graphs of my Universe
Manusia mengembarai langit
Manusia menyusuri cakrawala
Tidak untuk menguasainya
Melainkan untuk menguji dirinya
Apakah dia bertahan menjadi manusia,
Tidak untuk hebat kuasa atau perkasa
Melainkan untuk setia sebagai manusia.
(Emha Ainun Nadjib)
—
Good morning, Surabaya. You did a lot of moulding to this human being. Thank you!!! 💝
A path to a place
Is walked through trees and uphills.
A meadow is waiting
Opening another path
To a warm home filled with love.
—
My friend sent me three photos of our beloved “simbah” (those senior people who are considered wise or those who have grandchildren) – Javanese). Most people call these simbah “batik maker” because they make batik to earn a living. We both call them “batik artist”. More than that through what we’ve seen and heard about them, we’ve considered they are artists of their life. How they embrace their humble life gracefully and consciously has always amazed both of us. They live like calm river flowing to the sea. They don’t struggle against what others think about or do to them. They live as if there is no hindrance and disturbance in life.
When my friend told me some things about those three honourable ladies, I secretly harvested some lessons. It is very critical reminder for me who is still very much attached to a feeling of (accidentally) underestimated and (slightly) humiliated because of one petty case. These three artists of life have silently told me to let go.
What a loud shot in a quiet weekend!
No apology is needed. All is gradually let go through my own wish and willingness. This is my life and I only want to be the artist of my own life. 💝
Thank you, artists of life. You’re blessed. 💝
Salaam.
Where is peace on earth?
In deep sea, blue sky, green land,
Kind heart and here now.
—
I love
You
Without throbbing heart
I love
You
Without nervous mind
I love
You
Without going date
I love
You
Without touching each other
I love
You
Without intense conversation
I love
You
With the breeze of mountains
I love
You
With the wave of oceans
I love
You
With the dew of mornings
I love
You
With the sound of music
I love
You
With the hue of flowers
I love
You
With the flow of dreams
I love
You
With all whose reason is unseen.
How rejoicing and exciting.
(The Lover’s love to the Beloved)
River flows. Wind blows.
Birds perch on a twig and chirp,
Enjoying good food.
—
Life is not really WYSIWYG, there are layers that can be peeled off like peeling off onions layered skins.
What is seen in a river? Its flow. What’s behind the flow?
What is felt in a wind? Its blow. What’s behind the flow?
What’s behind the singing birds? What’s behind good food?
Something looking like nothing yet there are powerful layers of realities that wrap another deeper level of reality. At the end of the peeled-off onion, what is it? The eyes see “none” that can be immediately ignored, the self sees “the essence” that can only be understood through accepting in silence.
What an experience as a human being! Maybe this is a euphoria of being alive, or being aware? This is a good time and I will always feel good no matter what. 💝
Thank you for everything. 💝
She be, Beloved,
The space not the furniture,
Lets all come and go.
—
If only maturity could be implanted like nose or breast or whatever, I would still choose to get mature naturally through ageing and weakening although it takes almost half of century of struggling and pain to find only its gate. Damn late!
One maturity breakthrough of my life was when realising I should be more a “space human being” (my teacher calls it “room human being”) rather than a “furniture human being”.
Salaam….
I dive
Every night
To where you are
And see no one
As
You are diving
To where I’ve left my throne.
When I’m back,
You’re back
To where you”ve left yours.
If we know the hours of each others’ departures,
We’ll meet at the crossroads
Where what’s left behind
Is forgiven, not forgotten
Tonight.
—
Behind what’s seen,
What are you, Beloved?
Root of a tree
Who grows in in the dark,
Breathes with the creepy crawly,
Sleeps in none of seasons.
Silently grateful for
What’s not understood.
Cartilage of a human body
Who is not hard enough to be bone,
Not soft enough to be muscle,
Comfortably sits in between,
Catches messages delivered
By whisper, breeze and wind.
Jasmine sambac of the garden
Who is humbly tiny, clustering;
Blooms the whole year,
Leaves much fragrance to the day,
Deep meaning to celebration
Before she dries brown.
