lost in translation..

Words are a funny thing… I firmly believe they were created as convenience, with the thought of easing communication, and actions for that matter…much faster to shout a phrase in thundering voices and impress… I wonder if that was what started them… the words, the languages… was it cavemen trying to spare themselves the energy of snatching their women, when they could just ask them to follow… just a thought that comes to mind… it could have been just not wanting to bump heads with neighboring others, not having to fight for each and every thing…

I guess the world hasn’t changed all that much. Though we now communicate in tongues, and many of us can express themselves in several of those, we still revert to being primitive and fighting about everything… in words, not fists so much.. so where’s the logic in that? Or progress for that matter? Well, focus on the good, someone told me once… and there’s plenty of that when it comes to words… I love words. A little too much. I see with words like others see with their fingertips, explore each detail in depth, giving my full attention to each thing, phenomenon, feeling, thought, event, person, treating each with the utmost importance, letting them come together in perfect symbiosis… isn’t that all we carry with us though time? Our words, left in our memory to rebuild the past? It may be, again, just who I am.

I was reminded of their importance recently… is the sense of a text lost in translation? And if one reads a foreign book, well translated mind you, should they expect to understand what the author meant? Will the translation be accurate? Or will the translation accurately depict what the writer tried to say?.. Which is more important? Being accurate or understanding the meaning? I think it’s like saying and doing… the two have to coincide… or else the notion becomes confusing, if not completely damaging…

Take Dante’s Paradiso, for example. The simplest of statements… yet twisted beyond recognition. I left the translation as I found it. Someone really believed that’s what it says…

My take would be different. As I believe he meant it… as I mean it… for love can wrap itself around one’s soul in mesmerizing ways, fluidly caressing each sense, until infatuated with it, the soul would whisper in one breath “but thus spun my will and vain desires, like a wheel that keeps on turning.. the love that moves the sun and the other stars”…

Funny thing, words…

 

countdown..

These days I keep finding myself chasing my own tail a lot… going through events, turning them upside down, breaking them into small chunks, sifting through them, trying to find the very essence of each one, so that only those fragments are packed away in the memory… without the messy details, debris, or anything else that might stain them. In a bind for time, trying not to forget something important, I cast away the ballast, without realizing sometimes that it may be the very core… and stashed away single images of what was.. beautiful, stormy, sad, thrilling, all folded neatly, and locked away… for sometimes later, when the world is not at war anymore.. desperation seems to blurry the lens anyway… what good would it do to shine that light on them now? I’d only see the gray..

Counting the weeks. Down to 6… well, less now. Trying to regain my balance so that I can continue my journey. I’ve traveled too much, seen to much, felt too much… and what’s too much.. well, after a while, it crushes the soul, I guess… it weighed down my stance… for much to my surprise, I really am only human…

When all else fails, one can always count on logic. I’ve been told many times that logic doesn’t matter in everything… but how else is one to travel through time? Blindly? Splatting on walls? Bouncing off the unknown? Maybe that works when only one is involved… but when there’s more than meets the eye to be dragged along, can one be so selfish to disregard all logic and let whatever story unfold? If it’s a happy ending.. great! But what if the grand finale is a tragedy? How can one throw themselves into the tempest, well knowing the risks, and hope for a sunny day?

“Logic takes you from A to B. Imagination takes you everywhere”. I’ll have to let my imagination play a happy ending, over and over, until the story no longer hurts. And let my logic take me to B. I’ve been marching in place at this A for so long, I’ve forgotten how to step one foot in front of the other…. The good thing about logic is that it sets a clear path, whichever one chooses to take. Not much unknown, just the occasional fate… Much more manageable for the lost soul… and much less damaging for any precious cargo it carries along.

Today marks the start of the final countdown. It really started some time ago, but I guess if it’s not written down, then it’s easily overlooked. Now all I have to do is figure out the plan. Isn’t life fun…

 

miscommunication

How many times have you found yourself opening your mouth, letting words out – good, honest words, mind you – and getting chomped by some giant jaws, jabbering a whole amazing, incredible, unexpectedly twisted, set of raw interjections… or worse, getting stabbed in the soft spot by those you never thought would do so… Many times? I guess I was either overly fortunate or incredibly spoiled, because I only had a few. The sting of them kept me away from those characters for good… until lately that is… this whole letting your guard down did not work out for me… so, to be certain, I did it over and over again… now I know.

