Things of Life

     The orchid by the kitchen sink was limp, and its leaves were heavily wrinkled. The flower was dying. Nothing had worked: spraying, watering, sun, or shade. But I could not give up on it-- my first ever orchid in a pot...      In Florida's wild, orchids cling on trees. Knowing it, I took the flower outside to give it a last try. I fastened its roots on a small palm tree near my door, in a place where the sprinkle was reaching generously, and the tree's canopy was giving it proper shade. Soon after, I forgot about it...      One day I had a sudden recollection, and went to check on the orchid. Amazing... The flower had hugged and hugged the tree with its roots, even longer and ferm. My little clips used to keep the plant in place were no longer needed because the roots were fierily stuck in between the protrusions of  the tree trunk, as if they were part of it. The leaves bore no sign of wrinkles, and a long stem had grown from under ...

     "Are you Gypsy?"      The woman at the desk was fixating me with some sort of excitement after I mentioned my country of origin, at her request. Perhaps my very long hair at the time, loose over the shoulders, and my general informal look, combined with her newly acquired knowledge about my birth place, reminded her of romanticized images of Gypsy women.       "No...," I replied, feeling that I was about to disappoint.       Afterwards, the routine counseling at the school I was attending, transformed itself in a conversation about Gypsies. I tried my best to offer her a realistic image about this peculiar group of people as far as I was familiar with it from my native country.      But that was before I came to know that I may have Gypsy blood in my veins, indeed. It was later in life when it was revealed to me that my paternal grandmother was an adopted child, and rumor went that her biological f...

     In my fugitive journey through here, I pondered a bit on the way time perception shifts our views. We always seem to wonder what is going to happen next, or when this or that may come to be. Some things  appear harder to achieve, but if we set a generous amount of time, they become more tangible. In a huge length of time things may float neurotically,  and we might be overwhelmed and numbed; but we relax eventually at the notion that in such time the probability for them becoming reality is higher, even though we still have no clue about how would that be. For the sake of time, perhaps, we are more inclined to  accept as possibility even a strange scenario from deep past.       When I was in my early 20s, I often questioned my own life-- where was I going to be, when was I going to get married (a big one), if I would ever have kids, if I would ever see such and such place, and so on. If I would have assessed the coming year, or two,...

The heart is opened to each as a potential friend, Ready to talk as if there is no time... soul to soul, no walls. Kids have to wait because there are others around; She does not carry the burden of unforgiveness, or bitter feelings That would make the eyes look them in askance, And pass quickly, and hide to hate. Glossy lake is the heart now, with a boat on it, no monsters lurking, A garden with trees and a stream,  a picnic basket near by, Have a seat  here... we are all different,  but not too different...

De ce mi-ar plăcea zilele de iarna...? Frigul imi intra-n oase, si copacii sunt dezbrăcați de haina ce-o iubesc; Peisajul e cam gri, și dacă zăresc ceva colorat e man-made. Dar sumbrul asta pe mine mă-ndeamnă sa mă-ntind departe, Undeva unde regăsesc tot ce nu mai am, Si ma-ncalzesc la o lumina intima, In care simtirea face holograme. Si parca de fapt n-am pierdut niciodată nimic, Pentru ca-ntotdeauna mă regăsesc pe mine... Si vara nu e departe, căci atunci îmi iau zborul către un nou eu...

     It was a man John who liked everything in order. From random things neatly laid out around him, to life events that needed to fall in a particular order or measure of time. Thus he always seemed to know the time for something. So, when he got to a certain age, he knew he had to figure out a livelihood to choose. His father, a shepherd from Transylvania, told him he can either take up shepherd's work, or go to school to become a teacher. John loved the poetry of a shepherd's life, but he did not want to put up with hardships of tending to the sheep. Neither was he as much into grammar or math; but he went on to become a teacher.       Years went by and young John was finishing his school and was ready to receive his first job as a primary school teacher. In his own vision of order, he felt it was time to get married, and was looking. By now he had had the taste of women of all kinds, and he was no longer a shy lad; therefore, he was set on finding ...

     As you sit on the sand and look towards the sea, what do you think of when you watch the relentless movement of the waves?                                                                        *  *  *      When I came across Lascaux drawings, I felt an intimate attraction. Simple lines, yet powerfully expressive. Not the least, the unique texture of the rocky surface adds a new level of aesthetics. For some reason I feel connected to those humans who made the drawings; could be just the plain desire to take a note of something, in a fugitive way...      Looking at ocean's waves I imagine the old human marking their surface with drawings of the water creatures that they hunt. Because, as the waves are coming towards me, they carry all kinds of stories...