lindadreams

happy valentine's day: it's a Dog's Life

2012-02-14T17:45:00.002+01:00

they say today is the day of Saint Valentine. people buy each other chocolate, flowers, and pink balloons.

for me, every day is a love-day.
i give as much kisses and hugs as the humans want to receive.

bliss, love.

taking a rest after cycling a long, long time today.
all the way from grácia, to poble nou, then to the beach, then all along the beach, to the W hotel.
i was running without the leash today for the first time. i was only distracted a few times and only by very important smells. i swear. VIP-smells.

this is part of the barcelona-skyline. the W hotel. if you ask me, i would say it was rather boring. no interesting smells WHAT-SO-EVER.

d'ya see what i mean? metal-like. too clean. boooring.

this is Linda. this photo is taken two days ago, in parque guell. she fell in love with the pink flowers, starting to come out, to look for light, to grow into spring, and soon summer.
i like Linda because she gives me yummy things like pig's ears and tendons to chew on.

this dog is STRANGE!

nice little shop in Born.
and Linda.

open your heart. open your shops. open your wallets. it's Valentine's Day.

i love you, today and all the other days.
especially if i get bones and tendons and ears to chew on.
tennis-balls are also good.

February Walkies: it's a Dog's Life

2012-02-09T12:40:00.001+01:00

it's really, i mean really freezing in Barcelona. i sneeze in the mornings.
today we cycled to this Arc de Triumph.
i wasn't too impressed. i know there's one in Paris, too, much more impressive, famous for its dogpoo on the streets. i'd much rather we'd cycled to Paris.

but wait... i see birds! yes! let's go!

then we went to this park called Ciutadella. it was really fun. i found a friend straight away- i really cute boy, he was only five months, but really big and strong, and he ran almost as fast as me. we found something that we competed about.

i won most of the time.

i run really, really fast.

and if it looks like i'm smiling in the pictures, it's because i am. he he.

my only concern is: how do i get to all these BIRDS?? my dream aperitivo!

can i drink without falling iiiiiinn...?

i'd eat all of them if i could. easy.

must. drink. now.

then we walked past the zoo. it smelled so damn good and interesting and the sounds were hilarious. i really wanted to go in, but Linda said: "you're a DOG, not a kid" but i could tell she really wanted to take me there but it would had been a bit embarrassing for her.

we walked in a park full of old bottles and kids smoking weed. Linda is never afraid when she is with me, because i look big and scary. they don't know i have a heart of gold and am made of love and only love.

can you see the clouds in the water?

Linda likes it.

David Beckham is doing advertising for H&M men's underwear and he is all over Barcelona. i think Linda was hungry or something when she saw him, she was kinda drooling.

hang on! i know this place! i know that sea! i know this!!! let's ruuuuuuuuuuuuun!!!!!!!!!

while i ran like crazy, Linda did this. don't ask me what it means.

then we got to the Barceloneta beach. there were other dogs and the light was beautiful. i got the dogs to chase me, and i could show them how fast i run.

as we were running, the other dog-humans kept calling their dogs to come. i didn't get it- we were having so much fun! why were the other dogs not allowed to run and play? well, they didn't obey their humans in any case, so we kept running.

then Linda whistled to me and said to come, so i did, and the game was over. she lets me play so much, so that when she calls me, i come straight away.

must. drink. now.

oh no... i have to pose again!

hang on... there are birds on that balcony!!!

DUDE- you're WEIRD.

nice music! i liked this instrument!

these guys live on the street. they were really really friendly. they all played with me and hugged me and kissed me. they talked to Linda about serious things. poor guys. they live without work, home, and money. and they smell like a lot of alcohol. they are the same age as Linda.

this is Piotr. he is from Poland. he spoke in Polish to Linda, and she replied in Spanish and Polish in a mix. she felt really a lot of pain for him. he is also 33, from Warsawa. he doesn't want to run home to his parents, he says. he is too proud. so he sleeps in the cajeros- the little houses where the people take out money from the machine.

oh no... posing again. people are walking past and smiling. they say i "aporta bien" and Linda is smiling like a clown again.

sigh.... is this ever gonna end?

No, Linda, really, that's enough. i'm cold, we had such a long day, i ran so much, i met so many people, so many dog friends, i drank so much water, i chased so many birds, and now i want to go home and chill out in front of the fan heater, please. VENGA ya!!

me and my yoga

2012-02-08T23:20:00.000+01:00

my longest relationship ever, is, without competition, YOGA. my union with yoga has been going on exactly for 10 years now.
this union has taken me places. oh man, has it taken me places.

both inside and out. mostly out, i guess, because the in, is a process, which is slow and not that tangible. the inside one is not an unfolding...or is it... i mean, it is more like... maintenance, connection to the source.

from simple hatha classes in my home-town Lund, to rough Iyengar classes in my mother's home town Kraków, Poland i went to India in search of some "real" yoga. what i found, even before i came to india, was the guy i would spend the next four years with, get married to, and learn very much from. we met in a thai-massage course in Chiang Mai, northern Thailand, and he was very excited for me that i was going to India, but encouraged me to already then start a daily yoga practice on my own. this was my first major step into my yoga practice: to actually DO IT. every day. on my own. wherever i was. squeezed, dark, smelly hostel rooms in bangladesh and india- didn't matter. i did it, every day, from then on, in the beginning sort of as a reason to impress HIM.

but it changed my life. forever, i would dare to say.

once in India i had only spent a few days in the ashram when i got ill. i had to leave. thanks to an incredible soul called Giulio i was taken to a town called Gokarna and to a doctor. i had cerebral malaria and spent the next two months of my yoga/india/spiritual-experience staring into a ceiling fan, alternating with staring into the cracked wall of my toilet.
once i was ready to move on in my spiritual journey, i got salmonella.
i gave up.
i left india.
in the airplane, i stared at the runway, and said "i'll be back"

when i came back to Europe i was due to move to London and do a degree in middle eastern religion and Arabic. my dream was to be a journalist, like the Norwegian woman Åsne Seierstad, and report from the war, like she did from Iraq.
but as yoga, india, malaria and guru-boyfriend influenced me strongly, i changed my degree to study of religions, where i could focus on indian philosophy, sanskrit, and yoga.

it was also my first "cliché" of yoga: the 18 year older boyfriend, who is half indian half ...let's say american, who is a yoga-teacher and who "lives" his yoga-"path" and talks like a guru and wears patchouli. completing my degree in indian philosophy with a final dissertation about the Shiva-worshippers who eat dead human flesh, drink from human skulls and dance and laugh like Shiva, i worked in the Jivamukti yoga centre at the front desk and saw a Western yoga studio from the "inside".
my whole life was about yoga, india, philosophy.
on top of that, to go ALL the way, i went vegan.

it was all some kind of a competition with my guru-boyfriend. i wanted to be better than him. i wanted to impress him. i wore indian jingly-wingly thingies around my ankles and i went to all possible meditations, satsangs, kirtans, chant sessions and moon dances in London. i consumed yoga classes and workshops like a madwoman. i went to Sikh gatherings in northeast London to try chakra-chanting, i went to the Buddhist centre in Bethnal Green to try blue-light-healing meditation. my home was full of incense, moon-calendars and growing sprouts.

i loved yoga and i hated yoga.
but i kept DOING it. in classes, or on my own mat, at home.
i hated my professors, being so dry about yoga and philosophy.
i hated yoga teachers, being so ignorant of the scriptures, background and language of yoga.

after finishing my degree and time in London, i wanted away from HIM.
escaping HIM in order to free myself from his "teaching-grip", i promised i would do a yoga teacher training because he always thought i would make the perfect complement to his teaching (his dream was that we travelled the world like guru and assistant, me being his flexible, blond assistant, wearing bindis and making pretty altars)but i had other dreams- which i couldn't define, and so we had a constant conflict.

i knew i had to do a yoga teacher training at one point, just to feel if it was "for me". i had been reading "eat pray love" which had deeply affected even though it is a literary not so advanced piece of writing, it is still a journey that someone had the guts to do, and it touched me and encouraged me to get out there again on my own.

the yoga teacher training became my excuse and my reason to be able to go to Italy. the one training i found "happened" to be in the south of Italy, and i disconnected from the world, and created my dream-trip to Italy. without phone and without checking my facebook and emails, i journeyed through romantic beauty, landing in Tuscany, going with a train to Roma, train again to Calabria- feeling so alive and beautiful- and finally train to Puglia, my yoga teacher training destination. yoga practice in train stations, dorm rooms, beaches and ...;)

the training was held in a converted masseria (farm)in the incredible landscape of Puglia, southeastern Italy. surrounded by millions of olive-trees, wine-fields and little round houses called "trulli", we embarked on a three-week-long course in Vinyasa Flow Yoga with a very good, and very experienced teacher, called Vidya Jaqueline Heisel.

i couldn't focus at all. my mind was all over the place. leaving a four year-long relationship, leaving London, finishing a degree.. life was somehow feeling like one big ending, and i was looking for something to hold on to. i became critical of the teaching, by relying a little too much on my academic studies, and i was a little bit arrogant towards the teacher and the course. this only damaged me in the end- i missed out on a lot of things, while "being there" physically, my mind was completely off into pink clouds. i missed out, unfortunately.

then the next "yoga-cliché" happened. the people who ran the masseria were an Italian family. one of the people was pj. i fell head over heels. i dumped my guru-boyfriend. i stayed after the yoga course. i stayed in the yoga-masseria-ashram. i was in love, i was blind. the "spiritual family" of the yoga retreat damaged me more than i can describe. they named themselves "spiritual" and i had to "follow" them if i wanted to be there.
and i did, because i was so in love, more in love than i have ever been in my life. so i "followed" but it hurt me. i "followed" on the outside, for the sake of being so in love, but my insides were boiling with rage towards their ego-based ruling over other peoples' lives.

it was a yoga-retreat, but i was not allowed to do my yoga. only karma yoga allowed- meaning VERY hard work.
i did it in secret. i sneaked into my room to do a few minutes of yoga every day.
which made me realize how strongly it is a part of me.
even though i cannot handle authority and teachers and "gurus" in yoga- i become arrogant and critical towards them- but in my essence yoga is so much part of me, that i cannot breathe without it. literally.

i decided to try it.
i got two great yoga jobs, only after sending two easy e-mails. one in a great studio in my home-town and the other in an amazingly beautiful retreat in Ibiza. both bosses were called Daniel.
i chose Ibiza.
Ibiza changed my life.
Thank you, yoga.

i taught for two months and then i could not stand it.
i hated it when people asked me questions about their life, their bodies, their well being. i hated it that they saw me as more accomplished in some ways because i can put my foot behind my head. i hated it so badly that i escaped the job. one of the greatest regrets of my life, as i now spend a lot of time in Ibiza, and would have loved to have that job back.

but i have issues with yoga. HUGE issues.
i take a class, and i get so critical. annoyed, critical.
not that i'm super advanced or anything- i just don't like the "teacher" thing. still, it's the one thing that haunts my life and has marked me. teachers. "teachers".

i cannot stand being taught, and i cannot stand being a teacher. WTF?

i think of it as so ridiculous that someone talks, in front of a group of students, about yoga, as being something they "know". it's hard for me to explain, but i feel as if it's something which we cannot claim to "know". honestly. it's 5000 years old, and it comes from india. how can a western teacher stand in front of a class, and with confidence, teach "their" style of yoga- when it's something that has been passed down for five-f**king-thousand-years, from guru to disciple? or is that it... because it is a passing-down, once we "know" it, we are allowed to claim the rights to teach it?

so after my escape from teaching, i withdrew completely from the public yoga-world. i started doing cd's and dvd's at home- only. for years, i only did my yoga, for me, with myself.
then i had to give india another go.
i hated the ashram.
hated it.

i decided to give teaching another go. in sweden, in the dullness of a mirrored gym-room. it went well. i did it for 6 months- the time i was supposed to do it. i hated myself for the mistakes i made. somedays it went well and i almost wished i could have taken my own class. some days i felt so ridiculous. but i thought of it as part of my personal evolution, to put myself through the fire of doing something that is such a huge issue in me.

then i moved to Barcelona, where i saw myself giving a class or two a week in English, to foreigners.
i tried twice to set up a class.
i backed out.
it's like there's this invisible wall between me and teaching yoga and i can't find the door to go through.

i do it every day. every single day. i cannot live without yoga. i enjoy it so much. i feel so good when i do it.
i feel even more if i don't do it. then i fall apart. it's like i'm held up by it. i'm strong, steady, pain-free. i'm aware, in touch, in connection with myself.
it's so much part of my daily routine, that it is equal to brushing my teeth and drinking my coffee.

so i do this shit-job now, which kills me.
the hundreth shit job in my life, like.
how much shit am i going to take?
i have dreams.
they are definitely not to have shit jobs.
but to teach yoga?
not sure....

but i do know that i would like to be part of a yoga community.
or, at least be able to pop into a class, which challenges me, and makes me feel connected to others, too. without being critical. but it's so hard to find. if a teacher pronounces a Sanskrit word wrong, i turn to this arrogant Ego-idiot, and i can't stand the class anymore.
i would like to let go of this, and take my practice out of my privacy, and share it, somehow, without negativity. with light, positive vibes.

so i received a gift from my beautiful friend Tine. a class pack of 10, in a studio not too far from my house. i called the woman. she was a bitch. (sorry). she could not fit me into her classes when it suited me. only Monday nights. how unflexible can she be? and she's supposed to be a yoga-teacher? ARRRGGGHHH!
but it started something in me.
i started looking around my neighbourhood, Grácia, for yoga studios and yoga flyers. and man, are there a million of them?!?!
so here we go. i decided. it's time to take my yoga out into the world and share myself without judgment.
i found a flyer for free trial class.
i emailed the girl. she is called Sofia. her flyers were everywhere in the hood and i took one. they are yellow and have a big Kermit from the muppet-show on them. i didn't like the design at all.
she said to come the following day; tonight. i was nervous and i felt bad- for her. that i would be in her class. me- the perfectionist, the arrogant critic, who cannot even teach her own class without hating herself badly and wanting to run as far as she can from herself.

but i went, and tried to really keep an open mind and not judge.
i had trouble finding the place, and almost escaped. but it was too late. i was there.
hola, two kisses. she was Argentinian. i liked her voice.
the room was simple. nothing special. some white IKEA-curtains. ugly, very BAD yoga mats. i had of course brought my own Jade yoga mat from organic, very grippy, rubber. it's orange and i love it. so does my dog, Xucla. we do a lot of downward facing dog on it... nevermind, what really bothered me was that she called downward dog "postura de la montana" - is it really ok to change the name like that???- and then i thought her "aiiiiiiiii" sound between every posture sounded way too sexual, but ok. the practice was super simple and mega beginners, and i could tell she was also a beginner teacher. i did enjoy it though- i liked her voice and i liked her energy, and i felt i could relax and just allow myself to be guided. afterwards, she came to me, and asked which yoga i normally do. i asked her which style this was, and she said "it's MY style" and then i hated her a little bit.

but what i felt, walking home though the cold, empty streets (Barca is playing) was that i could do that- and i could do it so much better. what is actually stopping me?
i have so much issues regarding teachers and teaching, that it is stopping me from doing something that i have spent 10 years, one marriage, one degree, one (slightly lost) yoga teacher training, a lot of work- paid and unpaid- and one spiritual cult to learn about!!! what is the problem?

i have decided to throw myself into the yoga world of Barcelona. it is in a language i only speak so-so; therefore i can go slowly and just start by observing. i don't need to arrive with arrogance and ego-fear-competition-problems. i can try to arrive as a foreigner with a language-barrier, and just go slowly.

i need to start to take my yoga practice out of the darkroom, and develop it into a beautiful, vibrant, and alive image.
breathing with life.
where it belongs.

tomorrow: yoga Mandiram, Grácia. 09:15. phew....

what happens when the Siberian cold hits Barcelona: it's a dog's life

2012-02-04T15:43:00.000+01:00

i didn't like that it was wet everywhere. i can accept that the sea is wet, but when my playgound is all wet, and my feet get wet, i feel cold. i don't like it!
but when we have to stay home all day i get really, really, i mean REALLY...bored.
i did this.

.....sorry Linda....

so she said "forget about the the rain and the cold, let's cycle to the beach!"
and we did. i was really good and cycled next to her all the time. only a few birds and dogs and smells distracted me. and the big roads with all the big cars were really scary, so i stayed very close to the bicycle and Linda. i even forgot that it was wet and cold, because i was running, running, running!

once we got to the seafront, we discovered that there were almost no people! it was so grey, and different...

