Enjoy the ride

   

     So many changes, and I don't only mean external things, like moving the house, etc. But yes, I moved to a new place, a house in Barking. I wrote little bit about it few entries ago. La casa de Maria, amazing Italian girl, who found us on gumtree. I’m here from Saturday. On Thursday we had a big good bye party in the Factory. David, Joel, Kriss, Petra, Marius, Ricote and his couchsurfing friend. Jam session until morning, wine, weed, dance, improvised songs, laugh and talks. Sounds bit decadent, I know, but it wasn’t. A friend (thank u, Colleen:), wrote me some time ago, that life is a ride, so why not to enjoy it. I’m not saying that from now I want to be a party animal, but I just try to go with the flow, stop to worry too much, take things as they come, not strive for perfection all the time. The truth is that for the last few weeks I feel happy. Relaxed, laid back, full of hope, alive.

     I’m reading a book by Brene Brown, where she’s prizing the power of vulnerability. There is something in it. Accepting our vulnerability gives us the sense of higher protection and internal power. When we reject it, trying to control everything around us, we fall from grace, if you will. I think that a big part of anxiety and depression comes from our failure to control our lives. Or rather I mean it comes from our very intent to control. Failure? We are always going to fail, when we want to control everything. We are just doomed to do so. But that’s the secret – to let it go. To enjoy the ride, as Colleen put it.

     In an hour David comes. We will rehearse few songs and then try some busking in the city. We've been playing for a while now, but never did streets together. Let’s see how it goes, I’ll write a “report” later. I have a week off, so can chill out, try to enjoy de callejear. Then on Friday, Tania comes, and so the new chapter starts.

You First, Brother

Rainbow Gathering, Slovakia, 2012 

 















     So. If I had any doubts, now I don’t, it’s a fact – deep down I am a real hippy.
     After ten hours of bus ride I got to the European Rainbow Gathering near Lukovistia, on the South of Slovakia.
     I was tired, sweaty, anxious and not really sure what I was doing there and if it was a good idea for a relaxing, therapeutic summer adventure. Specially after a week with my spiritual master, brothers and sisters, I felt bit lonely, left behind and I knew that nothing could amount to that great week we spend together. Still now I was here, so I was going to do my best.
     When the middle age, bold, fat guy, immediately after getting off the bus, took off his cloths (and I mean all of it) and started to march towards the campsite with his upper and lower (hairy) back shining with profuse perspiration (the sky was pouring heat!), I felt even more depressed, but, hey – after all this was Rainbow, not Louvre!
     He looked like he knew the way, so I followed him. After about twenty minutes walk we came to a glade. And that was it – my fatigue and bad mood left me completely and it was then when I realized that I was a real hippy. I deeply fell in love with what I saw!

     There was around hundred people playing in the meadow. Some of them were naked, some dressed in colorful, rainbow-like rags, some were playing tag, other enjoying shower from the barrel fastened to a crown of a tree, some drumming all kinds of drums (there were even tablas), playing accordions, guitars, ukuleles, bagpipes, children were chasing dogs (and the other way around too), some dreadlock yogis chanted mantras…
     I admit that for a moment I felt that I entered a heaven. I stood there, at the top of the hill, with my mouth wide open, savouring this bucolic, idyllic picture.
     It was kind of ecstatic. For a moment I remembered the story of Gopa Kumar entering the pastures of spiritual world, and I imagined how it must felt. Leaving all that madness of material kingdom behind and eventually finding yourself home, in the land of love, freedom and dedication.
     Finally I started to descend. People seeing my backpack greeted me with a cheerful shouting, wave or even a hug or a kiss.
     “Welcome home, brother!” – they said.
     Someone explained to me that it wasn’t the main area of the gathering and I should walk further to find some place to camp.

     As I walked I saw more tents and teepees. Some hidden in the forest or bushes, some in the open. And also there were more and more people. First thing I noticed was that everyone looked in each other’s eyes and everyone smiled. Soon I was to discover that it wasn’t just being polite, but people were actually nice to each other. They were helping each other, like for example carrying stuff, setting tent, etc., sharing whatever they got, even if it was only a small piece of chocolate, bread or a cigarette. Oh, yes, I should mention here that the gathering was alcohol-free and meat-free. There wasn’t an official ban, nobody enforced anything, but still almost all people abided by that unwritten law.

