Bright day, Beloved, Brought by bright colours or thoughts About tomorrow—
Stuck is just stuck! What colours she should put on the day, only Heaven knows. It doesn’t get better, it just gets full and dirty. Maybe tonight Hermes will come to her dreams, bringing a message about what colours she should splash and stroke on the canvas to become a decent outcome….
…. Or Mercury will communicate about what and what on where, when and how. What about who and whom? Ahhhh! Ignore those gossiping and discouraging.
It’s silence Filling the air, Expanding time that kills With infinity and mystery.
This strand has threaded millions of pearls of breathing taken one by one. This is also a ribbon that goes miles and miles scripted with memories loaded with emotions.
There is one last pearl and there is a period. Only time knows at which point—
Only flowers can fill the gap while waiting. They are food and garnish at the same time, Bride and groom, Prayer and curse, Bright and pale, Symbolised and clarity, Birth and death, Duality in one bouquet.
This lounge feels alive With the flower arrangement sitting at the corner, Silently Accompanying everyone Waiting to depart.
Life is forever, crossing one bridge to another. Alfatihah.
Up and down the hills The feet walk, the heart stands still. Journey of the nights—
Nights and days are the consequences of sun and moon fixed courses. Or is it the other way around: sun and moon fixed courses are existing due to the need of nights and days in this particular planet.
Many say day is for activities, night is for resting. I don’t deny but I have my own interpretation of activities and resting. Activity is when all my concentration is for transactional economy, resting is when my concentration is for relaxation and personal. Rest day? Of course all my rest days will become nights. 💞
Time travels with you To where good memories sit, Waiting to rejoice.
When I was a girl, I got sick very often. Yet what I remember the most isn’t the pain but is how my family would take care of me. Of course they medically treated me either at home or hospitalised, but there was a unique way I can never forget what my mother, father and siblings did extra.
My father would chant Javanese mantra that would calm me down. My mother would wrap me with a sheet of batik cloth before putting the next thicker blanket. And of course siblings especially sisters would sleep with me the whole night.
What Javanese mantra chanted by father? Oh can’t remember! What batik, I definitely remember it and now own it for the same need; covering myself with batik gringsing when sick.
Gringsing is one of the oldest batik background patterns in Java. It is thousands of tiny square with a dot in the center symbolising “sedulur papat kalima pancer” (literally means 4 siblings and 1 core as the fifth) the cosmic balance of human reality in Javanese wisdom. And through the philosophy it is believed that when a Javanese human is sick, s/he is cosmically imbalanced and needs to be balanced. Physically s/he is medically treated, metaphysically s/he is cured with gringsing the balance symbol.
Gringsing is an acronym of gring or gering (sick, not well, ill) and sing (not); gringsing means not sick anymore. Oh! That simple! Made by hand! Oh! Not that simple!
A flower blooms, dries to fall off or falls to dry at time in place for a given moment. It lives then dies. It blossoms or prematurely drops.
Some flowers are admired, some are not even noticed. Some are vibrantly coloured, some are dead dull. Some are meticulous, some are straightly simple. Some produce edible fruits, some the poisonous.
It’s about flower, the beauty in itself, although most view points perceive the look differently. Absolute beauty sits where it is, lingering forever as values and concepts. Relative beauty fades away through aging, some even without being remembered as memory or history.
It’s about flower, the one in a palace and that in a lawn.
Does it suffocate Or release? Up to the sky Or stuck in the black? Meet the wind. Fly to the far. Let the chimney nobly stand.
Chimney is a symbol of industrial era like church for religiosity, tower for secularity and all kinds of stars of spirituality.
Yet I found different interpretation of mine on chimney through Japanese books reading (very very elementary, all hiragana and katakana, I can only remember 15 kanji so far, hell yeah!). Chimney can be a symbol of fairy tales, dreams, ideas and creativity emerging from the dark, beautiful stories. What else? Ya, just use imagination to find what clicks in mind until the word “chimney” meets its lighter connotation against the one in paragraph 1.
Reading the books, I can’t deny some people really get blessed with extraordinary imaginary world and ability to materialise what’s in it by intertwining the intangible blessings with the tangible ones. Like the writer whose books I’ve read.
God bless you, Akihiro Nishino (should be with ~san). Thanks for the books you’ve written.
Read. Read. Read.
Read the letters. Read the lessons. Read between the lines.
A wreath, Beloved, A circle packed with beauty, Arranged true colours—
When you’re bored, splash some paints! When you’re angry, splash some paints! When you feel happy, splash some paints! When you feel funny, splash some paints! When you get offended, splash some paints!
As honest as you to you when you’re alone, your colours speak the truth.
Garden, Beloved, Fertilized with poisons? Dead! Cinder rose goes off.
A group call with my brother and sister in law is mostly either stupid or crazy. Once we talked about the old time passing and our addiction.
How someone gets addicted to something is mostly started from a physical or mental exit of pain— either clinically prescribed or personally decided— followed by excessive dependency on the substances or the activities.
I’ve seen how people addicted to medicine (I was to pain killer), drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, etc have changed from beautiful human beings into ugly persons either physically or mentally. It’s how awful co-dependency shapes someone’s life. Moreover, there is no addiction in any history that brings true happiness or freedom.
Three of us then discussed about someone who was addicted to something unusual: spiritual drills. Having all resources, the person went shopping on various classes and workshops about spirituality and self help such as meditation, mindfulness, tapping therapy, money magnet and how to optimise it spiritually, how to activate chakra, yoga and blahblahblah, gemstones and their spiritual power, mandala and spiritual awakening, how spiritual life pull financial abundance, spiritual traveling around many places, etc. One had been in one’s 60th class last time we met. One would be able to answer all questions in any possible ways. I called one ‘Mr/Ms Know All’, a euphemistic nick name that might be loved by those addicted to power and authority. Some friends called this person “Mr/Ms Spiritual Junky”.
