EMPTY POCKET ABUNDANCE

My body is recovering slowly from the shaking; the effervescent mineral amalgam fueled by the spirit is humming healing frequencies. I got a little help, I didn’t remember I had such a valuable possession; that is the problem of living in an over-saturated world, a place where things appear and disappear without leaving a trace that they ever existed. But the reason for their intersection with the parabolic arch of our terrestrial presence is full of meaning. Despite of the careless attitude in the descending indecency, the tornado shaped madness of the materialistic abundance, the mission was printed in block capital Hellenic letters in the celestial route map. Like one of those charts the flying companies include in their magazines including all of their destinations. Imagine one volume over volume over volume of superposed pages including trajectories from interstellar origin dying in you, from the ends of unknown galaxies. You are lucky, you are so lucky, and you don’t even know. In the corner of my street I wait charged of benevolence, bent by the blow of southern winds, singing a song in my mind while the providing doesn’t stop. I call you, where are you? Are you connecting yourself to the anesthesia tubes again? How many times have I told you that that is not the way? I was blessed with the grace of an endless patience, I can sing for both you and me, but only as you are transitioning not as a routine. Registering at the entrance, checking the content of your pockets, metal and paper dirty little pieces, tore off from our Mother, are not going to help after going through the Pearly Gates. Decode the sense of the senseless in your tiny little world of prejudged misconceptions; you will see how the spectrum of possible ways of reaching anything is the same as the one that reconcile you with Nature. B_Nour

THE LIMB BREAKER

The pain is such that I cannot even think, my whole body is a liquid on its boiling point. When I achieve to move a single limb is like a great victory. I wander along the empty streets, those hanging Tibetan flags that have become rags are whispering to me: you are the one, you are the only one… I must be really it because I gave you my hand, and you broke it. The trust I harvest on this seasonal affective disorder time was ready to splash on you all, but what I got? I see children on the roof tops throwing balloons full of urine and rotten eggs, they laugh out loud, they don’t hide themselves, they even claim to be innocent creatures. I had to put the trust back in my pocket, again, waiting for the right addressee. There is not a real wait, stimulation should be followed by a reaction. Why there are some cases that refuted physics equations fail to carry out… what is the human-divine element that turns this universe of millions of hundred thousand constellations upside down? We should stop thinking on mathematical terms, laws are done to step on them, the only thing they do well is limiting our infiniteness and make us stay aside of thought. The only power: the vibrational converging towards love and trust, without manipulation or prevalence of egoistic self-centered interests. Is it not that I am you, you are me, and we both are part of an ungraspable organism? We cannot work without the other… some day you will come to me standing on your inferior level self-erected position asking me for help, then I will tend you my hand to hold yours and make us stronger, not to destroy presumed affections, or tearing the willingness to engross the supreme unity to shreds. B_Nour

LIFE ON THE FRINGES

What an insignificant structure of molecules the mirror is reflecting today! Such a massive bulk of atoms conforming fibers worn out by the old dream of reaching the moon. I used to be at the edge, now I make my bed on a faults area on the fringes, so I can pretend to rest, but the conquered peace is deceptive, it can crack at any time and drop me on a mere safety net with a hole in it, right my size and shape. Can I turn in to a strider? I want to experiment what is to walk on water and feel so light that I can challenge its surface tension. I see amethyst and fuchsia orbs as I my eyes get flooded by the art of juggle simultaneously with the joy and the sorrow. Walking was a march, echoes of dozens of pairs of heels hitting the ground in different rhythms and tempos, crossing together the cosmos. How it happened that I only hear a couple? No company, no torment, no fair weather, transitional phases or flameless embers. True or false? What is the winning prize answer? There is a possibility of error; I can’t forget that whichever conclusions I extract, they are based on the information that I have right now, an outrageous feelings convention. How precise I was in the manufacture of this cluster bricks, how tender my dedication. There was not a moment without love, a look around without a smile or exhaled breath without kindness… May I expect back for my change? Or is it inadequate in these cases to make use of the right of having expectations? I am in the kindergarten of human interaction; I get misled by chance to the point of being jailed in a place which I reach following free decisions. I still can breathe and smell the pure scent of my ego; what is going on there, as I look in the eyes of the walking by strangers, that… that is a whole different kettle. B_Nour

SLIPPERY SECONDS

I want to know more, show me everything you got, teach me, enlighten me. I want to reach the tops of the grey areas, the ones that are not sullied. I came into that room naked because I knew they were sewing a dress for the new comer before I arrived. I ignored its size of if the color was going to match the shades of my eyes. They ignored my willingness to adapt and to learn but the work kept on going like there was no more day that that day. I enjoyed the reception, as much as my mouth, which corners were starting to crack because of the absence of drinking water. I got inebriated by the effect of such fresh encounter, dripping nectar over all of us like rinsing product of well hidden formula. I saw your pupils, I didn’t have the time to react; they were bullets leaving behind the blowpipe held pointing my eye globes. I received them fiercely; I had to stay strong in order to keep my composure. Is it being in front of a warrior that makes my heart bump like drum rolling? Is it the shine of his blinding armor that gave me such a random companion? Either way, there I was, stepping on the foot prints that I painted to illustrate the dancing book, this time barefoot. I come to have two boxes on my hands. One is a child’s play box, figures of plastic and wood mixed with marbles and memories. What you will find inside of the other as it opens is a question of updates and timing. I am grateful for the mélange, giving me the savoir faire, the incomparable bouquet, in the jumping mode as in the reflection. Round one was brief, fleeting and propelled by forces that want to reach other worlds. That is, kind of uncontrollable. My lips are moist for the lapse the clock goes around. I will travel and make a blurry composition of the whole scene, but I have this sensation that all the new horizons won’t erase your smile. The calendar will end, the seas in between will roar, scream and struggle to rest peacefully. Then, I will come back to hear you talking foreign languages to me like you did in those slippery seconds; like you knew, since forever. B_Nour

PINA, Wim Wenders... :O!

From the Brouwersgracht to...

Amsterdam bridges connect me to 'The other side's tale land". I don't look for them, like a gift they seem to come to me and unfold their priceless strange beauty.

Picture by B_Nour