what about me…? … working on maintaining the stability i had so successfully established some month or so ago. but even as i say this, i know it is a silly notion. life is not about maintenance or sustainability – i talk now not of consumption of course, but of existence… to “review” my self as i existed in the moments of now… nothing about it is meant to attain and maintain a status quo. it is about what makes this “now” unique to every other “now”.. in Normandy while i walked, lived and smiled in silence a thought came about it in comparison to the swiss landscape, which remains until today my most romantic setting. i fall in love in Switzerland every minute i am there. every passing notion in my head is passing in poetry, in song in colour. i am nothing but an artist when i am there. truly, the world to me is seen as poetry as rhyme and soul. i cannot stop writing while there…, wrapped in poetry i would be, even overwhelmingly, that i would sometimes give up the pen and paper and just glide and float the streets as they pick up my step imagery by metaphor… but in Normandy, as beautiful as it is, as alive as i felt, it wasn’t the same. i am not complaining, or saying it wasn’t a good trip. no no, it was perfectly needed and i wouldn’t have it any other way. i’m just comparing and taking a clear note that it is not travel which inspires me, it is specifically the SwissScape, as the greens and the Lake of Luzern dearly greet me with my name and history, and promise me that i have been born here before… on that note, sharing a poem i had written in Luzern some years ago….
Morning’s early mist silently escaped the forest
As not to wake the world.
But I am up
Listening to its hushed hymn
And sweet songs of goodbye
Morning’s mist blanketed even the mountains,
A solid promise
To conceal all the secrets whispered
When it was just us two
While the sun rises,
my mist sinks back slowly,
bashful into the forest, and deep in the mountains.
It is time for this world to wake-
This very moment here
the grass is greener
And the bees are even busier–
Intently aware of my departure
And so, and again, love is made in my soul,
one last time
As I prepare to spend my last day