What I remember about this person is that no one around was genuinely appreciated, everyone was just a “who-are-you-you-think-you’re-better-than-me”. One called most of one’s friends “cantrik”, a Javanese word that literally means follower/helper and would never be up to one’s level (one called one’s self healer and universe map reader).
How ironic! From someone who were full of compassion to someone who were full of envy and insecurity—
I think many if not all people to some extent were once addict who learned the lessons and changed the patterns to be free from co-dependency. My brother was a heavy smoker, been stopping for around 3 years. My sister in law was a Korean drama freak and quit. I myself was addicted to those I fell for and heavily overthinking.
“I almost got addicted to someone again.”
“Let go! Let go! Let go!” said they to me like cheerleaders.
Definitely! It’s a waste to wait for emotionally unavailable people to care that I care about them. I’m ok to get soaked in love and compassion but not in addiction to people. 💝
Addiction, oh addiction.
Alfatihah to all of those who are addicted to anything in any situation. Be healed and blessed.
Colours will fade away At the front gate of A new season, Leaving beautiful memories To the garden.
No regret, Beloved If all are infused with love. No right, No wrong. Only lessons, And wisdom Imprinted—
Cycle is short; Life is forever. Each of the pearls in a strand is perfect when it’s loose. And so is a cycle in your life—
If I owe you one cycle, Beloved, I’ll come back With a bunch of fruits Ready to harvest. Ready to taste By your own senses—
See you again, Beloved. Choose what seed you want me to grow.
Flowers losing petals is a natural phase before plants are harvested for the fruits, the bulbs or other parts. Or, the flowers are the ones harvested to experience falling petals before they dry out naturally. It’s an end of one cycle at the same time a start of another.
Lily bulbs come back Among red leaves in autumn. Second chance from Her—
What is second chance? Once again? Or again and again like lily bulbs that come back every autumn and bloom beautifully until forever ends?
Mother Nature has taught me that mistake doesn’t come with punishment; it comes with lesson to be a better human being, someone who has purer intention and clearer attention. She consistently brings messages about acceptance that no one will be perfect as imperfection is an included package to realise and/or materialise perfection. That welcoming the next good day is doing the best today. That if the next now called tomorrow is here, the second chance has welcome me to be a better me. A me that’s more me than before—
I remember my Kyoto trip in 2014, my first encounter with spider lily. Fascinated, I sat down on the grass for quite long time in front of a temple with my camera until a beautiful Japanese (old) lady stopped by me.
“Hana! Hana! Hana!” She said smiling, with her thumbs pointed to the lily then to my camera.
“Ya! Ya! Ya! Thank you! Beautiful flowers!”
It was a surprise for me. A moment with no preparation. A short act with no anticipation. She just went away with her wise old smile.
That lady was probably sent to me as a second chance to re-define what possibly a Japanese truly looks like as the previous week I didn’t have a good experience with another one in Nagano.
I won’t probably meet with her again, yet enough for me to know that when I’m that age, I’d like to be as friendly and warm as her. 💝
Thank you for everything that comes with second chance, even second chance after my second chance so that in the second second chance I realise that it is my second chance not to be missed.
Al-Fatihah for all those who miss the second chance and those who are waiting for a second chance.
They gild the lily, Making them salt to the sea. Ocean in a drop—
When I was very young, I could desperately envy those who were physically beautiful, intelligently wise and, spiritually mature at the same time. How could people be blessed with such full readiness to face the complex life and completeness to address its various issues? I’m sure I wasn’t alone; many human beings were on the same boat with me.
Yet getting older has helped me not want anything but more consistently feeling comfortable to be my own self and realising that those perfect people only looked perfect because they were perceived through imperfect eyes (my young ones 😉).
Proofs and revelation then taught me acceptance to live with limitation, imperfection and physical flaws. In many ways I’ve seen blessings in me more than the perfect.
Being ordinary has saved me from getting high demands to be a gorgeous woman who should move gracefully in front of the crowd, a pious person who should perform religion disciplinedly or a wise friend who should give good advices when needed anytime. I’m blessed!
Being ordinary has driven me to live with only two goals: to enjoy being my own self and to do what’s best in life to be as much beneficial in my short life. With not much to choose, life is forced to be the integration between persistence and dedication, a commitment of body, mind and soul.
Fortunately being flawed is like an ocean. Ocean is full of beauty especially the deeper the diver is willing to explore; like Captain Nemo who found beauty in the depth of the sea that wasn’t witnessed by those who never traveled in Nautilus. However, thousands of cubics of any possible wastes are also dumped to the vast water: plastics, oil, waste water, many kinds of garbage and probably millions of memories drawn by broken hearts. A perfect beauty full with paradox!
Rumi reminds through one of his verses “You are not a drop in the ocean; you are the entire ocean in a drop”. A perfection in imperfection—
Truly an existence is perfect when with natural flaws and complete acceptance.
Nothing is more blessed than accepting one’s own self and taking care of one along the journey.
Summary of today’s conversation with my best friend 🐣
Plants greet gardeners, Life shows generosity. Optimism springs.
Sometimes what she needs is optimising the sight in enjoying spectrums of light reflected through colours around her and rests. Then only a meadow of no feeling…. All can be called whatever it is, she prefers calling it beauty.
She realises rain has brought a lot of happiness to the orchids. It probably contains fertiliser triggering blooms and blossoms. Strong roots, healthy leaves, appearing flower stems, keiki. Thank you.
Nature greets those who’d like to take care of others who also want to survive, even the least of care is repaid.