D&G Tribute

In every woman's life comes a time when truth has to be said out loud, or in our case, written in classy black on much too revealing white. That has to happen even if actions and words and every expression projected to the world might contain hints and suggestions and carefully hidden clues, all of them like pieces in a puzzle.

So here it goes, people - drum roll - the truth:

I'm a junkie.

I'm sure that, by now, each and everyone of you figured it out. Nevertheless, the truth had to dot this white. And had to be complete, revealed with all its layers and ruffles.

So here it goes again:

Like all respectable addicts, I'm not hooked just on one thing - that wouldn't match my profile, right? And like all respectable addicts I move pretty fast from one sort of high to another. I suppose that's the way it is and I'm not trying to alter the ways of the world. Or that's the addiction speaking?

Nevermind who's speaking. It wouldn't change the truth in any way. It wouldn't alter at all the crude reality, hold on, here it comes:

Like all respectable addicts, hooked for life on their narcotics, I keep my addictions hidden and most of the times I try to stay on the "pleasantly neurotic" side, as one of my favorite fictional character once said it. Or was it real, the character, I mean? For it certainly seemed real.

There, I've said it, black on white. Do not shake your heads in disapproval or contempt. And please do not worry if I disappear for an entire month. Yes, I might be hooked on something, but the high is soooo sweet, soooo fulfilling. And I will come back anyway, and I will eventually tell you all about it. Or write you all about it, in black or white, or in the colors of my latest addiction, that would be even better.

So please forgive me for not being completely honest with the black and white thing from the very beginning - it's hard to me to bare my everything like that. For this time it wasn't only black and white really, or it was to some extent, but it was mostly red and black guys, I admit. And green, yes.

And I don't know about the AA meetings, but all this writing about my addictions made the withdrawal symptoms so terrible, gut-wrenching, really, that I  don't know how much more I can stay away from it. So wanna get high with me?

Here, have some!

Pretty good stuff right? I knew it. And it gets so much better! Have another one, guys, who says we shouldn't get sooo high?

Growing really tired of waiting

I keep telling myself that one day I'll step out of the house and everything will be completely different.

Everyone that knows me might argue with that, for I'm not usually that eager to get out and check up on things. Well, we probably are the sum of our past experiences.

The problem is that sometimes I want and even need to see what's going on outside of my own bubble. Maybe see a new place, exchange some thoughts, establish a new connection, learn something, anything. Somebody's choice to show me a different perspective - that's the type of interaction that I have always cherished. And I've always tried to see and understand more and more of those perspectives.

One thing I learned over and over all through my adult life is that we're never really capable to really, truly, intimately and respectfully understand perspectives that are different from ours. In spite of all the-hard-way-accumulated-wisdom (that's always the case- some people would snicker), I always try to reason with myself on this particular matter, I always feel the need to convince myself that, no matter what, at least, let's say, 50 % can be understood and eventually respected, just as an opinion, just as a personal choice. A simple, rational understanding of sorts - let's agree to disagree type of convention.

Unlike the tiny tree in my previous post I really am a patient person. I'm that type of person that gives  people the time they need to search their ideas and souls, to grow, to do whatever they have to do in order to became exactly and completely what they need to become. And I even have patience when it comes to all the mistakes people make, whether those mistakes imply hurting some other people, or hurting me. Not that I'm Jesus and my "life work" is forgiving everybody and probably inviting them to heaven. I've just been there and it seems that I'm constantly exactly there - I've grown a lot and I'm still  doing it, I've made a lot of mistakes and I'm still making mistakes all the time. That's how I know and how I managed to accept  people's mistakes and my own and that's where my patience comes from.

Also, that's how I got to know my place and that actually means that, to me, each and every person walking the surface of the Earth right now knows and understands this particular matter exactly as I do, sometimes maybe even better than I do. Everything is alright wit the world, and with me, right?

Then I decide to walk out of the house and my whole world turns upside down. As much credit I give people, they just don't want to return some of that credit to me. I get it, there's no point in taking the road less traveled by, there's no point in having 7 billion persons with the exact profile of Joan Of Arc, all of them struggling even for the tiniest of changes, but hey, just think about it.

Is it really okay to live our entire life in that rectangular, constricted spot we were allotted at birth or at some point in our lives? Is conformity a real life choice? One that's eventually going to bring about at least some peace of mind? Are we really supposed to travel the same path over and over again, thinking in the same manner and reacting only between the borders of what's considered norm?

I would never fight against a YES-answer. But I'm not going to pretend that I'll be completely fond of it. It's that only 50% of my brain and soul can actually process it, we've established that. And just because I consider myself a regular person I keep thinking that everyone around me feels the same, and in the end, my 50% understanding can easily coexist with the 50% understanding coming from my neighbor, for example.

If so, then why do I keep on hearing those voices shouting at me to get back inside the rectangular and constricted spot I was allotted at birth or whatever? Why are those voices unable to give me that 50% percent understanding, just as I give them? And finally, why that 50% understanding that reaches me feels just like stones?

