It fills me with happiness
Happiness that brings back a memory
A memory of you
You lying on that pillow
That pillow I now cover my face in
My face that smiles entirely with only the thought of you
You who held my hand
My hand that you squeezed
Squeezed to let me know this was a moment beyond words
Words that can not tell the tale
The tale of love.
Love that is certainly not ment to be
Many bitter tears I’ve shed tonight. Much shit has been spilled tonight. And it has been good. For the first time in a very long time – and maybe for the first time I’ve felt like myself. Myself. And that’s a bloody hard thing for me.
I’ve come a very fucking long way. I’ve moved here to Istanbul with the illusion to find myself. With the pretext that in Belgium I couldn’t find myself. Drawn back from reality. Far and far away from anything that felt even remotely real. Not even close to be myself. Not in identity. Not in Thinking. Not in feeling. Thinking it was the Western European Way of things. That that was what I couldn’t feel. But here. Where I built this illusion to be close to what i really am i can’t even get close to anything. I’m even further away from finding myself.
And that realization that everybody. Every fucking body here in Turkey is so fucking far away from their own identity. From their own feelings. That that coldness. That that embodiment of being closed down is everywhere. That is killing me.
After all these years of feeling excluded. Of feeling left out. Of thinking of differences I finally wanted to come home. To feel a part of something. But apparently even that seems impossible. There will always be a non)belonging. That’s for sure. As it i impossible to live in 2 worlds. There’s only 1 world. And I don’t belong. I don’t feel it. Therefor I shouldn’t be. Just not be.
Love is longing and longing, the pain of being being parted;
No illness is rich enough for the distress of the heart,
A lover’s lament surpasses all other cries of pain.
Love is the royal threshold to God’s mystery.
The carnival of small affections and polite attachments
Which litter and consume our passing time
is no match to Love which pulses behind this play.
It’s easy to talk endlessly about Love,
To live Love is to be seized by joy and bewilderment;
Love is not clear-minded, busy with images and argument.
Language is too precocious, too impudent, too sane
To stop the molten lava of Love which churns the blood,
This practicing energy burns the tongue to silence;
The knowing pen is disabled, servile paper
Shrivels in the fire of Love. Bald reason too is an ass
Explaining Love, deceived by spoilt lucidity.
Love is dangerous offering no consolation.
Only those who are ravaged by Love know Love,
The sun alone unveils the sun to those who have
The sense to receive the senseless and not turn away.
Cavernous shadows weigh down your vision with dross,
But the rising sun splits the ashen moon in empty half.
The outer sun is our daily miracle in timely
Birth and death, the inner sun
Dazzles the inner eye in a timeless space.
Our daily sun but a working star in a galaxy of stars,
Our inner sun is One, the dancing nuance of eternal light.
You must be set alight by the inner sun,
You have to live you Love or else
You’ll end in words.
You were my first love. My biggest love. Maybe even my deepest love. And I’m stating this after 10 bloody years. I only wish I had this knowledge back then. But apparently these things only time can show. It might also be that the year 2010 is vastly approaching and that the turn of the decade is making me reflect on things. On what has happened during these past 10 years.
As much as i thought I would never make it past January 1st 2000, especially without you, I would have never imagined that I would make it into 2010. And now suddenly this is a possibility. And with this possibility my biggest reflection comes to mind. Love. And It’s driving me crazy like f*ck.
It’s not that I don’t know that I’ve been living love these past years. I’ve at least loved much. I’ve received much love. Maybe not returned those. But still. It’s a weird acknowledgment, but I have to make it still, that realization that after you I’ve never encountered love that was in any way like ours. It was never that pure. Never that total. Never that sincere. Never that passionate. Never that full. Never that much. And that somehow breaks my heart. That missing out on that.
It only seems right that, considering circumstances and all, I would also deserve to encounter that kind of love. You did so why can’t I? Our was our kind of love the last we both deserved?
The only thing that matters is that you are able to tell yourself that you want it and that you want it irrevocably! What? That you want to take part in life, instead of being an observer; that you want to make decisions about when to say no to evil – in brief, that you will have civil courage at the appropriate moment.
Svetlana Broz – Essays On Civil Courage ‘Having What It Takes’
Posted in politics
Tagged activism, Bosnia, emotionales, Green, human rights, Love, minorities, politics, protest, Svetlana Broz, thoughts, Yugoslavia
It’s such a crazy feeling. Love.
It’s even more crazier if you’re separated by thousands and thousands of miles.
When you’re oceans apart.
But love survives.
One way or another.
You must love me, he said.
O zor günler solan güller eskidendi. Geçti!
O zaman aşık olduğum rüzgarlar esti esti. Geçti!
Geriye sadece yarım yarım sevgiler,
Yüzüme inceden uzun uzun çizgiler..
Öznesi kalan süresi kalan cümleler
Yalan dolan cümleler kaldı
Aşk seni bulabilir de, uzakta durabilir de
Samimi oluyor derken mesafe koyabilir de
Bu böyle vurabilir de, ilgisiz durabilir de
onu sana katıyor derken tuzaklar kurabilir de