved by some kind of inner ruler of my being. A sane voice that was able to unite the opposing forces. A benevolent queen in my soul who is able to resolve the arguments within, sometimes with force, this time with kindness.

I can live in peace with my inner fractions, with those different and sometimes rowdy voices in my heart. I accept them. I accept myself as I am.