MY ONLY PLANET

Back to the weekly regime. Bi-weekly. Any kind of regime. Leaving prints of the days, of the uninteresting, of the nothing happening. Then that’s it. Trying to understand the forces that mute me and tell me everything I say is utterly useless and unnecessary.   They say it so loud, it’s scary. With time (What I really mean is with age) I would expect fearlessness would take over. Oh how wrong I am. Doubt mountains everywhere I look. And I realize that if I say nothing, if I pretend life can just happen in one dimension, somewhere between the work laptop and the television, that means they won against me. The muting, doubting, questioning forces could triumphantly conclude that there is nothing to see here.   This is my weak attempt to step up and pretend that it matters. Replace “it” with anything you think may be important part of a life and likes to hide away from the inquisitive eyes. It could be me. The one that cannot be muted by fear, or if it got muted for lon...

Such a heavy duty to start this. Days had long passed when I felt brave and naive enough to document anything from my life. I’m jealous of this old self of mine, jealous of the person I used to be. So much shit has happened since and more days are passing quietly, unaware, unnoticed, unmentioned. To formulate anything that makes sense these days is hard. After all the dreams, all the innocence gone, it’s hard to say what is left. It’s hard to say what keeps me moving. But I still am. Maybe I feel responsible to live a life for the two us, the life you won’t get to experience. Maybe it is closer to the truth that any narrative that helps me to take the next step, that helps me to get out of bed in the morning is tightly embraced. There may be more of these fabricated explanations than just one, and these stories in my mind are changing. Trying to validate the unlikely, the impossible. Up until today, I have moments when I have to remind myself that such a terrible event did happen ...

 " Courage is the solution to despair, reason provides no answers. I can't know what the future will bring; we have to choose despite uncertainty. Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, Hope and despair.    A life without despair is a life without hope. Holding these two ideas in our head is life itself." (First Reformed, 2017)

2019 is not over yet. In order to complete this uneven year differently, I decided to finish or to start a few things, which I may have procrastinated for years, before 2019 ends.   Restarting my blog belongs to these few things. I had the intention to get back to it multiple times, but somehow it never happened. Got busy with other things, I guess. I did get back to it from time to time, maybe once a year, just reading the old blog posts, old references, most of them I totally forgot. I liked the idea that there has been a place, where I could just say WHATEVER so after each time I visited my old blog (I even lost my login details and got access to it again in a complicated way, but that was also a long time ago, so I forgot) I promised to get back to it.   And I didn’t. I have nothing to say, I thought (and that’s been always like that. Me thinking that.) I don’t want to waste people’s time, or my time. What is it that matters after all? I also have the tendency...

Saturday morning. Walking down the stairs, crossing the road with the garbage bag in my hand. Garbage bag disposed. Who decides when the garbage bin is full?- I asked myself when I turned back and on my way to the bicycle my attention was drawn to the sand in the square around a tree. Two little birds were playing in the sand and it seemed like they were having the time of their lives. They were sitting opposite of each other slightly above the ground with fluttering wings and they tried to put their legs and toes on the top of each other's. It was like two kids playing in the bath tub. Everything in constant motion. Spring has arrived too fast - I thought. It took like a minute when the birds got up and were flying away. I tried to follow them with my eyes as long as I could. The birds continued their dancing in the air, looking, almost touching each other and totally forgetting about th...

At the end I don’t know what it is. Time is passing. It runs quickly out of my hands. I don’t try to stop it, no reason for that. The biggest thing is happening to us at once, in every second. And it brings us closer. It opens my eyes now, we share the same destiny, and we all try to make the most of it. There is nothing more comforting than I know the same happens to you, to all of us. It gives a different perspective. Today I know it’s real. Everything will pass away, but something will stay. And that’s me. And you. At once.

it's temporary lovely death when the dream surprises us it leaves the real world far beyond it takes from our soul a little song it brings some song from within from a place we never visit we can't reach, we can't find we just hope and we just smile hand in hand, we are walking a little gate is what we're passing we are getting to the silver moon it looks like our own household then we take rest on a field to contemplate on lives revealed on joy, on faith, on passing streams on fantasies and on the dreams then you tell me oh my dear I want us to be always here be together nights and days all angels help if we pray oh my sweet dear, I must say it can't happen, it's not the way in our dreams we walk together but on earth we're lost forever

Somehow I got to a desert island Far from my life, far from any hopes or dreams I was left there with no history and nothing I could think of as a future I sat on the beach for days watching the endless blue ocean and above it the endless blue sky there were no clouds and if I stared long the two kinds of blue became one there were no waves either, as if the wind had avoided me and abandoned all the blue colours around. so what now? I asked myself and after that, more days had passed. what if I eat and drink and sleep what would be the fourth step? would it be love or would it be the soul that needs to be feeded? there was silence, I could only hear my heartbeat. my heart still pumped blood into my body and my chest moved up and down as I was still breathing. I listened to my breath and I listened to my heartbeat... as if someone else was inside, as if another person was there breathing instead of me. I felt relieved. I was alone and I was alive, but...

