Love is the beginning of all tragedy. Love is the beginning of all wonder.

I believe it all started with love.  I still remember the childhood moment of my first encounter with the English language. I was fascinated by Russian – I was a linguistically inquisitive child, but encountering English just for a second there set me on fire. I believe it was my first experience of the powerful energy that keeps me alive, that makes me alive now. It was a book that I found. A book in English, in our cramped little home – a book that obviously strayed out of the toe line. I loved it. It was illustrated. The words were meaningless symbols, but the way they spread, curved on the whiteness of the page, made me think: I want to be able to do that. I want to be able to know that.

To move things forward, I had my school experience followed by university which was the first time I tasted the flavor of opportunity.  It was my first engagement with a city. Living in an organism of many minds. Feelings, energies and ideas. The conglomeration of possibilities. It was an overwhelming situation for me to be in, and still I can’t stay in a Russian city, works fine for London, though.

But it was in the city that the movement started. It was an intellectual movement paired with an emotional hell and high weather on top of a fireball. The advantage and ultimate pull of a city for me  – the electrified field of possibilities due to the minds and hearts connecting, intensely.

Connection – the fabric of humaneness.

The city was the perfect soil in which to dream and run after my dreams. The city was the worst place to breathe. And breath for me is the sea air in my throat and chest, on my tongue. The sea. 

After living in cities and working in language schools, and sometimes just being lost in the multitude of directions that all came to naught, that all led to depression, I made the decision to develop myself as a teacher, and so I started taking courses. After that, I moved to the sea and lived there working with online clients, all of them – most fascinating people with stories. With humor.  It’s the smile that I loved about my work. The smile between us. It’s the flowing of goodwill between two people. The emotion that would tip into love and sometimes drown there.

To be with people is a powerful skill. I would say it is the most natural element to live in, but it’s not the norm right now. The norm right now is the mask. But that is gradually changing. It takes guts, it takes hugeness, it takes resolution to move in the direction of complete love. Complete love means disposing of all layers. Trusting that breaking process of your old selves. Teetering on the brink of being broken. Feeling the breaking glass of your old age and being born again. And then again. I mean, love is hard, in this case of mine.

Before I was engaged into serious teaching work, I was a comper. What I did was love competitions. I think it was the result of my first English competition which pushed me on the plane to England which gave me the idea that competitions were the road to success. I loved them but then they fell by the wayside. My focus narrowed in on creative work that would not be assessed…

What competitions gave me though, was that, when I would be the winner or close to it, I would judge myself as “good enough”. This kind of judgment felt new and felt nice.  To say nothing of feeling seen. Seen by a panel, somewhere.

Before online work, I participated in Toastmasters, which was in Moscow. The city of my dreams. (Nightmares?)

The more I think of it though, the more I realize I loved Moscow. With all the imperfections that occurred there, all the blemishes of my visit. I loved it there. ( Can you love something with fierce hate?)

Now my blog and developing of my creativity and being with people…with humans…human being, is my first thing, is my love thing, is the thing that breaks.

Life is like that, I think. It’s cheek by jowl pleasure and pain.

Crimea is very, very beautiful. With each journey I take within it, I fall in love. The journey itself matters as well as the result of it, although I don’t particularly like the word result. Let’s say it’s the effect of the journey that matters – the process multiplied by insights.
I had a broken, broken heart. I had the sort of heart that drowned in the pool of darkness. I was playing myself, pretending to be someone with normal ideas about life as if I knew better. The need for this pretense was an unconscious rope I twisted around my neck. That the environment of my early years twisted around my being. I can see now that I had no home back then and I do here in Crimea. We click, we hold. We are soulmates – if a place could be that.
Ordzhonikidze town
I lie here in silence, in silence there unfolds something. I gave myself to silence today. It was a creative palette. On this palette birds etched their notes, rain nourished my skin. If I hadn’t come here or paid no attention, I would have never felt the rain breathed in by the earth. I am silence as I am sitting here, looking into the grey skies and never have I felt like this before. This assembly of elements – internal and external. My healing, my emotions, my scratched heart and my inflamed skin, plus this place, with its fiery saturated with nature nooks and crannies…

