Sitting at the lake and trying to bring calm into my body.
No way. Head is working.
Where is the switch?
Thinking of the yoga teacher and remembering a yoga posture.
Body in quiet pose, head trying to concentrate on the breathing.
Head rotating. Not finding the switch for the breathing.
Giving up. Feeling the bad weather in my head, looking at the lake and accepting that total silence isn’t possible at the moment.
Never mind. Will be trying another time.
Drinking my morning tea, I’m thinking how I’ll manage the new website at work and to whom I’ll have to write my first email.
Riding my bike to work, I’m thinking that I forgot to tell my little boy that his violin lesson will be starting earlier than usual.
Logging into my computer at work, I’m thinking that I’ll need to buy a birthday present for my big boy’s friend.
Writing my first email, I’m thinking that I forgot to log out my computer at home and my kids will probably take profit after school surfing until I’ll be coming home tonight.
Eating my lunch, I’m thinking that I’ll have to organize the two weeks of summer vacation with the boys, call my parents and fix the day visiting the zoo.
Writing my 42nd email, I’m thinking that I should read the newspaper to get the latest news about Greece.
Riding my bike home, I’m thinking that I didn’t prepare well for the editor meeting the next day.
Finding my boys at my computer, I’m thinking I should organize my life with less stress.
Thinking that I wasn’t conscious of all these moments during the day thinking at other things, I’m thinking that it’s pretty hard not thinking all the time and feeling the moment being.
It has been a lake, an evening and a warm summer night.
My boys and me enjoyed this moment.
We three felt secure, fearless and careless.
There were just a few birds talking before going to sleep.
And us three looking at the twilight sky.
The picture records the moment and my feelings.
Fortunately, we’ve got pictures to remember what we easily forget.
Normally, he is talking like a waterfall. But then, he was lying there.
The little surgical intervention with a general anesthesia went well.
I sat at his bed and waited until he woke up. I was looking at his chest, following his breathing.
I was looking at his face during hours, studying his little eye movements.
I’ve never looked at my child so intensively and for so long. It was a very special moment I’ll never forget.
I didn’t think much. I was just wishing he would have not too much pain after all and I kept looking at him.
For one hour, for two hours… and after three hours, he decided to leave his dreams and come back.
The waterfall took some time to come back but it is again here. And I am so glad.
It is a small world, my little mossy universe of thinking.
A lot of tiny thoughts are turning their rounds; some are coming and disappearing as soon as they arrived. Some are turning and going round and round and round.
It is difficult to have the big picture.
I am crawling, moving my arms and legs and breathing every third movement.
At the beginning, my thoughts are wild, a total disorder; after some hundred meters, they start to slow down and become more clear. And at the end of my crawl session, there are just a few, but very precise thoughts. What a relief!
My kid played the role of the Puss in the boots. It is a wonderful fairy tale about having nothing and getting everything. The only condition is to play well your role.
Well, I admit this is a rather simple interpretation of the story. But it seems to fit to a program I encountered rather often in life.
It is important how I play my role. The better I play the more I get. But playing well means to me playing my own role and not the one expected by my parents, teachers, superiors, colleagues, partner or my children.
And this is the most difficult. Being connected to the person I am and to what I am feeling isn’t easy to play in a big theatre like our world.
Sometimes, I’d prefer to be my cat lying on my sofa all day long and being myself during doing nothing.
I am standing in front of the gate but I’d like to be on the other side.
I imagine it to be more interesting over there but it is only in my imagination. I don’t have any real experience.
So many times in life I find myself dreaming of being elsewhere.
If I try now to imagine being on the other side of the gate and looking at me from there, it feels surprisingly good; I see myself with other eyes and I wished to be over there with me.
Again, many things are just a matter of viewpoint.
This is my prince I want to kiss. Will he be my man?
He will be bright, beautiful and sensitive. Very simple, isn’t it?
Kissing the frog and starting a relationship is very easy, too. What seems to be more complicated is certainly all what comes after.
I wish my prince to be different than he is because I imagined him more caring or selfless.
But the frog stays as it is and I cannot give him back.
Am I the princess I imagined to be?
Is it better to be concentrated on the moment and the details in life? Or is it worthwhile to have the big picture in mind?
When I see the big picture, I see all the details which aren’t the way I would like to have them to be. It is like a Swiss cheese landscape with holes.
When I try to concentrate on the moments in life, I am stuck to the details which are annoying me by their imperfection.
So, what is the best way to look at things?
I guess it needs a solution in between.
Being a member of a society, being part of a team at work, being a member of a family, being a tiny part of a bigger organization means adapting oneself to the others.
If I don’t feel like doing it, the sooner or later I get the information, I am not accepted by the group.
But where is the line between being different and adjusting to the rest? To which extent I am aloud to think, to talk, and to act differently?
Sometimes, it is difficult to find the right amount of being different.
Sometimes, it is easy to adjust.
It needs courage to be oneself and different than the others; it is like a tightrope walk.
If it is worthwhile, one hardly finds out during lifetime.
There is this little smile, shy but secured because of the glass wall in-between.
It is like her parents are protecting her fragile childhood.
So, this little Indian girl can grow and ripe and getting prepared for the future.
The glass wall will be disappearing more and more. She will get into contact with classmates, teachers, neighbors, and her parent’s friends.
More and more, she will get responsible for protecting herself of displeasing things and people. Nobody will be able to do this for her.
One can hope, that her parents will provide her an elaborate instruction manual for life.
If not, I know how it feels. One has to find out so many things by oneself, and it will be an agitated journey.
Aren’t they wonderful?
Three pieces of art.
But what is art? When it hangs or stands in the museum? Or when it is exposed to the public in a school building?
Being an artist is another discussion. Where does “being an artist” begin? When someone dresses, behaves like an artist? When someone creates an artificial piece of shit and sells it as art?
Being creative means to me transforming something obvious into something different.
Thinking can be creative, too.
I am thinking I am an elephant or a tree. I can feel the thick thin or the deep root, and it feels great handling difficult situations.
Sometimes, you know exactly where you’re going. You see the light just in front of you.
Sometimes, you don’t know where it shall be going. It feels uncomfortable. You wish to change but you do not succeed.
Sometimes, you know it must be changing the sooner or later because it doesn’t feel the right way.
Sometimes, everything feels grey but you like the extremes: either totally dark or totally light.
Sometimes, you have to listen to your breath, touch your face and imagine you are alive.