Eίσαι Άνθρωπος

Ελευθέρωσε τα δάκρυα που σε εμποδίζουν από την Αναγέννηση του εαυτού σου.

Είσαι ένα θεμέλιο, γεμάτο μετάνοια για την παγκόσμια αρχιτεκτονική.

<<Άνθρωπος>>. Αυτό είσαι. Τίποτ’άλλο.

Το δέρμα και τα κόκκαλά σου δεν  αρκούν για την νοσταλγία του ταξιδιού σου.

Τα χείλη και τα χέρια σου σε βασανίζουν από τότε που έμαθες πως η αφή είναι αμαρτία.

<<Άνθρωπος>>. Αυτό σε φωνάζουν. Τίποτ’άλλο.

Δεν μπορείς να σταματήσεις.

Οι μέρες περνούν, τα βράδια μένουν. Οι στιγμιαίοι μα παντοτινοί εραστές φεύγουν το επόμενο πρωί, γρηγορότερα απ’ότι τα μάτια τους σου υποσχέθηκαν πριν την σαρκική τους ηδονή.

<<Άνθρωπος>>. Αυτό σε αποκαλούν. Τίποτ’άλλο.

Σαν τις χορδές της κιθάρας που πάλλονται και σταδιακά σιωπούν αφήνοντας την μελωδία της χαοτικής τους εμβέλειας, έτσι κι εσύ πάλλεσαι στην ιδέα του ατελείωτου δοσίματος, ρημάζοντας πρόωρα πάντα το σκαλισμένο με εξομολογήσεις τοίχος της ψυχής σου.

Στη μετάβαση προς το δρόμο της ενηλικίωσης, δεν σου επέτρεψαν να αφήσεις την αθωότητά σου. Σε πίεσαν όμως να παραδώσεις την θηλυκότητά σου, το αιώνιο σύμβολο του πόθου τους, βαφτίζοντάς την  ‘’απαραίτητη αλλαγή’’ παρά ‘’αυτόδηλο βιασμό’’.

Κατά τα άλλα, είσαι Άνθρωπος γι’αυτούς. Τίποτ’άλλο. 

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28/11/12

Παίρνοντας ως αφορμή κάτι που διάβασα στο twitter, θα’θελα να γράψω ορισμένες σκέψεις μου πάνω σ’ένα θέμα.

Είδα ένα tweet που’λεγε : ‘Μεγαλύτερο ψέμα από το «Θέλω να είσαι καλά και ας σε έχει άλλος» Δ Ε Ν υπάρχει’.

Προσπάθησα να δω αυτή τη φράση από μια ποικιλία πλευρών. Από το πλευρό της λογικής, του συναισθήματος, της μοναξιάς, του έρωτα και τέλος, της αγάπης.

Ο καθένας από εμάς έχει κάτι ή κάποιον στη ζωή του το οποίο δεν θέλει να χάσει. Μπορεί να μην είναι ένα αποκλειστικά πράγμα ή πρόσωπο αλλά πολλά. Εν τέλει, αποτελεί κάτι το ουσιώδες για μας από τη στιγμή που νοιαζόμαστε για την παρουσία του.

Το παραπάνω tweet, βέβαια, δεν γράφτηκε για ένα αντικείμενο αλλά για έναν άνθρωπο.

Πιστεύω πως η αγάπη δεν έχει ορισμό. Ο καθένας μας, αναλόγως των εμπειριών μας, έχει τη δική του ερμηνεία πάνω στο φαινόμενο της  αγάπης.

Το γεγονός ότι η αγάπη δεν έχει ορισμό,  δίνει την εντύπωση πως μπορεί να πάρει πολλές μορφές και διαθέτει πολλές σημασίες.

Θυμάμαι πως σκεφτόμουν την ποικιλία των επιθέτων που συνήθως συνοδεύουν την αγάπη.

Ίσως είμαι μια εξαίρεση στον κανόνα ως προς αυτήν την αντίληψη γιατί θεωρώ πως εαν αγαπάς κάποιον, πραγματικά τον αγαπάς, όσο και εαν σε πληγώνει να τον βλέπεις με κάποιο άλλο πρόσωπο δεν θα διστάσεις να τον αφήσεις ελεύθερο.

Όταν αγαπάς κάποιον, θέλεις να είναι ευτυχισμένος – ανεξάρτητα από το εαν η ευτυχία του υπάρχει και πηγάζει από σενα ή όχι.

Η αγάπη είναι ανιδιοτέλεια. Είναι θυσία. Είναι ελευθερία. Είναι γενναιοδωρία.

Αγάπη είναι να βλέπεις τον άνθρωπό σου να κλαίει και να τον παρηγορείς χωρίς τα λόγια.

