There is something sweetly mysterious about the first days of Spring. Makes me stand in awe under the branches of soon-to-be leafy and blossomy trees and think of how beautiful nature really is. How infinitely interesting the world is. (Oh the senses, how precious a gift the senses are, how lucky one is to see and touch and taste and smell…) We have a nasty gift of destroying nature’s beauty and balance, creating anxiety and chaos among each other and in all that surrounds us. And yet, beauty persists. Harmony waits to be restored. The natural world has so much compassion. I believe we need to go back to that.
Words linger in my mind…Words I have heard, words that I wrote and, of course, words I have read. Father and son offered me their words this past week and those stick to my thoughts. Here is the son, who I always take delight in watching on stage, offering his bits of truth and his musings on life and nature. And below are the words of the father, in a poem I’ve been reciting inside my head for several days now, the simple lines appeasing the inner storm, echoing in sounds strangely familiar, describing the way I feel when I watch the world from afar (hard as it is to take a step back), blissfully diving in its wonders before reality hits in. Spring seems to have settled in my heart... It may be cold and gloomy outside right now, but I have words and chocolate and music and tulips in my room…and a silent gleam in my eye.
СЪН
Иван Радоев
Там, където бяхме истински,
беше сън,
където бяхме истински.
С нашето събуждане,
сутрин свободата ни умираше
с нашето събуждане.
Писах сънища,
за да се не будя
Писах сънища.
Words linger in my mind…Words I have heard, words that I wrote and, of course, words I have read. Father and son offered me their words this past week and those stick to my thoughts. Here is the son, who I always take delight in watching on stage, offering his bits of truth and his musings on life and nature. And below are the words of the father, in a poem I’ve been reciting inside my head for several days now, the simple lines appeasing the inner storm, echoing in sounds strangely familiar, describing the way I feel when I watch the world from afar (hard as it is to take a step back), blissfully diving in its wonders before reality hits in. Spring seems to have settled in my heart... It may be cold and gloomy outside right now, but I have words and chocolate and music and tulips in my room…and a silent gleam in my eye.
СЪН
Иван Радоев
Там, където бяхме истински,
беше сън,
където бяхме истински.
С нашето събуждане,
сутрин свободата ни умираше
с нашето събуждане.
Писах сънища,
за да се не будя
Писах сънища.