     After few minutes I got to the main clearing, so called “food circle”, which was the centre of Gathering. I decided to camp on the top of the hill. In that way I could see everything that was to be seen and wouldn’t miss anything.
     When I set my tent, I looked down – at the colorful, noisy, happy chaos. And I smiled.

* * *

     I needed a shower. I stank like an angry skunk (not that I know how angry skunk stinks, but it was bad, very bad). A whole summer day spent in buses and dirty bus stations can do it to anybody.
     I went to the shower area I passed before. There were about thirty people waiting in line. Man, women, children. And everyone was completely, definitely, utterly undressed.
     No, wait! There! Relief! I spotted one guy with his shorts on… Wait, no, he took them off…
     Not that I have anything against nudity, it is natural thing, and after all I decided to be a hippy for these few days, but still, it was little bit too much for me.
     I looked at the people in the cue. They were completely at ease. They talked, laughed, discussed Thoreau, Chomsky and Osho… I felt embarrassed being the only one wearing swimming trunks. Ok – nobody was forcing me to anything, no one even looked with disapproval at my puritan sorry self. But still I felt stupid. Should I do it? Should I overcome my weakness and prove to myself to be a truly free man? Or maybe I was being oppressed by a social pressure and to be free I should stay dressed to prove that I was free? I took a deep breath…
     And I did it. I took of the trunks and kicked them aside.
     Here I was. Living trough the one of the oldest civilized human nightmares – standing naked in a crowd of people. My ears were burning, my hands couldn’t find their natural position (that’s what pockets are for!), my thoughts were racing.
     But nothing happened. No one even noticed.
     And when my turn to shower came, and I stood there in the streams of icy cold water, on the small, stone platform (like a little stage), in front of all those people, I felt rather stress-free. I even waved encouragingly to a shy, skinny, fully dressed young man who hesitantly joined the queue.

     I would like to make here a small observation. In the main stream society people are sensitized to nudity and it has a definitely sexual connotation. On one hand it is a taboo, on the other, it is used a lot, for example in advertisement, TV, etc., to attract people, playing on their lower instincts. But there, where nudity was a very common, ordinary affair, the sexual aspect wasn’t really prominent. It was rather innocent and funny. During the whole stay, I haven’t seen a single case of promiscuity, not counting a shy, stammering hippy couple who were looking for someone “to join them in the session of divine, free love”.  I was surprised, I have to say. Not that I’m becoming a nudist now, I think that wearing cloths has its numerous advantages (for example hiding nature flaws, to mention one). Still, I think it was an interesting experience. Instructive.

* * *
     My first food circle. It was something. Something remarkable.
     Imagine – dusk well on it’s way. The little fire in the middle of the glade couldn’t disperse the darkness.
     “Close the circle! Close the circle!” – shouts were echoing among the hills.
     I came closer. Someone took my hand. Tall, blond rasta guy.
     “Close the circle” – he said with a smile. I stretched my hand, trying to reach a girl on my left. She laughed as she tried to stretched her hand and it was still about two meters of free space between us. Eventually we managed. The circle was growing. More and more people were coming from all over the place – from the forest, valley, and surrounding hills. I couldn’t see far, but the growing hubbub of voices told me that we must be now few hundreds or more. As more people came, we were spreading further and further from the centre.
     “Make the second circle” – someone shouted. We just couldn’t spread more if we wanted to stay on the hill. The inner circle started to form and quite soon it was almost as big as ours.
     In the meantime the chanting started. The song was very simple and catchy.