Linda told me to run off to the beach and i did... and i remembered how it feels to RUN, free, without cars and roads that seem dangerous, and i just RAN! i felt happier than i ever felt before!
i think Linda felt happy too, because her whole face was smiling like a happy clown.

before Noam left to that place where the elephants live, he said to Linda, that "if something happens to me, Xucla needs to be in Ibiza". Linda didn't answer, but i know what it means now. when I am free, without leash, cars, harness and danger, and i can run in nature, i feel so happy and so free, and Linda starts to smile like a clown. Noam wants us to be happy, that's was what he meant.

i stopped for a moment and thought about it all....

....i hope Noam is happy with the other lions and i hope he brings me a big bone when he comes back.

we then walked and walked and walked. it was grey and empty and we played, jumped, and laughed.

Linda really seemed to like these things. don't ask me why. i tried to play with them, but they were a bit boring to me. sometimes she is a bit strange.

when she was clicking on these trails of seashells, i played with her, and tried to destroy them with my big paws before she could click. i guess she won this one.

Linda likes old houses that seem like ruins.
i liked the smell of dog-poo outside of it.
very interesting.

mirror? i don't understand. but ok.

and then Linda wanted to go into this cozy bar. i agreed that it was cozy. the people who worked there were friendly and said hello to me. i felt welcome.

even though i had to stay in one spot. Linda put her jacket on the floor for me so i wouldn't get cold. a few times i tried to go and say hello to the humans, but then the people who worked there said i needed to stay in one place.
why? i just wanted to say hello!

they have really beautiful floors in Barcelona's old city. i know Linda really, really likes them a lot. she says they are like the soul and the essence of Barcelona to her. don't ask me what she means, but it sounds ok.

when Linda had finally finished eating her delicious-smelling takeaway samosas and sweet indian ladhoos and drank her red wine (without letting me taste anything- that's a bit disappointing!) we walked up to the side of Montjuic, through Poble Sec. it smelled really good there from all the dogs that walk there!
then, finally, Linda had the guts to sneak me onto the metro, like Noam always does. she is finally becoming a real Barcelona-resident, who breaks rules!
in the metro, everybody was looking at me. one girl gave mer her corner and Linda smiled a lot. but the girl who was sitting in the seat above me was moving away from me like she didn't like me. Linda got angry. i don't understand, sometimes Linda gets angry at people who don't want to say hello to me. earlier today in Raval, she was even screaming at a guy in a car who came very close. she seemed really angry. i don't really mind. i know not all humans like animals. i think Linda is being a little bit over-protective. it's good sometimes when she is, like when the big dogs bark at me and when the cars come too close.
then we went home and i was really happy.
it was a good, rainy day.
thank dog.

rainy beach walk: he's gone

2012-02-02T13:56:00.000+01:00

at my new job: among thieves, cocaine-addicts, rose-sellers and narrowminded ex-pats living in a pubble

2012-02-02T13:19:00.000+01:00

I should be so lucky.
I have a job in Barcelona.

This guy sells blinking plastic rings. He is from Pakistan, his name is Mohammad, he is 42 years old. His wife and one daughter are still in Pakistan, He has been here for 8 years. Some nights he sells nothing. What he makes, he sends back home. This evening it was very cold and he came to the place where I work, to warm himself up a little bit. He works in the barrio of Barceloneta, a neighbourhood by the beach.
So do I.

Another Pakistani guy leaves his bunch of roses by our Walkers crisps. He is out every night of the week, walks from pub to bar to restaurant, selling roses. Most owners and staff throw him out- he is not allowed.
One night he came to me after a long nights' work, and asked me to please change his earned money for the night into a €10-bill. He gave me €9.80. I felt so happy to give him that 0.20 so he could say he had earned €10.

Another night three Catalan men came into the place I work, and ordered the cheapest beer we sell, and then asked me "do you have a bicycle?". I said "no, I use Bicing, why?" and they pointed out to this particular bicycle-stand, and said there is a guy sitting there, with a saw, quietly stealing a bike. I immediately went to the window, opened it, and said "Oye, la bici es mía, dejalo!" - hey you, the bike is mine, leave it! He walked away, saying, "Vale"- ok.

An hour after Mohammad had left, he came back, and gave me a gift. But it turned out to not be working. So he promised to come the next night with one that could do the blinking.

And so he came, and we had a chat. The place I work in was not that busy, so I stood over the bar, and watched Mohammad write my name in Urdu. It looked beautiful.
A regular customer, a lady in her 60's who has lived in Barcelona for 7 years, and speaks no Spanish, looked at me through her drunken eyes and then called me over and said, with a serious and deep voice "Are you allright?" and I said, yes, why..? She said I shouldn't encourage that man. He was not allowed there, she said.

One morning, I received four CV's from people coming in to ask for jobs.
My boss saw them, and threw them in the bin.
I picked them up again. I thought they were very brave to go inside an establishment and ask for a job. In person. I have been too afraid to do that. I have felt embarrassed to do it.
I looked closer at the CV's when I got home, because I was afraid to do it in front of my boss. They were all around 30 years old, and from different countries; Romania, Peru, Pakistan, and Chech Republic.
Why have they chosen to come to Spain, with its economical crisis?
Are their countries even worse off?

Then there is me. I have this job, that many people would be super happy to have.
And I got it. But I wish I had another job. I don't like it so much that I am serving British people British food and drink in the sun. They abuse alcohol and cocaine, they don't speak Spanish. They live in the pub, inside their British bubble. They live in a pubble.

I just don't understand. Why did they come here, if they want nothing to do with life here?
This guy, from England, sits there every single weekend, and drinks til he can't speak and stand properly. When "his" football team is playing, he is screaming out loud to the TV-screen "Don't do stupid things, you fucking idiot!" and I can't help but wonder who is doing the most stupid things. He's not even playing- he's just sitting there, drinking!
All of them have "their" team, and when they are really drunk, they discuss "their" football team. Imagine a very drunk, loud voice talking about the latest Arsenal-game in "we"-form. "We scored..."

And then there are the people on holiday.
Some days I am just seriously shocked. I serve them the food from "their" culture and hear them talk on the phone to their friends at home. "I'm in Barcelona! This was John's Christmas present to me..innit... Lovely!" And the fat British girls who told me they'd just arrived in Barcelona and were so excited to be here, and their first stop is...the pub. The pubble.
A regular customer who is always blood-red in his face once told me his girlfriend has lost all her family and he's all she's got. I heard myself saying that he should consider stopping all that drinking, then, if he cared about her.

One part of the Barcelona population is living in a bubble, with addictions and too much time and money to spend. The other half is desperately searching for a new life, money, a job.
At least from the point of view of where I stand, behind the bar.

a January walk: It's a Dog's Life

2012-01-31T19:08:00.000+01:00

when Linda came back, she had a bunch of groceries with her. they smelled really good. I sensed fuet, chicken, cerdo, rice and other yummies. really yum.
but then I waited for Noam to come up the stairs, too. I stood there and waited, and waved my tail, and looked down, but he didn't come. Linda sat on the floor with all the bags with all the food around her, and just looked at me. She seemed sad or something.
Then she started cooking this yummy smelling food and I knew it was for me.
But then we went out. I was happy to be out. I was a good doggie.
We walked up, up, up. I had to drag Linda, because she was slow. When she let me off the leash though, I could run ahead, but I kept waiting for her and checking that she was close by.
Once we got up to Parque Guell, the pine trees were really high, and the views were beautiful. I ran all across the park, up and down, and jumped up and down, and had lots of fun.

Then we went to the forest-part of the park. It was really windy and the wind moved the large pine trees. I smelled many small animals and I heard many strange sounds. I really liked this forest even though it scared me a little bit.

We stayed here for a while. Linda was doing that click-thing with that black thing. I was smelling and running around. But not too far from Linda. Best to stay close. I still remember the food at home.

Then we went out of the forest. The view was good.

The sun was setting early and the sky shifted to blue. Strange people from many different ways of speaking and dressing were talking to me in many different words I did not understand.

Then we walked home through Grácia. We stopped and looked into this patio. Linda stopped for a long time and did that click-thing with the black thing. I was smelling the corner of the street. Very good smell. Dog-smell.

Placa Virreina, I love Placa Virreina. But today there was only one friend. A tiny terrier. But we played for a bit. His owner was a bit nervous, she wanted him on the leash, and then she was in a hurry, so my small friend had to go. I was very hungry by now.

And then Linda wanted me to pose in front of this door. I would have much preferred a few metres away, where the garbage-bins are- much more interesting, if you ask me.
I tried to make her happy, so I looked this way.

And then I looked that way.

And then I did this. And then we went home.

But first we had to stop and look at the old man selling books outside the grocery shop.
Then, finally, we went home, and I got my food. Finally! And now I am sleeping, while my secretary is writing this. I am snoring and I feel very comfortable with life.

to blossom before i die- 24 hours in ibiza

2012-01-28T15:16:00.000+01:00

i spent 24 hours in ibiza this week. although it is winter and cold, early spring has arrived in little twinkles. the almond trees are blossoming and the fields are filled with tiny flowers.
the green is so green, greener than ever, after the rains.

this small island is so full of beauty. wherever i lay my eyes, i feel washed with waves of natural beauty. it is a party for the eyes. for some, the island is a party in big nightclubs and hedonistic indulgence.

new life popping up from branches and out of the dark, moist earth.
before new life, there was death.
my childhood friend just lost her mother. we are the same age and have been to school together.
it is scary to know that we are no longer children. it is part of life that our parents die.
many of us already have children.
new life popped up from the moist earth and almond blossoms burst into colours on the dark, dead branch.
life goes on. in cycles. it moves.
we got to keep on moving. that's what my 97-year old grandmother always says. keep on moving. til we die.

but it feels so sad that we have to die.
on the other hand, new life is so full of beauty.
like the eye-party in ibiza- so fresh, green, clean. like a baby. (an alien baby, if green)
maybe we wouldn't be able to appreciate, if we thought it would last forever?

i'm back in Barcelona. it's raining here, and it's cold. 10 degrees is considered cold in this part of the world.
i have friends, i have a job (that i hate), i have Love, i have the sweetest dog in the world, i have my mother and i have my father.
still, i feel i am not appreciating completely. i am not appreciating my own performance. i could do so much more with my life. only fear is holding me back from doing what i want, and i know it, and it hurts. i am afraid to make a fool of myself, afraid to lose something.
which makes me so angry, because i have nothing to lose- because i have nothing.
i am only borrowing some time to live my colours on a branch rooted in the moist earth.
i am only here for a season. i can flower now, until the winter of my life comes, and i will fall to the ground, without looking back.
the time is now.
i am blossoming this season.

january. friday. lights.

2012-01-26T01:00:00.000+01:00

i came an hour early to my new job.
it is located in the barrio Barceloneta, by the beach. An old fishing-community of Barcelona, with tiny apartments and sailor-style bars and restaurants.
I took a walk in the sunny January morning light.

This picture is overexposed but i like the typical silhouette of the Barcelona skyline.

Another typical Barcelona structure. Way too photographed.

I sat down to have a coffee in the sun under this building and realised how fantastic the climate here is. I recently spent three weeks in the Swedish winter, and with that still fresh in my memory, the Spanish winter really is such a blessing. The sun is out every single day.

Street music, dog life. All mixing on the road. Sharing the light and the sun.

I loved how this man just lifted his face to the sun and enjoyed it with his whole being.

Narrow Brceloneta streets, lined with colourful clothing out for drying in the sun.

No secrets. All out.

Lights sold by the Pakistani salesmen coming into the place i now work in. the drunker the customers get, the crazier they become. where the spirit goes in, the truth comes out.

i enjoyed my glass of cold cava after a tough shift.

and while cycling through el Borne, i found a beautiful little Bodega.

so i had another glass of cava, while looking at the smokers in the street.

exactly. i just wonder what it is i am supposed to be?

bye bye bodega in Borne. i'm cycling home now.

empty friday night barcelona street filled with lights.
i go home now to the warmth of the friday night inside.

sweden winter wonderland

2012-01-04T21:50:00.000+01:00

the "fake" aghori baba turns out to be "real"

2011-12-06T18:32:00.000+01:00

ok. I wrote this blog a few years ago. the moment was one of December 2008- so a while back.
I was up early, sunrise, just me and the monkeys and the pilgrims and the babas and the chai-wallas...and i guess yeah, it's normal to be up at sunrise in Varanasi, despite the fog, despite the cold- or maybe precisely BECAUSE of these things. No point staying in bed. The monkeys wake us up anyway and it's goddamn freezing, so let's get a warm, energizing chai, and let's pray that we get out of this suffering called life- where it's cold, foggy, and the annoying monkeys steal our bananas.

So I was on the lookout for this type of dude. I had written my dissertation at uni (SOAS, amazing SOAS!) about these kind of babas, admittedly not existent anymore in India, but in Nepal, in the Pashupatinath, yes. I had been told by my Hinduism professor that yes, some of them did still exist in Benares, eating dead fls, and doing their weird laughing. I love it! How weird and creepy can it get, religion, philosohpy? How absolutely bizarre is the desire for union with GOD??? Well, I tell you, I know how bizarre it is. We keep on struggling, day by day, to survive, to make money...to b HAPPY...and one day it's all gonna end anyway. So might as well be WEIRD, have fun, do crazy things, eat dead flesh, and pray all day, no?

I found him and I loved him. He was so sweet, so tender, so gentle.
Later the same day, some boys were laughing at me when I told them that I had met a rel Aghori baba in the morning. They said "real" Aghoris don't exist anymore. What do I know, a little Scandinavian student. I just don't know. But I'm super eager to find out!

But yeah, this is what I saw, and this was who I met, and he was really sweet, actually.
I posted the blog about him http://lindadreams.blogspot.com/2011/02/linda-meets-real-sadhu-on-banks-of.html which has been the most ever read post on my blog. Daily, many people search this topic, and end up in my blog about this dude. I', obviously not the only one who wants to know more!!!

And then a few days ago, this happened:

Hare Ohm Linda,

one has found and read your blog about your experience with Aghori Baba in Benares. I really like the pictures you have taken of Guru Jee. Could you tell me when you took these pictures exactly and did you see him only twice, do you remember anything else he said or where he is going or where he could be. Are you in India now? I got back in november after 13 months, and in that time i haven't seen Guru Jee. ARe you into Hatha Yoga?

Hare Hare Mahadev

Kailash Ram

Namaskar Kailash Ram
thank you for your email!
and thank you for your interest in my blog!

i took the pictures in december 2008, near the burning ghat. i only saw him twice, yes, but he was hanging out with all the other babas, especially under the bridge (you know where i mean, under the main ghat, towards the ganga, there is an "under"-part of the bridge, where a lot of the babas sit and sleep and eat)

do you know this baba?

best wishes

Hare Ohm Linda,

Yes one knows the bridge. Somewhat peaceful since few people even venture that way, most will pass by the two sets of stairs above. One is glad you took these pictures of Guru Jee. He is the ONE that has taken me form darkness to light in simple words through his initiation at Harischandra Ghat two years ago. One is glad you have met him.

keep on shooting

hare hare mahadev

kailash ram

this Kailash Ram has a hotmail address. it's zeroego@hotmail.com.
Note how he doesn't say "me" or "I". Coz he ain't got no ego no mo'.
And according to him, this baba, that I was considering to be a "fake" one, was the "one" to bring him from darkness to light.

(GU_RU) means dark_light and the Guru is the dude that helps his disciple realize his "self" (or in Buddhism.."no-self"?) ...anyway, in the indian traditions, one (one!) needs a guru-dude to help oneself to go from the ego-existence (dark) to the heart/soul/no-self existence (the light)
FUNNY. if it's true, I bow to my baba, who I really liked, but couldn't really honestly take seriously. Maybe that's my Scandinavian scepticism, or a severe academic damage, inherited by SOAS.

secret ibiza

2011-11-25T12:26:00.001+01:00

secret inner ibiza field

a sunday with my love. in october 2011

world press photo 2011, barcelona

2011-11-24T10:36:00.001+01:00

Yesterday, the World Press Photo opened in Barcelona. I went with a friend, of course filled with expectations to see something amazing, but my expectations were surpassed and I was moved beyond words.

