Releasing tension

Something something something something something

Ganesha Mudra - applied whenever you are struggling. Gives you strength in the times of troubles. Eases tensions.

What's the time in Toontown?

Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada :)

www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/city.html

is rose a rose a rose a rose?

The worst bloody day ever.
Sad words from a friend who seems to reject me suddenly.
Car crash and all it will involve within the next few days.
Cancelled tuitions. Cancelled meeting.
Theatre outing did not work out.
4 pubs and cafes before finding a free table.
Late coming home on my own. No walking home included.

And then a phone from a friend - Listen, An, I've heard what happened. Tomorrow's my payday, so if you need any money...

After all is rose a rose a rose?
No answer to that, I suppose
but I am happy to know
although usually its bitterness twists my nose,
rose sometimes does smell like a rose
like a rose like a rose like a rose

Turbulences

This long flight leaves me uncertain.
It's so noisy in here, it's so little light...
Distance blurs the borders and all those green fields
and chaotic steel-silver ocean that lies beneath
when I cross the worlds to be with you.
Turbulence shakes my body and mind.
I try to grab the seat as I pronounce your name.
So much has left on the ground
so much lifts me up here.

I look outside and through the storm
I can see the meadows of dandelions and pansies
shimmering in warm air with all their colours.
They whisper to me, though it's so banal.
So banal.
I know I want to land,
but this plane does not belong to me,
no power is given to me.

I grab the seat harder and breathe you in
in case my scream will fade in all the noise
and in faith that in breathing you out I will
start singing and then forget
that I have a voice at all.

My five senses shape into
your five letters.

Never will I be intoxicated with the scent between your neck and your hair
Incomprehensive words fill my head without reaching my ears
Afflicted by the one-dimentional vision of your eyes
Longing to taste what I never dare to name
Loving the shining inside both of us

Just before the crash I am reconciled.
I am sure to the brim of my heart's chalice
it is necessary to take all your anger with all my self.

The crash has blinded me with the blink of pure white
As if your fist was hitting my ear
Such slaty shiver was sent down my spine
As if you were here not being here
.
.
.
.
.
.
Before I feel your forgiveness for the pain I caused
I must forgive myslef for the pain I have received.

BeLLyDanCe

is not just a form of dancing. It is also a powerful activity to bring balance to your energetic spheres, kind of yoga, a devotional dance for some, a dance of women for their bodies.

In its cores, BellyDance has nothing to do with eroticism per se. It is one of the oldest dances and combines dealing with the body’s energy with preparing woman’s body physically to become pregnant, carry the baby, give birth and take care of an infant. In origins it was a dance to the great Mother Earth, or to the goddess, to this part of universe which is feminine and deals with the feminine, the wild power ready to be directed by a male factor (but not tamed).

Except for disposing the energy (that is why you make movements so to say ‘gathering’ the flow of energy, to the self), the dance strengthens the muscles and joints responsible for and used through all the stages of the birth-giving and child-minding (beginning with strengthening the muscles of spine, arms or legs to carry the child, to stretching hips and the neck of the womb, which will have to stretch during the growth of the foetus and delivering). It also helps to keep the skin taut and flexible.

The traditional way of bearing hands during the dance is to keep the ring finger and the middle finger together, often joined with the thumb. This is most likely connected with Apan Mudra, a healing mudra for urinary and cytological disorders, cleanses and purifies the body.
In the East there are still ritual childbirths during which women together dance with and for the lady in labour. They may dance in the other room in a sort of a prayer to ease her pains, or – even more traditionally – dance with the dancing to-be-mother, who dances until she finally delivers the infant. The women who dance during the labour cannot believe that there are women in the world who would want to lie in bed during the act, as they find it extremely painful not to dance. The dance itself is a remedy for the pain, tension and, most probably, excitement.

Currently, BellyDance became a commercial art and has little to do with what it actually represents. Often, even the bellydancers do not know or do not care about the origins. On the other hand, in the West, we have to go to a course to learn how to use muscles we do not even know that exist, while in the East the baby-girls are still confronted with BellyDancing and sort of assimilate it. BellyDancing is not a cool, strange thing you can do in the evening. It is a way of life, even if you are not dancing at the moment. The BellyDance is not thought for or directed to men. It is not thought to arouse sexual excitement. It is allowed to male audience only since the early 20th century. Of course, men as well as anyone else may watch, if you feel ready for such experience, but remember about the huge intangible power you have within you. For now, I myself do not dare to play with it.

