Θα, θα, θα, θα….

Είμαι σε σύγχυση τις τελευταίες μέρες με τα γεγονότα στην Ελλάδα και το επικείμενο δημοψήφισμα.

Βγαίνουν συνέχεια πολιτικοί “θα το ενα” “θα το άλλ﨔, θα, θα, θα, θα, θα, θα. Είτε υπέρ του ναι είτε υπέρ του όχι. Θα, θα, θα, θα….

Από θα ξεκινά και η θάλασσα όμως, και δε τελειώνει πουθενά. Και ή θα πνιγούμε ή θα κολυμπήσουμε και θα βρούμε κάπου στεριά..

Από θα ξεκινά και ο θάνατος, και φοβούμαστε τόσο να πεθάνουμε, επειδή πάντα φοβόμασταν να ζήσουμε. Η απάντηση όμως είναι να ζήσουμε πρώτα και μετά να πεθάνουμε…

Από θα ξεκινά και το θάψιμο.. πόσες ελπίδες και όνειρα έχουμε θάψει.. ποσες ελπίδες και όνειρα θα θάψουμε ακόμα.. πόσες θυσίες όλα αυτά τα χρόνια..

Από θα ξεκινά και η θαμπάδα… πόσο έχει θαμπωθεί η όρασή μας και η κρίση μας.. πόσο διαστρεβλωμένα είναι τα πάντα γύρω μας…

Από θα ξεκινά και το θάρρος.. όμως στα λόγια όλα ειναι ωραία, στις πράξεις ποιός το αποδεικνύει…

Από θα ξεκινά και το θαύμα.. στο οποίο προσμένουν πολλοί – κ εγώ μαζί – να μη καταστρέψουμε αυτή τη φωτεινή χώρα, τη χώρα μας… Ας νοιαστούμε για το διπλανό μας…που υποφέρει όσο και εμείς.

ΝΑΙ ΣΤΗ ΖΩΗ

ΝΑΙ ΣΤΟΝ ΑΝΘΡΩΠΟ

Με αγάπη προς όλους,

Α.

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It’s love that holds everything together..

Some nights I wonder if we ever look at the same stars at the same hour..

When I was little, I believed stars were shiny pins that held the sky on its position..

I was wrong.. but I was little..

and then I didn’t know Love..

It is not the stars that hold the sky up there.. and the stars are not shiny pins. The stars are not even up there;

but as I said, I was wrong,  I was little, and I didn’t know Love..

The stars are down here and hold the whole world together..

It is the people you love. It is the Love you feel for them that holds the world together.. not only your world, your life, the Universe you create by yourself.. but actually everything together..

that Love that gives you life, that makes your body alive, that makes the winds travel and the flowers dance with their song.

That Love that rhymes with breath, as life cannot be without breath..

and …

Don’t you know, the only distance suitable for us is that of a breath?

rumi-love

Love,

A.

Love (n.)

LOVE

it usually starts with  ‘once upon a time’ and sometimes ends badly. .

but at all times Love is Love and no time spent with Love is wasted one..

Sure, not every love story has a fairy tale end. And some of you might say, we don’t live in a fairy tale world, with dragons and princes, with beasts and witches, with bad wolves and swords. But I will agree to disagree, because ..think for a minute .. we really do; this IS  a world of disguised dragons and princes, disguised beasts and witches..(and not necessarily because the Carnival is already here). So all love stories can be fairy tale love stories…

it’s a rope, on which you hold on to; other times you are on the verge of hanging yourself; 

but at all times it feels like a struggle to have a good balance walking on it.. and chances are you might fall..

it’s your weakness, and other times or the same times, your strength;

but at all times, Love is what makes the difference, what makes you feel alive, what gives life to your life.. what makes your heart beat with joy and what makes your every day more colorful…

it is YOU in human shape;

sometimes you see it, other times I can only see it;

but at all times, Love is Love, and though Love is blind, Love is deaf-initely right..

Love,

AA

Love is not..

bow-cute-deer-fawn-heart-i-love-you-Favim.com-65544

Love is

not what they tell you.

No matter what you hear,

don’t believe it.

It’s only a word until you feel it.

Love is

not conditional.

It’s not ‘Give me that and I shall give you.”

yet, one can never give what he has not gotten.

And one cannot get, what he cannot give.

Love is

not convenient or easy.

Love takes life.

You fall.

In Love

What was ‘yourself’ falls and dies.

And one

either gives your hand

or passes you by..

Love,

AA

Counting

counting-heartsHow many times a day do you think of me?

How far would you travel to see my face?

How many times have you ever dreamt of me?

And how much do you miss me?

How many lifetimes have our hearts known each other?

Being with you and not being with you is how I count time..

Maybe that is why time with me is kind.

in the end, nothing of all this counting matters..

it is just another nonsense

because..

what you can count does not matter and what you cannot, does..

What you can count, does not count and what you cannot, does..

Love,

AA

C-old or G-old

kintsugi-heart

Going back some decades, I find myself admiring my grandma, when she was telling stories to my sister and I in bed. Her storytelling made the summer afternoons magical, stirred my imagination, so much that every single day I was looking forward to that moment. At the end of the day, I always wondered to myself, ‘How cool it must be to get old and know all these stories’..

Going a few decades ahead, to now, I still admit how cool it is to know beautiful stories, or better yet to make up new stories, and invite others in the world of wonder and magic and mystery and fun. For me, storytellers are like a dark chest of tales and wonders. They weave the threads of the world with their words, imbibing life to what was before imagined or keeping the world in motion. From writers of books to grandmothers. From the man sitting next to you on the bus telling his story on your way home, to the love story revealed by a single look in the eyes of a lover..

Oh, I should not forget, my grandmother used to ask often in the end, ‘What does the story teach us?’.

Truth be told, not many have that privilege, growing older, as my grandma.. You are supposed to get wiser, you are supposed to be taught lessons, but that is not always the case..What did the story of your life really teach you?

And truth be told, getting older, our hearts get cracks.. some get c-old-er.

Truth be told, I repeat, getting older, our hearts get cracks.. but others get g-old-en.

There is the japanese art of repairing with gold the broken objects, named kintsugi, creating a ‘new’ perfectly imperfect version of the ‘older’ one, the cracked one. What they do is fill the cracks with gold, because the fact that the object is broken and has a history makes it more valuable and beautiful. In the end, broken and older is better than new..!

I have come to realize, age is a number and really does not say much..

I would dare ask ‘how many cracks has your heart?’. This question must say more..

And much more, ‘did you become cold or gold?’

Love,

AA

If you knew..

queen

Do you know you are like a flower?

If you knew, you wouldn’t miss a single flower on your way..

Do you know you are like the sun?

If you knew, you would always give your own sun every day..

Do you know where you are going?

If you knew, you would not spend a single moment in sadness or despair..

Do you know you are my mirror?

If you knew, you would never have to look in the mirror..

And..

Do you know you hold a piece of my heart?