The space they are using for the exhibition is a bit cave-like; the air is a bit humid and not overly fresh, it is dark, with just lights on the actual pictures.

GENIAL.

Complete focus on the stories that the photos convery; no distractions, no cold airconditioning to make you freeze, no bright lights, nothing. Just you and the faces of people from around the world- people like you and me, who have been through all of these events, which moct of us only read about in the news or talked about before moving our conversations to more pleasant events.

Below are some of the pictures which moved me the most. For personal reasons obviosuly- as we are all subjected by our own personal conditionings and the types of feelings and compassion we react with.

This photo stunned me.

It is a picture of a man throwing a corpse onto a pile of other corpses, in Haiti, Port-au-Prince, after the devastating earthquake which killed hundreds of thousands of people in at the beginning of 2010.

This man is throwing, THROWING, a dead young boy's corpse, onto this pile of other, already dead, people...

I had a million thoughts running through my head. What does this guy in white feel right now? Has he shut off all feelings to be able to do this horrid work- because it is necessary- and then thoughts continued about the whole cycle of life and death, and how a corpse is treated, in most cultures, with a lot of ritual and respect, but how when in a mega-format-disaster like this one, we just have to dig through the piles of death and get them out of the way, to not spread disease to the living.

The face of this woman.

The picture is quite blurry, even the "real" one in the exhibition, but what really comes through here with full feeling and intensity, is the expression of this woman.

She was found after days buried under a building.

The pictures from Haiti moved me the most. To tears.

And it was the same during the time of the actual event- I had the "luck" of having a TV with CNN in my New Delhi "hotel". Cold water, 2-3 degrees celsius at night, 8 blankets, and the news from Haiti, obviously created for me a very strong experience, as I was stuck in Delhi due to the fog, for two weeks, and couldn't go anywhere. I watched the news and lived the news.

But as the face of this woman tells above, and the story the first picture tells, what amazes me the most, is survival, and strength, of the human heart, when tested to the extreme.

Street scene, Calcutta, India.

Pictures of India often move me a lot.

I have a very strong love-hate-relationship with India (sort of like with Barcelona?!)- I'm unfortunately not at all like the people who LOVE India and go year after year, feeling so at home and at ease when they are there. I feel a LOT when I am there and I am very very dedicated to hating everything when there. In short- it makes me FEEL and I guess that is what i love about it. I FEEL hate, disgust, pity, anger, all of it together...and then suddenly, as a waft of thick smoke from an incense-cone rinses over my being, I feel love. As I inhale the fragrance, all the chaos washes away, and I deeply love the mess called India.

This picture is taken in Dhaka, Bangladesh, at the train station. It too moves me, (Bangladesh), like India does. It's got the same quality of absolute chaos and colourful devastation. The photo was taken during one of the big Muslim holidays in 2010, when the people residing in Dhaka were trying to get home to their villages for the holiday. Dhaka is becoming one of the world's most polulated city, but most of its latest inhabitants are from villages, having come to the city in search of work.

I spent two (looong) weeks in Bangladesh in 2005. During these two weeks I saw ONE other foreigner. A Japanese guy. The rest of the time it was me, surrounded my millions and trillions and billions of Bangaldeshi people, who most of the time just stared at me. When I tried to talk to them, they looked away and giggled.

I, too, tried to travel from Dhaka during one of the biggest Muslim holidays- Eid al-Fitr. I was on this station, waiting for the train with a zillion other people, and when the train arrived, everyone threw themselves at the train. Including me- as I did not really have a choice. I was pushed and squeezed with the force of the masses of the people onto the train.

I did get to my destination after 22 hours of sqeezing, barely breathing, definitely not peeing, torn clothes, and a lot of feelings of THANK YOU LORD for allowing me to experience such a crazy thing- which to the 200 millions or so people of Bangladesh, is just everyday life.

The strength of the human. Remarkable!

Ibiza

2011-11-23T21:44:00.001+01:00

Ibiza burnt forest

New life growing

Shapes on the beach

Shapes in the rocks

Lights in the sea of life

Ibicenco roadside house

Nature in Ibiza. So simple, and so beautiful.

i had enough of the beauty

2011-11-17T16:10:00.002+01:00

I am full of illusion, honestly. it might sound sad but actually, as Woody Allen says: "Life is short, lonely, violent, and full of problems. The only solution is to create illusions."
I agree, actually, because now, that I am coming to an age where all my childhood and young-soul-illusions are bursting, I am starting to see the loneliness, the violence, and the problems as something making life cold and dull.
I much prefer the illusions.

My illusions are created by pictures.
AS a very young child, when my parents read me books, I would create vivid and lively pictures. I can still remember them today.
When I read books (which i did to a great extent- a real nerd) I created whole worlds of universes of realities, inside my head. And they were so beautiful, mystical, and magical, these worlds.
My vivid imagination made me live in a magical world, all the time, where everything was possible.

The last few years, it existed a lot in films. Films such as Paris, Amelie, Malena, Frida, Stealing Beauty, Vicky Christina Barcelona, to name a few. Beautiful stories in beautiful surroundings. Drama, art, beauty, passion, love. In a backdrop of lavender fields, a romantic, sepia-coloured city, or silent Tuscan star-filled nights.
I lost myself inside the films, I travelled into them, I lived there, in that beauty.
Before moving to Barcelona, I watched Vicky Christina Barcelona quite a few times (I am embarrassed to say the exact number)

The city seemed so ... well ... pretty, exciting, mystical, magical, warm, inviting...
And in the beginning, I was really excited to see some of these magical visions from the pictures from the film. But once I had seen them all, I started feeling dissappointed.
And a few days ago, after having lived in Barcelona for exactly five months, I decided to watch the movie again, which I shouldn't have done. Because I realised that Mr Allen had done exactly that; he had created an illusion for me.

I was criticising most of the Barcelona-scenes in the film with another type of knowledge than I had before- I saw the reality behind the staged illusion and I knew how it ACTUALLY is.
The thing is though, with film and photography, that it is a subjective interpretatuon by the artist, to choose to show that which he wants to show. Beautiful, or ugly.
Or... Biutiful???

So the movie Biutiful, with the same guy in the lead character, Javier Bardem, shows another side of Barcelona. Before I came here, I remembered seeing both films just after each other, philosophizing about the yin and the yang of this city, how interesting it is that Barcelona has this incredibly beautiful front, and this incredibly dark and ugly underworld. And how this is exactly what I am looking to discover, especially with photography and writing- and my imagination, my illusions, would have plently of stuff for its fire to keep on being fanned.
So after re-watching Vicky Christina Barcelona and being highly dissappointed- in fact, feeling as if I had been inside a shiny bubble that had now bursted all over me and I was soaked in smelly chemicals- I thought about Biutiful.

During the university lecture that same evening, the photojournalist Xavier Cervera showed us one of his works, which was a portrait of a man living in the same area where Biutiful was filmed, with circumstances as similar as possible to the ones of Javier Bardem's role character int he movie. I then found out that the movie had been filmed in Santa Coloma and Badalona, and I decided that I must go there to see it with my own eyes.

I took the metro to Santa Coloma and started walking around with my camera. In search of huge groups of Chinese immigrants and African refugees, I was a bit surprised (or..dissappointed..) to see so many "regular" Catalan people. I also saw a part of a cty that could be, actually, in any part of Europe. Not the city centre, not historical, not special- but not like devastatingly poor, ghetto-like, or anything like it. I tried to go into the areas of high-rise buildings- but it just seemed dead, quiet, shut.

People didn't really react to me- well, some looked curiosly at me- but I never felt as if anyone was thinking "what's this stupid guiri doing here". Not once. And that was kind of what I was looking for, as this is kind of my thrill, to go to the places where I'm not supposed to be. (like the slums of Bombay, the backstreets of the Dhaka port, too close to military in Burma and in Muslim separatist Aceh during the war)
So again, dissappointment, and bubbles bursting. I had expected misery, pain, poetical suffering.. But everyting looked quite fine, normal, and pretty happy to me.
Ugly at times, but people doing what people do, all over the world. Having a beer, shopping, drinking coffee, buying vegetables.
But I might have just not even begun to scratch the surface herre, I realise. To get to the "real" thing, I might have to spend another five months to be able to see it.

But I just realised something. If I didn't have this "searching" personality, I could have just left it alone. I could have left the mystery alone and just left it at its magically distant position within the four corners of the screen, and within the bubble of my imagination. My problem is that I want it, I wanna get inside that bubble, and live there, huddled in my tree-house, playing with my magical items.
I'm just a little child, actually.
Dissappointed that Santa Claus doesn't exist.

INDIA: Varanasi Photography

2011-11-14T20:41:00.000+01:00

getting drunk on absinthe in Bar Marsella

2011-11-12T20:21:00.001+01:00

Absinthe
Also called the Green Fairy, from the French- La Fee Verte. Others called it the Green Goddess or the Green Muse.
But the Green Fairy isn't just another name for absinthe; it is a methaphor for artistic transformation and enlightenment. It opens up the mind to a freer state, a place where exploration of poetical pathways and new inspirational ideas can grow wildly. To the Parisian bohemians of late the 1800's, the Green Fairy was a guide into their artistic world, where new, groundbreaking art was created. Absinthe was to the artists of the time what smoking weed was for the hippies in the 60's; their "revolutionairy guide" and what they believed was the substance that "opened their minds".
Artists, poets and writers reached for a glass of the Green Fairy for inspiration to their creative works and during "the green hour", in the late afternoon, many glasses were consumed in Parisian bars and cafes- but not just that, apparently, some artists even began their days with a glass of absinthe. By 1910, the French were consuming 36 million litres of the drink annually.

The active ingredient in absinthe, thujone, is said to have hallucinogenic effects, and taken in such small quantities as in a glass of absinthe, it is not considered very dangerous. (!)
Most people actually believe that the drink is prohibited- well, it was, until the end of the 20th century, when it again became legal after 100 years of being forbidden.

Absinthe in Barcelona
Dalí, Picasso, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway and Gaudí are all said to have been drinking absinthe in Barcelonas barrio Raval, at that time known as the Barrio Chino.
Bar Marsella opened in 1820, and is said to be Barcelona's oldest bar- which is certainly highly believable, when you enter the place, and look around. Chandeliers in the ceilings (filled with dust and cobwebs) give a golden, dim light to the place, and all along the walls old bottles are decorating shelves- also covered in cobwebs and dust, with titles so old and worn, that some of them are just a blurred colour sea-green.
There are two toilets in the place, curiously facing one of the table-areas, with glass-doors so that every person who chooses to look, will see almost a clear silhouette of the person inside. Dirty and blurred mirrors decorate the walls and on each of them an instruction/prohibition is written, such as "do not stand on tables", "no singing" etc.
The bar is as authentic as it is touristy; more than half of its clientele seems to be hip backpacker or TEFL students from the US. However on the outside of the bar works girls in leopard-print leggings and stiletto-heels, along with men selling various types of drugs.
Authentic, messy, touristy- all with an egdy feel to it, as the night moves on, and people start to "open their minds" with the help of the Green Fairy.

I brought friends here a few times, friends passing through Barcelona, or visiting me. I always got great entertainment out of observing the reactions of people whilst drinking their glass of absinthe. Always a bit nervous or excited before, they were asking if it is really OK to drink this stuff, and they went through the ritual of burning the lump of sugar and splashing the water onto it with a bit of hesitation and suspicion. Once they tasted it, they mostly thought it was OK, and then it wouldn't talk long before some sort of reaction would surface.

Depending on how much has been drunk before, the effects vary. In general, after about half a glass or less, I see a significant elevation of mood and feeling. Voices get louder, faces get softer, and it is as if we are all suddenly on a boat. A big, old ship, moving softly. Everyone gets a softer, more friendly and open vibe.

One of my best friends, Kristin, had the best reaction I witnessed so far. She was extremely verbal and expressive about the feeling, and it really made me want to investigate the effects of absinthe more. She said almost immediately after having only a few sips that "her face feels like when she was a child" and that she hasn't felt this relaxed since she was in kindergarden. The feeling in the face made her understand how much she, as an adult, focuses her stress directly in her face (around the jaws, eyebrows, etc.)
She continued drinking and exclaimed "I need to tell my boss that I need to drink absinth, every day, before work! I will my job so MUCH BETTER! He will surely understand!!"

Another group of Swedish friends that I brought, had already had a significant amount of wine with their late tapas dinner, so the effect could not be distinguished as clearly from the already-consumed-alcohol. The noticeable factor in this case, was that the already-slightly-drunk Swedish vikings rapidly deteriorated into a rowdy singing bunch of seamen, singing loudly (despite my eager pointing at the signs saying "Forbidden to Sing" and believe it or not, at one point one of them tried to stand on the table, and suddenly all the prohibitions on the walls seemed made from many years of experience with a common effect from the absinthe.
As we walked out of the bar, this bunch of rowdy, singing Swedish vikings could not walk straight nor speak coherently - they were obviosuly still on the boat- maybe seasick- but obviosuly swimming in a sea of happiness and bliss.

This table is located to the left, just as you enter the bar. It always has a reserved-sign on it, and I always wondered why, until I heard the story of my German friend Chrsitine, who had come to the bar with a group of friends, where one guy is in a wheelchair. The staff of Bar Marsella attended to him immediately and swung the chairs down, invited the group to sit, and made a special all night table-service for the group (never heard of normally).

I was fortunate enough to be taken on a tour of Raval as I first moved to Barcelona by someone who has lived here many years. Bar Marsella was obviously included as one of the main stops, after being shown the street where the prostitutes from Eastern Europe work, and the street where prostitues from Africa and South America work. (Very important information!)
The bar is situated almost exactly between the two areas for the geographically separated working girls, which surely does add to the exciting feeling of entering a place where all sorts of people have been drinking, for many many years.
My first experience with absinthe ended in me saying repeatedly that "my legs are round and soft" (and then I don't mean litterally; I meant the feeling...do I make sense?)
I was intrigued, to say the least.

I love the place for its decadence, flair, old feeling, dirt and authenticity. The first time I went, I saw a live (huge) cockroach crawl across one of the mirrors. Another friend told me she saw a dead mouse on the floor the other week.
I find that as my glass gets emptier, everything around me softens. The brownish, seagreen colours, together with the golden light of the chandeliers, make it all feel like...a boat. I guess... that's what absinthe does to me.. I feel like I am on a boat, full of rowdy seamen, and it's all moving softly to the rhythm of the waves.
Outside of the bar is the seedy harbour with the working girls and the men selling drugs.

So last night I went with Emma, who was stressing about all the work she has to do (writing an article about the Spanish elections for one of the biggest newspapers in Sweden, wow!)
She NEEDED an absinthe to relax.
Emma's friend Lana arrived with her friends, and I got a chance to show off my skills regarding the proper rituals of absinth-preparation.
"You place the lump of sugar on the small fork, on top of the glass, after soaking it thoroughly in the liquor. You the set the sugar alight, and watch the blue flames caress the sugar."
I was already two-thirds down on my absinthe-glass, and was doing quite a good show as an experienced absinthe-drinker, and I was enjoying being on the boat so much, as it made me feel I was at the center of the sea of life.

"And then you take the bottle of water, and if you look closely, you will see that the barmen have already prepared the small hole for you in the plastic cap". "Now, spray the water onto the sugar, and watch it as it melts into the green liquid, and transforms into a milky, emerald-green, magic-looking drink!"
"Cheers!"

As we went out of the ship and onto the sea of prostitutes and pimps, drug-sellers and young American students, the first thing I saw was a young, African boy lying on the ground, face-up. I ran there, and a young Portugese boy was picking him up, and we tried to talk to the guy, to understand if he needed help, how badly drunk/high he was, etc. Suddenly a bottle smashed really loudly behind us, and everyone looked up to one of the balconies above. Angry neighbour, frustrated after months and months of sleeplessnes, in one of the busiest and seediest, and probably loudest, corners of Barcelona.
I decided to go home.
I realised, that I was more than 10 years older than most people around me. I was alone on my ship as I didn't want to continue drinking nor continue on to another bar.
So I took my ship to the nearest bicing-station, and together with Emma, who decided it was best to go home early to have enough energy to work on her articles, we cycled up, through the Barcelona-night, to our boring, dead, and dry land-Grácia.

November Barcelona

2011-11-09T14:26:00.000+01:00

Barcelona, November 9th, 2011.