Things fail when I look back and I sense strong presence in my written memories. I was there, it was beautiful and (or because?) I could write about it. Now I'm longing for the same to happen. And it fails. I worship something that is gone. I don't see that the subject of my worship is made of the same substance as this moment. It's made of presence. What is wrong with it? Why do the words go far from me each time I reach out my hands for them? The more I'm longing the farther they go. I open the file I wrote yesterday. I open the one from two weeks ago, a year ago... Not much has changed. Sometimes it scares me how some thoughts keep circling in my head without realizing it. Circles. Unawares as I get on the train every morning. I look at the people on the platform. There are familiar and strange faces. I throw a smile randomly at someone then I follow with my eyes the wingbeats of a crow above the wires. This is your life - I'm whispering into my own ear. I stand...

Abandoned by the ground and the rain White tulip stands proudly in the vase, Its leafs breathe the air without a sound Then it slowly turns towards the sun. Like a long yawn, the petals open; Chemical substances unspoken Surrender to fate or to science, The tulip bends and bows in silence. I’m staring at this blossoming life, As drying blood on a wound, so light. White tulip, I know you are dying But your beauty is what leaves me crying.

I’m sipping tea, wrapped in a warm blanket. I hope to write something. I’m staring at the screen but my attention is like a bird that wants to fly out of the window. Everything is still outside. Nobody is walking in the streets, only dark and light clouds are chasing each other in the sky. A flock of birds shape a beautiful V. V as victory? V as vanity?… I can see a mocking bird on the top of a tree, the sunshine reflects on its wings, which makes it more visible. The dark cloud is growing on the right and is approaching faster and faster. The branches of the trees are starting to move, a mild wind is getting stronger. The sun is still shining from the left, but on the right it’s already raining. Some seagulls show up on the rainy part, comfortably balancing in the strong wind. It seems like they are heading nowhere, they even stop in the air like hummingbirds do. Is it some kind of rain dance? Or do they just expose themselves bravely to the force of nature from which they cannot hid...

On my way to work one part of the pavement has subsided as a result of the wheels of trucks that often park at this spot. There is not much to think about such an irregularity of the pavement. We don’t think about it, because we don’t think about the other potholes that come in our way in the mornings either. Our brains is switched into automatic pilot and even if we take notice of such a thing, as soon as we pass by we forget how the pothole made our biking familiar and cozy, leastways till the next morning. I passed this part of the pavement many times in many different weather conditions. I also noticed a long time ago that on rainy days this pit fills up with water and the puddle takes the shape of a heart. I realized that many times before. But as soon as I passed by, I forgot all about it - until the next encounter. I don’t know what has changed today... This morning after I passed by this regular heart-shaped irregularity full of water and I reached the entrance of my workplace ...

Eefje de Visser is going to play in Melkweg on the 8th of October. That reminds me of the funny correspondence I had with the radio station, Radio1 to figure out what the name of the singer was. I had to be insistent, but finally I got the answer. People say that Dutch songs are somewhat strange to listen to. I tended to agree with this statement. But when I first heard this girl singing I thought she made the impossible: she transformed this harsh West Germanic language into the ethereal flow of emotions. Her music feels soft, peaceful, fragile, meaningful, honest. As if all the suppressed gentle feelings of the Dutch nation would come to the surface in her songs. I wish it happened more often. “There was a train, that drove me away, drove me away / And when it halted, we a woke on our own, bewildered and alienated, but alone, alone, alone / … / Because no one leaves me / because no one understands / no one lets me go / but I am constantly traveling / because you have not shaken me aw...