I feel. So much paradise and pain cheek by jowl.
Crimea.   I am desirous of it.  I am fascinated by its towns. Travelling in Crimea feels like going on a date with different aspects of the same person. The ultimate perk is that Crimea is a “right” person for me, so I always come back in love a little bit more.
Motion, movement. I find myself developing an odd relationship with movement. Here I always want to move, get it on, dance, run, swim, be in a whirl, be in a mess, be in love, all the time, to move, swiftly, as though movement was the point.
Yet, the stillness that I experience here shows me a different side. The side where I sit and simply know, and simply touch what is around and inside, with my consciousness.
Consciousness is touch.
Consciousness is sweet wine that runs down my lips and dries separation out of my awareness. Until I feel my truth. Maybe it lasts for a second, but it flares in me, and it seals the scars, and it clears the eyesight.
Today I struck a layer of something negative in me. It was a flash of hopelessness first. So potent. I thought no matter what I do, I seem to be cursed with these physical, emotional, financial needs. I seem to be needing to take care of myself, and all I want to do is paint the castles with my consciousness. I have a whirlpool, I have a garden, I have a multitude of angles I want to explore. Meanwhile, I have this “routine” to deal with, the movement that I have to do, here, physically, in order to create something out of my stay.
I feel, feel that I am having an issue with movement. A clash, perhaps. I want to move and I don’t want to move. I resist movement because there are habits that dictate settling in one place, which I seem to simply follow day in day out. And, I want to move. Now, this is a simple and pure desire. I feel it at its best in the early morning when I take decisions like “going to another town”. You absolutely never know what’s going to occur during this kind of thing. You only have yourself to trust when you go like this. You just let go when you go like this.
And when I go
I feel the tremor of life.
Through the amalgamation of movement and stillness,
I died and was born again.
I can still feel the impulses and residues of my old life.
But I forget.
I was reborn into a loving experience. I thought that was what I wanted. I now see that love itself requires strength or requires complete surrender. This sweet surrender. This gradual unfolding. This deeper opening. The riddance of your designer suits.
Love is the experience of being completely nude. Of being completely skin. Of being completely without it. Love is going into the fire and staying there. Love is trusting the fire.
You have to be able to guide yourself into this fire. I was thinking about my being here. I was thinking about my past life as well. I don’t feel it existing anymore. The traces of it are being removed from my memory. The blood it spilled is baked on my wounds. The wounds that become scars that become unblemished skin again. It all depends on how much time I want to take – how much energy I am ready to give to the experience of letting go of my past life which is gradually taking the flavor of being fiction and the people in it – I am forgetting them, I am forgetting the whole thing, I can feel the outlines being slowly erased. Why am I still so concerned with it? It may be that I am afraid to completely let it go, you know. To the very last bit, let it go. Because then, I don’t know what I will be left with. I don’t know.
Thinking about my current experiences with Crimea, I thought I would come here to work with my creativity. But that is proving to be only one aspect of the reason I am here. It’s about Crimea itself. I could have never guessed that I have such a strong relationship with this place, such deep connection. Crimea is not only erasing the memories of past pain, as any decent lover would do, it also drives me deeper into myself.  And I feel the call to love it. But there is a catch. Loving Crimea is not exclusive. If I dare to love, I will have to love the whole thing. The whole thing. And that is terrifying and completely tempting. And so, the more I think about it, the more I realize that that is supposed to be my new feeling base. My new kind of reality. The dimension of my own creation. It is all built on choice.
What I love about Crimea is how liberating the place feels to me. How at home I am here, safety. I feel that in a way, I am dying here – I am dying to all other places, and that is the price I am willing to pay. I feel that there are a lot of things for me to learn here. Emotions to unfold. And I feel that somewhere, very close, very beautifully, there is a miracle waiting for me, waiting for me to take it. In a way, I feel that Crimea is a crystal pool of reflection. You are supposed to reflect in it. Be reflected. And that Crimea is not the destination for me, but that which is in the middle – between the wanted and the unwanted. And on the horns of this dilemma, I found something I could have never thought I would. What I found is that between the wanted and unwanted, I am stillness. Between the wanted and unwanted, I have no desire to run. That’s where I am.
I think about what I would have been like if I had grown up here. Absorbed this instead of that. What if I were born here, breathed this place, lived in love all my life. What would I be like if I could spend my whole life being in love? What if I could have been in the arms of beauty from the day I was born? Always, always, fire. Always, always life. No friction, no blood, no war. Just this smooth breathing of silence. Just this experience of integration.