The sun is shining in through the various windows in this high-ceilinged café on the Rambla de Raval.
I just came from the second-hand-washing-machine-shop where I bought my beloved/veryhated washing machine when I moved into my apartment in July. It is certainly not my first visit back in the shop since I bought it, and most probably (but really hope not) not my last.
So the technician gave me a long lecture on washing machines. In the typical Barcelonian way...not unfriendly at all, but really, a no frills-approach to communication, devoid of all gentleness and politness, straight to the point. "I tell you how it is, and you listen, and then we continue with our lives".
It used to schock me a bit, this way of talking. I used to feel slightly stepped on, as if people were unfriendly to me. I even ended up crying at times for not feeling welcome here, feeling as if people were treating me like shit, like I was a stupid foreigner. (there is even a term for it, so it exists! they call us "guiris")
Well, they probably are thinking I'm a stupid guiri, and yes, they probably are less friendly to me than to their "own" people. Catalan people are not exactly known for their openness to other cultures. On the other hand, it's not like I'm a refugee who NEEDS to be here because I would be shot for my political opinions back home. Nope, quite the opposite. In Sweden I have a job, where I am appreciated and welcome, always and at all times. Actually, now that I think of it, I have two jobs, that I would probably be able to come back to in a second, if I wanted.
No, I don't NEED to be here. Nor do most of us foreigners here in Barcelona, Catalunya. It's a choice, and it's from a place of free will, a place of "I want" and "I desire". We followed a dream to come live in a more creative place, more cosmopolitan, and with a much nicer climate than the one we come from. (climate in this case I guess could be applied to all societal terms, such as geographical, political, social...)

Yes, tougher. Less naive?
Then there is the job-situation.
What the hell....?
Why are we here, we said?
For the art, culture, cosmopolitan, climate....UNEMPLOYMENT???
There are more than 20% unemployed people in Spain. Most of these people are young.
So why do we choose to come to a place where the options for work are so limited?

I guess we didn't come here for the money. We came here from a different kind of life, where we had money and security and central heating and all of that jazz, and we thought it is not "it". Life has so much "more" to offer, in terms of climate (sun), health (social life, beach, sea) and spiritual health (manana attitude, slower, no stress).
But the realisation I have had here is quite shocking, more so than the rudeness of the Catalan people.
I realised, that the worry of not knowing what is gonna pay the rent, how I'm gonna put food in my belly, and always feeling guilty when sending an SMS, tears me up a thousand times more, than being tired and stressed from working too much.
In fact, when I have no job, it's all I think about. The money.
This is something I always observed keenly in poor people (I'm talking REAL poor people, not just dream-tourists to Barcelona) in third world countries. They were so occupied, on a daily basis, with where the food and the survival would come from, that they had no time to think about social health, stress-free living and sunny days. They have no anorexia, detoxing, binge-drinking, mild depressions...etc.
When we are busy, each moment, with survival, there is no time for being bored or looking for "more" in life. Art, social life, beach, nice shoes...all of that becomes something unimportant. First of all, we need a job. We need to know where the money comes from. Second, we can look around us, and choose what makes us feel good in life.

I spent a few days looking at job-sites. I sent my CV and a photo and a personal letter to around 50 employers, looking for employees. All were unqualified jobs, fit for a guiri like me, such as hotel-cleaner, house-cleaner, office-cleaner, waitress, barwork, babysitter, personal assistant, and then I sent an email just for the hell of it to a photographer who wanted to take nude pictures.

From all of this, I recieved two (2) answers.

1. The photographer. He sent me a link to the work of an established photographer in Madrid, with an example of what he wanted to do. The link showed incredibly sexy women, bodies covered in oil, inside a small "cube" made of wood, in yoga-like positions. Naked, completely without body-hair (all of it) and in positions that were sort of like contortions. The photographer who wanted to do this work offered me up to €100 an hour. I googled his name and email address and could not find any info on him whatsoever.
2. The personal assistant job. A woman who wanted me to be her personal office assistant. She could never meet me, because she was out of town all the time. She "owes" an art gallery in Australia and one in the US and she sells art online. I only had to recieve and send packages until the 30th November when she would return to Germany. Would this be OK? Then, when she returned to Spain on the 30th of November, we could possibly meet. I would not have to take any money from my pocket, she would provide me with everything, and detailed lists of what to do. She offers me 450 dollars a week for this. "Not a bad offer, is it?"

Am I being overly suspicious if I think that number 1 wants to fuck me and number 2 wants me to smuggle drugs?!? Somehow, I don't think so. I think I am completely right.

Conclusion? Well, it is hard to get a job, indeed. Criminal activity is easier to get into. Selling sex is the world's oldest profession.

I think it makes me tougher, being here. I don't cry anymore when a Catalan person treats me like shit. They actually don't, now that I look at it with a few more months' experience. They only tell it like it is. They say it, no frills, no polite bullshit. I talk, you listen.
I also think it makes me more aware of the complexity of this world.

The development and evolution that happens inside a person, in a society, and in a country, with the varying levels of money and economy.
This weird thing called money.
How much it affects the psychology of man.
How incredibly weird, this thing called money.
I love the Indian saying that talks about when all the natural resources are gone, we realise, we cannot eat money.

A "developing country", struggling to get to where the "industrial" countries are. Kept alive by an illusion that "everything's fine over there".
An "industrial" country, trying to get out of the stress, dreaming of manana attitude, beaches, sunny afternoon and una cerveza, por favor.

It's like a cycle, going round and round. When we don't have it, it occupies every moment, even our dreams. We struggle to get it, and to know it will come from a safe source. Once we have it, like for example in Sweden, it takes us a few years, or maybe a few generations, to realise it does not make us happy, and so we go look for other kinds of happiness.

There is always a disbalance in each human being regarding this struggle. The problem is not the unemplyment or the stressed typical western person's life- the problem is much larger. It's the fact that there is money. That we are not using our indisvidual resources as the exchanging mechanism. That we do not want to share the resources of this planet (which indeed has more than plenty to go around for us all)

It's a fucked up world, I tell ya. And in Barcelona the fuckeupness becomes really clear.
On the surface, a beautiful city, absolutely perfect for tourists, especially those from a colder, more orderly organized, more centrally heated culture- where they can enjoy the manana, the sun, the una cerveza por favor, culture/art/bla bla. Gaudí, wow. Beaches, wow. Architecture, art, tapas, wine...wow.
On the other hand, a city built on dreams. People from all over the world, coming here for different reasons. People from really poor places such as Bangladesh, Pakistan and several West and North African countries; in many cases having arrived on a boat, in search of a better life, consisting of food in the belly and a place to live, and hopefully money to send home to the family.
And then the people from the really rich countries (in comparison) such as the US, the UK, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Finland, Holland, Germany etc etc, landing en masse in the El Prat Airport, in search of a life more filled with social fun, art, sun, relaxation, and in "search for themselves".

Only to find ourselves in this place, sharing the space. Realising that to barely make enough money to just pay the rent and put food in our bellies, might not be worth it. We miss our families and friends. We feel outside of this Catalan society. We have to create our own groups to belong to.
Most of us just keep on doing it. That's how life is, right. We gotta keep on moving. And we move in circles, according to our socioeconomical conditioning. In a fuckedupworld, where some of us are starving for food, and some of us for sun and sleep.
How incredibly fucked up, when there actually is enough of it all, for all of us. Because after all, man created all of this. Thanks to nature. To our innovativness (is that a word?)
Thanks to cooperation, to friendship, to imagination and ideas. WE did it.
Money didn't do it.
Money was and is an illusion, the illusion on which we have built out lives.
Some would say we wouldn't work hard if there was no money, that society wouldn't work if there was no money. I say there must be another way. We must be more evolved than this. We are, already.

Barcelona is the proof.
City of dreams, city of fun, city of sun. City of poverty, longing, outsideness.

Barcelona, on a sunny day in November, Raval.

barcelona looks different in the rain

2011-10-29T11:04:00.000+02:00

saturday morning

2011-10-29T10:59:00.000+02:00

saturday morning.
i woke up alone.
toilet. try to reason with myself for why i need to stay awake and not go back to sleep.
i would have loved to go back to sleep and sleep away this rainy saturday.
wait for better times to come.

it's one of those days. one of those chunks of days when everything feels like it is a big dark heavy something. do all people have them? or just some? do some people wake up happy every day?

i want to escape, escape to anywhere, i want to be anywhere but here.
on a sunny island in thailand, for example, eating som tam and mango with salt-sugar-chili.
or in new york, in a museum, then stepping onto the wet and shiny pavement, only to step into a burger joint. i would have a big fat burger and a milkshake. just like in the movies.

escape the now. fabulous!
but i can't. i don't have the option. i chose to be here now. how can being here now be the hardest thing there is? well, it is, anyway.

rain in barcelona. barcelona looks different in the rain.
barcelona looks different when you don't have a job. barcelona looks different from the outside and different from the inside.

escape this rainy outside saturday.
bonjour tristesse.

just fired

2011-10-26T23:35:00.002+02:00

today i got fired from my job.
something that never happend to me before, something i would never have thought would happen to me.

i quit many jobs. i walked out of jobs to never again come back; i disappeared without a trace from other jobs and never answered their calls. i felt as if i was the one controlling the situation.

this one caught me before i caught it.
i didn't love the job. actually i made a pact with myself around five years ago promising i would never again work in the restaurant business. when i made that pact i had obviosuly never lived in barcelona. ha!
on the other hand, i also made a pact with myself around the same time to never again fly with ryanair. which i also broke as i last weekend went to my other home, ibiza. i had really restricted timings to go there, and so i hesitantly had a glance at the ryanair website, which turned out to have flights working perfectly for me. so i went on, and broke my pact. and the experience proved me wrong; ryanair actually has some good sides. (at least outside of the uk, where i have not used their services before).

some people like to believe that everything happens for a reason. it's what i tell others who are in a desperate, chaotic, or stressful situation. that we chose this situation, on a deeper soul-level, for us to really bring out who we truly are, and to use all of our sources and resources, to solve situation, and to grow and blossom into our fullest potential.

i remember specifically when my friend Katja got fired from her job at vodafone, after being sick for a few days too many to suit a multinational company who expect their employees to work just as machines do. for her, it was the obvious final push to just go for it and teach yoga full-time. obviously it was a process, but it was a deeper kind of push. a push from the doorways of destiny.

but when it happens to myself, i of course, cannot apply my own advice or understand what destiny is telling me. well, i try. yes, it did happen for a reason. i just can't see it yet.
i was shocked. speechless. i walked out of the bar without a word. i kept walking until i came to a bicing-station. i jumped on the bike. i was stunned, silent inside. i cycled, without thinking, straight to raval.

what is it with this raval?

i am drawn there constantly. if i don't go there at least once a week, i miss it. when i have a moment to go downtown, i need to go and smell Raval. i really feel connected to life there, to the essence of life, love, food, souls, hearts beating. people creating, living, surviving, mixing.

shocked, stunned, silent turned into curiosly watching, observing, inhaling incenses and samosas. a voicemail form my EX-boss asking me to come and return the key. "i am sorry things turned out this way." mmm, look at this authentic little artistic restaurant? onto the prostitutes' districts, through the second hand-washing machine-district, onto the ramblas, and into the photography shop to try to understand the Hasselblad-world.

through the mystical, darkening lanes of Gótico, getting colder and more mysterious by the minute. there are less tourists in barcelona now and more reality. the cold is getting colder and the bars and cafés lights are alluring and tempting. through the endless escalators of el corte inglés, up 8 floors, walking slowly behind people who are in no hurry. looking at ugboots and ipads, things i cannot even afford to dream about in this situation, but i can squeeze, feel and caress, and pretend that i have a credit card in my bag.

photography book-shop, glossy books, phone call. "we prefer if you don't speak on the phone in this shop". thrown out, and this time, when it all transformed itself and converted into the words "i got fired" i suddenly felt more than numb and shocked. i got fired!!! oh my god!

it never happened to me before.
barcelona is not the easiest place to be.
the only place in the world where i got fired and got told to go back to my own country.
kicked out, not welcome.
on the other hand, i have no intention to leave.
i am already part of this moving, transient, translucent, transparent...ride. i am moving with it, not against it. as it changes, i change. as i change, it changes.

funny, this place. mystical, mysterious, fragrant- some parts of it.
hard, cold, raw reality- other parts.
which part am i? which part are you?
transient, divided.
just fired.
wow.
all is new, again.
again, changes are coming, from all directions.
the Budhha said that change is the only thing that is constant, and Barcelona really shows it, openly, shamelessly.
we can trust that change will and will continue to happen, and the more we embrace it as external, the more we can connect to the centerdness of our own inner being. inside, we stay the same, in our essence. it's only the outside that keeps shifting.
bring it on, Barca. burst your bubbles.

inside Barcelona

2011-10-19T12:35:00.001+02:00

i have met many beautiful people in Barcelona, trying to create a new life.
most of them struggling a lot with adapting to a new society, a new language, and most of all, to a situation such as the one Spain is currently going through. The "crisis". 20% unemployment.
most of my friends have come here for love. or in the search of love.
but it's not always easy, surrendering to love, and giving up a steady and stabile life-situation, with friends, home, income, culture, language, food... all for a fresh, new start, which is very exciting, but very difficult at times.
we try to create new friendships, we start new jobs. we try to learn to speak with a new language, and we try to enjoy Barcelona at the same time. that city which thousands come to each day to enjoy. and many of them fall in love with this city, with its vibrancy.
but to create a relationship with Barcelona is difficult.
Barcelona is transient.

people come and go.
tourists, visitors, students and temporary residents.
there is a big division between the locals, who are not Spanish at all; they are Catalan, which is a whole different culture, with people who are not always open to those temporary residents who come here.
people come, go, visit, move, escape, come back, leave.
hello and goodbye at the same time.
in my few months here, i said goodbye too many times aldready.

India in Barcelona.
the world is in Barcelona.
the tourists have one view of it.
the trafficked girls from Romania have a another.
the front and the back.
all big cities have it, of course; but Barcelona has sides hidden from the Gaudi-Rambla-Gótico-front, which are really opposing the pastel-coloured, shop-lined, tapas/cava-consuming front.
who is interested?
not the tourists, for sure. they see that which they came to see.
Barcelona have a whole underworld of people struggling.
people, who came here for love, for the search of love. a better life- a better life for their families and themselves. escaped on a boat from Pakistan or Senegal, or a plane from Munich or Tel Aviv, we all came here in search.

but it is a chance of a new beginning, a new chapter in our lives.
Barcelona doesn't welcome you, but it also doesn't push you out.
it's up to you and me to jump into the fire, and join the flow of the transience.
we can choose to accept Barcelona as she is; moving, movement, change, and constant flow.
if we don't join the flow, we will never be part of Barcelona.

i'm still not sure i love it here.
i am sure i don't hate it.
i don't think it will be my home for the rest of my life.
it's transient for me, too.
that's what Barcelona is.
join the flow while you are here.

beautiful room for rent in my apartment in Gracia, Barcelona

2011-09-22T16:09:00.001+02:00

I rent out this room short- or long- term in my light and colourful home in Grácia, Barcelona.
Grácia is an amazingly local, trendy, bustling and artistic area that I fell in love with the moment I first arrived.
It is far away from the tourist crowds; in fact, I get surprised when I see someone here who is obviously a tourist.
There are no chains such as Mc Donalds or Subway; all restaurants, bars, cafés and shops are owned by individuals, who put love, effort and hard work into their businesses.
The area is safe to be in, far from the pickpockets of central Barcelona, and it has a myriad of entertainment to choose from. The famous alternative cinema "Verdi" is just two doors down from my flat and the squares, so typical for Gracia, are filled with people living, playing, socializing and hanging out.
My apartment is located in a 100-year-old building, inhabited by families who have lived here for generations. It is full of charm and incredible details, which, for me, was the point of no return when I saw the place. It has its downsides; it is old and hasn't been renovated for a while, but for me, this is exactly what I am looking for in my Barcelona-life. It is full of feeling, colour and charm, and I feel the local vibe- I feel that I am living HERE and not just in any big European city.
Still, Barcelona is, as everyone knows a fascinating city full of culture, art and beauty. Grácia is in the middle of two Metro-lines- and Fontana, 4 mins walk, has the green line running to the city centre (Barrio Gótico, Raval, Las Ramblas, Plaza Catalunya) and Joanic, 10 mins walk, has the yellow line which runs to the beaches and the ports. You can easily walk to Parque Guell from here- it takes around 20 minutes.
I really recommend everyone to experience Grácia as the base for their Barcelona-experience. It is so local, so artistic, and so sweet to be here. Rather than staying in the touristy areas, where you constantly have to worry about thieves and prostitues and touts, you can come "home" to Grácia and live the local life.
In my apartment you have full access to kitchen, bathroom, washing machine and a sanctuary away from Barcelona.
Before you arrive, I send you an email full of local secrets for you to enjoy at your leisure.
I also provide a guidebook by Lonely Planet for you to use at your convenience when here.
Please contact me for prices and questions!
linda8maria@gmail.com

some friendly advice

2011-09-03T15:26:00.001+02:00

i have been thinking about advice.
getting advice from friends and people around us, when we need help, when we need suport, when we need reassurance.