Αγάπη είναι να είστε μαλωμένοι αλλά να σπεύδει ο ένας στον άλλον σαν να μη συνέβη τίποτα για να παρηγορηθούν.

Αν αγαπάς με την ολοκληρωμένη έννοια, δεν θα νιώθεις την ανάγκη να πάρεις πίσω αυτά που ‘’δίνεις’’ γιατί βρίσκεις χαρά και γαλήνη στο δώσιμο.

Και είναι μόνο όταν δίνεσαι ανεπιφύλακτα που μπορείς να νιώσεις όσα έχει η αγάπη να προσφέρει, αμοιβαία και μη.

Αυτά.

Καλό σας βράδυ.

Online Users

'The Quiet World' by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look

into each other’s eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided

to allot each person exactly one hundred   

and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear   

without saying hello. In the restaurant   

I point at chicken noodle soup.

I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,   

proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.   

I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,

I know she’s used up all her words,   

so I slowly whisper I love you

thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line   

and listen to each other breathe.

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Do You Ever Think Of Me?

“Do you ever think of me?” you ask with those eyes that pierce like fire.

We have conversations which dwell on the unresolved of our memories.

I remember walking in town and seeing a girl with a cigarette and a hoodie.  Her hair was let down and twirled in the wind.

For a moment I saw your face in hers. For a moment I saw your fingers hold the cigarette she was holding.

The moment was gone.

“Do you ever think of me?” you write on a piece of paper and hand it to me.

I remember handwriting and folded pieces of paper. Many folded pieces of paper.

I came to this country with pieces of paper. Literature, poetry, mentalities, letters – those were what were nurturing my spiritual growth.

 “Do you ever think of me?” you ask with that voice which is selective of sincerity.

I often look into the mirror and focus on my eyes until I reach that moment where each human feels that it is not himself or herself looking back, but a stranger.

I then softly trace the skin on my palm and try to think of how reliable my senses are – what if there’s a miniscule part that my senses cannot trace?

At that moment I think of you.

 “I do” I reply and without thinking, I smile.

What if there’s more?

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The Truth

‘’You are sick’’ was whispered in the microphone of yet another meeting.

It was as if their eyes were cutting my soul – at least what I had left of it.

We were all here for the same reason – but we approached our problems in a different way.

It had been three months.

‘’Who’s next?’’ shouted the plump lady in the navy blue uniform.

A boy, about twenty, walked up to the stage in an awkward strut.

It was obvious he was nervous and could not form the words he had pre rehearsed while observing others at the stand before him.

“Why are you here?” exclaimed a man, sitting just a few seats away from the rest of us.

The boy stood with his head facing the floor. His shoes looked like a temporary thought refugee.

Silence.

Seconds seemed like minutes before the man repeated his question.

“Why are you here?” he snarled.

It had been three months.

The boy started sweating immensely and seemed as if he was about to cry.

“Do you want to do this the hard way, son?” asked the man in the dark green suit.

“No, please, don’t! I beg you, please!” whimpered the boy, as he unconsciously fell to his knees.

The hard way was the truth, you see. That’s what they told us.

The hard way was the proof of our disobedience to the laws of their society. That’s what they told us.

The hard way was humiliation in the eyes of their family. That’s what they told us.

“Next, please.” exclaimed the navy blue uniformed woman as she sent the previous boy off to the infamous ‘Room Of Truth’.

The man and woman in the uniform swapped some conversation before deciding to call up another one from our lot.

“This will be the last one for today.” I heard them both agree as they rummaged the crowd for yet another ‘’lost soul’’.

“You.” said the woman with an emotionless glance as she selected a girl in the front row.

It had been three months.

She made her way up to the pedestal and looked across the room.

There was a bright light from the projector that revealed the Truth of each person there.

“Well?” echoed the demanding voice of the man “tell us why you are here”.

“I am here because I have committed a crime against my nature” said the girl. “The last time I was out there, 

I wasn’t being true to my Maker. I was selfish and needed to get help with my condition”.

“What precisely was your condition, Miss?” asked the man in a slow but clear voice.

“I – I.. " stuttered the girl as she started clenching her fists tightly. She looked me directly in the eye as if she was crying for help.

It had been three months.

“She didn’t have a condition” I shouted, as I felt adrenaline rush through my body and shake from frustration.

“You have a condition” I continued as I looked the man and woman almost ready to send me to the ‘Room Of Truth’ once again after three months.

“You make us feel inferior and ashamed to be who we are. You punish us for not behaving the way you deem as morally and stereotypically appropriate. You torture us with images of people we will never get to hold again, to kiss again, to laugh with again; of places we will never get to see the view of again; of music we can only faintly remember. You are the prisoners – not us. Your souls are tightly shut by the bars of ignorance and of empty aspiration which come from feeling superior through the phenomenon of no change.”