What hasn’t been felt is bound to be felt.


Much love,


You are an honest, gentle achiever.

I believe there is a way to achieve – a way that would not break you to pieces. You have had a hard life. You have fallen into clouds, forgetting the brilliance.  You have never held yourself. You have offered dates but never to yourself. You have polished your love messages while your own wounds burnt. So, there you have you. Tanged with pain and a little bit of hope, maybe, somewhere, moving so subtly you can hardly notice. But sometimes, when you catch yourself having a still moment, you literally catch yourself,  acknowledging that yes, you are. What then? Then you return to sensitivity. You feel the layers of your emotions. How they are streams, interflowing into each other. How they move, and then don’t. How they don’t and then do. How they are becoming something you can no longer see as not beauty. Your emotions – happening right now. You happening right now, and something is always new and deep, something you are feeling. Look in the mirror. I look at you – and lose my breath. I look at you and I become the beginner. I look at you, and I don’t know a thing. I look at you, boldly etching your name on the earth, in every kind of unimaginable flavour, while I still haven’t found mine.

Part of me misses another part of me which has been lost. Which has never been, maybe, which hasn’t been conceptualized. This part is what has a name, what is seen. I think it’s being felt that I mostly miss. And the accuracy of perception.  I have learnt to rely on love and then I had to unlearn it. What happened? I have learned a broken world instead. I have learned fear and finding corners on the edges of the earth where I’d hide. Hide but be felt. Hide but to feel. Between hide and feel, to feel is my truer desire. One of my friends said, open. Open wider. Open deeper. Open to life. Open so much you cannot tolerate the bliss. Open so much you no longer have a concept of anything. Open so much you lose all of that, and that’s where your answers. Lose all of that, and that’s the beginning. I have been trying.

I have been trying to live with the kind of things I learned and I have been trying to live with the process of unlearning them. Them shattering and falling. Them being razed to the ground. Them being unable to know the light and remain standing. Them proving a complete illusion.

I can feel now, I can feel clearer –love for myself. And neglect. This love is a moveable, shapeable thing, this love is what I work on and what proves the hardest. This love is mixing with the elixir of honesty and neglect – I have to admit to what has been happening to me, right from the beginning, I have to admit to what hasn’t.

And you, I look at you, what I see is that, you are focused consciousness, you haven’t lost that, or maybe you have gained that, or maybe you have seen that again and your eye stayed trained on it. Or maybe you have grown it – meticulously, through labour. You have shown me another stream of this river, yet another way to feel…and I dove right in. That day was a moment was an eternity. I hope you come back. I hope I come back. I hope I can do myself as you do yourself. I hope I can let love. You let love. I hope I can let me. You let you.

