Things of Life

I am a forager of some kind, Gather memories As I shuffle the sand...

America is a big opening. So big it may overwhelm. Therefore, when you enter it, you better know who you are, and keep yourself whole. Hold on to every bit of you, so you'll not be pulled into the vortex of the melting pot. Careful not to lose the reins of you when fighting for survival. Opening does not necessarily mean freedom. It means a lack of solid structure, an open field. In it, anything can go. Wherever there is lack of structure, you can do, become, think, feel, anything. Those who know who they are, thrive-- they have structure of their own. Those who don't, are constantly in search for it, and struggle; around them is such a vast field, and they may take the shape of whatever may seem to take shape.  If you've experienced structure somewhere else, does not necessarily mean it's yours, but instead you acquired something by default. You still have to find yourself. The opening is just a place where you can either get lost, or find your most authentic self. The...

This purple onion-- color so bright. Its smell is familiarly pungent, and I no longer think if liking or not. Life can hardly be separated from onions. It seems like there is no cuisine that can go without this fruit of earth. Its flavors... everywhere. In life, we open each other like an onion. Layer by layer, in time. In the middle, we find the most tender, the most vulnerable part of self. The sweetest. It's there, swaddled like an offspring in deepest sleep...

     Mă și mir acum de fascinația pentru locul acela.       "Hai pe vale!"       Orice copil de pe strada știa unde. La locul de aruncat gunoi din vecinatate ne petreceam o mare parte din timp, si pe-acolo ne făceam joaca. Un loc viran ce oferea ieșirea la câmpurile din spatele caselor. Zgârmam cu orele, si era o adevarata bucurie când găseam o ceașcă fără toarta (o comoara pentru camera cu păpuși). Mai rar dadeam si peste vreo cutiuță cu etichetă colorată a unui produs nemaiântâlnit, sau chiar unul străin. Aceea era de colecție, si marca ziua.       Cumva, când eram in acel loc, se împleteau un spirit al aventurii, al unui materialism inocent, bucuria găsirii si a adunatului. Euforia micului strângător... Pe vremea aceea plasticul încă nu luase amploare, si mogâldețele de gunoi aduse de oameni se integrau ușor in consistenta terenului local. Nu ni se părea, si nici nu gândeam ca avand locul acela prin preajma er...

     The substance of a created thing it's about authenticity. It's becoming more and more rare in a world headed for degradation, where everybody wants things stimulating, fast and cheap. Creation takes time, it's not cheap, and it may not be too glamorous, although if you have eyes to see, it may shine with its simplicity.       I am going ballistic when kids are not excited for going to the beach or hiking a trail, to see something real, because they prefer to stay in some virtual world, and be happy with the  ready-made. Or choosing to eat some fried mixtures from a plastic bag rather than an apple. The world drains me sometimes with its ignorance for authenticity...      I am looking for a spot to look at the veins of a leaf... One that just fell from a tree...

In tremurarea violet-albastra, Gândurile si visele se contopesc Nestingherite... Fără tridimensionalitate, O lume se contureaza Nestraina si calda...  Și foșnetul de frunze in geam   Se transforma in atingeri pe buze, Neoprite...

Food is scarce. I am constantly looking for it. Sometimes in the most remote places.  Small and transparent producers. Ancient grains and traditions unaltered. Fruits picked in their due season. Me... the modern gatherer.