I ordered a new lens and some smaller items for my camera today! It will be my first lens specifically for the DSLR apart from the not so good kit lens that came with it. I also found an affordable adapter which hopefully will enable me to use my old telephoto lens (from completely analog times) on my modern digital camera. You can find more specific information on my hardware order and my current camera related wishlist on today’s post on my photo blog https://starfishskiesphotography.wordpress.com/2015/06/30/new-hardware-and-wish-list/
Oh, to live in simplicity, childlike, free to live in truth – a home made from solid rocks and fruitful trees, between saltwater and sky-wide joy.
Oh, to live like a dancing child in the fields, arms open to embrace the world in peacefulness – harvesting everything else with eyes of love.
Oh, to live trustfully, unafraid of needing a provider, offering nothing but an honest heart – and knowing it to be enough.
Yesterday in youth group we were supposed to take one or more sections from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) and represent it in a creative way, be it a drawing, a short play, or poetry. I joined the poetry group, but my brain decided that just one form of art wasn’t enough and kept nagging me to draw a tree and write random stuff next to it. So without much effort the doodled tree and the words above ended up on my piece of paper. It’s loosely based on some of the Beatitudes, Salt of the World, Do Not Worry, and The Wise and Foolish Builders.
I want to write to you about the tiny moments, the dark ones and the lighter ones, about the universe reflected in your eyes and about the black holes in our hearts. I want to write to you, but all I ever do is waiting in silence for an echo of my thoughts to find its way back to me in one of your messages, the messages none of us ever write. I want to write to you in poetry, in wordless, helpless shrugs, in emotional source code lacking decipherable equivalents in the human language we share and yet don’t. I want to write to you, one of you, all of you. I want to write to you, but the only ones who answer my nightly whispers are the digital ghosts of strangers, speaking to me in wondrous metaphors of radio dials and crackling static.
poets’ nightly words
travelling through the ether
undying in space
Due to a headache I’ve been in a rather bad mood since yesterday. While this is not very pleasurable for me and my immediate environment, I’ve noticed that in this state it is easier for me to part with things – a cluttered apartment amplifies my bad mood, because I feel trapped and crushed. So I want to be able to breathe again, making me more willing to “sacrifice” a few things.
So far I’ve prepared a few items for departure:
– An old pair of running shoes my parents had brought me on their last visit: I had forgotten their existence for several years and they aren’t even comfortable, so they’ll end up in a donation bin.
– A plushy that had been waiting in the give-away-box in our study for some months will be picked up by the co-owner when they come to this city in a week or two.
– Body lotion sample I bought but don’t like, a book I don’t think I’ll read again, cardboard mask base, butterfly hair stick: A friend might like these, so I’ll take them with me the next time I meet them.
– Hair dye, assorted samples of skin care products, metal hair clip and hair fork that won’t hold in my hair: I’ll soon be meeting up with some girls to talk and trade stuff like this, therefore these items went into a bag, ready to come with me next Saturday.
– A scarf I stopped wearing two or three years ago: A friend really liked it when I bought this one and when I asked her today she said she still would be glad to have it, so I squeezed it into an old envelope and to the post office it will go on Monday!
Not today but a few days ago I already sent an old hair conditioner sample to someone I met on the internet. Finally I got rid of this weird smelling piece of solid conditioner without throwing it in the trash!
Keep your fairy dust, your pinks and sparkles, your lace and ballet shoes. I have no use for them – I’d rather breathe freely, heavily, sweating and panting but content, than choking on glitter and inhaling the epitome of daintiness. Stay trapped between glossy magazine pages, if you want to. Drink from poisonous words of self-hatred and bird-bone fragile ideals from broadcasted streams of perfect lips, to the dehydration of your ever paling sense of self. When I wear black, it is to match a million stars and provide enough vastness for whole clusters of myriadically coloured nebulae. I wear white, and it is the canvas for my life, my future, to be painted in all the shades of songs, laughter, hopes, fears, grief, joy, success, failure, grounded optimism and meaningful relationships instead of strained efforts to be nothing but happy, living in a cheerful bubble made of denial and digital filters, where performance and pretence replace the art of living. There is no place for pink and powdery pastels in my wardrobe, as even my skin is but a parchment providing space to be inked with maps of adventures yet untold, to count in tiny scars and bruises my encounters with trees and brambles and mock fights. I dance en pointe in sneakers along supermarket aisles, skip through train stations, and do backbends and cartwheels on the dancefloor to feel like myself. I am free when I do the dishes at midnight and chase clouds with my camera at lunch. My fairy kingdom is made of moss and sticks instead of plastic castles, and I’m not a princess but a guard, an explorer, sometimes even a warrior queen hunting for rocks. I’ve been too old to fit into cute clothes since I was able to read excavation diaries and old legends. I tried to dress up, to paint a mask over my freckled pale face. I tried, and all that is called pretty failed me, as it clashed with my shoulders’ harshness, crashed on my collarbones, and shattered like sea-glass on old rocks, creating not the harmony promised by pink packages of perfumed herbal teas but only discord in my eyes, visible for all. The only intersection of my dreams and the ones they try to sell with airbrushed billboards is the wish for a horse, a strong and loyal horse to carry me beyond the end of busy road, to where the reign of media ends and the realm of reality begins.
Finally, finally I got the notification saying my final marks are now online. My master’s thesis didn’t go all wrong despite all the hassles. Not absolutely brilliant, but still good enough. My overall grade is in the a-little-less-than-very-good area, just good enough to allow me to apply for PhD programmes and job positions in research without having to fear being sorted out as soon as someone looks at my results. Could have been worse.
I don’t have my certificate yet as I will have to request it myself (to make sure all my electives are on record before they print it), which I’ll do in two weeks or so to make sure I can still work this and maybe even next month in my current job before they exmatriculate me.
Over the course of the last two weeks I discovered a quick, simple, and tasty snack I like to eat either for breakfast or – like right now – as an early supper before exercising and having my real supper later. I just wash a handful or two of blueberries, pour some vanilla yoghurt over them, and add a little grated dark chocolate (90%).
I like my snacks sweet, but at least this mix contains some good stuff and not as much artificially added sugar as a plain old chocolate covered “cereal” candy bar. Berries are healthy, and some good quality yoghurt that hasn’t been heated to death can be good for the body, as far as I know.
The only downside is that I can’t eat this right before I go to sports class, as I noticed that consuming animal products (both meat and dairy) very close to exercising causes some unpleasant acidity in my guts. So right before exercising I’ll have a few nuts or something similar instead for an extra energy boost.
When I was walking around at the capoeira workshop, taking pictures and talking to people, I ended up in the corner where they sold t-shirts and percussion instruments.
They also had these mini pandeiro keyrings, and when I started to tap around on one for fun, Mestre Dalua signalled me to take it. I thought this was pretty cool, as he had been the one to play with me at my batizado last year :)