We are circling, circling together

We are singing, singing with our hearts on

This is family, this is unity

This is celebration, this is sacred

     Then the rasta guy on my right looked at my eyes and slowly kissed my hand. I was a bit bewildered, but I realized this is kind of a chain and I should send the kiss further. I looked at the girl on my left, and… I kissed my own hand! I’ve got no idea why I did it. I guess I was just too lost. The girl laughed wholeheartedly and send the kiss further. Then there was a kiss on the cheek and even a kiss on the shoulder. Soon I was pretty good at it, and I didn’t kiss any of my own body parts anymore.
     And then there was the best part. The song gradually faded away and something else started. It was like deep thunder rising from the ground.
     Goosebumps.
     Om chanting.
     I don’t find Om very attractive. After all it is just one of the divine sounds and it doesn’t have the sweetness the Krishna’s name has. But believe me, when few hundred people, holding hands, starts to chant Om together, it is breathtaking. Standing there under the sky sprinkled with thousands of stars, chanting with the multitude, I felt lifted to the air by that powerful, all-pervasive sound. That was a sound of awe-inspiring Visnu, the creator of the world.
     Eventually it faded too. Everyone rose their folded hands to the sky and then we all paid obeisance to Divine, in gratefulness for the food that was about to be served.

* * *

 
   When after four days I was finally bidding farewell to the hippy paradise, I didn’t expect to be back just in couple of days. Who would? So I was walking very slowly to the bus stop, looking at the sleeping camp. The rising sun poured the gold on the scattered sleeping bags, dusty tents and smoky teepees. Few lonely, dirty survivors of yesterday wished me a happy journey. French young poet in a suit and wild tie gave me a piece of chocolate and played for me on a violin few lines from the International.
     And that was good bye.

     Then, couple of days later I was on the road again. Once more I enjoyed the familiar feeling of sweatiness, exhaustion and carsickness (who rode Eastern European busses knows what I’m talking about). But this time I wasn’t alone.
     It was actually Tania who made me to go the second time.
     After coming back home I was very enthusiastic in my reportage and a bit of that enthusiasm got transmitted to my better half. Basically she put it like this:
     “I’m going. Whether you goin’ with me or not.”
     So I could go or not, and I preferred to go. No, the decision to accompany her had nothing to do with my insecurity because of all those handsome rastas and hippies walking out there with their beautiful drums, guitars and dreamy eyes. I was just happy to get another chance to re-experience Rainbow.
     We also asked my sister, Ania, to join us, and she was happy to do it.

     When we started to get closer to the camp site, the girls felt stressed and a bit awkward. “Are we going to fit? How will we survive the “naked” shower? What about the toilets?” (Oh, yes, Shit Pits! I completely forgot to mention those sweet and cozy places. I will come to it).
     Me however, I felt like coming back home. I was an experienced guide, nonchalant pack leader, Rainbow veteran.
     “On the right you see the Healing Teepee, there, in those bushes are showers… I mean a shower. Single. On the left there is a children kitchen, and here is the main food circle, over there, that white patch, it used to be Krishna’s temple, and I was camping there, by that shrub… There is a funny story…”
     “Could you stop now?” asked Tania.
     “Yeap, please” added Ania.

* * *
     Ania’s biggest fear was the toilet. She wasn’t very inspired by my description of it. So first of all it wasn’t even called a toilet, but, as I mentioned before, “a shit pit”. What a picturesque and juicy term.
     When I first heard about it after arriving few days before I imagined a long drainage ditch with a perch and a row of people sitting on it, smoking cigarettes and having a conversation, you know, like in the war movies, in the POW camp.
     The reality was less shocking, though still not very comforting.
     So first of all there was a designated area for it. And the in that area (in the forest) there were small trenches, maybe 6-7 feet long, 1 feet deep, and they were randomly dug around. The rules were – no toilet paper, just water, washing hands with ashes, and covering the end product with earth.
    At first I was seriously considering holding on until going back home, but then I managed to get used to it. As long as it was daylight, it wasn’t a problem, but God have mercy on those wretched creatures who were hard-pressed during the night hours and had to roam in the darkness. Poor buggers.
     Anyway, for some reason Ania wasn’t inspired by my description of the “toilets”, but eventually she became believer and in the end she was even openly scorning those, who broke the rules and used that forbidden, bourgeois toilet paper.