There are different styles of dancing, Egyptian style being the most popular, probably, but each country in the East probably has its own technique (i.e. – stomach pulled in or relaxed, legs closely together or slightly astride, hands moving only vertically or not). There are few main rules and some basic figures you need to know to practice your own BellyDance movement. Your body will tell you later on which movement, technique and figures it craves for. After all it is the flow of joy and uncontrollable light.

No two women can dance the same dance because no two energies and no two bodies can be the same.

Possessed

How did it all happen? How did I become possessed? How did this sweet chant begin? How did this lovely aroma sneaked into my soul?

Being a Westerner I should be more attracted to the figure of a beautiful, joyful, clever and lovable Krishna cavorting around with his Radha. And yet it is the calm, powerful and dangerous Shiva who took my heart and there is no sweeter joy than to pronounce His melodious names, and there is no greater honour than to bow to His feet. In His forgivness shelter I seek, and in His grace wisdom I see. Beloved Shakti, watch him dance.

Shiva Raj Shiva Raja Shambho Shankar Nataraja

~~I want you... rockin' back inside my heart~~

Tell your heart that I'm the one
Tell your heart it's me

I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
Rockin' back inside my heart

Shadow in my house
The man he has brown eyes
She'll never go to Hollywood
Love moves me

I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
Rockin' back inside my heart

Tell your heart, you make me cry
Tell your heart, don't let me die

I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
I want you
Rockin' back inside my heart
Rockin' back inside my heart

Lyrics: David Lynch, Music: Angelo Badalamenti

WHY CAN’T A CUCUMBER SING?

The question posed in the title
has to be answerd, alas!
no matter how painful and dreadful
It might appear to us.

Thus, if a cucumber can’t sing,
however hard it aspires,
apparently this kind of practice
is not of Heavens desires.

But if it does crave so deeply
for chanting in fullmoon light?
What if, while squashed in a jar,
it weeps green tears in the night?

Time sneaks past through all the seasons.
Whether rain or sun stains the grass,
irrespective of sorrow and grief
many lonesome cucumbers we pass.

Konstanty Ildefons Galczynski, trans. Me

Rang de basanti, yaar!

I feel a great burden off my chest.
I could not imagine how to agree my disagreement to my culture's fading away, to people with no values, to Poles being either total fanatics and nationalists or havin' it all up their arses. Few days ago I finally realized (oh, clever, clever me!:) what is my way, or at least I saw the path I may try to follow.

I wanted to leave and never to come back. I felt a terrible pain, a chaos of discord and resentment (all I tried to do for my culture had failed) and I saw no way out. On the other hand I felt strange attachment to India and everything it carries along (including things shocking or strange for Westerners - like arranged marriages, religious tolerance, normative society, censorship). I felt- this is home. I don't know why, but it is. I've never seen it, never touched it, but the very thought of touching Indian dirt and casting my eyes on Indian sunset, the noise and clatter of hooves on the street gives me this strange squeeze on my throat
(I try not to think about it too much, as I don't want to strangle myself with emotion:).

And then the spring came. And again I thought of this one place in Poland I could call my home. And I realized how dear it is to me, that I could do anything to be there, to live there, to speak my language, to feel its ground beneath my feet. The will to fight those who try to cut off my arm with a hand saw- to sell my home.

And then I thought - I love my country. Not its loosen morale, not its westernization, not its extinct of values and real family, but the land, the sunset, trees on the banks of rivers, children's laugh, ripen strawberries.

And then I thought again and said: OK... was the love to India just a milestone in your love for Poland? Was it just a whim? Just an escape from what you experience? I gave it a long thought and I answered - NO.

So what happens now? I feel deep love for my fatherland, Poland. But I also need mother. Bharat Ma, I will have to come and touch your feet and see if you embrace me.

So what to do? Where do I go? How can I share my life with someone? Who would understand? Which man would be able to take and share my deep love to BOTH cultures, to BOTH lands and BOTH customs? Who would be mad enough to share my life divided between TWO homelands?
The answer came in a flash (I think it was God who took a picture to commemorate a first reasonable thought of his silly little girl) - The man who is worth it. The right man.