It's not that I die of love

It's not that I die of love, I die of you.
I die of you, love, of loving you,
of me needing my skin on yours,
of my soul yours and of my mouth
and the unbearable me without you.

I die of you and me, die of both, of us, of that,
ripped, broken,
I die, you die, that die.

We die in my room, in which I am alone,
in my bed in which you lack,
in the street where my embrace goes empty,
in the movies and parks, in the streetcars,
the places where my shoulder is used to your head
and my hand in your hand
and my whole self knows you as I know myself.

We die in the place I lent to the air
so you're outside me,
and in the place where air ends
when I throw my skin on you
and we know each other in ourselves, separated from the world
blissful, penetrated, and true, unending.

We die, we know it, they ignore it, we die
between us, now, separated,
one of the other, everyday,
falling down in multiple statues,
in gestures we see each other,
in our hands that need us.

Nos morirnos, amor, muero en tu vientre
que no muerdo ni beso,
en tus muslos dulcнsimos y vivos
en tu carne sin fin, muero de mбscaras,
de triбngulos obscuros e incesantes.
Me muero de mi cuerpo y de tu cuerpo,
de nuestra muerte, amor, muero, morirnos.
En el pozo de amor a todas horas,
inconsolable, a gritos,
dentro de mн, quiero decir, te llamo,
te llaman los que nacen, los que vienen
de atrбs, de ti, los que a ti llegan.
Nos morimos, amor, y nada hacemos
sino morirnos mбs, hora tras hora,
y escribirnos y hablarnos y morirnos.

[Jaime Sabines]

meditation experience

The process of self-learning in yoga lies in the concept of meditation: absolute concentration on self. In the long process of self-observation you might find out some 
exciting things inside your soul. 
Few days ago, my self-learning deepened at the yoga class. That was the meditation on the candle, which was the first time for me to try this unusual way 
of meditation. The process was quite easy for me to follow. In front of a mirror was to be placed 
a lit candle, so that you can also see yourself in the mirror. There should not be any more light in the room. Now the task for me was to first observe the candle itself and concentrate on fire.
I was frightened: while I was watching the candle light, my head 
disappeared in the mirror. There was no head at all. Then I had a feeling of being a man.  As my teacher later explained me: disappearance of the head is a very good sign, which means I have cleaned my conscious. Being a man or feeling like a man could also be my second self, which is quite an interesting theory.
The second step in this meditation process was observing self as the reflection in the mirror. While looking into my eyes I again saw my head blurred and then disappearing 
altogether.  In the process I saw my face changing into a face of an older me in the age of 60-70.
I would only say, that meditation left me even more pensive on what is there inside my soul.
I came to a certain realization that there exist absolutely no boundaries in the human's mind. In the process of constant meditation and self-talk we become emotionally stronger. We can understand our meaning in life and our emotions on a deeper level.
In the chaotic wild run of life many of us sometimes forget to take time for talking with self, which as I have realised is vital.

Oh Rusia!

Oh Rusia, noble Rusia, santa Rusia,
cien veces noble y santa
desde que roto el baculo y el cetro,
empunas el martillo y la guardanal.
En promontorio de Occidente,
por estas tierras altas
erizadas de sierras, vastas liras
de piedra y sol, por sus llanuras padras
y por sus campos verdes,
sus frios hondos, sus marinas claras,
bajo la negra encina y el aureo limonero,
junto al clavel y la retama,
de monte a monte y rio a rio
oyes la voz de Espana?
Mientras la guerra atruena
de mar a mar, ella te grita Hermana!