* * *

       Oh, God, what a cold night it was! I couldn’t believe that just in couple of days the temperature could drop so dramatically. I went to sleep in my underwear, but soon I was wearing everything I owned including four pairs of socks and a hat. And still I was freezing.
     Since I had my private small tent, I couldn’t cuddle up for warmth with Tania. Eventually at 2 AM I took my half-broken torchlight and I went to the forest to collect wood for a bonfire. It took me some time, specially that my torch was going off and on, but ultimately I managed.
     Pretty soon I was falling asleep nicely warmed up, looking at the thousand of stars.

     When I opened my eyes the sun was already high up. Tania was sleeping next to me, she must have a tough night too. And there was this guy with a turban and lots of tattoos, sitting next to us (actually sitting almost on my head).

     “Good morning” said he with a slight German accent. “You don’t mind that I’m using your fire to make chapatis?”
     I looked at him somewhat vacantly, still half asleep.
    “Yes… Of course. No problem”
     Actually I remembered the guy from before. He was doing an improvisation with a guitar, making up a song about the proper and responsible use of shit pits. I remember that I liked his sense of humor, and also fact that he was always helping with food serving.
     I got up and took quick bottle shower behind the tent. Tania and Ania were up too.
     We decided to do a morning program. It was  Janmastami day (Krishna’s birthday). For that purpose I had even brought my mrdanga (Indian drum). It looked kind of funny – since I didn’t have a mrdanga cover I improvised something using an old bathrob and piece of string. It resembled some fury, weird animal.
     Tania created a spontaneous altar, and we sat together and sang Hare Krishna.
     I could see that we gained some respect in Walter’s (the chapati guy) eyes. He looked with an interest at us. When we got to maha-mantra he joined us, not interrupting the chapatis making process.
     When he got his first chapati made, he produced a small, silver plate, put the chapati on it, then bent his head low and chanted some mantras I didn’t recognize.
   

     After the morning chanting, we got into cooking project. We had brought from Poland butter, powdered milk, icing sugar and dry fruits. Sweet balls time!
     Tania mixed everything in a plastic bag, Ania and me, we cut nuts, dates and raisins, and soon we had maybe hundred or more sweet balls. Then we started bhajan. Tania on caratals, me, mrdanga.
     In a little while we gathered a small crowd. Some of them were attracted by chanting and some definitely by a sight of the beautiful sweets.
     “Ania, distribute the food” – I said between the maha mantras. She was little bit shy, but soon she was dancing and walking all over the place, giving prasadam (food offered to Divine) to everyone around.
     People were charmed. They asked for a recipe, chanted with us, smiled, waved, danced. It was really cool. I felt like in old Iskcon days, during festivals.

     At one point, someone grabbed a full plate and went away with it. I was little bit worried, particularly because guy who took it, didn’t look very normal, he was either high or very off. I looked at him doubtfully, but he just started to distribute prasadam himself.

* * *

     Next day I was woken up by Krsna’s names.
     I was sleeping next to the bonfire again (I was smart and the day before I prepared wood for the morning).
     I looked around. The camp was completely asleep, except for a small group by the big fire down the valley. They sang some mantras, playing guitar and drums.
     I grabbed the mrdanga and almost run down there.
     The people assembled around the fire looked very weary. Some of them were naked, cover with ashes, with red eyes. A sad girl with a guitar was leading bhajan. When I joined gently with mrdanga, they greeted me with smiles and made a space in a circle.
     They looked at the rising sun and sang to a soft and sweet tune:

     Govinda, Gopala, Narayana

     Govinda, Gopala, Narayana

     We chanted and we swayed and we crooned and we smiled and someone even cried nostalgically, and I thought, it was a very magical morning.

* * *
     There were more pastimes and stories to tell, but I think I’ll end it here. A good story-teller knows when to stop.
     In the end I was bit tired, we all were, but still, it was worth it.
     I’m not a sentimentalist – I wasn’t blind to pretentiousness of some, to two hippy girls looking for an attention of a handsome and esoteric guitar-player, to a bunch of ganja smokers who were stoned 24/7, to spoiled kids, or overtly zealous environmentalists. I saw all these things. But I was thinking about something that my Swami said: “We don’t judge others by who they are, but by the ideal they strive for”.
     I tried that and I think it worked. I think I met some beautiful people there and some of that beauty dribbled on me, making me... just better.
     You would like it there.