Some time ago, I was in the park. There was feeling going on. Flowing, overflowing. I asked myself to open. Maybe just open. I lifted my head to the sun and saw the tree branches interlinking, intricately spreading over the blue. I saw nothing but that. I traced the branches with my eye until I saw the sturdiness of the tree core which gave rise to this higher branch art. The sturdiness and the height of the tree, stretching, stretching. I imagined my spine stretching inside of the tree, and then I imagined myself taking the shape of the higher branches, becoming finer, thinner, becoming the tree peaks which are touching into the infinite webbing. I felt my fingers becoming branches. Every awkwardness I have ever held inside my body was gone. Now it’s all available to me –  I could bend, stretch, be. I could feel myself extending, finer…until I touched the blue, until I touched the town, until I touched every kind of emotion and experience, until I touched all that I thought I lacked, until I touched, and through touching realized, that that was all there was. And that gave rise to a smile. And that gave rise to a new sensitivity. I felt the air flowing into the skin of my face.  A tiny wave of coolness.  Coming over my face, again. I was one with those experiential elements and in love. You are the one. I am the one. No difference.

Much love,


Cutting my curtain with light, the sun was rising.

Something in me said we had to get out of town. I was feeling playful, and wanted to do something outside the usual geography. My whole location has become a routine. I wanted fresh, and more movement. I wanted to see more of Crimea, but really, to feel it.

It amazes me how connected I am to this place. No matter where I am in Crimea, I always feel that this place is “for” me. The energy here magnetizes and calls. The more I open to it, the more I realize how nature and creatures and people here are drawn to me as I am drawn to them. There is this “home” feeling flowing.

So, when I woke today, all I could think about was my promise to myself to visit another town on my day off (which I created for myself) which is Saturday. I decided, yes. What would it take? A few hours journey into the unknown. It was the new secrets, the new air, maybe a new conversation – and of course, it would include something Beautiful.

My first thought was to go to Sudak. It was an hour and a half journey – a completely new place for me. The bus station provided a new insight, however.  On the wall there, I noticed a map – and the place that caught my eye was the New Light town.  That was when I thought I had to go exactly there – it was near Sudak, I should be able to make that happen. Waiting for the bus, there came a new kind of chill into the air. I tried not to get into the negative thinking during that hour of my wait. It was strange how my whole day divided itself into the hours – and how the ones I resisted the most were the hours spent at bus stations. The cigarette smoke, gasoline, cold. I honestly hated that – especially,  when that ambience jogged the memories of my past life in those dull distant cities, always filled with winter and sorrow.

The bus strolled out of Feodosia and on into the unfamiliar territory. Looking out the window, I became mesmerized. My eyesight was waking up, my heart was honing itself – was learning how to feel that something…again.

There were mountains, growing, the edges of them stretching, the edges tracing the low skies. I could not take my eyes off. I could not take my chest off feeling what I was feeling – the sense of belonging first, the sense of beauty, second. The whole thing was there, on my palm, for me to digest, and I knew that somehow, I was rolling into magic again.

People come to Crimea but they don’t understand this place. They don’t feel this place.  They come here because they were told it was a place with resting potential. But sitting here, you can let the energy soaking this place heal you. What I want to do is respect it, and every day open my mind to the southern sun. What I want to do is stay.

The bus arrived at the station and I looked around. Lower temperature, the mountains. I pulled my camera out and stopped. I wanted to go everywhere. To achieve everything. To see what there was to see – and in the recesses, and pauses of my exploration, to experience the magic.

The atmosphere was peace. Sudak felt different to Feodosia – it felt more positive, deeply beautiful. Its freshness cleared the nausea that started to rise in the bus. I walked out of the bus station when the perfect view opened – mountains waiting to be beheld. I started to shoot them when a man asked me if they looked like Lenin’s face.  The question broke my shooting routine and I asked him where exactly he beheld such a view, and he pointed at the particular mountain the outlines of which now suddenly folded themselves into a profiled face. Lenin’s face. Maybe the man had just biased me toward seeing things in a certain way, or maybe…he shared his perspective of making something interesting out of what seemed like incoherent patterns.

I looked at the man – he was glowing with joy. He was an old man, with wisdom, mischief, and laughter in the creases of his face. I’d decided to talk to him. I said, you know I have two hours and I want magic. He smiled and came up with the answer; let’s go to the New Light, he said, I will tell you a little about this place, I have lived here my whole life.