Dreams

The  most recent question I have had in mind was concerning my dreams.  That has been ever since last Septmeber when I first started seeing them and in November when my dreams became real.
My unusual dreams referring to the lives of people I know and myself, narrating of coming difficulties or dramas started worrying me more than ever. Waking up Friday morning in a horror that tomorrow morning might bring something unpleasant.
What is the nature of those dreams? Whats the purpose of the precaution if you can hardly change something?
Both Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung identified dreams as an interaction between the unconscious and the conscious. They also assert together that the unconscious is the dominant force of the dream, and in dreams it conveys its own mental activity to the perceptive faculty. While Freud felt that there was an active censorship against the unconscious even during sleep, Jung argued that the dream's bizarre quality is an efficient language, comparable to poetry and uniquely capable of revealing the underlying meaning.
Should I believe Freud on this?
Can it be possible that a mentally healthy person would have the knowledge of the coming disaster or in my case, problems? Do we all initially have all our life written on the back of the mind or is it just a message we're getting from time to time?
And what bothers me and makes me even more curious about the nature of dreams is the their source. This way, if those are God-sent or destiny-sent, then ok I give up, life is pre-written and I am just a plaything. If not - then I am the God of myself and well, whoever is reading 
this is too.

"Sono l'italiano vero!" - Toto Cutugno

Toto Cutugno. Toto Cutugno..
Does this name ring a bell in your memory? A 35-year old memory to be more precise. It never did for me until I faced it right there in St-Petersburg where it seemed like the city was dressed in the images of aged Toto Cutugno. I never questioned the great Russian love for everything Italian: Italian food, Italian shoes, Italian men.. But Italian songs and the Russian awareness of their existence was overwhelming. I never thought "an Italian song" meant that of Toto Cutugno. I also never thought that in Italy noone probably knows Toto Cutugno, when in Russia he was almost a national hero with his name all over the cultural capital.
Can it be that the Russian love for everything Italian has overgrown all possible sizes and became an addiction: to food, shoes and disturbingly handsome men?
As for Italian songs and that particular one..  Sometimes it makes me think of how we sometimes underestimate our own culture and maybe forget it. And maybe we should not drop the price to minumum, when in someone else's eyes we are still of the great value.
P.S. Dedicated to Russian women and Italian music.

half dead

Today i woke up in a horrifying realisation that my heart stopped. Literally. It just stopped and didnt want to go on anymore. Half of my chest was paralysed and I could feel my heart squeezed tightly.
I have been surfing internet for hours looking for the answer to my frustration and depression. Afraid of sounding trite, I lost any interest in life. Completely and altogether. And its been for months like that.
People judge me for being depressed, loosing my inspiration and optimism. I cant help it. I feel lost, almost like "Lost in Translation". Nothing brings me happiness, nothing makes me smile, nothing makes me want to struggle, to live and hope, to move on. Nothing is left of me the way it used to be before.
There is the same old question keeping me restless: What is wrong?
Every night is a nightmare of black thoughts. Every morning is a torture. I hope and plan, I do and I am never satisfied. I blame myself for everything and see no way out of the misery.
I live in the country where people never smile. I love people who think I am lazy and pathetic.
I hate myself for wasting my time. I hate myself for not struggling. I hate myself for loosing. I hate myself for becoming a vegetable. I hate myself for not being what I can be.
But most of all I hate myself for being weak, especially when I was born to be strong.
And in this black horror of my never-ending depression there is my hope. My only light, my oxygen and my sun. Its my Italia. So maybe I havent lost all my hopes, because my main passion is still living within me, strong and unbreakable. Unless my love is broken and lost, I will breathe on and make my hurt heart go on, even when it seems its your last morning.

beauty

I love Freedom! I long for freedom! I am locked in my body unable to free my soul..