When all the dust settles, they say it was just miscommunication; like people speaking different languages and not finding common words… could be. I think it’s more of a personal take on things, the “personal view” that keeps jamming the signals whenever something is uncomfortable, or simply undesired. But that’s just me…

I once thought that love was this unique bubble that one had to keep like a most prized possession, care and protect with their own life. I think that’s what I read in a fairytale, once, when I was a child… In it, there would only be truth, and though storms would cloud it sometimes, two sets of hands would clench together to spare it from destruction.. a sacred gift… one that is only used once, with great reverence… I really am a dreamer… or is that a fool?.. For so far, it seems that nothing is sacred. Words, dreams, thoughts… they are just means for miscommunication… it must be that… for who would voluntarily smash such precious bubbles just for fun… or out of sheer ignorance… or would they?.. In the end, aren’t our actions the ones that define our path, and disprove our words… and aren’t they  stone cold, solid facts?..

Questions better left in the past. What good would it do to turn the ashes… the fire might still be hiding under… and souls would get burned again…

 

bucket list

I was once told that when the reality defeats me, I should think of mornings, breakfast and shirts… it doesn’t not make much sense now that I think aloud, but in my mind it really does…

Reality tends to get wild lately, and since no manual comes with the surprises, I try to make do with what I think would apply… it’s not like I’m ever ready for the changes anyway… just try to open my eyes and see them before they come, as much as possible…

It seems reasonable to make a list and check it twice (no pun) if you want to keep your course steady through the angry waves. I never asked for much though, so I have no pressing desires to highlight for my journey. I find myself wishing for small things, as if they were my whole world… silly really… who dreams to curl up on the settee, when the world is still asleep, wrapped in the night and the sofa throw, head resting in a lap, eyes closed, listening to the steady breathing, the scent of fresh coffee and morning dew infusing the air… quiet… content… appeased… or walk the beach at sunset, no words, just listening to the voices of the ocean, holding a hand… or picking fresh basil to chop for the white sauce pasta…

My bucket list would be short. If I were to cease being tomorrow, a handful of little things would be left scribbled on it…

I want to see a child turn into a giant.. a gentle and great one…

I dream of dipping my feet in the turquoise waters, and walk the white sands

I’d like to finish what I started and not lose hope every step of the way, when the world turns dark.. but stand tall at the end of my tunnel…

I wish to be boring, and do all the simple things.. at least for a while…

But most of all, I crave to walk in light… savor each minute, without haste, fear, or doubt… bask in the warmth… and be still.

There must be a thousand other thoughts that would cross my mind at any given time, frivolous demands, but if I were to really pick THE ones, there wouldn’t be many more aside from these… at least not now… and that may be slightly different tomorrow, when the world kicks me to the curb again… and the waves smear the ink on my list, making it look like there are more words… but the markings of the pen will stay the same… engraved in the paper… traceable with the fingertips… promised to the future.

ramblings

 

But it could easily be the other way…

change

Like a prayer..

travel “lite”…

There are days when you walk in circles; there are days when you walk your feet to the bone; there are days when you walk and have no idea where you’re going; there are days when you don’t want to walk, but your feet keep going… and there are days when the paths cross and you just see yourself coming and going…

Life has a way of taking you places you never planned to go… word of advice, take it with a grain of salt, travel “lite”… walking is in itself too much… why add dragging those bags all stuffed up…

trust

Friend or foe… maybe there is a gray area there too… but when it comes to trust, one thing is certain for me; the only one person who can be trusted with everything… well they haven’t been born yet. For anyone. Mainly because we’re all human. If I can’t trust myself sometimes, should I ever expect others to not betray my trust?  I could, but that would be highly irrational, or simply stupid, and though I can be known as demonstrating both, most of the time I have some common sense…

Trust is a dangerous thing, creates dependencies, illusions, and expectations. None of which are desirable, real, or beneficial. Trust is better left to self. When it can be done. Which should be more often than not. Unless it’s more not…

crumbs

We are taught to take even the little that is offered to us, rather than getting nothing at all. Most of the time that is good advice. But there comes a time when one looks back and tries to pinpoint the reality in their life. And then the little that was offered dissipates into the memory, and there is nothing left to really hold.

Crumbs, I believe they call them.. tiny leftovers of someone’s copious meal. Dried and shriveled… one man’s trash… discarded… free to give… as all the good stuff’s been used… can a human live on crumbs? I believe that at times we cling to whatever we can… holding the tiniest speck of a good thing, like a treasure, in our closed fist… until that one day, when the clenched fingers are pulled open, for only a moment, just to feast the craving soul… and eyes grow in disbelief, for all that’s resting in the palm is dust…