Helium of the sun
Light, low, odourless, tasteless, insipid—
It’s peaceful to be low profile,
It’s more joyful and freer,
It’s easier to be me,
Closer to Gaia.
Yet no secret bandit among
The rascals in the block!
What?!
What what?!
Don’t ask. I can be anything
But
You.
—
Rainy weekend is good especially when just have to shortly reply “Ok!” to a message saying “Heavy rain. Impossible to bike. Rain check ya.”
💝
Little bird, dear love,
Telling her to soar then go home
To where her heart is—
—
Home. Is it a what, a who, a whom, a whose, a which, a when, a where or a how? She knows hers and it doesn’t always the same as others’. 💝
Nuance, Beloved,
Painting one heart in two hues;
Comparing two times—
—
Some songs like poem will stay in my heart and won’t die. One of them is Dewa’s Kangen.
Never getting bored of listening to it— Weekend is the best music box! 💝
Sky gate, Beloved
Once opened, cannot be closed.
Blessings shower down.
—
How would it feel to be showered with rain of blessings? Intuition is truly a blessing.
Dear, Sky. Thanks for the bright half moon last night which kept reminding me to not regret for telling genuinely with no anger about my intuition that might have offended someone.
Intuition is to be listened. Intuition is not always popping out; yet once popping out, it is always right. Yes, yes, this person is better in to be genuine than to look gorgeous. 🙂
Let’s go out to breathe the freedom and victory. Today still with Blue, let Red take a rest. 💝
Salaam.
after morning prayer
I don’t want to race.
Only safety that I wish
So I can meet you.
—
Cool breeze, Beloved,
Caresses her long black hair
Sending sweet message—
—
Your name, Beloved:
Air blanketing fragrant space,
Soil firming the stance—
—
Shakespeare said “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”
He isn’t wrong. Yet he isn’t always right.
I call a name when rain is sweetly pouring down, call another name when day is scorching too bright and hot….
Why is it easier to call your name than my own? Is your name so strongly rooted that only it I can remember when it rains? Is it your name or is it you that stays with me?
Oh you….
Oh your name….
Salaam.
The depth of silence is
As deep
As ocean of possibilities.
Shaken, the ocean will splash
Drops of gifts.
Time once revealed
When the gifts will appear.
It once said
There is a moment in time.
Space once revealed
Where the gifts will arrive.
It once said
There is a point in space.
Spacetime once revealed
Why the gifts will engender.
It once said
There are reasons in life:
Unfortunately wrapped
In colours and shapes,
Often times disguising things:
A crow into a dove,
A wolf into a sheep,
A dumpsite into a garden,
A villainess into a heroine,
An evil witch into a kind queen,
Bent into straight—
Misleading this traveler’s direction.
Once it was said
There is
One
That she will find
Somewhere some time only if
She minds.
Dear, Light.
Only
You can reveal
True colours
True shapes
True hearts
True reasons.
Be deeply silent
Even in the crowd
Where ocean of possibilities
Is shaken
In this spacious time.
Hey!
The gift is relatively fair, Beloved.
Be ready.
—
🌊
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
Yet dimensions have distanced us with invisible connection.
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
Only wish and pray I can send through speechless wireless across the elements.
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
Dream, dream, dream, dear love.
Life is but a dream.
I hope we visit each other
In each of our good dreams,
Before we wake up and together we stream.
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
It doesn’t matter and it doesn’t count
Even how I miss you most; like a tiny penny in a billionaire’s account:
Missed and forgotten through space and time.
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
It rains again which I love the most
As the longing for you gets swept away
By the water falling and gliding on the window: sweetly cold.
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
….
Yet this stubborn heart
Still sings in silence
Alone with clear sweet voice
Without doubt
That someday this feeling will fade away,
Leaving a good memory through time and space.
Listen, this is an ode
To a secret love:
Oh….
How
I
Miss
You
So
—
—
Morning, Beloved,
Summariser of senses
Foundation of days—
—
What morning can bring to a warm heart is always a bunch of sweet surprise.