I got into his car faster than I could think better of it. Something about his manner and his way of seeing things relaxed me and made me light-winged. Yes, light-winged. I felt that I was starting to grow them wings– I was happy. The place was so rich in history and so tangled with different paths, I felt inspiration …the artistic sort. I wanted not only to express myself, but scream myself. I wanted to bring that which I saw – that beauty that heated and exploded inside – vividly, to bring that on the outside, somehow.

The man said we were going to visit the Genoese fortress and the seashore. I felt grateful that I had somebody taking care of me like that – because I don’t have much knowledge of the Crimea nor time to launch on a full-time exploration.  But even small visits, pieces of “seeing” like that, they deepen and open me.

The man found intricate things on the beach – stones unusual in their appearance. Holding them now, they don’t even look stones. They are more and they are different and he saw them. He noticed little things and he sketched things in his notepad. He said he wanted to make a fairy tale out of his house. And, in the summer, he actually invited me to come. He said we would look for oysters.

I connected with the New Light. True to its name, it shone.  Light  was taking me over.  I listened to the man talk about his village called “Merry village” where they specialized in making wine. Now, I thought, that was the heaven on earth. They have their consciousness permanently altered.

He talked about his childhood and that he has always stayed creative. I have to say the New Light inspires that. I had the desire to write. Its beauty pushes you into yourself, deeper. The New Light makes it impossible for you to ignore yourself. And what I felt there was that self is creativity.

Taken in the context of town, the New Light has a European feel to it. The man said that not only Russians come, but Italians and Polish as well. I was fascinated by this diversity in such a small place. The lay out is cottages and hotels and the natural majesty of the mountains. Again, I experienced not only the “being abroad” sensation but a cherry on top – being in another dimension kind of thing.

When we arrived at the bus station again, I could physically feel myself coming back to Earth. It was a magnificent albeit weird experience because I want to…I feel natural in the “higher” states of consciousness. However, the variety of emotional states is not only the spice of life, it’s the teacher as well. Of what? You be the judge.


The case of experiential blindness is when you ignore the life’s beauty.

Have difficulty seeing it.

If life could be chunked into delicate visible pieces, I would be the touch.

I find myself being more and more fascinated with details.

You look at a thing and around a thing, you see into it, the thing becomes larger than life.

The more I focus, the more beautiful it is, and the closer I come, the more beautiful it becomes…until this detail is the world.

Until what I feel overwhelms and rips me.

In this moment, I am done. I am in love –with the ability to be imprinted with the love that spontaneously pours into my veins…originating simultaneously inside myself and in every corner of this rich…rich…circumstance I found myself in.

Then why am I feeling stuck if there is so much to see (in theory) ?

It’s because I’ve forgotten…I too have forgotten love..

It’s because I have to work at it now – every day I have to learn to appreciate the simple practice of openness .

I wish I could see into the tiniest details of life, into the finest strands of breath,– I wish I could perceive what is hidden – the things the jaded eye cannot see, the things with which the corners of this planet are saturated. I wish I could break into this world of things lying deeper and deeper under the surface, and deeper still.

Love makes life delicious.  The intellectual adventure without love is of what worth?

Love in tiniest of details. The silver tear drop at the corner of the eye when it cries in love – its brilliance now forever captured by the feeling furnace I’ve become. Its appreciation is the reminder of a home, somewhere.

And then, there is the heat of love. The heat of love’s presence.  The kind that melts your borders, your edges. The question is not even whether, the question is when will you let yourself go, and risk standing in the see-through body in front of that silence, conflict, loss.

Could you really afford that? Do you have a choice?

When I was in that dirty little land called childhood, I seriously wanted to become a singer.