Orgasm

Music of the soul sounds inside of me with every breath taken. It goes into my lungs deeper and deeper just like Madonna wants it, and insatiable just like Darren Hayes wants it. Books I read songs I listen, places I go – they all reflect my passion, never-ending passion. Fashion bars I go for a cocktail – all in red with red candles all around the place, soft sensual music spiced with a Cosmopolitan, penetrates my bare self. I squeeze my hands in temptation, eyes sparkling, becoming insane, my hearts beats faster and faster. So fast is my heart that I cant feel my breath. Close my eyes and feel my body dissolve in the unknown. I drown in the Universe, in the pure emotional side of it. I speak the language of the Universe, I can feel every breath of it. We are connected for ever and this is divine for it makes me scream with excitement. It makes me think about lovemaking, slow and gentle, both lovers looking into each other’s eyes, holding hands, kissing each other’s egos and dissolving in the unknown, becoming common. Isn’t that a paradise, the holy place you wish you were taken for ever? Isn’t this the moment to live and love for?
I have traveled all around the world to get here, to get here and closer, even deeper into the common sense. When this holy orgasm reaches me I forget time, place, everything material. In fact, I hate material. I have no love for those who die for it. They lose themselves. There is the ultimate happiness of being a part of the Universe and being connected, deeply connected to it.
The Universe is Love, pure love. Another definition of it might be sex or lovemaking. Every act of love opens a door to the universe which tells us its secrets and, those sacred moments of orgasm seem to last for hours, for ever…Those moments of flying above your own self, when your body lets you go and kiss the eternity we embrace the very meaning of us.
Thank you, for I learned to fly. I fly whenever I want and reach places I have never seen and people I have never met. I fly and reach my beloved on other continents and yet so close, here in my mind. I see all the colours of the world, hear its every whisper, and love every bit of it. I completely belong to it in my heart and my mind, give myself to this feeling and explode. I explode at the thought of reaching the top of the highest mountain, swimming in the deep ocean and flying high in the sky like a bird all at the same time of my ultimate life orgasm and the main music theme of my life!

The Goddess

When he calls me an angel, it makes me smile nervously and tremble for I am afraid of being loved and appreciated the way I am supposed to. Love makes me weak; it makes me want to close in my little world of dreams and sit there quite. How come a woman, God’s best creation is afraid to be called what she is?
Monica Bellucci, a woman who makes my heart stop to see her deep as an ocean eyes. She is so deep and tantalizing I cant think of getting myself distracted. It’s a woman of immense power, strong will and God’s given talent.
I turn my head away from her and stare at the flowers he sent me. Young fresh lilies just about to bloom, so innocent, so angelic. The mid-night words so powerful inside of me “I miss you, angel”.
Angel. Woman. A woman is an angel?
I am tantalized. My ears get the magic sounds of Madonna. Her powerful voice, sensual music, her piercing knowing eyes stop my mind for a second. I drown in Madonna. I drown in Monica. I drown in women whom I call angels for they bring light, for they bring meaning to life full of emptiness. They make you think, they never leave you emotionless, you hate them, and you love them.
I adore them. They are angels in devil robes. And I am one of them. I am a woman to make a difference. I look into Monica’s eyes and I see the reflection of mine. I hear Madonna’s speech and feel her energy coming out and I feel it’s a part of me. It has always been a part of us.

Romance at 3 in the morning

And when the lights go down, the streets drown in the darkness of the night and the silence of this lonely hour, I go out to meet you. Your footsteps are heard to me miles away from where I am presently. In every corner cats are waiting for you to appear, just like I am. They are obsessed, just like I am, with the idea you will come out of the dark corner where you have been hiding for the past years while I was still on that lonely street patiently waiting for you. The road to you, so long and sweet, is paved with lilies.

нежность

Мое желание обладания тобой превратилось скорее в навязчивую идею, не позволяющую мне свободно дышать и раскрывать глаза. Я боюсь и зажмуриваюсь в надежде увидеть тебя и разглядеть черты своей неугасающей страсти более побродно. Из благородности ты бы мог выпустить меня из своих объятий и дать мне отдышаться хорошенько и подумать.. Но ты лишь сжимаешь меня все крепче и целуешь мои мысли о тебе, убаюкивая их своим неповторимо страстным голосом. Ты сводишь меня с ума..

la valse d'amelie

It began about 3 months ago but I am loosing track now. A part of me went away, left me for ever, was hiding from me to be found in a different place a few days after.
That professor who claims people look alike after 40 years spent together is damn right! But what if people, two strangers meeting for the first time, already look and more importantly feel alike, like they have known each other for centuries? Is this destiny or maybe what I call the soul experience?
In tantrism the soul goes through different lives, numerous, countless, gaining knowledge. That knowledge or wisdom is being transferred into further lives to enrich them and simplify the search.