Whatever those answers might be, I can only assure you that I will make the effort to understand at least 50% of them. And if those answers only highlight the idea that my 50% understanding has to coexist with 50% stones, I will still make the effort to understand at least 50% of the entire concept.

I'm not a fan of math, not in the slightest degree, but I can't help but wondering what's going to happen, as 50% taken out of 50% will probably lead to another 50% taken out of  whatever's left.

Then what?

I'm done! I'm ready! Where is she?!

I'm done, believe it or not, I am.

I'm not big on patience, I know. But I got really tired of standing outside completely naked, depleted of everything that actually makes me what I am.

So I decided to take matters into my own hands. Proved a tough challenge - I'll give you that. Not that I'm complaining - hard as it may be - this is my thing.

And now I'm done, all good and ready. I grew all my leaves, there's no hint of the past baldness now. I also worked on the colors - they're all fresh and green and eager to play with the wind.

To tell you the truth I'm also more than happy to play with the wind. You know, I'm not really that tall right now, and even if I sometimes stand on the tips of my roots, I still can't  scan the horizon properly. And the wind always helps, it's like he's reading my mind. Yesterday the wind helped me bend around a grey building and I managed to get a glimpse of her. Proud as I was for being right on time, my leaves got even greener.

No wind today, though, he's probably helping some other fellows in their time of need. And I stand here, next to the grey building watching the people passing me by. They can't see her, their eyes can't scan the horizon like mine do, and they're not friendly with the wind.

There's nothing left for me to do right now but wait, and, as I said before, I'm not big on patience. I hate waiting, and, on top of everything, I'm pretty sure  I won't be able to keep my emotions in check for much longer. Even now, I have to constantly ruffle my leaves to hide what I'm feeling. And there's a lot to hide, I'm telling you, 'cause this morning, the excitement got that bad that I even grew flowers.

Take a good look at this. See?  I'm done! I'm ready! Grew all my leaves! I even got flowers! Where is she?

Daca doriti sa vedeti ce mai are de zis copacelul nerabdator, el poate fi gasit la coltul breslasului si, vorbaret cum este, si la locul de intalnire.

Sa sufle vant de primavara, si doar pe directia de trebuie!

the softest blooms

Nici nu stim cum se schimba lumea langa noi. Zi de zi alergam cu ale noastre treburi importante in carca, ne facem planuri si speram.
Insa schimbarea nu striga la noi, ci doar arunca, ici si colo, cate un indiciu. Si de nu vedem ca se schimba culorile in jurul nostru, si de nu vedem ca fetele oamenilor sunt luminate diferit, se prea poate sa fi sperat de pomana.
Asa ca ochiul are nevoie de antrenament. E necesar sa vada orice nuanta, orice raza, sa ghiceasca orice indiciu ascuns dupa griurile difuze de februarie. Si de ochiul cel indreptat spre lume nu reuseste sa distinga tot, cel al mintii va suprapune orice indiciu peste sumedenia de amintiri. Atunci, cu siguranta vom fi pregatiti.
Si vom spune - Bine ai venit! Deja te cunosc si esti parte din mine!

De ochiul trebuie antrenat si amintirile rascolite, martisoarele - floricele se gasesc la coltul breslasului si, bineinteles, la locul de intalnire.

Sa va fie colorat de primavara!

AMMI only dreams of pink trees!

Copaceii roz, se pare,

Vor sa stea numai la soare

Sa se-ntrebe fiecare:

Vine primavara oare?

Si de e vorba de martisoarele-copacei, pot fi gasite la coltul breslasului, si bineinteles, la locul de intalnire :)

Sa va fie totul roooz :)

AMMI only Dreams of happy gardens!

Si bineinteles, tot asta fac si eu!
Ma tin dupa AMMI ca stiu ca-mi arata drumul cel bun - e clar ca din locul spre care se indreapta ea rasare primavara!

 

Si pentru ca AMMI se gandeste la toate si nu si-ar dori ca martisoarele sa zaca parasite si ascunse dupa trecerea sezonului, iata ce se poate face (in 2 minute, fara cusaturi si alte treburi complicate) cu o geanta veche, o bucata mica de dantela, si o mana de martisoare. Si nu e ca si cum cerul chiar ar fi limita, posibilitatile de joaca sunt infinite.

In felul asta martisoarele vor sta la soare, geanta se va bucura de viata noua, iar noi nu ne vom sfii sa zambim a primavara si a inceputuri!

Martisoarele se gasesc la locul breslasului, iar AMMI, cand nu viseaza, sporovaieste cu oricine la locul de intalnire.

Cum zicea povestea, sa aveti parte doar de flori - si in cale, si pe urma!

Thinking of Spring....

... I can't imagine flowers without the hands to mould them, without the eyes to discover them, and by no means without the souls to feel them first, then pass them on to other souls.

As usually, somebody had already thought of that :

Some of the flowers in the world, especially those I think and feel about, can be found at my own personal flowers market