Anarchist Bookfair - London 2013

   

     When David and I got there, the campus’ streets were already full of anarchists of all denominations. Young, excited punks, grey-haired intellectualists in corduroy suits, serious feminists with dogged determination on their faces, dread-lock gurus giving speeches about Middle East and oppression of the State. I loved it.
     In the corner there was a lonely Socialist Party stall, with a sad, bit embarrassed girl standing next to it and trying to hand leaflets to uninterested passer-bys. It was interesting to see how the grudge on the Marx-Bakunin line is still alive. Like touching the history.
     We got into the building to look for Maria. We were planning to meet there from our last meeting. Also she wanted to meet David, who may move to her place in December.
     It was pretty stuffy inside. Or maybe it was the hangover. David didn’t feel good either. The yesterday’s jam session was going for almost the whole night, I was in bed at 4 AM, and not in the best shape.
     There was no sight of her to be seen anywhere. I called her. She got a terrible toothache so she couldn’t make it.

     David and I decided to go out for a moment to grab some fresh air, coffee and maybe a small beer to shake off the stupor. We sat on the bench in the park and went through the Bookfair program to decide what to do. Eventually we made our mind. We’d start from “Libres” – talk and performance by Pilar Lopez about 1936 Spanish Revolution, then “Anarchism & the Middle East” and to finish, “Sexual Consent Workshop”.

     The lecture theater was roomy, and had very comfortable chairs. That was a good start. The audience was dark-haired, olive complexion, the Spanish language resonated around. The girl who, I supposed was a lecturer struggled with the computer and projector. She didn’t really succeeded so it was going on and off for the whole hour, stuck on one slide (a ten years old boy drinking wine from the wine skin). She spoke very quietly, so the audience leaned forward and hardly breathed, trying to understand almost inaudible words. I realized that it was going to be very basic presentation on Spanish Civil War and the things that led to it, and I studied the topic in depth, so I let myself to drift. In the semi-darkness I was looking at the listeners’ faces. Maybe I’ll sound too idealistic, but it struck me how many nice, beautiful and interesting faces were there. Thoughtful eyes, kind smiles, openness and forthrightness. You don’t see it every day on the street, where people are usually very self-involved, careful, distrustful and distant.
     The talk was varied by songs from the Civil War. The lecturer had sweet, sonorous voice, very attractive. “Anda Jaleo”, “En la plaza de mi pueblo”, “Si me quieres escribir”. Love those songs.
     We didn’t go to the second talk we planned. Instead we went to get some food. There were veggie burgers sold outside for a donation, but the queue was so long and moving so slow that we decided to go to a shop. Got some veggie curry and bread, and sat outside.

     I was approached by a guy I didn’t know, but he seemed to know me. He spoke Polish and I realized, he must be D., the Polish anarcho-syndicalist I was writing with since I’m in the UK. He brought me the latest issue of Inny Świat (anarchist magazine) that had an interview I gave last summer (about my music, songs and general ideas about life). Then he invited me for a direct action next Sunday, but I think I wont go. I need some positive engagement, not sabotage initiatives, however justified they might be.

     I was little bit shy when we got to the “Sexual Consent Workshop”. I’m not used to talk about sex in a nonsexual situation, with strangers. I find it little awkward. Still I thought it could be an educational experience, and it’s good to break free from our own limitations. David said that he was ok, relaxed. I guess he takes things easy much easier then me.

     And the workshop itself? I have mixed feelings. I was expecting something more general, like setting the boundaries, maybe talking about experimenting even, but it was very abuse orientated. You could see that many people there (girls mostly) were abused in one point of their life or another, and there was a weird tension in the air. Lots of guilt, resentment...don’t know. I guess it is needed to do this workshops, there are people that this issue is very relevant to, but I think for it to work it has to be more objective, neutral and even-tempered. Ok – there was nothing inappropriate or weird in that workshop, I can’t really criticize  it, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.