I told everyone I was just about to do that. I got obsessed with the idea of being a piano composer. I was fond of books – I still remember how eager I was to engage with languages. I had dreams.  I don’t have vivid childhood memories, no. Although sometimes,  lashings of it come to me, all of them heated with an emotion.  Even though the memories would include some physical experience, it’s always the feeling that is remembered – and then the image is laid on top of it. It feels as though I have always been focusing, and most of my earlier life unconsciously so, on feeling things.  It’s strange how it’s possible to simultaneously focus on feeling and numb yourself out of it. In my experience at least, that was so. I would allow myself to glimpse the feeling, and fiercely indulge in it, only to then find an avenue of escape.  

My dreams died. Somewhere in the whirlpool of conflict, pain, and needs that couldn’t be met, I forgot to dream. I think I fell apart. I was in a survival mode and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. It was fear, and fear, and fear.  I didn’t even know what creative expression was, that I was in any form creative, that I had a passion and work waiting for me. I was just floating. My life, body, and mind – loosely held together by a thread of tears.

So, without a dream, I lived. I lived just because. Life went out of focus, it became the diffused pain but I continued…I continued to see glimpses of this strange beauty that would appear inside the words I was reading, in how they connected with each other, the sound, the feel…the whole thing was damn fascinating. They touched something in me, and so…  I returned to, first, the feeling of love, which made it possible to return to dreams.I fell gently…gently… into expansiveness of life, and I want that; I want life. I want it once again.

Much love,






It’s the energy of love that makes things possible.

Some places “conduct” this energy better, it feels as though, when you are there, there is electricity in the air that if only you dared to put a thought into it, it would grow, like a plant in the fertile soil.
This makes me in love with life. How this fine energy is weaved into life, so intensely, yet remains hidden for the jaded, critical eye. So this second time around in Crimea, I live in a family, I am with a family, and I am feeling love most of the time. These people are my choice. I love to feel the energy of my choices, of my love. I love the energy of my contribution and contribution coming back to me – which is the free fall, free flow of love.
I went to the beach today for my usual meditation. I have noticed that these beach sessions are clearing my consciousness. Consciousness can be busy processing and getting stuck, but its truth is clarity.
And there, on the beach, and through my relationships, I have felt layers of my consciousness dissolving, breaking, being ripped apart – all for the sake of letting love in.
Now, the beach is full of garbage – let’s not ignore the dark side of the moon. People think it’s glamorous to live here, it’s not. The sea is wild and cold for most the year, the people – out of touch with themselves and the world around them. Due to that, we have a very sad situation at the beach – an intricate piece of garbage for every taste. I bought a pair of gloves and cleaned it up a bit. Now what I discovered while doing that, was that I felt wonderful – I felt closer to my town, to the sea, to the Earth.

Image result for body painted earth

I asked myself was I doing it for maybe a random piece of praise, and then knew that the answer was no. I was doing it because I loved the Earth. I love this fantastic planet. I feel the light playing and dancing inside me and I want to drown this planet in this healing process that I am experiencing, that I am. I want to be here and I want to untangle the pain. I felt how I was connecting to the sea and how I could feel the earth floating beneath my feet, in perfect unison with my own movement. I felt light inside my face, more so inside my chest. I picked up a shattered bottle and felt the hurt that must have been in the person who left it. Why would you destroy the beauty of this fantastic place for any other reason than hurt, deep hurt – that drives someone to first drink the bottled substance – to numb himself out of emotions, and then leave it there – maiming the natural beauty of the beach. I felt shame for this situation, for the people’s priorities being so messed up, for so much unconsciousness and so many blind eyes. I even started to feel judgemental – and then I had another insight. I imagined this person breaking this bottle and leaving it for someone to pick up and hold. I saw a broken heart inside this bottle waiting to be seen and held. What if that was the impulse behind so much damage – a cry for love. It’s not greed or anger we have a problem with, it’s the lack of love. And consciousness is love. And consciousness contains all healing. And consciousness contains all wealth.

With love,

Form and music –

In this sunrise – the bluest color –

Engulfing the solar.


Heal, sweetheart –

With this power.