Thank you!
Love makes heart full.
Love makes heart empty.
Love makes heart laugh.
Love makes heart cry.
Love makes heart closer.
Love makes heart distant.
Love makes heart trust.
Love makes heart distrust.
Love makes heart bloom.
Love makes heart wither.
Love makes heart healed.
Love makes heart broken.
Love makes heart warm.
Love makes heart cold.
Love makes heart enlightened.
Love makes heart blinded.
Love makes heart beautiful.
Love makes heart wicked.
Love makes heart bright.
Love makes heart weary.
Love makes heart sing.
Love makes heart scold.
Love makes heart write love poem.
Love makes heart compose hate speech.
Love makes heart recite ballads.
Love makes heart scream hoax.
Love makes heart look foolish.
Love makes heart look angry.
Love makes heart love more.
Love makes heart hate more.
Love makes heart swing like a pendulum between two ends.
You say love is
You say love is not
You ask what is love
Love makes space
To those willing
To feel,
To taste,
To experience
Millions of what’s-nots
To know
The what-is.
We decide
Which space
To be filled
With what.
This is about love—
An unlimited edition
But still
Difficult to grab.
—
Mr Sun’s hiding
Behind curtains of colours.
This brain cheats the eyes.
—
Ah! What is before these eyes isn’t always what is. It doesn’t matter; although it is not what is, it is still what is when it is clear what is not.
Bumpy road of saying no before finally saying yes is a long battle, a long journey to win the best throne of this heart. Know it and accept it.
Salaam. 💝
Though not a true ID,
Your name ships all senses to
An existence.
A name that I spell slowly,
A name representing silence and unattendance,
Almost ignorance.
Is
Your name
A password
To where a gap between real and unreal resides?
Is
Your name
A padlock
With which a visitor busily matches the key?
Is
Your name
Sugar leaf
With which a cup of tea gets sweetened with its dissolving?
Is
Your name
Coffee powder
Which settles at the bottom of a cup after its releasing caffein and acidity?
Is
Your name
A myth
That resembles history?
Tell me
The story of
Your name.
Your name
That
I slowly spell
Every time
A face flickers
Around this nerve system.
—
Indeed a name isn’t a true ID. The ID is more than just the given name.
Wishing, Beloved,
Upon a star where dreams sit
Waiting to be picked
One by one to the bucket
Before the steps reach the home—
—
Many dreams look so much near. Places to go on earth displayed in Pinterest lengthen the list and be a good escape for mind every weekend before dosing off. Can only wish that the lengthened list lengthens the life, pushing the EOL later and later— 🤗
Some dreams can’t even be described…. You are as near as far away…. 🙃
Happy weekend. Oops long weekend.
Mirror, Beloved.
Look back while looking forward!
Sigh. Blank. Mute. Smile. Shine.
—
Acceptance has gathered laughter, smile, speechlessness, emptiness, anger into a frame with a figure looking into a mirror at the same time seeing what is situated behind.
Beloved, the past is the past but it is what has molded a present person. It should be forgiven, it should not be forgotten.
Thank you, yesterday! Hello, today! Welcome, future!
lovely reservoir — under the clean night sky, with the bestest friend of mine, my own self 💝
Counting beads of pray,
An echoed name flows away
Through silence of heart.
—
Have you ever prayed so silently? No one can hear. Only beads of pray click. A remembrance of love that is unseen. Beyond the ocean and beyond existence—
Literature is a limited tool to disclose ideas and emotions; not accurate enough to shoot one heart. Math is sharp to operate a complex equation; not sweet enough though to state naked truth.
With what then should I count this reality between two lovers? Beauty or precision?
Only beads of pray is whispered silently. Who knows the river will sail this soft voice along its flow introducing it to the estuary that escorts it to the ocean where winds push the current following the North Star to meet with you.
Salaam.
Sincerely,
from a tiny heart wrapped in a peaceful morning
Bouquet, Beloved,
A bunch of symbols arranged
Through fragrance and hues.