     I know what put me off in the very beginning of it. The girl who led the workshop asked everyone to introduce themselves and say what pronoun they want to be addressed by – he, him, she, her. It was very artificial and I don’t see how exactly is it suppose to help in promoting tolerance, understanding, etc. There was an Arab man, older gentlemen and he just couldn’t understand what they are asking him to say. He looked embarrassed, like a child in a classroom, not comprehending what the teacher wants from him.

     And basically that was the end. We wandered for some time amongst the book stalls, my heart bleeding for not being able to afford any of this great literature. We collected all the free stuff we could and left.

     We finished the night with a long, slow walk through the crowded streets of London. Munching on a piece of bread and talking about meaning of life, love, fear, harmony.

As I Roved Out - Irish traditional on uke

      Sunday spent mostly on making this cover. I'm all cheered up. Gracias a ti, David, por ayuda (bajo y la percusión)!

 

Who are you, me pretty fair maid,
And who are you, me honey?
Who are you, me pretty fair maid,
And who are you, me honey?
She answered me modestly,
I am me mother's darling

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
Will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
I'll open the door and I'll let you in
And devil the one will hear us

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

So I went to her house in the middle of the night
and the moon was shining clearly
I went to her house in the middle of the night
and the moon was shining clearly
She opened the door and she let me in
and devil the one did hear us

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Then she took my horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
She took my horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
"So there's plenty of oats for a soldier's horse,
To eat it if he's able"

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o


Then she took me by her lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
She took me by her lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
"So there's plenty of wine for a soldier boy,
To drink it if he is able"

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

And she got up and she made the bed
And she made it nice and easy
She got up and she made the bed
And she made it nice and easy
And then she took me by the hand
Said: “Blow up the candle”

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

There we laid to the break of the day
And Devil the one that hear us
There we laid to the break of the day
And Devil the one that hear us
And she rose without the cloths
Saying "Darling, you must leave me”

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

When can I return again
And when will we get married?
When can I return again
And when will we get married?
When broken shells make temple bells
That’s when we’ll be married

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Life is magic

 

     Life is magic, and I don’t mean it just in some metaphorical sense. The universe is really magic. We just see and touch the external, pale layer of it. We can reach deeper, if we really try. I’m pretty sure we have the tools, but we are so stupefied, so covered, nowadays.

     I can say from my own example. I lived my teenage years in the pre-internet era. We just had one TV channel. The only computer in the village belonged to a cop’s kid, and we used it to play (rarely) Commodore 64 games. When you wanted a music album, either you had to buy it (ha, ha, who had the money? It was like 1/10 of an avarage wage) or make a cassette copy, usually in a very bad quality. When you needed information, you had to use a big, heavy, often outdated encyclopaedia. When you wanted to meet someone, you just went to his home and knocked on the door. If you felt like watching porn… well, that wasn’t easy at all, and it was actually easier to use your colourful and relatively innocent imagination.

     Of course the life wasn’t idyllic, I had plenty of problems, involving broken heart, drugs and alcohol abuse, family issues, school problems – typical teenager quandaries. But somehow the mind worked in a slower pace, and not only that; it was also more magic-sensitive. I remember the evening, long winter walks, watching bright stars and the moon, and experiencing such a thrilling sensation of the presence of mystical beings, continuity of existence, higher connection… (I’m not including here the drugs’ experiences, so bugger off, I wasn’t high;). There were so many things, so many shades of emotions and feelings. Not only that. There were things happening, amazing things (but I leave it for another time).

     Many things changed since 90’s. Everything has speeded up. The unlimited access to information filled our heads, but emptied souls. We know more, but we experience less. That’s so scary. And many of us can’t cope with this unhealthy state. We suffer anxiety, depression, panic, feeling of being lost, meaningless of the world. And it’s not because the world lost its meaning (or never had it). It’s because we are so deafen by this lurid hubbub around us, that we can’t make any sense of anything. We are like a deer stepping out of the wild forest on a highway, blinded by the lights of a big truck which is about to smash him to a pulp. This is unhealthy world we live in, not us, who is messed up.

     We have to try to shake it off, break free.

