The Old and the New.

The door is open, a passing.

  ~Cause there's the old inside the new, and the new emerging out of the old, this is a continuous, constant conversation forming realities out of realities.~

If luck is by your side

And sometimes things are produced by purity of longing

Undefined as they are, underneath the moon and the sun, they contain the grace of opportunity

One's gaze says so much about the person

If we are willing to read the seal hiding inside things

Is there a final testimony and verdict?

 

Tuned to Music no one can hear

Ideally, I would also be taking photos of other people, and not just photos of  landscapes, flowers, buildings and some self-portraits now and then. This ain't possible yet though. The energy of other people can be so overbearing, such a burden sometimes, I find myself almost drained, overwhelmed. It's not like I don't like people, I do, I'm a carrier of deep feelings, it is a living possibility. But I've noticed something, that most people, unconsciously that is, they just want to throw bits and pieces of themselves on others, if the other person happens to be more open, these "insults" accumulate, they do feel like lifting actual weight, the metaphor becomes physical pain sometimes.

   The photos of this post were taken during this Spring. My preparation for taking them is quite simple, I just happen to be in the mood, never intervene any more than that, the environments most likely want to tell a story as it is, that's inspirational enough, at least I perceive it this way. There's some kind of melody in this ascertainment, hidden frequencies reach our ears and they caress our skin, we are kissed all the time and we hardly notice it, enveloped in messages, echoes and sensations. The light breeze and the shadows provide me an affirmation of the knowledge I found in books, the experience becomes more full yet unable to reach an ending yet. When I close my eyes and focus, a reality beyond reality reveals itself.

   There's a Spark in the known and the expected waiting to become unlocked.+

Black Planet.

Can you see colors in black and white? Do you always know what you want to say? The children understand the whole spectrum, they perceive it but they rarely speak of it, sensing in them is much more profound an experience; Things can stand on their own, without proof, without stains of reason, as they always existed, unmolested, without the dust of your memories and re-interpretations... I thought I wanted you to remember but now I see I don't, I changed my mind, I reclaimed myself, I've come full circle...I cannot sustain the idea of the "lost object" no more, not even that of the "lost person", there's nothing lost, everything's inside of me as it has always been, this is not a fluid poem on hope though...Auras are colorful, you must exercise your senses, nothing to it, you're flesh and blood after all; Why do you hesitate, why do you condemn yourself to the black planet? Nothing blossoms when you're absent, it is your observation that makes everything happen.

Μπορείς να δεις χρώματα μέσα στο ασπρόμαυρο; Γνωρίζεις πάντα αυτό που θέλεις να πεις; Τα παιδιά αντιλαμβάνονται όλο το φάσμα, το βλέπουν αλλά σπάνια μιλάνε για αυτό, το να αισθάνονται είναι για αυτά μια πολύ πιο βαθιά εμπειρία¨Τα πράγματα μπορούν να σταθούν από μόνα τους, χωρίς απόδειξη, χωρίς τους λεκέδες της λογικής, όπως υπάρχουν από πάντα, ανέγγιχτα, χωρίς την σκόνη των δικών σου αναμνήσεων και των επανερμηνειών σου...Πίστευα πως ήθελα να θυμάσαι αλλά τώρα βλέπω πως δεν το επιθυμώ πια, άλλαξα γνώμη, επαναδιεκδίκησα τον εαυτό μου, ξαναγύρισα στην αρχή μου...Δεν μπορώ πια να διατηρώ την ιδέα του "χαμένου αντικειμένου", ούτε καν αυτή του "χαμένου προσώπου", τίποτα δεν έχει χαθεί, όλα βρίσκονται μέσα μου όπως υπήρχαν πάντα, αυτό δεν είναι ένα ρευστό ποίημα για την ελπίδα παρόλα αυτά...Οι αύρες είναι πολύχρωμες, πρέπει να εξασκήσεις τις αισθήσεις σου, καμιά δυσκολία σε αυτό, είσαι σάρκα και αίμα όπως και να έχει¨Γιατί διστάζεις, γιατί καταδικάζεις τον εαυτό σου στον μαύρο πλανήτη; Τίποτα δεν ανθίζει όταν είσαι απών, είναι η παρατήρηση σου που κάνει τα πάντα να συμβαίνουν.