A Neighbor or a Home?

Somehow it's very fascinating... to after school, take a stroll in the forest and feel like you've travelled thousands of miles. But the more time I spend outside, examining insects, plants and other phenomenons of nature, the more of a stranger do I feel like when I get back to work or school. The human world is rich in stimulating ideas, products and activities, but "nature is the vehicle of thought" as Emerson says and the quality of my life comes from it. Even though we are part of nature, we try more and more to make it look like it isn't so. Some of the people that I know are even embarassed of nature. The say that it's random, unorganized and dirty. There are children today that are terrified of forests and refuse to walk into them, because they are so very different from their home environment. Imagine what people they will become when they grow up. They will be the ones that nervously dump their garbage into the ocean, that design televisions with a screensaver as standby-mode, that buy tons of clothing every new season, that will take part in the overconsumption of medical treatments and throw away food that still is nice, fresh and healthy just because they passed the "best before-date" or because it had a black spot on it..
          The real world does not have "best before-date" stickers. It has senses. Senses created by chance, coincidence, and the will of surviving. All of our actions are somehow connected to the will of preserving life. Because we are part of nature. Because we won't live forever. And because the people that live in the human world are still always aware of the sprouting existence of what they have made a neighbor; nature.

Being Interviewed

Not long ago, I was invited to do an interview for a local radio station as an artist. Now, because of my previous years spent mostly in silence, I can't really say that I am very good at talking. There are few subjects I know enough to discuss, and the few I have put some thought in... well, people generally aren't as open/interested in them. It suits me well, I have always been introvert and have lately understood much of why it is so, and I am settling and feeling rather content with the answers I have found. 
      Anyhow, after doing some thinking, I decided it might be good practice. After all, I have realized that I have to be able to feel comfortable with making a conversation. Overall, it was a good experience and an opportunity to "market my music" which I am truthfully grateful for, but I'd rather avoid similar situations in the future..:


"Tell us about yourself." I was blown away. I said the first things that came to my mind; name, age and where I lived. They didn't seem too pleased. The interview continued with a lot of 'hmms' and 'errs'. It was not at all practice in making a conversation. The interviewer sat with an already prepared sheet with questions, his nose buried in it, the technician looked into his computer and even though I tried making eye contact with both of them, I found myself more or less talking to myself, or the walls,  or the roof, faintly aware that at least tens of people were listening to this strange... thing. It didn't make me feel better when the interviewer started giggling occasionally, probably assuming I was making a joke, which I didn't do, not once. Oh well, to the point:

I am a person in constant change. My mind and my way of being are as floating as a wind in a thunderstorm. There is not a recipe instructing "how to make a Lysander: add some happiness to three drops of cold tears, stir vividly 'til a chaotic song emerges from the substance and bake in oven for 18 years". I mean... How do you give answers about yourself that will last longer than, I don't know,  a year? Or do people really believe that they have been born to be a certain way? Or did I miss something, am I supposed to develope a certain way of being and remain that way, just because, so that people'll think they know me? I am different in different situations, and I like different things at different times of my life. I have always believed change is something good, something that enrichens. Talking about myself that much, only made me nervous of becoming too unfamiliar with myself...

Although, I can admit myself being very fond of spice ice creams for the time being!

Straying

I stood upon the land I had persistently conquered
Proudly preaching to the shrinking crowd
Of youth, of truth, of lies, of age
But the years grew old, and my people fled

The spoken word is a living beast
it feasts upon the mind, the soul, the heart
But the ground I had earned, I found
was not ground at all but a full-rigged ship alive

Off, off and away from all things certain and safe
from all rolling tongues, chewing jaws and molding minds
To a place not new, but changed and changing yet
if not there to, then may I stray 'til straying breeds fertile soil

Oh me, that climbed this animated rock
I hope, I wish to be laid here once
Entwined with the flesh of an ever beating heart
so that I may be wed to chance, and not ever settle down.

To Those Who Struggle

The wind roars in the sunset. How often do you fear it, or even notice it, where you lie and ponder in your nook? Was the day to your satisfaction, did you get a lot done? Come now, do you really think the storm cares about the breadth of your brim?
       It rains every night. The drops heavy with grief pounds harder and stronger against your sealed, locked house. You live in the wild, but dare not step outside your garden. The teeth of those hiding outside, drips of hunger and excitement. This thought has hunted you since the days you were young. Oh, the days you were young, when your own strength and power never failed you, and pure determined will floated in the veins that now thick blood runs through. You learned all of those things, until you couldn't fit in yourself anymore.
      Still, being me watching you, is not that bad. You have chosen to live where everybody else lives, it's bound to be crammed and hard to breathe, hard to think- didn't you realize? What were you thinking? How would your brilliant mind fit in there, and what would it do with so little ground to till and harvest? You wailed, screamed and chewed on the bars that kept you locked out from the world you so desperately longed to belong to. You looked around, asking everyone you met for help. You even asked those you couldn't see, who never ever gave you any answers. What you can not see wastes away and passes the world as a soft, fresh breeze, but those who forget can not know that.
         Your young mind grew old, withered and you finally stepped inside those doors used too often, and turned your back once and for all,  on everything you could have been . I sigh and see you sit and sway in your corner. I can see your hair braided with silver strings of age and your eyes, yellowish like old paper. I can hear the rust in your muscles and the crowd in your head. I cannot make out one word of what they're saying, even less what you are saying. How long have you struggled to get your thoughts heard, to make others say what you're thinking so that someone will hear?

Some never take the chance. Some wait for death, wait until it throws them over and pulls its' veil over the thoughts that once were theirs. There is a veil that covers all in darkness, a veil that cries out to the world: "come, come! here you will grow, come! This house is empty, abandoned, open to all! Come now and knock down walls and raise the roof". 

Some wait for death before they let the worlds grow inside them, and the ones that live freely and wildly dance up to their graves and read not "here lie those who lived", but "here lies death".