friends are such amazing things to have.
they are the jewels and the gems and the prettiest flowers in the garden of our lives.
they are there for us no matter what, they love us and support us, and the listen to us when we need to talk.

but when it comes to the subject of advice, i am a little hesitant to accept it, unless it comes from someone who deeply knows me, my habits, my pitfalls and my weak spots.
only very few people understand me, as i really am, and have seen me make the mistakes i make, according to my individual fears and issues.

i realise that most advice is given from a place in the other person. either a place of convincing themselves of their own choices, or a place of "wanting".
in the end, only those who really know us and love us unconditionally, can give us real advice, and more importantly, only we, ourselves, can really know what is the right thing for ourselves.
and that is sometimes the very hardest thing- to know ourselves, to know what we want, and to distinguish what is purely fear and what is truly the right thing.
but the biggest support is sometimes just knowing that someone is there for us, no matter what. way beyond words.

finally

2011-09-02T14:46:00.000+02:00

i realised how life works.
even though it seems backwards, it is the only way to do it.
even though it seems against my pide, my ego, my will, and my ME, it is the only way that my pride, ego, me, want and desire will get what it wants-
BY GIVING IT OUT- TO LIFE, TO OTHERS- BY BEING THE FIRST ONE TO OFFER IT, AND THEN IT WILL BE OFFERED BACK TO ME
unless i engage in life, life will not engage in me
unless i give love out, love will not be given back to me
it's so simple: we create our own reality!

my ibiza

2011-08-31T15:46:00.000+02:00

robyn live in amnesia

family, friends, clear waters

food, movement, flow

spirituality; no more commercial. work on my own inner, invisible purpose. for me. not for show.

contrasts

every front has a back

every back has a front

alleyways

mixed feelings

windows of opportunity

team-work

sunset dogswims

if you add love to love, the love will add to the love

2011-08-24T20:37:00.000+02:00

getting to the top

2011-08-23T17:48:00.000+02:00

searching, looking, studying, travelling, discovering, reading, browsing...

getting dissappointed, getting burnt, facing bullshit and fake gurus...

looking for "it"
the only way is up?
but what if...
what if, when we get there, to this "up"-place- we only discover that there is, in fact, nothing there???
what do when do with all of this life-experience, the stories we created, the pictures we took, the problems we solved, the things we learnt...

a mountain of life-experience, getting to the top, only to discover that there is nothing new under the sun.
only to discover that we are all the same, we are all one. we all want the same things, we all fear the same things.
we all battle the ego and the mind, we all want to give and recieve love.
some of us are more capable of living purely from our hearts- but many of us live through our ego, even though completely unaware of it. ruled by the ego, we think we deserve more (or less) than others. but those few who live from the heart, live purely, beyond the constant dramas of the ego. those people are at the top and are able to look others' in the eye- with love, with connectedness, with a feeling and knowing that we are all, in fact, the same. beyond irritaion, differences, anger, colours and borders, we all share one beating heart. LIFE. LOVE.

yes, that's it. that word. LOVE.
love of self, love towards and for others. even loving those who disturb us, annoy us, hurt us. love, actually.
love, purely.
love, and only love.

the only things which remains, once we reach the top of the searching-mountain.

escape to Sitges

2011-08-21T22:01:00.002+02:00

Barcelona is hot, too hot.
My neighbourhood has been throbbing with fiesta during a whole week.
Amazing for those who visit- not so great for those of us who live here.
Live music all night, drunken screams and brawls, stink of urine and no way of getting to the metro on time.
Crowds, sweat, alcohol and noise.
Enough!

I woke up this morning with the thought: I need to escape this Barcelona-bubble!
So I did- I went to Sitges.
No expectations, really; I know it's a touristy place and all that, but I wanted to see it.
And it was refreshing to get out of the bubble and to a beach that is not artificial (yes..unfortunately..the bubble-beach is artificial!)

I wasn't at all impressed, nor was I disgusted.
I was in a new place, observing the energy of it, observing my reactions and thoughts to it.
The thoughts were these:
"It has the feeling of Brighton!"
"Oh my god, I didn't realise it was so GAY! I feel like i'm in Soho, London!"
"Hmm, some of the streets are really so cute with the whitewashed buildnings; it reminds me of the south of Spain!"

Funny, that, I thought.
The mind always wants to compare and refer to already experienced places.
It wants to analyse, refer, compare.
Why can I not just stay open to the fact that this is Sitges- it's own place?
It bores me sometimes being an adult.

But unfortunately, this is the mind, and I am just the observer.
I know I've done it before.
I remember arriving in Sri Lanka, going up a hill with a motorbike, and saying "this reminds me of Bali"!
Always re-connecting somehow.
And I get bored of myself for doing it.
It would be so much nicer to be like a child- everything new, everything possible.
But it seems to get harder the older I get.
I am getting kinda cynical.

I bore myself when I observe my mind's constant circles of repetition.
If the mind could just shut up and get out of the way, I could enjoy the moment better.
It's a constant work, working with this mind.
Never stops chatting its shit.
Sigh...

"Nothing new under the sun", I thought.
"I've seen it all before", I thought.
Yes, I've seen it all before. Houses, beautiful coastline, Spain, all of it.
I get bored, actually.
I think this is why my mind keeps telling me it knows this stuff.
I guess I'm growing out of a phase and into another one, where different things start to matter.
I miss the people I love. I'd rather spend my Sunday with those people, than discovering new places. (yikes. I am definitely changing.)

But then I had the biggest surprise of the day, which kind of turned my negative mind-spiral into a fluffy moment of admiration:
I went into a busy, traditional bar full of people, and ordered what I always considered one of my favourite drinks in Spain: Tinto de Verano. (red wine, ice, Fanta Limón, ice = blended = lovely!

And it was placed in front of me, looking like this.
I could not stop admiring the fine line balancing the Fanta and the red wine, slowly moving like a wave, staying separated like oil and water. After each sip it made a gorgeous dance all around the circle of the glass and I felt as if I was a kid observing the clouds fly by in the sky.
Wonderful. I felt new.
And I realised, that's it's in the small things.
That's where IT is. In the details.

travel photography by Linda

2011-08-17T20:07:00.001+02:00

zanzibar, tanzania

tofo beach, mocambique

little india, bangkok, thailand

zanzibar, tanzania

kerala, india

northern burma

el puerto de santa maria, spain

zipolite, mexico

sinai, egypt

the kraal, south africa

jessore, bangladesh

tofo beach, mocambique

inle lake, burma

sahara, egypt

tofo beach, mocambique

travel memoirs

2011-08-17T19:50:00.000+02:00

old pictures and memories of what has been
the camera is the greates tool for capturing a moment
often we don't remember so much of what we experienced..things fade after a while
our photos serve as instant journeys back to that specific moment

Cape Town
wow, what a magic place!
i kept saying to myself each and every day that i spent there, that i could and would and will live there one day. at least for a year; soak in this magnificent place, with the light, the powerful nature, the people, and the dramatic contradiction that you are faced with all the time while there.

my first journey outisde of Eurpoe- innocently backpacking to Thailand and i ending up in the north of Sumatra, in the province of Aceh. war.. but the people, the energy, the food, th nature, the place..wow. not from this world!

Burma! did i really go there? was that really me?
sometimes i marvel at the magic of my sometimes impulsive decision-making. i follow a feeling, not a logic. i go where my heart tells me to go. not logical, sometimes dangerous, but always an incredible andf life-changing experience.

ah, the people of the desert..Sinai..
magical nights, days full of laughter and wise people.
diving in the red sea- silence and synchronization with the breath of our planet.
blue, sun, dry, hot...and cold beer.

i once read a travel quote that said "i have seen more places than i remember and i remember more places than i have seen"
i actually don't understand this quote, techincally speaking. but i feel the words deep inside me- i feel what the person who wrote this means.
i also have travelled so much that i sometimes marvel at the moments i glimpse when i look at old photographs. and sometimes i hear myself telling stories from a journey, which i can actually not remember the details of. i just feel a string of moments and experinces tied together, like pork balls on a barbeque stick from the night market in Chiang Mai- and i love dipping them in the hot and sticky sweetchilisauce to spice them up.

i love travelling.
i would not be where i am, or who i am, without all the challenges, experiences, drama, love, and most of all the people, that i met, on the of road my travelling life.

how i fell back in love with life with the help of a washing-machine

2011-08-05T23:06:00.000+02:00

i am new in this city and it was so wonderful in the beginning.
i tell you, wonderful
like being in love!
i was walking around, buzzing, actually feeling as if there was electricity running through my veins.
but life transformed the in-love-buzz into a routine.
that dreaded thing.
routine.

not just routine.
there was also fear.
fear of not making it.
everyone's talking about the economical crisis, about the 25% unemplyment, about how impossible it is to survive here.
no jobs, nothing to live from, why are you even here?

i got stuck, for a while, in a routine of fear.
paralyzed by the words of others, dumbstruck by numbers and opinions.
afraid that i had made a huge mistake, coming here.
how naive of me to think i would be able to create a new life!
i decided, a while ago, to stop my flying through the world, wherever the wind took me.
my decision was a well throught-through one.
i wanted to stop being, as i called myself, "a curtain"- flowing in the wind, allowing destiny and life to blow me wherever it wanted.
i decided it was time to take some action myself, and to be the creator of my own life.

so then my washing machine broke down.
and it was one of the deepest realizations, regarding myself, life, destiny and creation, that i have ever had.
so this washing machine was a second hand one, bought in Raval.
i knew when i bought it that it might be a risk.
but they gave me a one-year-guarantee, so i decided that i'd be safe for a year, anyway.
one evening as the machine was running, it suddenly stopped, and it was boiling hot, as if on fire. and then it wouldn't run no more.

the next day i started looking for the guarantee, and i looked and i looked and i....looked.
me- i never lose anything!- but this, i did. i looked for two hours before i gave up.
then i jumped on the bike (the wonderful barcelona biking system where you use public bikes) and i rolled down to the shop in Raval and explained the situation.
they were friendly and all, but emphasized that they would not be able to help me without the gurantee. they did demonstrate, however, very clearly, how to clean the filter, and do all the things possible to make it run again.
i realised that if this had been in Sweden, i would have called someone. a handyman, or whatever. or, being the curtain blowing in the wind, i would have accepted the fact that the machine was broken, and i would had left it at that.
accepting whatever comes my way and whatever way i come to, that used to be my way of life and thinking. or calling my parents and ask them what to do.
but in Barcelona, i have no one to call, and i didn't have the guarantee to save me, so i was left with... myself.

i took out the tool-box and got to work. water everywhere, everywhere water.
i pulled out a 2 cent-coin eventually, from the filter. i screwed everything back together and started the machine.
water everywhere. machine stopped.
i screwed everything apart again and i pulled out a 1 cent-coin eventually. i put the filter back- in a weird way...i started the machine, and this time, water EVERYWHERE- everywhere water, flowing, flooding, cascading... i pulled the electrical plug, and started wiping the floor, draining the towels, sweating and swearing... and eventually, i put the filter in correctly, and i started the machine again.
by now it was like 1.30 am and i was tired, sweaty, irritated- but as the machine started running, and it was running so smoothly, much better than before, and i felt..so..good!!! i fixed it, with my own two hands and unpractical head, and i DID IT! because i had to! because i had no one to call! because i was forced to use all of my power, creativity and energy!

i can do everything i want.
i can make it.
i am not a curtain in the wind, being blown by destiny wherever it chooses to take me.
i have the power to change things, create things, and fix things.
it is up to me to do it.
up to me and you to decide that we have the capacity to do even the things that seem impossible.
when there is no one else to ask, then we have to turn to ourselves.

i could choose to accept that the machine was broken, i could choose to believe there is a meaning with everything, and i can choose to explain things by karma, astrology, or whatever stupid excuse i may use, to not take responsibility for my own life and the events within it.

the circumstances may seem impossible, such as 25% unemployment or, much worse- no one to call to fix the washing machine (!)- but we are so much bigger than that.

i love my life, i love my washing machine, and i love Barcelona so, so, so much. it's truly one of the coolest places i have been to in my life, and it sure isn't an easy place to start a new life in- but then again, it actually isn't that hard, either.
it's all about what we choose to do with it all.

my washing machine helped me understand that i have a choice, and the power, to create what i want.
that i don't have to passively sit back and wait for things to come- or even worse, not come- to me.

the pictures displayed here are taken at the traditonal, old market in the old city, called la Boquería, just after i had been back at the second-hand-washing-machine-shop.
i didn't really understand what i was doing, as i was taking the pictures. i surprised myself when i understood that i was looking for emptiness.
all my pictures portrayed emptiness.
i love taking pictures at markets. all the countries i have been to, which have had colourful markets, i have taken pictures of.
i remembered one time in Tanzania, in a market in Dar es Salaam, where i filled up my pictures with colours. i looked for fullness. this day in Barcelona i looked for emptiness.
i guess because in emptiness comes potential, space, possibility.
there is space to fill up.
instead of using pre-filled options, i can start over, with what is empty.
by moving to a new place, i clean my plate, and i can now fill my plate with what i choose to fill it with.
because i have a choice.

make a wish

2011-07-26T22:51:00.002+02:00

but be careful what you wish for...

Breathing in Barcelona

2011-07-18T21:54:00.001+02:00

the big city, the crowded maze, all of us mixed into a tiny space
from all walks of life, from different cultures
and all with a story of our own
and a dream

most of us come to a city like Barcelona for a reason
some escaping their stories, starting new
some looking for refuge, money, a career
some looking for relaxation, art, inspiration

alone, sad, lonely
in the big city
escaping something, ending up in a labyrinth of a different type of pain
selling our souls for survival
only to sell the soul yet again to slavery
people come here with money
while some look for their next meal in the leftovers of the fancy restaurants' rubbish bins

the city;
a doorway to a new life
living the dream
new possibilities
anonimously starting over
entering through that door, alone
brave?
leaving things behind, breaking through into the new
rebirth is painful
our first breath is painful
our last...is..unknown

"Welcome Tourist. The rent of holiday apartments in this neighbourhood destroys the local socio-cultural fabric and promotes speculation. Many local residents are forced to move out.
Enjoy your stay"

i wonder who wrote this.
i found it in the area of Barceloneta, where an extremely high percentage of the inhabitants are immigrants from south america. this group of immigrants are obviously not high income-takers.

but it still makes me think.
who does Barcelona "belong" to?
is it fair to try to keep the "tourists" out?
the tourists, who bring money to the city of Barcelona.
the tourists, who drop a coin to the street performers, who buy the fake Gucci-bags sold by the African illegal immigrants, the tourists who eat tapas in the Chinese-owned bars and who buy cold beer from the Pakistani boys.
The tourists, who, with their influx of money, provide food for the day to a lot of people, who all came here, with their story, with their dream.

who has a right to say they want to keep anyone else "out"?
who says the African guy should go back to Africa? and possibly die on the way? who says the tourists should stay only in Eixample and Gótico?
Barcelona is one of those places, made up of temporary stories, temporary dreams, coming and going, alone and together, entering and exiting.
first breath hurts, last breath is unknown.

inbetween, we are all just here, trying to survive.
in this moment, the socio-cultural fabric of Barcelona, is all of us, rich or poor.
we all share one thing: a breath still breathing.
and we will keep on sharing, until the day it doesn't anymore.