We are having breakfast. Omelette with tomatoes and cheese spread on toasts. We are eating at the small table so you have to bend over from the armchair to reach your plate. Your chest almost touches your legs, but you don’t really mind. You are hungry and you are busy with your food. One deliciously looking piece of omelette on your fork falls to the ground. You curse, then you collect the remnants from the floor and put it on the side of the plate. This bite could be me. I see myself lying on your plate, all exposed to you while hoping that you will find me the most delicious piece amongst all. I’m fearless and surrendered to my destiny. I get excited when you stick your fork in me. The feeling of ’I can die now, I’m ready to start living’ runs through me. In the next second I’m on the floor trying to understand what happened. Is it how life after death feels? I'm still confused when you pick up my flattened body with your fingers and you put me on the side of the plate. I can he...

I have to say I really have nothing to say. You can stop reading right now. I’m so sure about this that it makes me start my abandoned blog again. I lost couple of things. I lost my voice that made me write my silly thoughts. Probably because I lost faith. I wanted to give sense to something that never should be more than it really is. I tried to explain it to myself many times. Was I really hurt and disappointed that stopped me from writing? Or was I just too lazy to write? Or did I just face up reality: what I wrote didn’t inspire me anymore. I felt I couldn’t go deep enough to be interesting. I lost direction. I’m losing directions and focus all the time. I'm in constant fight for everything that I believe would make me a better person. I lost things but I also gained couple of them. Now I can see that silence, disappearance, the lack of being in a form is necessary to get out of the loop (loop= circumstances, being used to things and identify yourself with that situation) for ...

Today was a funny day. I remember waking up and having the feeling that I won’t see my apartment for a couple of days. It was almost sad. I was already missing the big windows, the easy access to any directions, my wonderful bathroom. But I had to go. So I zipped my suitcase (the big one because my mum always wants me to bring the big one – to have space for home made sausages and christmas cakes) and left 5 minutes earlier: the first time in my life I took the morning bus in the middle of nowhere (where I live). The bus was fast – too fast. I had to wait 15 minutes for the train, and in the train it was completely dark. I gave meaning to every little thing this morning, the morning that separated me from my home for a couple of days. I figured out my haiku for the day: sötét vagonban bőröndöm fogságában indulok haza Then I made it to work, with my big suitcase. My dear colleagues looked at me and joined me in celebrating a special day and my big suitcase with me. But the more we talke...

- Where are you? - Here. - What time is it? - Now. - What are you? - This moment.

A book happened to me. Since then I haven't done much, I'm just enjoying the consequences of reading this book. Right now I don't want more. But the more I think about it, I realize that in this very short time (I bought the book last Wednesday) I have done so many things I was unwilling to do for months. Controversial? Well, not. There is an explanation for everything. And the explanation is in this book. The inner peace I lost for a long time, or better to say I never had, is in my possession right now and there is nothing and nobody who could take it back from me. I think you just have to read this book and tell me how it feels. For me it did the magic and I'm sure it will do the magic to all my friends and all the people who read it. If you have had bad feelings about anything in your life lately, this is an essential thing to do, right now. So just F**k it! F**k it by John C. Parkin

This is your competition. You have to accomplish it alone. I cannot do it for you. To run 42 kilometres at a stretch seems to be an impossible challenge. Especially because you have not prepared for it... You just found yourself among the other runners. First you believed this was a fast sprint, then you thought maximum three more kilometres are waiting for you. After you lost your sense of time and distance, you realized that this is the longest and the most important competition of your life. You are running. The feeling that you will not be able to finish it attacks you from time to time. You are playing with the idea of giving it up while your legs are automatically taking you closer to the end. The farther you get, the more times and the longer you are tasting the extasy of the sweet, moment-lasting surrender. You know very well that this competition is not about the thoughness of body. This game is played in your head, where faith and persistence are gambling. You do not have th...

(R-nak) When I’m arguing with St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, I’m going to tell him to ignore the Books Read column, and focus on the Books Bought instead. "This is really who I am" I’ll tell him. "If you let me in, I’m going to prove it, honest." I don’t want anyone writing in to point out that I spend too much money on books, many of which I will never read. I know that already. I certainly intend to read all of them, more or less. My intentions are good. (Nick Hornby, The Polysyllabic Spree – essays) The only person who misses my regular writings here is probably me. That only one person makes me feel different from the rest. But. Even if I don’t write regularly, I’m very careful with the instinct that attaches me to black letters on white paper. They are still in me and they will be always there. So let’s just take it as a temporary state that will turn into this dimension sooner or later. Assumingly, with a more colourful background, if we count with other di...