“To the ‘Room Of Truth’?” said one of the guards this time.

I spared them the distance and walked towards them with outstretched hands.

“What’s it going to be to forget about the truth out there this time? More medication?” I asked as the guards held my arms tightly, leading me towards the room.

In the room I entered there was a single seated sofa and a tv screen with a sign above that read ‘The Truth’.

The screen stayed white until I saw black and realized I was suddenly free.

Free from ‘The Truth’.

Online Users

14/11/12

I think the meaning of life is to understand that there is no meaning. You just have to live life, love, do good, evolve spiritually. Every bit of information we have is a piece of translation - a puzzle piece, I believe.

Each formula, musical note, wavelength, mentality - they're left when someone dies in order for us to use it and give our own meaning to life.

With all the knowledge we gain we, ourselves, become little puzzle pieces of the universe. And once we die, our memories, dreams, fears, desires all are subatomic particles - the pixels of an unpainted picture. The tiniest particle we obtain, the tiniest detail, cannot be traced because it cannot be seen in one moment or caption.

But alas, it is there!

That part is there in each and every one of us. That part is the most valuable unit to our existence. It's what makes us strive for brilliance; pull through the hardships; open the windows of compassion even when the shutters of apathy and pessimism are tightly bound. And humanity has been evolving and discovering new means to finally reach this minuscule particle but it always is a few steps ahead.

It may never be reached.

And even if it were to be reached, it would disappear into thin air because it is not supposed to be found.

Because if it were to be, the curtains of mystery would fall - life's masked meaning would be exposed. Life would not be life.

Humans would not be humans.

Civilizations would cease to exist.

And we would begin from scratch to the destination of self destruction.

Humans are humans, after all.














Online Users

Αν Ποτέ Φύγω

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως σε θεωρώ ήρωα γιατί μας ώθησες να αγωνιζόμαστε συνεχώς ώστε να βελτιωνόμαστε όχι μόνο σε σωματικό αλλά και σε ψυχικό επίπεδο.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως τώρα περισσότερο από ποτέ εκτιμώ την τρυφερότητά σου, την υπομονή σου και την ικανότητά σου να βάζεις τις ανάγκες των άλλων μπροστά από τις δικές σου.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως ήσουν αυτή που μου έδωσε το κυριότερο έναυσμα στη γλώσσα, στη γνώση, στην ιστορία και στον φαύλο κύκλο της ανθρώπινης συμπεριφοράς.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως πιστεύω ανεπιφύλακτα πως είσαι δυνατότερη απ’όσο νομίζεις.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως οι πληγές σου είναι επιπλέον στοιχεία της ομορφιάς και μοναδικότητάς σου.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως το χιούμορ σου μπορεί να σε βοηθήσει σε δύσκολες στιγμές - μη το χάσεις.

Αν ποτέ φύγω, θέλω να ξέρεις πως είμαι περήφανη για σενα και για τα εμπόδια που πέρασες για να φτάσεις εδώ που είσαι αυτή τη στιγμή.

Θα’μαι τόσο κοντά ώστε να με θυμάσαι στην δύση του ήλιου. Στα αστέρια του νυχτερινού ουρανού. Στους τοίχους της πόλης. Στις δύσκολες ανάσες πριν το κλάμα. Στα δάκρυα της ευτυχίας.

Φεύγω.

Μα δεν θα’μαι μόνη.

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Thoughts

I can’t realize how fast time is going by.

I keep on remembering details of things that seem so unimportant to people... but really, I think that they’re the most important things worth remembering.

I remember the roof.

I remember the rush before going out to perform.

I remember the spray paint.

I remember her smell.

I remember the clothes I wore. The clothes she wore. The way she looked.

I remember my Mom’s face.

I remember how my heart skipped a beat when I realized who it was.

I remember the way the cobbled stone sounded as I walked towards the fountain.

I remember the conversations that took place not long after.

I remember the way his lips went as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.

I remember feeling the beat of the music in my body as I looked at you make your way through the crowd.

I remember giving my jacket to a person who was cold.

I remember trembling. I’m still not sure if it was because of the cold.

I remember seeing two friends hugging and crying because they hadn’t seen each other in so long.

I remember the song that I couldn’t stop listening to.

I remember laughing with friends because of school issues.

I remember confiding my feelings of sadness and uncertainty to a patient friend.

I remember a stranger stopping me while I was making my way outside and telling me that I was beautiful.

I remember finding it difficult to believe him but my body kept on telling me to smile - and smile I did.

And, one year later, I’m still smiling.

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