I want to remain a boy

     The day goes bit slow today. Hangover after yesterday's wine, we had a couple of spliffs with David, so today I’m little sad and moody. This morning I bought mashed potatoes, soya sausages, pickled cucumbers and cheese cake at the supermarket. After eating, I watched X Files and a bad movie (actually I scrolled through half of it).

     There are some things I want to write about, but I don’t want to sound like a grumbler. I know that I don’t like reading other’s people stuff, when they just complain, so why should I put other through this?

     I’m not good with words today. It’s not actually about whining. It’s about deep, heartfelt yearning. I wrote about it many times in different places. It’s something I lost or maybe not lost, but buried deep and now I have hard time rediscovering it. You know, it’s about the sense of protection from above. The feeling that Universe cares, that guardian spirits, or whatever, oversee us from some harmonious place, full of wisdom and love. Shit, I don’t want to sound so new agey. It’s that I remember feeling safe and looked after. Not so many years ago. Before my dad died, I think.

     There were times, Tania and me, we didn’t have a dime to rub against another, we lived in weird places, with not so nice people, we had difficulties in our relationship. But somehow at the end of the day I could sit down, put on some familiar music, take out my Tarot cards (“not new agey, huh?:”), or diary, and chill out completely, writing a poem about longing, my tribe, friends who must be out there somewhere, and feeling connected to a greater story, feeling deep inside that there is a sense to my existence, that someone is watching my steps, and "always being there to catch me".

     Yes, that’s what I’m complaining about. My material situation doesn’t bother me that much, I’ve been worse than that. It’s the feeling of loosing innocence, trust, security, simplicity, all those things that make you feel like a child. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a bare self left in a naked, too literal world.
     So I need you back, my dreams, my carrying spirits, my friendly, boyish God, my quiet evenings without time and thoughts of the end, my bright and filled with unending adventures future together with Tania, my hope to meet my soulmates one day, and the faith in gifts waiting on the camino.

     I guess, I want to stay a child. I wander if that’s what it is to be an adult? Disillusioned, down to earth, focusing on earthly matters, not those airy, silly dreams? If that’s the case, I want to remain a boy.  

New home

   

     Today I went to see my new home. Well, I didn’t know if it was going to be my home, until I actually met Maria, the girl who owns the house.  
     But starting from beginning – few days ago I got an email from this girl. She saw my advert on gumtree and she liked Tania and me. I like what she said about herself, and I could feel from the few lines she sent me, that she was ok. But Barking... Shit, so far from my work, I thought. Over 160 quid for a monthly pass. Still, I decided to check it out. I called her, we had a chat, and then today, after work I went to meet Maria and see her place. I found out that the transport isn’t that bad – overground and tube take about 50 minuts, plus walking, waiting, I guess I can make it in an hour and 15 minutes, given or taken.

     Maria was supposed to meet me at the station. She wasn’t there, when I arrived, so I leaned against the wall and waited. It was fun – I was looking at the passing girls, wandering which one could be my “would be” landlord. I didn’t like any of them. So I was pretty much relieved when she showed up. Bit scruffy, different from the crowd and, what struck me most after just few words – very forthright, sincere. I felt connection straight away.
     She showed me the house, we chatted for an hour or more and finally we agreed that it’s a good idea to live together. So in a couple of weeks I’m moving in. Tania will get the plain ticket one of these days and she will join me. Finally, after more then four months of separation. I’m so relieved!
     I feel that things are falling into place at least. I enjoy my work, feel appreciated, start to find peace inside, now this thing with Maria and her house... I don’t know. It feels like the clouds are dispersing.
    What else?

     It’s evening already, as it usually is, when I sit to write. The weather is bad - rain, wind, cold. The vines are scratching against the windows and since my bed is just there, I have to get used to it, if I want to sleep. Sometimes the rats are squeaking and I’m wandering why those poor bastards don’t hide somewhere underground, instead of hanging on the creepers shattered by wind and rain, like some desperate, fur pirates. I’m listening to Camaron de la Isla, drinking wine, and planning to learn new song on ukulele, “Volando Voy”. Dominik invited me to the dinner, pasta with soya chunks, we watched some old Polish cabaret from sixties, I did laundry.
     Take care.
     Yours
     M.