It was four in the morning when someone started ringing the intercom. They must have dialed the wrong flat in the dark, and my sleep was lost now. I felt excitement for the unfolding morning…I planned to watch the sunrise on the beach, and so I gave myself a few more minutes for a quick dream and then unfurled my bones into an upright position. I dreamed about being kissed on the forehead which is a nice variation on the-someone-breaking-my-balls theme.

I tried to understand how to structure my day so that it would be productive and saturated with positive emotion. I welcome positive emotion even though it’s not the easiest of emotions for me to feel. It’s more like something out of the magic land…only it’s possible. I can see now that I grew up with the emotional thermostat which read more negative than positive. But now, as I am incorporating more of the positivity into myself, I feel bubbly.

Image result for bubbly champagne

And of course, as I am working with my fear of communication, of reaching to other beings, of working with the energy of fear itself, I come to feel this solar love. The absolute energy that in its wake leaves nothing, the power of which renders me speechless. How is that possible? And it is. And I realize that if this kind of solar heat is possible –

anything is possible.Related image

It’s tricky for me to familiarize myself and absorb this energy.  In a way, to be partners with this energy, in effect, to be lovers with this energy. This energy is absolute compassion. Different events provoke the influxes of this energy, provoke the rising up of it when I get smitten by the sheer force of its heat, gentle to the extreme. Love can be to the extreme. And this extreme is what is so scary…This extreme means no longer hiding, no longer contracting. This extreme is ecstasy of a kind my body is unaccustomed to, so I sometimes need to lie down in order to regain equilibrium. My whole consciousness is catalyzed into movement, into the kind of love which makes everything possible, right now and right now and right now. The desires that I have…I cannot even find an excuse now for why they cannot be shaped physically. All the imagination forms of things which I deem a good learning experience, suddenly dance in the field of possibility right in front of my eyes – I know they will be. The love energy makes things.

What and where would I like to be?

England. I felt the pull to go to England again. I was feeling this place – Crimea- I was feeling it and living it and realizing how good it is to me, how good life is to me, how amazing it is to watch the Crimean sunrise and live with so much love. I was feeling my own opening to myself. I was feeling gentleness coming up – and, of course, I knew that one day the dam would burst. All my energy, all my love, all my gentleness would engulf myself, and everything. I am growing it, I am nourishing it.  I know that I would love to go to England to develop as a writer and maybe learn new skills – it has to be there. I want to explore and feel my deep connection to England. I want to stay there for a few years before I settle somewhere tropical. Ha!

I love the stillness I am feeling today. I love the love that is warming my day up. I don’t even feel myself as separate from my day, it’s all beautifully one. My body, and my emotional energy, and my still consciousness, and this love. 

The experience of oneness started yesterday. I could feel myself as energy but that energy was identical to one of my close friend’s energy after we had a conversation. I could feel myself grounded in life and at the same time, so outside of my “usual countryside”. I felt so totally identical to the energy that he is, this total empathy, compassion and love that was flowing, merging with heat, that made me melt. And I thought, that’s my vision now. That’s how I can see another being.  How we are interflowing into each other, how we are just that natural energy which is powerful heat, powerful love.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink deeper into that. Then deeper, deeper.

Then, the insight came – something I worry about. I am worried about parting ways. It’s challenging for me to lead a life of constant hellos and goodbyes. I don’t feel it’s natural for me to be in this farewell state. I want to build beautiful, lasting relationships. With myself, and my close people…which are all people…

But especially, when it comes to close friends. I am okay with letting them go and at the same time I am not. I want to sit down and listen to their stories and drown in the sweetness of their voice.

That’s just how it is. Having close friends that bring me back to that magical joyful place that I still learn to accept and live with. It should be kept in mind that the energy of love is solar, powerful, intricately beautiful, opening, revealing.  Sometimes, after many years of negative conditioning, this experience of love becomes extremely frightening and there is nothing one couldn’t do to escape it.

Much love,