Några springer in i en vägg
andra flyger in i ett fönster
För en stund
All rights reserved. Copyright ©Kristin Oladatter 2017
”When do you feel happy?” You ask me.
”When I go to the Borderland” I say.
That’s the place between sleep and wakefulness. The place between dreams and reality.
Right there, beyond the rationally thinking. Beyond the restless and anxiety-provoking pondering. Far, far beyond all the fears and the need of control.. That’s where I find my peace of mind.
Have I told you that you can take me there?
When you are slowly stroking my skin with your warm hands…When your fingers are tenderly drawing through my hair. When you are that close; just there, in that moment….
That’s when I go there. To the Borderland. For a moment of Happiness.
That’s what you are. Giving. To Me.
All rights reserved. Copyright ©Oladatter 2016
All rights reserved. Copyright ©Oladatter 2016
The house is breathing peace and quiet. My Man leisurely laying on the couch with his book. Looking satisfied and relaxed, he is. Not taking any notice of me, lying here on the floor. Invisible and unimportant. To him. That book is so much more important. To him.
I know I shouldn’t be here. Not like this, on the living room floor. I’m not aesthetic correct, black and dirty as I am. And I don’t exactly smell like a summer meadow. I belong in the laundry.
He has no idea the time is already passed four…..
The front door is opened from the outside world. Shoes and jacket being left in the hall way. Then the feeling of a never ending heavy silence. A long dejected sigh…..And the storm is here. The explosion of loud and angry words:
Why am I laying on the floor? Why am I ALWAYS on the floor. One day in the living room, another day in the bedroom, the bathroom…. Or in any other room. Why am I always everywhere else than in the only place I belong, in the bloody laundry??! Why don’t you ever learn?
Angry footsteps approaching me. Fast and angry hands picking me up. Carrys me to the bathroom and throws me in the laundry. Then angry footsteps again. Another door…. And the quietness is back. Not as peaceful as a moment ago. But quiet.
From the bathroom shelf I hear a long relieved sigh from the toothpaste tube; puh, it wasn’t me this time.
But I know, tomorrow it may very well be the toothpaste tube. You see, it’s very hard to learn how to squeeze it on exactly the right place. Or it could be me. Again.
I don’t harm, lie or cheat.
I don’t drink, fight or kill.
I just don’t seem to be right, or belong everywhere. I may not look or smell so good all the time. But don’t tell me small things can’t make a difference. I have the power to change everything just by being in the wrong place. I have the power to create thunder storms and change peace to war. Just for being me.
And I am not big at all……
I am, after all, just a pair of dirty stockings!
Death called her name
The Calling from the Forest, even louder
Sticks lying there, quietly on the ground.
No eyes. No mouths. No visible hearts. Yet speaking to her.
With her tender hands she brings them to her place
Giving them faces
Giving them words.
And they speak. The words of wisdom. The words of enlightment.
Her friends. Close to her heart.
Returning her gift.
Giving her life. Bringing her joy.
Tell me; who would not cry, letting go of such friends?
Stick Art by Vildhjärta:
Want more? Vildhjärta
In our shallow and material world we are more or less slaves to the system. In some parts of the world more than in others. Up here in the colder parts we are thought at an early age that we need to be someTHING. Why? If we are someTHING we might earn good money. And with money we can collect our new cars, fancy houses and all the material things that we ”need” to prove to others that we have become someTHING.
AND, we can easily answer the question that are mostly the first question we get from new people that we meet; ”so, what do you do for a living?”
Does the answer to that question give them any clue about who they are meeting?
shouldn’t we be asking; ”so, WHO are you?”
To answer this question we actually need to do a lot more thinking….How do I live My life? What have I learned from My life so far? What are My dreams and hopes for the future? What brings me joy, what brings me sadness?
So, by asking that question you need to be prepared to spend some time listening to the answer. You will have to slow down and stay in that very moment, at that very place. Present.
We don’t have time, do we?
Douglas Malloch wrote ”Be the best of whatever you are”
”If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley…but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree.
If you can’t be a bush, be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make;
If you can’t be a muskie, then just be a bass…
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can’t all be captains, we’ve got to be crew.
There’s something for all of us here,
There’s big work to do, and there’s lesser to do,
And the task you must do is near.
If you can’t be a highway, then just be a trail,
If you can’t be a sun, be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail…
Be the best of whatever you are!”
I’ll just do my best. Living. To be me.
In order to feel satisfied we need to be fulfilled. In order to be fulfilled we need to get what we need. In order to get what we need we need to request for what we need, both from ourselves and from others. In order to request for what we need we need to know what we need. In order to know what we need we need to know ourselves. In order to know ourselves we constantly need to stop and ask ourselves what we think or don’t think. To ask ourselves what we like and don’t like. What we feel and don’t feel. It’s hard work, hey?
In my search I even find it hard answering to what my favourite color is. Do you know yours for sure?
The Swedish musician Lars Winnerbäck is singing ”Hugger i sten” (Carving in Stone) A few lines from this song pretty much says it all….
I’m carving in stone
slowly I start to see an outline
some arms and legs
I’m working my inward so I can see a figure…..
”Poetry’s a rainbow bursting from our black and white world”
For as long as I can remember I’ve been in love with the written words. Writing diaries since the age of ten, with my head in the books, and not being able to listen to music without trying to catch the lyrics. In fact I’m having a hard time even listening to it if the lyrics sounds bad in my ears.
However. My diaries was not worth reading. In fact, in order to avoid indignity I found they made a nice and warm bonfire on a cold winter day. We do have a lot of those.
Time after time I’m thinking thoughts that I think will make sense on paper. Time after time I try to write them down. Only to realize that they never turn out the way they were supposed to. There is a huge gap between my head and my hand. Just accept it!
So, what does poetry mean to me? As being human I am not unfamiliar with the feeling of loneliness. Sometimes thinking I’m the only one with all these unplesent (AND plesent of course) things going on in my head and my mind. The feeling of being a stranger and a foreigner in this world. Without the right language to communicate and making my voice heard and understood. And even worse, sometimes not have a clue about what others are saying!
That’ s when the words of others comes to you,speaking directly to you. And you feel as if you could have, wished you had, written those words. You didn’t. But luckily for you somebody else wrote it.
And just then, for a short moment of time, you do realize that you are not alone. Someone else had those simular thoughts. Those simular feelings. And they managed to write them down so that you could find them, read them, maybe take comfort in them. In either way get some kind of pleasure from them.
You are never alone. You just have to allow yourself to find, and to enjoy moments of being in the right context, for you.
”Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking” -Antonio Machado