—
Amaryllis: strength and determination
Daffodil: honesty, truth and forgiveness
Eucalyptus: division of the underworld, earth and heaven (Aboriginal wisdom); inner and outer strength, leadership
Gladiolus: faithfulness and integrity
Lily of the valley: sincerity and joy
Sunflower: loyalty and unconditional love
Tendril: growth, softness, flexibility (Javanese wisdom)
Deep dive, Beloved,
To where soft bodies guard light
Wisdom of the dark
—
Nowhere is better than within, where price tag is no longer a concern, where silence and acceptance is currency, where no one looks evil or harmless, where only gratitude and peace reside, where no colour distracts, where pain and joy are blended to ecstatic reality….
….where I finally get sleepy 😁
Salaam.
Reading, Beloved
Deciphering messages
Sent by soul that shines—
—
Sending my warm regards to all readers in the world. Hope we’re all blessed with wisdom and fun from reading and what is read.
Salaam…. 🙏🏼
Kinokuniya SG – calm Saturday afternoon after Japanese class with Honda Sensei
Welcome, Beloved,
To where you belong. The home
That keeps missing you.
—
They are welcoming me home with love ♥️
Love is
Unseen rope
Invisibly tying
Sparkling souls.
Love is
Interconnected network
Constantly connecting
All computers.
Love is
Moving air
Secretly exchanged
Through breathing.
Love is
An attached context
Building meaning
In a statement.
Love is
A medium
Conveying messages
To a ready recipient.
And what is not
Is not.
—
Years of experience has brought me to an understanding that subtle sensitivity is one of the keys to understanding, genuineness, boundary and security.
Welcome to genuine hearts. Good bye to tricky engagements.
Today I’m in love again with those around me who never give up on my clumsiness and insensitivity and with myself who becomes more patient and acceptant.
Salaam. 💝
Love at the first sight
To what’s captured by senses
And stays in the heart—
—
One beloved person called me asking why I didn’t attend a nephew’s wedding party yesterday. I said I couldn’t as I’ve been physically “beaten up” because of an accident recently. After what happened, sorry and better be careful, don’t go biking at night, wear the right shoes; she started ranting….
“What are you looking for in life? Look at your nephews and nieces getting married one by one. They wish their best wishes for you but you don’t seem to care. You’d better find one man and get married and they will attend your wedding party with all love and gifts.”
“Not my priority”, I said.
“What is your priority? Your work? Your dream? What?”
It is sometimes annoying to be a single woman in a society in which marriage is highly appreciated and considered as highway to happiness. I feel so lucky for living overseas away from those caring so much about me so I can enjoy my life the way I love to. Many of my single girl friends call me now and then telling me how tiring it is to answer the same questions again and again even when they don’t seem to have problems for not getting married. We are mentally and financially stable. 😁
“Ok, tell me I’ll find one. I know you won’t want one like your last. Tell me.”
“Sexually straight and not abusive in any way possible.”
“That’s easy! It is just you so difficult! Sometimes you just have to give up your priority or your love. I got married without love and it goes well. Many of us do and it goes well. Know that we worry about you.”
Alamak….
Weekend still goes well. And I’m happily looking forward to another week.
Life is a mystery, and so is love. I love my life and I don’t worry. 🥰
the right place possible – Jun. 19, 2022/17:12
Coffee, Beloved,
Brings back the fragrance of breeze
From the green high land.
—-
I drink coffee but am not a big fan of it. Fragrance of raw coffee beans, coffee cherries, coffee leaves, coffee flowers, coffee trees are much more lovable to these nostrils. Last 2019 visit to my uncle and aunt’s home in Menoreh Hill has always been a fresh fragrant memory; it is because the coffee fragrance would welcome us in the morning when wind blowing down the hill through the window sills.
Along the path up the hill going to our grandparents’ graveyards these hands would playfully pull some coffee leaves or coffee cherries, squeeze them and breathe the aroma in. My cousins and nieces would do the same. We would throw them to the dogs jumping around as playful as the owners.
Miss that green high land, where my ancestors started their humble legends—
Wind, fly me. 🛫
Salaam.
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