right now in Barcelona

2011-07-17T21:53:00.000+02:00

after the rain

shapes, colours, lines & Delhi Dreams

2011-07-16T21:02:00.000+02:00

one of my favourite things to do in life is to be in a completely foreign place, and just walk around, guided by my camera.
i like seeing moments, shapes, colours and feelings through my lens; capture details of a complete structure through my camera, and get to know a place by its shapes and lines.
i spent a lot of time in Delhi; i was there twice, and both times the city captured me in a prison-like existence, where i had no way out, than to just be there, inhale it, enjoy it, and be in it.
the first time i was only passing through, or so i thought, on my way from Gokarna, to the north.
little did i know that i would be stuck there for more than three weeks, sick with salmonella.
the second time i was going to one of my dream-destinations- Pushkar- which to me echoed a mythical sound and called me there.
this time the fogs stopped me. no trains, no buses, and one of the worst fogs of north India in modern times. the fog chilled our bones and stuck us to the spot; the train stations were packed with waiting souls and the boards showing train departures all screamed "cancelled".
so there i was, in Delhi, again.
Delhi, you are a witch, you are a hell, you are a mythical, entrapping labyrinth of a spider-web.
but i, of course, loved walking around in her shapes, colours, lines and dreams.

dreaming of good business, old Delhi

burning sun of the heart, Grand Mosque, old Delhi

fragrantly reaching for the sky, Pahar Ganj Hindu Temple

stapling apples, making walls of colours, Pahar Ganj

bicycle waiting to fly, Old Delhi

triangle shaped fried heaven, Pahar Ganj

the light illuminates even the darkest alley, if only for a moment, Pahar Ganj

Temple crows in the thick fogs of winter Delhi, Pahar Ganj

Stairway to...? Pahar Ganj

electricity on the sky, Pahar Ganj

Ghostly portal guarded by cool bike, Pahar Ganj

we all have a story

2011-07-14T21:52:00.000+02:00

i have a story, you have a story; we all have a story.
we all also have a vision; a dream; a possible reality to live.
some of us are living our dreams, others choose to live in their past stories.
but we all have them; no matter who we are, what we look like, and what circumstances we come from.

today i have been in Barcelona for one month.
i have met many, many new people, all with a story.
some stories are obvious, as they affecting the current situation of a person's life, and others hide their story, while some are evidently free from their stories by having made an active choice to be so.
i met several people here who i found really, really inspiring.
coming from a past that may be filled with pain and trauma, these people have decided to not keep identifying themselves with their suffering, and instead, they moved on, and created their own, chosen reality.

many of us come from suffering. many of us think this is the only way to be, the correct state of being. we identify ouselves with our conditioned suffering and it becomes who we are.
but it doesn't have to be that way.
fear can be overcome, suffering can be left behind. it is hard work and it takes a lot of willpower; but where there's a will, there's always a way.
success is not something that "just happens" to people.
success comes with a lot of courage, hard work, dedication, and discipline.

i met some inspiring people here, who came from difficult situations. who left their home countries and their families, to start over, and leave the pain behind. hard work, dedication to their dreams, and a lot of courage took them to a place of success, in themselves. success in disidentifying from their past conditionings, disidentification from suffering, and an active choice to live their dream.

in fact, since i came to Barcelona one month ago, i heard people using the phrase "to live my dreams" more often than i ever did altogether in my whole life. and i see it happening; i watch people making their dreams come true. i see people making an active choice for change, right here, in this city.
not stopping, not giving up. not giving in to laziness or being too comfortable. keep on moving, keep on working.

yesterday i sat on placa del sol in Grácia with three new friends. some of them might be friends for life.
we all told our story.
sharing our stories and telling of our past, we all realised that everyone has a story. no matter what that person looks like today, behaves like, or appears to be; we all come from a story.
it is up to us to create our own.
each moment is a new opportunity.
thank you Barcelona!

just do it

2011-07-10T14:52:00.000+02:00

just do it
just be it
just live it

no more bullshit
no more dreaming
talk is cheap

falling in love

2011-07-03T13:09:00.000+02:00

i am falling in love with Barcelona
every day i fall more and more, into the dark, mysterious alleyways of the labyrinth of this city
the layers of people from all corners of the world, narrow lanes and mediterranean breezes sometimes sends shivers through my soul
and electricity through my legs

since i arrived, i have danced more than i did in the past year
i have walked more slowly
i have slept less, but have more energy
i have eaten less, and drunk more cold beer
i walked more, i stopped more
i have met more new people, i have felt more at home in myself

but falling in love is just a phase, a phase of illusion and longing
to actually establish a relationship is a whole different story, which takes energy, commitment, and a lot of trust
just like following and finding your dreams is a pleasurable and exciting adventure
but to actually live the dream is hard, dedicated work

appreciation for what we have, each and every day, i think is the key to living our dreams, and keeping them alive
constantly reminding ourselves why we are living the life we are living, and knowing that we have a choice, in each moment, to change, recreate and create our own reality
it's up to you and me
to live our dreams
i am committed to Barcelona

no one said it would be easy

2011-06-20T21:31:00.000+02:00

it's just not that easy to do what we dreamed of doing.
things are looking different in reality than how they are looking in the dream.
the dream never really shows the hard moments, the difficulties, the sadness and the loneliness.
but we still have to go ahead and try out our dreams, and not let the difficult moments stop us.

I wore a mask of tranquility and trust. I was the one convincing others that all would be fine. of course I would be fine! in the dream it was all perfect, and fun.
once here, I feel a bit lonely, a bit on the outside, like the city is vibrating and I am not in the vibe.
I am the one outside of the rollercoaster, trying to jump on, but it's moving too fast, and I don't really manage...but I will- I cannot give up. this is my dream, and I have to keep reminding myself that this was what I wanted, and I did understand that it wouldn't be easy.

on friday afternoon, after having spent three long days of wandering, getting lost, looking, and finding, I went to see an apartment that just felt RIGHT. it was as if I KNEW; because as soon as I had seen it, I relaxed, I took a beath, and I started wandering around the city, and I started taking pictures. and at one point, sitting close to the sagrada familia, on a buzzing street filled with families and people enjoying their friday night, I started falling in love with Barcelona.

soon after, however, I had a strong realization over a glass of Rioja, on the balcony of the dear, beautiful, sweet people that have opened their home to me for this beginning of mine.

once you find what you have been dreaming about and what you were looking for, the real work begins.
I saw my future home; the perfect apartment of my dreams, and I am signing the contract of this place in a few days- but it is now that the work begins. there's not a single piece of furniture, there's no washing machine, and there's the narrowest possiblest most antiquest ever staircase leading up to the third floor. and I barely have any cash left, once the rent and the fees and the deposit all will be paid, the REAL work will begin.

and that's just an example- the apartment.
I applied this to other dreams; love, work, places... and realised, that the looking is pure pleasure, like leisure. like browsing. easy shopping with a bank account freshly laced with salary.
to then look after your dream, and keep it alive while living it, is the REAL work.

i have no choice but to JUST DO IT. the fear is something I will just have to observe, and not react to.

sad to leave, excited to go

2011-05-30T20:20:00.002+02:00

i lived here for six months
today i packed all my belongings into a borrowed car
and closed this chapter
it was a rich one
where i faced a lot of fears
and learned to like myself as i am

i took a road less travelled to my parents place
and stopped along the way
i saw this mother and child
and watched them as they played in the sunny field
listening to birds song
barefoot on the empty road
just me and the horses

i saw my face in so many mirrors
through countries and places
space and time, getting older, but getting closer to myself every day
i like getting older
more experienced
appreciating more
loving stronger

in this land i was born and bred
so beautiful at the beginning of summer; sweet, light, promising
june, month of light and fertility

"The road in the valley"
sounds like a dirty old-ladies-novel to me.
but sweet, so sweet, this landscape, so soft and welcoming right at the beginning of summer

fields of green green grass of home
windpower and flat fields
this is what i miss when i am not here for a long time
the free-flowing fields, the flatness, the visibility, the space to breathe

rapeseed fields, so yellow it hurts the eyes
so fragrant
so...home

the earth inside, so soft and wet
i sank with my bare feet
into the rich soil

a new chapter beginning
right now in the nomansland of not paying rent, not having an address, sleeping on sofas and mattressess at friends and family
heading for a new life
but with a strong connection to my dream
myself

the end of a chapter, with all my belongings in an elevator
packing up to leave
leaving to begin
begining to love

i just want to say thank you

2011-05-27T13:29:00.000+02:00

I just want to say thank you to all the people who support me, love me, and most of all leave me alone to do the things i want to do, without interfering or expecting anything from me, just being there, in the background, year after year, and some recently, month after month.
i would be nothing without your support, and my footsteps on this earth would have been invisible.

today is a big day, and despite the rain and the cold May-day, I feel blessed and happy. it was the last yoga-class for my dedicated seniors, to who i'm endlessly grateful for their love, support and interest. and it is the opening for my photos on a public wall... wine and food and love.

looking back at this year it has been a big busy struggle and also a big busy rehearsal for living my dreams. yoga-teaching, photography, friends, and love. soon this chapter will end and I am taking my dreams under my wings and i am flying them, and myself, off to a dream-location.
what would life be without risk-taking?
less exciting, for sure.
YIKES!!!

thank you for the love and the light
peace

dreams photography series

2011-05-26T14:42:00.002+02:00

I just finished the project of choosing, printing, framing, hanging and displaying the series of pictures that i call "dreams"
It was an intensely absorbing process, surprisingly expensive, and an extremely fulfilling journey, that I am very happy to have done. It is a very special feeling to see my pictures on a public wall; it is like putting my personal diary up for public display.
The images are taken in India, during my last journey there in 09-10, and what you see is what I see. I capture an instant feeling; possibly not photographically correct- but the way I feel the moment to be.
I chose 15 images that are now displayed in a local coffee shop.

India is full of strong people with a remarkable inner power. Despite social, econimical or religious hardship and oppression, the soul of the people I meet on the streets there, manages to capture me in a really magical way. Coming from a society where outer structure and social wellfare is a priority, but where, at times, the inner life of the people can be traumatic and full of depression and weakness, I am deeply moved by the inner strength of people in a society where the outside is chaotic. Through prayer and faith, through family and trust, it is beautiful to view the inner radiance shine through, and this is what I take pictures of.

With this series of pictures I want to show my experience of how I feel that we were all born with a dream, and how we all inherently possess the strength to go after it, fulfill it, and live it- no matter what our circumstances are.

see-through-love

2011-05-14T18:56:00.000+02:00

real love is the ability to see below the surface of a person's fluctuations
and know the beauty of the depths within

connecting deeply to the soul inside
not reacting to the constant display of fear, ego and insecurities we all show in the dramatic dance of love

but knowing that the true source of the person is pure, raw, clear light
honouring this source by always remembering and forgiving

to really love, is a constant choice, which we need to keep renewing
towards ourselves and to those we chose to love

living without legs- and my pathetic attempt to help

2011-04-19T23:24:00.003+02:00

as soon as i saw him, i was stunned by his facial expression, because it was radiating serenity.
it was looking up at me, serenly and wihtout changing its expression, as i walked past, with my camera on my shoulder, and my friend Katja walking next to me, on a dusty road in the center of the village Gokarna, in Karnataka, India.
the face with its serene look would not have been such a big spectacular happening if it hadn't been for the deformed body that it was attached to.
his legs were like little frog-legs, completely useless.

he was sitting steadily, and it looked like he was made out of torso only, and legs and arms were just lifeless branches coming out of him, with no purpose.
i stopped immediately as our eyes met. i saw this little boy, and was stunned by the chaotic opposition of his facial expression to that of his bodily expression. physical body and spiritual body were in complete opposition- or was it that his spiritual body was so in harmony, that he no longer had use for a physical one?

this is India, after all, where gods and godessess are all over the place. where the soul wanders from incarnation to incarnation, and where the poor people accept their destiny because they believe their current life-situation is simply the sum of the bad actions performed in a previous life- and if they perform good actions in this life, it will only get better in the next one.

but little Shivkumar, also called Shiva by his family, seemed to embody both a low incarnation of a complete handicapped and useless body, as well as an enlightened soul.

his eyes spoke only of acceptance and love as they gazed steadily into mine, without flinching.
i was extremely vulnerable in his presence, and it started as soon as my eyes met his. i really felt a huge desire to help him in some way, while, at the same time, i wanted to be around his wisdom.
Shiva was only about 10 years old but his soul is old and wise, and he made me feel like a child.
i started visiting him every day and i was just sitting there, hanging out with him and his family, and they shared their daily moments with me, and i got to share my western wealth with them by buying food and drinks and chai.

Shivas family were selling plastic jewellery and religious figures for the pilgrims coming to Gokarna, but they money they made was nowhere near enough to give them enough food and clothes and hospital treatments.
Shiva's job was to keep a little tin box in front of him, for people to donate money. which many did, as they saw his deformed body and pure expression.
he was wearing the same clothes almost every day- but every day they smelled clean and fresh. his mother or grandmother washed all of the childrens' clothes, each and every night. they each had a tiny (in comparison to a western) breakfast and a chai each, and then one more meal in the evening, usually just rice and some dal.
i wanted to help Shiva from the moment i met him. i felt as if i wanted to give something back to Gokarna, where my life had been saved by the local doctor a few years earlier, when i had malaria. i felt strongly that it was my karma to pay it forward.

i talked a lot with Shiva's mother about getting a "gari"- a little carriage- almost looking like a skateboard- a thing specific to India, often used by people paralysed after having polio, which was exactly the case of Shiva. they sit themselves on this gari and then roll themselves everywhere with the help of their hands, which they have to bandage, to not damage from the dirty streets. his mother, Poppi,27 years old and a mother-of-five (and one dead) told me this was the familys' biggest dream, for Shiva to get a gari, bu that they could not afford one.
i started with asking around in gokarna, but no one had any idea where to find one. they all mentioned Bangalore, which is the capital of the state of Karnataka, and quite far away.

we decided to try a bigger town, about an hour bus-ride away. me, Poppi, Shiva and two of his siblings went, and i was determined to make this happen. we walked around all of that town, and asked a lot of people, and found all the bicycle workshops in town, but everyone kept referring to Bangalore.

we gave up. we had a lunch in the bus station before we left, and came back on the bus, to Gokarna, where the family settled again at their corner of the dusty street.
i started feeling both guilt and a sense of wanting to get away. i had nowhere to hide- to get onto the main street on the way form my guesthouse, i had to pass their corner. i was with them every day, and i felt as if it was beginning to get to much for me.
i was not able to stay out of the suffering of this boy, and i was under the illusion that i could help him.
i felt guilty for having started this whole project of helping with the gari, and now not being able to finish it. if i had really wanted to, i could have taken him on the train to Bangalore, but in fact, i was slowly starting to feel physically ill by the whole situation. it was intense to be inside the life of this family every day for about two weeks.

the day i announced i was moving on to Delhi, they all were very sad, and i made a promise to them that i would soon be back, and we would continue the search for a gari for Shiva.

he never asked for it himself- it was his family, only, discussing the matter- Shiva himself was always serenely looking into my eyes and sometimes taking my hand in his twisted ones.
the last day we were together i took Shiva and his sister to the town beach.
after swimming and playing, we had ice-cream, and the little god-boy was so sweet with the sunset glistening in his eyes and the melting vanilla ice-cream smeared all over his face.
i realised, that thee is nothing i can do to help this boy.
i can only learn from him, and that thing i can learn, is acceptance of the things that i cannot change, and courage to live as fully as possible within the conditions i have been given.
just like he does.

the Dalai Lama did something to my eyes

2011-04-16T21:17:00.000+02:00

in sweden we have a concept called "vårtrötthet" roughly translated as "spring-tiredness".
isn't that weird? we live in a hibernating state of cold and dark and long for the light- but when it arrives, some of us get tired, so tired...the eyelids seem to carry heavy buckets of water and all we want is sleep. as if we didn't do enough of that in the endless, dark cave of winter...
but it happened to me; last week i was so tired, i took a siesta each afternoon despite my 7-8 hours of sleep each night, and i even cheated at work, in the massage-chair, and stole some sleep while getting paid. bad girl! but i just couldn't help myself.

i felt this urge of a need of change washing over me like a violent wave last week.
i need to cut my hair!
if i don't cut my hair, i'll rip it off!
i wanted an immediate appointment, but evidently there were more people in Lund cutting their hair that specific afternoon. oh well.
i had to wait two days.
and then it came off.
and the dull winter colour was enlightened. literally.
i came out looking like a polish zebra, but they say it will even out with washing and sun. i hope so! i HATE striped hair. it looks VERY polish. and i can say that because i AM polish, you cannot, ok?!

parallell realities run along simultaneously, side-by-side, to our own existence. looking up at the sky this morning, i was awakened by the stripes and crosses and lines cutting though space. so beautiful; makes me wanna inhale and fly; makes me wanna travel, and simultaneously, makes me more present than ever.
a parallell reality, there are so many lives i could have lived, but i chose this. the possibilities are endless and i am so grateful i have a choice. i am truly free. in theory, at least.
sometimes i wish my mind would also be free- completely blue, vast and endless like the sky this morning, with lines temporarily created by a passing flight, only to evaporate slowly, without leaving a trace or an imprint.
getting there, well, at least, i'm working on it.

today was the day i have been waiting for, for a long time.
His Holiness the Dalai Lamai came to little Lund.
as soon as he stepped onto the stage i felt my heart expand all the way up to my eyes and push water out of them.
big tears rolled down my cheeks, and i was a bit embarassed. no one else around me seemed to be crying.
i cried all the way through, when i didn't giggle at his childlike laugh. what an amazing energy, what a huge soul. i have no idea what he said; his words did not matter. it was his presence, his facial expressions, his body language and the tone of his voice.
i cried and felt like my life is so small.
i bother myself with such small, meaningless things.
he put it all into perspective.
after, i went shopping. at the veggie-department, i caught my own face in a mirror.
i saw my eyes, filled with new light, filled with perspective. possibly lit up by my new blonde stripes; but more possibly sparked by that something that the Dalai Lama did to me.
thank you, amazing soul.

intense energies took me to a hot bath.
i needed to soften everything with warm water and fragrant oil.
it is good to be reminded how my life is actually, at times, pathetic- because of the actually non-existent problems that i, myself, have created. outisde of me, everything is absolutely perfect. the struggle is within. i see it happening, and i try to only observe. i try to make the absurdities of my mind into passing flights, crossing the sky of my mind, leaving no trace as they evaporate steadily.

i met this man on friday night...

