power

Language is power, and language is sex and seduction.
It's sensual and mysterious, and crystal clear.
Language is intelligence, and keys to locked doors.
And language is the road, and the heritage and the trail back.

Language is age and era, language is decadence.
Language is full, it's dry, and true and false.
Language is rich and poor, it's blood, sweat and magic.

Master language and you'll master magic.

Yours truly.
M.


From a poem by Jeffrey McDaniel.

STOP

Comparison is so boring.

Just saying.
Just saying.

99% of us do it. Why?
Seriously - to what logical, reasonable, or useful end?
It has none.
Like, none whatsoever, none at all.

So why?
Why torture yourself with the how much, how little, how big, how small, how tall, how smart, how blonde, how brunette, how rich, how poor, how emotional, how loud, how flexible, how multi-lingual, or whatever anyone is.
This who-has-less-who-has-more crap is so stupid.
It's useless and will never, ever, until the end of the burning Sun give any useful outcomes.
Ever.

So as opposed to listing all the things you are not (and in some cases can never be, ie. born Chinese, or have legs that are 10 inches longer, or be double-jointed, etc.), focus on what you are, and all the AMAZING things you can do with all of it.
(You don't lack, anything.)

And I should really do that too.

Trust the process.
Yours truly.
M.

imma upgrade

what kind of a person do i honestly want to be?

i seriously plan to upgrade.
seriously

and that's the question, rather than anything else

down to the little details

the V-Maria
the version
can do the splits
wakes up early to have a lovely breakfast time
has a positive future vision
does not postpone anything at all to the last second
keeps a clear structure of what she needs to do (to-do lists)
works out, because she loves it
knows when to ask for advice
makes her intuitive ideas a reality
takes time to meditate
works on her yoga practice
plays the piano
makes time for herself
dedicates time to living her life as herself
doesn't forget her drawing and photography
doesn't waste time on empty worrying or anxiety
keeps positive reminders in her space
eats good food
works at her languages

this
signifies
living
my
life

So that's what and who i actually want to be.


GO BE IT.
M.

past

The past is crashing in through the door like a fast tank-truck, with a really drunken yet determined driver.

I really hope it's the full-Moon or something.
I honestly, honestly do. Because this is super boring.
I mean, none of this ever emerges without reasons.
So I'm doing my best to understand how and why this needs to be dealt with.

Sitting here, but feeling like 4 years ago is not my idea of fun.

It just feels like there are thousands of untied ends where my ordered thoughts should be.
And all this mess needs is just some work.
I need to tie my ends, if I want to get anywhere.

Happy Friday night, my dears.
M.

tactile

I like touching.
I think it's a nice idea to trace our lives with our fingertips.
Because truth is, our skin remembers.
And I think our skin has a slightly different memory than the one belonging to our brain. Yes, I know, technically they are all tied to the brain, but you know what I mean.
The skin remembers.
So trace and touch and enjoy the quiet and overwhelming whole-ness of touch.
This doesn't have to be sexual, though of course, that would have its perks.

But no, touching is simple. It's cotton fabrics, or sunny skin, or hot or cold or smooth or whatever, or moss or berries, or water, or sand, or pages of books or holding a pencil, or whatever. I mean, skin gets the point here, but over-all, everything is nice.
Tactile lives are so much richer I think. And sometimes when a whole wintertide has been spent wearing mittens I forget how divine it is to touch.

Tactile.
M.

5 years of blog

Happy birthday, my blog!

5 years ago on the 19th of February I wrote my first blog post on this address.
And it was so very different.

The first post was called "raindrops and moonlight", and back then I was writing in Estonian.
I was feeling unwell and reading some Estonian poetry.
Not very different, apart from just how melancholic the tone is. Just crazy, imagining thinking like this now.
I'm ecstatic to realise that some of the things I really yearned for back then, I've reached by now. Kudos, self.
And I was eating this chocolate. I think dad sent it from home.
And I was looking forward to the arrival of spring.

So some things never change.
M.

give in

to give into it or not?

the pounding behind the ribs
the waterfalls and wild horses
the fly so high and fall so low
the running fullspeed
and the punching and biting
the raging and ripping
the depth and space
the lack and excess
the through and through
the more and more
the dark and light
the screams and shatters
the laughter and crying
the up and up and up
the bending and breaking

to give into it or not?

what does anyone need anyway?

and who's the lying for?

(i wish her voice would change meaning for me, soon)

"A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages" (T.Williams)

Saturday night.
M.