Karma. One scary little word and a big concept underneath. Karma- I bring new sense to it.
People meeting by chance feeling each other so well. Who are they? Soul-mates? Did you ever think of the hidden meaning of the word soul-mate? What is hidden there is a long-term relationship of two souls, bringing two people into becoming mates in this very life and in the next life... lives...

I am playing the piano my fingers fast, my soul making love to the instrument, loving every sound it produces.
My heart races with the same pace the notes take. We are inseperable. I am diving into the magic of music, so easy for you to recognise.  I can see your eyes smiling, your "Amelie" on the lips.

I am fascinated of how we, people like YOU and I, switch roles from an observer to being deeply and fully engaged...

From the heart of the colony

He would appear when I least expected him to come, tearing all my dreams into small pieces as it seemed to me, when in reality my clothes were torn apart. Every time this irresistible passion I had for him was aroused like the Empire State Building. This wave of passion was stronger than the wind to make it go away or the sun to burn it down into ash. His last words to me were: your depth, your bottomless depth in your eyes excites me so much I am ready to give up everything to be sinking in it for ever.

P.S. Alessio, thank you for feeding my mind. Jacques (the main character of the book) is inspired by you...

Italian impressionism

Piazza San Marco.. The touch of the greatness.

Bridge of whispers - as I saw it secretly dreaming of those whispers in my ear..

My friend? My lover? Me? Reflecting my nature in the picture..

Venezia - still the same recognizable beauty I saw there centuries ago... my soul was at home finally

True love is forever. For all the lives our soules are to live

Did you ever think I would see you in Romeo? Would I ever be you Guilietta? The one with the sweet honey voice and a brave heart.. The most memorable moment of Verona...

In the city of Verona - magic is happening... right now in the middle of the night, when all the street musicians come to play at the bridge I am standing on, my thoughts far, my heart beating so fast..

A shift

Back to the real world! In less than a week! wish me luck and whatever you want...
Love everyone and thanks for the unforgettable year of unforgettable friendship!

YOU

You are wonderful, for you bring my soul in heaven, awake me from my long sleep and make me alive... At the hottest hour, there, in Venezia, I was full of thoughts of you, your beauty filling every spare cell of my being. You were everywhere, in the window I was looking into in the mornings, your steps were seen to me on the pathways, your breathe was my air...
I was dancing with you our love dance, invisible to others, keeping in the memory all those moments of true beauty we shared and we still are about to share. It all filled me. It fed me like no dish could... I was making love to you in crowded streets, watching the sun reflecting in the water running by. You had that particular look on your face, so evocative, as if I saw you on Piazza di San Marco.  Being there I could feel you miles away, feel your sensuality rising, melted by your eyes, tantalised by your hair, feeling all of you as if you were a part of me. I was tracing the shape of your body, secretly praying we were alone. Alone,  in the crowd of fussy Chinese having our pictures taken. Alone,  in the world so cold and unemotional, and yet so loving and giving when we are together. I was there sitting on the pavement, feeling your smell, when you were far, looking into your eyes while you were asleep, holding your hand while you were driving your car. I enfolded you in your dreams and sang songs to you softly when you could not sleep. We were making love every moment of our lives, every moment we could breathe. You were, are and will be my inspiration for as long as I live.

The Real Italian Language!!!!!

Last night I was watching these videos: eventually laughing so hard,  I started crying,  cause everything you see in them is TRUE. 100% TRUE. Love Italians!