2011-04-10T21:46:00.000+02:00

i went to surprise my grandmother on friday afternoon. i had brought some food i was gonna cook her a nice meal and hang out.
she was so happy to see me, in fact, she got really over-excited and started shaking. i was afraid i had given her a heartattack- but she calmed down eventually.
she had a surprise for me, too, though.
she lives in a house with only "seniors" and downstairs they have a cafe where they hang out and have different events.
this particular evening there was going to be a movie on, and my grandmother assumed it would be some old black-and-white thing, some Ingmar Bergman-movie, to remind them of the good old days that have already passed. she said "it might be very boring for you" but i didn't care- i like hanging out with her and her oldie friends. (for a limited amount of time, obviously!)
when we got down to the cafe, it turned out there was a special guest.

a very special guest.

he had set up his gear, and was going to show a movie.
his name is Bengt F. Lindstedt and he is 70+.

the particular film we were going to see was one about the south of Sweden, but i soon found out from him that he had travelled, in the past 10 years, to places such as Mexico, China, Turkey, Egypt, Tunisia and Morocco.
and not just that- he had actually driven his car from Sweden all the way to north Africa, through Spain.
he had once found himself in the Turkish part of Kurdistan, where his car broke down in the middle of nowhere.

i was mesmerized by his spirit as soon as i laid my eyes on him.
a saying came to my mind instantly:
"beautiful is when the spirit shines through"

his spirit was sparkling, alive and life-affirming, and it caught me immediately. what an inspirational being!
after his retirement, he started travelling. he always loved filming and travelling, but he had worked as a fire-man during his working years, to make the necessary money to support himself and his family. but after his retirement his wife passed away and he was left with only himself and his life motto: live here now, do what you want, and make the most of life.

he revealed that he does not aspeak one word of English, nor any other languages than Swedish. he simply manages by body language and basically communicating with everything except words. this says so much about the communication skills of a person- and the receptivity of his senses- and the ability to use them intelligently.

he just goes. with his car. and his camera. and he feels so alive, so free, so in the moment, when he is on the road, where everything is possible.

talk about free spirit, talk about free from fear, talk about living a dream!

i realised something about myself. about the law of attraction.
how i am attracted to a certain vibration, not a specific look, age, economical status or any outside attributes.
if i am attracted to a soul, it happens on another level. and this spirit definitely made a big impression on me, and left me feeling vibrating with life.
thank you, Bengt F. Lindstedt, for inspiring me, and many others, by living your dreams, and showing us it is possible.

my personal moment

2011-04-07T15:34:00.000+02:00

the most important connection to have, is the one we have with ourselves.
if we are not connected to ourselves, to our own feelings and dreams, we are disconnected from everything around us, too

when we are connected to our true self, beyond the cobweb of our minds, we are truly connected to everyone and everything and are able to follow our heart and live our dreams

a daily prayer, meditation or a creative or silent moment to ourselves, help us connect, help us tune in, help us go beyond the constant babble of our minds. we see that we are all one

taking this moment to connect to our source is a beautiful way of remembering our oneness, of clearing up the clouds that inhabit our minds, to remember that beyond the clouds, the sun is always shining

it does not matter how we do it, where we do it, or under which context
what matters is doing it, to remember ourselves, by making sure we live OUR OWN DREAMS, not the dreams of others

i am full of light

2011-04-06T20:16:00.002+02:00

what you want

2011-04-06T20:12:00.000+02:00

March 2011

2011-03-30T11:10:00.001+02:00

March 2011 is almost at its end.
As I completed my list of worked hours at my job, I became a little bit afraid of myself.
I worked a LOT and I had VERY FEW days off.
Most of those days off, I had a yoga class- I teach 4 classes a week- so I started to add these extra hours on top of the hours I did at my care-job and realised that basically, the month of March 2011, was spent working, very very hard. On the 28th, my boss said I was not allowed to work any more hours, as I had reached full-time. Then they were desperate for help on the 29th, and I happily added another day to my list, and I still wanted more, (2 more days to this month, two more days to work!!) but they said "enough, miss Workaholic".

On top of that, I practiced a lot of yoga, almost every day, and I spent a lot of time with my inner demons and angels, and as a cherry on top of that mountain, I spent some lovely moments with my dear friends and family.
Great, productive month. Still not tired.
But maybe that trail of migraine I got last night, running from the right side of my neck, through the side of my head and culminating painfully in my eye had something to do with the over-productivenessness...:)
Who knows.
All I know is that I very much look forward to April 2011.
I know it is going to be an amazing month.

in my mind

2011-03-29T18:16:00.001+02:00

ever since i was very young, my key words have been "freedom" and "dreams"
these two words were so tasty in my mouth.
i used to write them in my diary, i used to colour them and think of them in different contexts.

now, this has developed into "freedom from my mind, so that i can live my dreams"
see, i keep writing about living our dreams. i think it is an essential part of life, to develop our dreams, our deepest talents, our deepest purpose, and be able to live it, to flower, to become as full and expansive human beings as we can be.
i know we all carry enormous potential. each human heartbeat is like a universe of creation and possibilities. we all have it, no one is excempt, everyone included.
ask any child, and they will tell you their dream.
a child in the slums of Mumbai and a child in a suburb of Chicago- same same. each human heartbeat is equally pure and creative from the start.

if you asked me when i was a child what my dreams were, i would have answered without hesitation that i was going to be a writer.
the dream-list expanded as i grew up- but being a writer is my original dream. the topics to write about started developing when me and my family travelled each year to poland, where i saw a different life. i saw poverty and i saw religion, i saw a different way of looking after each other and i saw a life much different from my own. this inspired me and fed me, it expanded my being, and i started seeing life from different angles, not just the angle i had geographically been born into. my dream-list started to include travelling, different cultures, and the effect religion and/or poverty potentially has on a society and a human heart.
at the time, Poland was living behind the "iron curtain" of communism, and the environment was grey, square and depressing. But the lives inside the tiny, cramped flats were so full of love, home-cooking, flower-patterned aprons, and Jesus and Mary figurines.

i followed many dreams. i have absolutely no fear of going somewhere, leaving something behind- nor do i have any attachment to any particular home or material possessions. it has been so easy to take off and travel and observe the world- almost too easy at times. it seems to happen almost by itself once i get the ball rolling.
but something happens once the ball starts to slow down and roll towards my dream-goal.
my mind takes over.
the judge blows its whistle
and starts screaming at me, loudly, that i am not good enough, and i don't deserve this.
millions of reasons why i cannot keep running towards my dream-goal gets shouted at me by the judge and most of the times this happened, i gave up. i was afraid that the harsh voice of the judge was right. so i turned around, and ran away, back to where i came from- or sometimes, to a new dream.
often, i realised only after, that it was ME who had stopped myself from running towards my dream. i blamed circumstances and gave rational explanations to myself and others, not aware that it was the judge in myself, the mind of myself, that had stopped me, because it was afraid i wasn't gonna make it. FEAR stopped me. THE FEAR OF MY OWN MIND. not ME, the pure, creative, original, child-me, but the tight, fearful mind of the adult-me.
at those moments, when i flee, i am not free from my mind to live my dreams, because i have too much fear that i will not be able to do it, and i don't love and trust my original me enough to think that she truly deserves her dream.

i escaped my dreams over and over again, i'm embarassed to say it, but i did.
truth is though, i was unconscious about my behaviour. i honestly believed the judge, blowing his whistle at me, telling me that i wouldn't make that goal, telling me to run the other direction.
i hear him blowing his whistle at me a lot lately. he's telling me i'm ugly, unworthy, that i should go hide in a cave somewhere, or on a remote beach in asia, not do what i'm doing now, not think i can attain that dream-goal.
when it comes to love, he really gets off. he starts to sweat and he comes running after me and screams at the top of his lungs into my ear, that no one can love me. just look at you- ugly, stupid cow. you run like a professional towards that goal, but come on, you're a donkey, you're a monster. if someone claims to love you, it's because they want something from you. they don't like YOU- so turn back. his voice if so loud, that i cannot hear myself, that pure, child-me, inside my heart.

i have come to realise many things about myself lately, and the realisation is painful.
i can see the separation between what is ME, my pure me, and what is my MIND, that fierce, angry judge.
before, i acted upon my mind, as i believed in its judgment.
now, i cringe when it shows up, because i know i have a few days of battle ahead of me.
me, running towards my dream-goal. the judge, coming up next to me, screaming loudly in my ear, that i am not able, that i am not loved, that i am ugly and that i don't deserve this, so i should turn back, and go the other direction.

i am full of dreams.
and i am also full of broken dreams.
some of them will unfortunately stay broken, but it does not matter. the past is already gone, and a million new possibilities present themselves each day. it is never too late... as long as i start now...and have the courage to keep running despite the ugly, screaming, hysterical judge, dressed in black, blowing his annoying whistle in my little child's ear.

i think i have two very distinct sides to my being. the separation between my pure self and my mind is so sharp. i am very aware of what my pure me is like, and i am very aware of what my judgemental mind is like. lately, the separation is as clear as night and day, as male and female, as yin and yang. once of of them is in its power, it shines and beams and takes over my whole field of existence.

still grateful for all my experiences, forever grateful for all the people i have connected with and places i have seen- floors i have been sitting on and strange foods i've tasted at the side of many bustling streets. i actually would never have it any other way, should i have the possibility to re-write my life. all i would do would be to kick that ugly judge in the ass and fly him to a dark cave somehwere, or maybe even a remote tropical beach in asia. why should I be the one escaping? i had enough escaping to try and get rid of the judge. it always caught up with me, no matter where i was, anyway. time for the judge to go on a lifelong holiday, and for me, the pure, creative, free, and inner-child-me to live my dreams, and more importantly, to love myself and to be able to recieve love from others too.

THANK YOU, life, dreams & freedom

perfect-imperfect

2011-03-26T13:11:00.000+01:00

outside my window there is an ocean of absolutely perfect clouds
inside my body there is an ocean of absolutely imperfect cloudiness

live your dreams before you die- the story of a woman who didn't

2011-03-23T12:12:00.002+01:00

I was working day and night to save money for my next trip.
It was in 2004.
I had returned from a trip to Africa, where I had travelled through several countries, and when I came back, I started planning my next trip, which was gonna be a very long one, including several south east asian countries and then a first visit to India.
So I spent days, evenings and night shifts, working and saving money.
This means, in the nature of my job, that you meet certain individuals several times a day, and you become part of their daily routine, as this is what I do: I help people with their daily life, in their home.

Initially, this lady had just a little bit of help. I was mostly there in the evenings, helping her get to bed. There were always two of us staff, and we always had a great time with her- she was really friendly and funny, always laughing and joking, despite her serious condition.
This lady suffered from ALS.

"Persons with ALS have a loss of muscle strength and coordination that eventually gets worse and makes it impossible to do routine tasks such as going up steps, getting out of a chair, or swallowing.
Breathing or swallowing muscles may be the first muscles affected. As the disease gets worse, more muscle groups develop problems.
ALS does not affect the senses (sight, smell, taste, hearing, touch). It only rarely affects bladder or bowel function, or a person's ability to think or reason.
There is no known cure for ALS
Over time, people with ALS progressively lose the ability to function and care for themselves. Death often occurs within 3 - 5 years of diagnosis. About 25% of patients survive for more than 5 years after diagnosis."

She had basically been diagnosed with a slow, nightmarish death, where she would most probably be choked to death by her inability to breathe.

Over time, her need for help increased, as her limbs weakened and her breathing got heavier.
We usually stayed a few minutes once she was in bed, and just chatted about life and stuff.
I had noticed her very sparse bookshelf in one corner of the room, where she had a few volumes of standard classic books, but at the front, with the cover visible, there was a guidebook to Provence.

One evening I asked about the book. Had she been there?
She replied, with a little regret in her voice, that unfortnately she never had gotten to Provence.
She had ben dreaming about going there for many years, but, she explained, life seemed to pass so quickly during the years when her son was young, and also during his teens, and she had this dream at the back of her head, and she kept postponing it, thinking she'd do it when her son was an adult.
She bought the guidebook in the mid 90's, when she was in her late 40's. I'm guessing her son was way past what is considered the acceptable limit of adulthood.
Still, she kept postponing her dream-trip.
And then she fell ill.
It started as little tiny, worrying events, where she sometimes lost control of her whole body, and just fell onto the ground. This happened a few times a year in the beginning, and could not be diagnosed as anything in particular.

At the front of the guidebook she has written: "The most beautiful place on earth"
She kept her dream alive, thinking, one day she would go to this place of her heart.

But the illness started developing, and her everyday struggles took over.
Most days, all she could do, was sit in her wheelchair, smoke cigarettes, and watch TV.
I used to feel a sharp pain for her as we walked to her door- on the way we passed her living-room window and I saw the frail, thin shadow of a woman sit there, in her wheelchair, slightly hunched at the back, head hanging down a little.
She was always happy to see us though, and we chatted away every time.
She knew I was travelling a lot, and she knew I would be going on a long trip soon again. We both knew she would probably be dead by the time I got back.

One night we mentioned the Provence guidebook again.
Suddenly she said: "Take it, please. I know you are a traveller. Please take the book. I will never be able to fulfill my dream and see this beautiful place- but you can. You are young, you are healthy. Please take the book, and go to Provence one day for me."

I hesitated. Provence wasn't exactly on my dream-list. But could I say no?
Could I say no to inheriting the lost dream of a woman dying?
I made up my mind quickly, and I recieved the book, with the promise to go there one day.
This was in 2004.

I still haven't fulfilled my promise.
The lady died when I was in India. I never bothered to find out the details of her grim death. Tis may sound cruel, but is in fact a curiosity of this job- the fact that we meet so many people, who all are destined for death, and it becomes part of the job, and it's not possible to dwell on the details. Had we done that, the job would soon be crushing us. Too much sorrow and pain. Better to focus on life and learn from other peoples' stories.

The book, however, has been with me since. I contemplated throwing it away numerous times- I like throwing things away that I don't use- and this book has been very close to garbage many times.
But something keeps it with me, and makes me put it back in the box or whatever bookshelf I happen to be temporarily occupying.
Maybe it's those letters that she carefully has written inside the cover. "Mitt smultronställe på jorden"- meaning something like "my personal hideaway on earth" (but actually in Swedish the expression is very sweet and childlike.)
How can I throw her dream away?