E t'amo e t'amo

One night I came to thinking about my very special love, my very special love to the language. The only possible language there is there for me to speak. The language of Love. The language millions of gorgeous people used to speak, people who are smart, independent, dying to live.  People who were free to love and not be afraid of that. People who, as I see them, are born to speak this language of love and freedom and enlighten others. Those are not people. Those are Gods and people who created Gods in every possible way. Those who are given the privelige of being close to the real beauty. Those who cherish this beauty are those can speak the language of the never-ending love,  the Italian language.
The Italian is the sound of God, its the voice of unknown, voice of the history and the future. Its the voice which opens countless doors of endless possibilities. Its the language I want to wake up to and fall asleep with. Its the language which carasses my flesh without a touch. It leaves me helpless and speechless like a virgin. It penetrates the very essence of me mentally and physically. It wraps my warmth with its silk touch and leaves a romantic flavour in my mouth.
Its the language I am in love with so passionately  I would willingly give up any other for it, for being with it all the time. Dying to listen to it, to speak it, to sip it and slowly swallow feeling it with every single cell of my body. 

Love dimensions

Ever since our childhood we are being called the best. Best in everything: painting, jogging, making airplanes and writing poems. The reason for this encouragement lies in the fact that our parents are trying to make us better by what appreciating us for what we already did. We call it love, they call it parenting.
My own experience has always been less reassuring. My parents, even though being the best parents in the world for me, never stated that I was the best sonet writer or the brighest music student or the most beautiful and charming model. It was right on the contrary  and I have felt discoureged and unmotivated no matter how good I was at that.
It was more than that. Everyone knows this least desired feeling of being compared to someone who is "better, smarter and brighter". Well, it doubled in my case where 
I have been competing with two older brothers, who were, are and will be better for my parents.
And its not just because they are older, but because of the stereotype they live up to. In my country a girl is a half of a man. No matter how hard she tries to be like her brother or just a man, she will be underestimated just because she is a not expected to be better than him.
A man in the patriarchal society has to always be faster, smater and simply better. And a woman either naturally stupid or she has to pretend she lacks brains.
And here is the question: What if I am better, faster and smarter and I realise it despite all the bullshit I have to come across?
Should I just hold my mouth clenched (shut) or speak up and say that I am better?
Easy example: whatever my older brother says my parents always listen to with  care and consideration, even though it might be a useless talk about his hunting/fishing which bores me to death.
Whatever I say, no matter how interesting and funny it is, no one listens, or they make me feel like a complete idiot by saying its irrelevant and not worth talking about.
Do they love me? According to my emotions after the time spent with them, NO.
But thats family. Here's another story. Boyfriends. What about them keeping the track of who they are actually dating. I actually had only one boyfriend who was genuinly interested in what I was doing with my life, bothering about me, giving me advice and praising my accomplishments.
He knows that I am particularly thankful to him for that, since this is something that appears to be missing in relationships.
Why when we date someone we dont show much interest in things which might be the vital source of living for this person?
So, my question is: when we love someone, how well do we know the person we "love"? Can you love someone just for who that person is, what he has achieved? Can we truly appreciate people for who they appear to be without trying to modify them?
And if you dont know/not interested who your beloved is, what do you love then? Do you love yourself in love? Or maybe you love the LOVE?

Martini on a Saturday night

In the world where my best friend is the laptop can I hope to find something more "real" than that? A brilliant home-made Versace without a flaw or a Johnny Depp black-and-picture without a hint of an unnaturality? Can I make anything real in the world where people screw without love and then marry without sex? Can I be an old-fashioned girl still believing that somewhere out there in the darkness of this misery I will find something worth living for?
Sometimes I ask myself the question which makes me wonder: are there any bounderies? Does all my life have to go straight according to the plan once made up in my head: the ONLY one, a great home, job, possibly kids and opera every Friday... Maybe not? Maybe the plan can maintain some alterations like marrying a homosexual friend, adopting a kid from China and watching opera on TV on Tuesdays?
Stiil thinking whether its better to believe in dreams and try to make them happen or make the most of what I can.
Great nights with fabulous friends in Kassel! No future! Only NOW!