The answer is- I can't.
I have to go there one day, and fulfill my promise.
Bring the book with me, and bury it there, so her soul can rest in peace, in her personal hideaway, the most beautiful place on earth; her dream-place. May her soul rest in peace until I get my ass to Provence, and may we all have the courage, inisght and strength to live our dreams before it's too late.
We only live once, as far as we know- life isn't a repetition. It's the grande finale, so smile, and get out on stage, and meet the audience.

on a sunny day

2011-03-22T16:53:00.002+01:00

today we had 14 degrees and a happy shining sun warming up our day. what a treat!
little blossoms are peeking out everywhere..
Spring is slow here up north, but it makes it even more noticeable, as it makes us, the spectators, so fascinated, so sensitized to each and every little crack of sunlight
We are like goofy parents standing at the crib of their newborn baby, seeing every move, clapping our hands at every little fart, smile and wave of the chubby hand.

At work today, I went for a stroll with an old lady. She took ages to get ready and wanted to wear all her usual wooly winter clothes, and she did not take me seriously when I insisted it was WARM. (why on earth would she take me seriously? yesterday it was COLD!)
But as we walked, her hat came off, her coat was unbuttoned, and she turned her face to the warm, friendly sun, and she sighed with bliss. Her husband died just a few weeks ago, and today, I saw her smile for the first time, and she looked at ease, and relaxed.

After the walk we checked out her wintery, dry, cracked garden.
We found this bush, filled with little blossoms, and each and every one of these blossoms seemed filled with golden sunlight.
They looked like majestic jewels. Jewels of nature.
We stood there, and just admired the sheer beauty.
So alive, so in this moment. Life, alive, moment.
Isn't that, actually, all we have?
Little moments, thread on a string, and that string, is our life.
Little blossoms, growing on a tree branch, and that branch, is our life.

something's in the air

2011-03-14T16:42:00.001+01:00

something's in the air.
i can feel it.
things are ... brighter...clearer...
or is it me, who is brighter, clearer?

somebody likes my pictures, my vision, the way is see,
enough to blow some of them up,
frame them,
and decorate their home with them.

it is hard to believe; my heart stopped as i walked into this home.
i had tears in my eyes
and i felt grateful-
i felt SEEN.

this is the child of those crazy people,
who have decorated their home with my vision.
poor kid!!
what's he gonna be?
(joking. he has the best parents in the world.)

the sky is so amazing last few weeks.
the spring is coming.
you see it in the sky.
you hear it in the bird song.
you feel it in the air.

the sunsets are a wild theatrical performance lately.
i chase them.
lucky enough to drive a car at both my jobs,
i drive out into the wild,
and chase beautiful sunsets.

forest, waking up, forest.
still naked and cold,
but you FEEL the spring coming,
not yet blossoming, but the growth, you almost hear it
as it creaks forth
bursts out
wants to live,
life,
coming alive,
new life
is there anything stronger than creation?

as the light hits us, we see ourselves.
thin, bitter, weak and fragile after a long, harsh winter
we look ourselves in the mirror
and we realise how hard it has been
gloomy hair and skin
dry and chipped lips
dull and heavy minds
as the sun hits our face
we wake up
and say
"oh my god, look at the state of me!"

a heart in a double espresso with equal parts hot milk,
the way i like it
in Spain i would say "cortado"
but in Sweden i have to be more specific
this young, cute boy in the café made me a heart
it really brightened my day
and made me smile
from my heart
and he smiled
back to me

i'm falling in love with life again
as the sun hits my wintery frame, shadow, figure
i am falling in love with myself
as the light sparkles inside me
and the shadows turn to gold
working on deep issues at the moment
making me see things
see the light
see my own light
falling in love yet again

with the sky
this sky, ravishing blatant noncompromised
wild skies
spring storms and colours
birds chattering
clouds forming shapes of non-conformity
falling in love
with spring
with you
with life
with creation
my own
yours
life

Madonna - Justify My Love - Official Music Video HD

2011-03-11T14:05:00.004+01:00

so sexy...

i wanna kiss you on Paris
i wanna hold your hand in Rome
i wanna run naked in a rainstorm
make love in a train
across the country
you put this in me
so now what
wanting
needing
waiting

i don't wanna be your mother
i don't wanna be your sister either
i just wanna be your lover

tell me your dreams
am i in them?
tell me your fears
are you scared....?
tell me your stories... i'm not afraid of who you are
we can fly...

love me
that's right
love me

i wanna be your baby

my dream-list

2011-03-10T14:36:00.011+01:00

my dreams right now:
-to live in Barcelona, Cape Town, (and maybe New York) a few years each
-to travel in Madagascar, the Congo, Mocambique, Angola & Kap Verde
-to write a book (or several)
-to learn Spanish, Italian & Polish fluently
-to go to Sicily, Provence, Portugal & Sardinia for mainly EATING, INHALING & pure pleasure
-to become a very good photographer
-to spend more time in India, photographing & writing
-to spend more time in Kraków, Poland, and especially in Kazimerz, that amazing Jewish area of the city, with whispering walls
-to learn to make Polish food
-to one day have a house somewhere in Africa, in a remote place, inside the wilderness
-to go back to Indonesia; especially Aceh, and spend some more time with that beautiful family
-to travel more in Indonesia; Papua New Guinea & East timor
-to see certain people again that have affected my life deeply, no names needed, I know who
-to be able to make money from doing all of the above, how??-only GOD KNOWS (at this point, one day I'll have it figured out)
-to do a Master Degree, balancing my Undergarduate in Eastern Religions & Philosophy, by studying Western Religions- at Jerusalem University
-do extensive studies+writing+photography+research in Varanasi & Jerusalem, for me, the hotspots of holiness, bullshit and super-interesting weirdos and weirdness
-to always keep fighting my mind peacefully, in order to be completely free from its illusions
-to always keep practicing yoga & a healthy lifestyle (balanced with much pleasure)
-to LOVE YOU freely, without illusions, without ego, with only acceptance, freedom and pleasure

a boring but necessary year in sweden to cultivate my dreams

2011-03-10T13:49:00.002+01:00

for as long as I can remember, I have had a very strong feeling about the word "DREAMS".
To listen to your dreams, and to follow your dreams. This made something inside me click.
Maybe I read it in a book when I was very young I don't know, maybe I felt it from inside me, I don't know.
I always did follow my dreams, too. They often included trying new things, travelling to new places, meeting certain people, fragrances, tastes and sounds.
I have written many lists with dreams to make true- and I am always pleasantly surprised when I, a few years later, find the lists, and see that I did make many of them come true.
The potential to live our dreams is much bigger than we think at the time when it is just a dream, just a thought, an impulse- a longing for an experience.

But something kept stopping me from living my dreams.
I had the courage, the strength and the will to follow my dreams- but I never quite managed to live them fully.
Something always stopped me and I bounced back to Sweden, to come and stay with my parents for a while, to work a job that I honestly don't consider a dream-job but which has provided me a lot of work and money.
I guess I never believed enough in myself, that I could do it, that I could live my dreams. I didn't think I was able, capable.
Maybe I felt guilty.
So I came back.
To Sweden, to stay with my parents, to work my ass of for while- and to write new dream-lists, that I later went out to follow.

But I kept coming back.
And I kept wondering why I kept coming back, to the same situation, to the same job, that I actually didn't like that much. It's not that I hated it, and in fact, it did support my situation- I had all the freedom in the world to work as much as I wanted, and to take off whenever I wanted. And my parents always welcomed me to stay for free. It was just so easy to come back for a while, to work my ass off, and then bounce off again in search of more dreams.

So I decided, a year ago, after coming back from an unsuccessful attempt to live a dream, that it was time to stay in Sweden for at least a year.
This time I was not allowed to take off and leave nothing behind. I was only allowed small, short trips for work, pleasure, holidays.
I got myself my first apartment in Sweden. For the first time, I payed a proper rent.
I decided it was time to see Sweden with grown-up eyes; not just those of a 20-something-young-person who wants adventure and is looking for herself.
This year was going to be the year when I decided what I actually, really, deeply wanted.
No escapes to something more interesting, no distractions, no leaving on an impulse because I was bored.
Just stay.
Here.
Now.
And watch life, here, watch myself, here.
And ask myself what I really, deeply, truly want.
What are my real, true DREAMS?

I tried to see it as building a real, steady bridge between Sweden, myself, and my dreams.
To define my dreams into a more steady form, to shape them and nurture them- not just escape to them away from Sweden, with no real ground, no preparation, no steadiness to support them.

It is very, very good for me to be here.
It is also very, very boring.
But nevermind.
That was kind of the point!
It is very interesting for me to discover that my personality is the way it is.
It wasn't just a 20-something-stage, where I wanted adventure and travel.
Actually, this IS who I am.
It is funny and interesting to discover who you really are, in a setting that is boring, dull, full of routine and everyday normality.
I observe myself in comparison to others, I observe myself in this life.
I compare myself to others the same age as me, I look at their lives, I ask them what they want, what they desire, and then I look at myself again, and I can define ME easier.
It is a discovery journey, to find myself, in an environment that provides aboslutely NO distraction for me. Not much else to do, than to focus on myself, actually.
I am very, very happy that there is a beautiful coastline around here.
I go there to feel, to feel the world. To hear the waves of existence, to put things into perspective. To not get completely lost in the tedious boredom of organised routine existence.

The inner rollercoaster that I have experienced is indescribable.
I have been so close to breakdown, I think I hit the wall about a thousand times, I have been in tears and in agony for hours and days and weeks over my life.
The impulse to get away, to go away, to fly away, has been so strong, and has sometimes taken me to extreme states. But I have kept watching it, and I have learnt so much about how my mind works, what its tactiques are. It really does not handle boredom very well, and it also does not handle challenges which go a bit deeper than just to the surface very well. It presents beautiful escape-routes whenever things get rough, and in the past, I always reacted to these beautiful images of faraway-beaches with no problems in the world- I actually, physically, went there.
I realised that the escape-tactiques of my mind, is also very close to who I am.
I am trying to learn to differentiate between what is really ME- as I love to travel, and am a traveller in my heart and soul- and when it is my mind trying to make me escape a present, difficult situation.

Boredom.
What happens if you put makeup only on one eye?
Here: the result.

I have such a strong feeling of life passing quickly.
That's the main reason for me wanting to live fast by working hard and shooting off to follow my dreams.
I have this very acute feeling of life's very fragile state. One second we are here, next second we could be gone, dead.
I don't know what is beyond life- no one really does, not even those who believe in reincarnation, we just don't know even though we desperately wish we do- and therefore I have this pressing urge to make the absolute most of this life, here and now.
Unfortunately it makes me miss the moment, sometimes. Or maybe I should say, often. (sad!!)
I am in a hurry to live because life is passing me by, so I am in a hurry to catch life and the moment... So I sometimes miss the moment.

Thank god for the beaches, honestly. They are my breathing-spaces, my escape, my little bubble of freedom. There is nothing more magnificent than that meeting of free-flowing water, with soft, white sand.

I feel the most alive when I am on the road. When in a small coffee place or bar filled with people living their lives. When I am an outsider, observing, and writing about all the sense bombardments that I am showered with.
This is my dream: to be on the road, to write and capture moments that I expereince. I feel so alive, so in tune, so connected- moving along in life, cutting through the different cultural and geographical spheres that us humans created, to cut right through all the illusions, and dance through all of life.
Dance, write, photograph, breathe, meet, smell, love... Move.

At times I have been so bored. Life in Sweden is not very impulsive. To meet friends, you usually plan ahead for weeks.
But it's my own fault. I bury myself in work, out of old habit, in order to make as much money as possible, in order to be able to leave and follow my dreams as soon as possible.
It was really hard for me to try and leave space to be able to be social, to breathe, to be here, in this moment, in Sweden. Really, really hard.
To be honest, I don't think I managed very well, to be in the moment, to leave free time for impulsive things to be allowed in.
But I guess I also liked to have the money.
I spent the first few months in my apartment with throwing away almost everything that I had accumulated during my life.
My stuff had been spread out in different basements and storage-spaces, and my grandmother's stuff had been saved for me.
So I moved in with a lot of boxes of old things, that I cleared out, bit by bit.
It felt so incredibly good to throw away old stuff, like clearing old karma, old memories, and making space.
I threw away a lot of my clothes, and I spent some money buying new stuff.
A simple wardrobe - yes - that's the world- simple. That's how I like it.
Not too much of anything, a few bits and pieces.
Not too many shoes, not too many bags.
Simple, clean, clear.
No clutter.
So I cleared away material things, and the more I cleared, the closer I could look at myself. I cleared away all the outer things that had been defining me in order for me to define ME. Really, really define ME, without the outer definitions.
My apartment was quite empty- a lot of space. No curtains, nothing on the walls or floors. I didn't buy anything, I didn't want anything around me.
Just clarity, space, pure surfaces, so that I could minimize the distractions, and see myself clearer, to see what it was INSIDE ME that was stopping me.
To know who my enemy really, truly was.

Throughout the years of travelling, I met many peole, who insisted that it is crucial to have one's own home. A place of refuge, one's own sanctuary, a place to have our base in, and keep our things in.
I realised quite soon, that the place I live in, does not have much significance to me. I feel at home wherever I am, really. It was never about the physical place of being.
My enemy was my own mind. There is the root of my problems of not being able to live my dreams.
The ego, throwing obstacles in my own path.
Isn't that a sad insight, to realise that I am MY OWN ENEMY?
That I am the one putting obstacles in my path, getting in my own way?
Stopping myself from living my dreams, making me come back again and again to a life that I don't really find that inspiring, lively, and enjoyable?
My mind keeps putting me in a self-created prison-like life.
But I never realised that, until I actually stopped myself, and had a very good look at the activity in my head, while being completely still.
A war was going on between my heart and my mind- my mind tried to escape this boredom, while my heart was intent on solving this bouncing-issue once and for all.
So I left the expensive apartment in Malmö and made my world even smaller, even more boring. I am renting a room in a friend's place; I walk to work in three minutes. I live in the same area that I grew up in. Can it get any more boring?
Less distraction could not be possible.
I pull the net around me even closer.
I force myself to look my enermy in the eyes.
And I struggle and fight, I cry and I try to escape.

I am happy and content to say, that my heart seems to be stronger than my mind.
I am working on things I never thought I would get close to solving, things I had accepted as part of a problematic existence, which I had chosen again and again to escape from.
I tried to hide from myself by escaping myself, but I understood that in this way, I would never be able to live my dreams.
Complete freedom comes only when we are completely free from our own mind.
OUR OWN WORST ENERMY IS USUALLY...OURSELVES.
If we get to know its tactiques closely, if we study them and observe them, then we can learn to peacefully fight them.
We all have different issues. Personalized, individualized issues, all unique.
I have mine, you have yours.
We need to get to know them well.

Become peaceful warriors.
Heart conquers all.
Heart knows everything.
In our heart is written our dreams.
When we can live our dreams, we are living our own lives, free from our minds.
It takes time, courage, hard work.
This has been the longest year of my life, and I have many times lost the sense of purpose about it. But I'm still here....

...I am determined, to have the courage to LIVE MY DREAMS, DON'T DREAM MY LIFE.

things fall apart

2011-03-09T10:42:00.002+01:00

most relationships i have been in, have ended with the same feeling.
i feel, on the inside, as if i have been compromising myself in order to fit the other person.
more times than not, do i blame the other, for being manipulative.
but i realise in retrospect, that this is not at all close to the truth.
i compromise myself, in order to be loved.
i think i'm not good enough the way i am.

why is it so hard to stay me?
why do i feel that i need to be what i am not, in order to fit the other?

in every situation like this, i have fought a war inside me.
on the outside i submitted, but on the inside i was roaring. there were machine-guns and heavy artillery, explosions and death. i hated myself for doing this, for compromising me. but i had no idea of how to change it, how to be me, completely free from fear.

they say you need to love yourself before you can be loved/love someone else. sounds like such an old cliché, but i do think it is actually more than true.
it is essential.
we need to love ourselves.
i need to love me, first of all, before i love another.
it is my life to live, in this body, me..i am number one in my life. to always take care of others, to always adjust to others, to be a chameleon always adjusting to the outside is a great way of exploring the different spheres of life. but when i start to compromise who i really am, in order to please another- then i have immediately taken my vehicle onto a one way-road, with a dead end ahead of me. once i hit that dead end, things will fall apart. sometimes in a violent way.

i need to stay me, love me, take care of me, first of all. drive my car, wash it, polish it, change the spare-parts as they break. and then i can cruise along on the road of life, on a wide road with many lanes that i can shift between.
choosing an endless road, with a magnificent ocean-view. no dead end- just an endless string of beautiful beaches where i can stop...and make love...watch the sunsets..and enjoy. pure pleasure. no compromise. just freedom.