The universe's way of aligning us with our stars

Composition VII by Kandinsky

She lived in the world that Kandinsky painted. A mush of colors, sounds, lines that made no sense. It was all mysterious, all so mystical. She did not know where her world began and where it ended. She was just there; lost and overwhelmed by it all. 

She had lived there her entire life, and that was probably the only constant she had ever known. Everything around her was constantly changing. Everything else, was unknown, abstract. On somedays she would enjoy it, she loved wandering around her world, seeing all the colors, the blue, the red, the yellow, the green, the shapes, that were not specific, so she could make them into whatever she wanted. On most days however, she hated how tangled and messy her world was. She hated that everything was abstract, she knew nothing and she felt like she had no anchor to the ground, that when she'd get carried away with the melodies and tunes, she would struggle to find herself again, and never really does so fully. 

But in her darkest and most confusing hours, she would sometimes see it. A shinning star, up in the sky. And she felt as though that was her only anchor, the only sense of direction in her life.

And on one foggy day, which she thought was the luckiest day of her life, only to find out otherwise later, she found what she had always secretly wished for; a way out of this abstract unknown world she lived in. 

A green car pulls over, and the driver opens the door for her, "I'm here, get in." 

She hesitates for a second, looks up to the sky hoping to find her star, her sense of direction, but it was foggy and the star was not there, or at least she could not see it. 

So she left the star and everything else behind, and got into the car as it drove away to another world. 

The car took her to a new world. A world, where she knew where things began and where they ended. She had never been there before, and unlike her previous world, constants were many here, there were routines, things were in order, people knew where they belonged. 

This world fascinated her, the way all new things usually did. It was like she was seeing her life, and for the first time, through different eyes. There was something very appealing about it all, maybe it was the stability she found, the people she met, or the places she went.

And in her darkest, and most confusing hours, she would sometimes long for it. The shining star up in the sky, what used to be her anchor, and only sense of direction. And when she would think about it, she would find herself missing it too much, and secretly wishing she can go back, just to see it again. 

But she would get busy with her new life, and forget about the star, only to remember it again a few days later. 

And one stormy day, which she thought was the unluckiest day of her life, only to find out otherwise later, a storm came and wrecked her world. Her new world, fell into pieces right in front of her eyes, and everything that she loved about this world, the stability that she was enjoying, was a wreck, even messier than the world she had left behind.  

A green car pulls over, and the driver opens the door: "It's time to go back, get in." 

She hesitates for a second, but then she remembers her star again. She gets in the car, leaving a world she thought she would have forever, behind, and the car drove her back to the world where she came form. 

She was back in her world, the world that Kandinsky painted. 

She was back in the middle of all the colors, the music, and it took time, but she realized that maybe being lost in a world of unknowns and a single star up in the sky, was where she belonged. 

So she danced to the rhythms of the colors, and her eyes enjoyed the shades of the melodies. And every now and then she could see her star up in the sky, and from that day onwards, that was all she ever needed. 

The other world became nothing more than a sweet memory. She would think of it sometimes, miss it at others, but ever since she got back, she felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. And maybe she needed to be somewhere else for a short while to realize that. 

Kandinsky was an artist who was inspired by color, and music. He felt like they had the power to tap into deep human emotions that could not be expressed through words, or communication. He wrote "Lend your ears to music, and open your eyes to painting, and stop thinking! Just ask yourself whether the work has enabled you to 'walk about' into a hitherto unknown world. If the answer is yes, what more do you want?"

So she lent her ears to music, and opened her eyes to painting, and she stopped thinking. She just walked about in her unknown world, grateful that the universe had brought her back to her star, and she wanted nothing more. 

We all have our worlds; confusion, and uncertainty are an inseparable part of them. We all long for something, something different, new, something we do not have. And sometimes we end up in the worlds we long for, but other times it seems like no matter where we go, we tend to end up back where we started. 

And at one point we will see the storms - that wreck our worlds and leave them shattered - for what they really are; the universe's way of aligning us with our stars, and there is no where better to be than right there, with your star.

Composition VII whispers, the universe's way of aligning us with our stars. 

The woman with the green sparkly hat

The Kiss by Gustav Klimt

Dublin, Ireland, March 17th, 2014.

Everyone was in full green attire, ready to watch and celebrate the special parade for St. Patrick's day. I was there with some friends, and we woke up early to get a good view of the parade. 

The parade began, and everyone started cheering, super excited to watch it. 

 I, on the other hand, was instantly distracted by an old couple in front of me, and entered my own bubble and started watching something else; a live narration of a pure and golden love. 

A green sparkly hat, white hair, a cane in one hand, and his hand in the other. Old age caused her back to bend a little, and his hand to hold hers tighter, a little. She was shorter than him, and he tried to get her into the front row so that she could get a good view. Every now and then she would look back to make sure he was there, behind her, and that he too was having a good time. He would give a reassuring smile and she would go back to watching the parade, smiling a little because she's there, and more because he's there with her.

I couldn't stop looking at them, they were just too cute! And my mind started wandering, going back to that time when they had first met each other.

They first met in class, they were both early, and it was just them two.  

"Hi."

"Hey."

"You new around here."

"Yeah, it's my first day."

Class began, and so did their story. 

With time, and a lot of classes in common , they became friends, and it just escalated from there. 

My mind took me to the moment he first fell in love with her. Sitting across from each other, he reached out for her hand, he had a shy look in his eyes, and she could tell he had gathered every grain of courage in him to finally touch her hand; even if it were for a split second. She looked at him, and she saw it, she knew that something was going to happen, and that touch was the first of many to come.

That was the first time he looked at her this way; he looked through her, and his eyes revealed the secret he had been trying to keep for a while now. When their eyes locked she knew it would not be too long before she would trip and fall for him.  She had never seen him smile like that before, and she knew that he would make her smile, like she never had before. 

The parade was getting louder and louder, I step out of my mind for a second, and then go back to the story in my head.

After that smile, everything changed. He made her fall for him, just like she knew he would,  with his charming personality, and the way he showed her that he cared. He'd call her out of the blue just to tell her that he loved her and can't stop thinking about her. She would act cool about it, trying hard not to show him that with every word she fell a million times deeper in love with him.

But after a while, she decided to let her guard down, in a way she had never done before,  she let him in, and loved him with no "because". She saw him for who he is, she saw his wounded soul, and then felt it was okay to show him hers. He was a mess, but he was her mess. She too was a mess, and she was his mess. They did not fix each other, but rather shared the imperfections of their souls and hearts, and only later did they realize that, this was what perfection meant. 

Then there was a time when they were both ready to give up, and decided that it was no longer worth it, for the things that were pushing them apart started to become more than the things that were keeping them together. 

The parade continues, dancers, performers, music, cheering. He holds her hand tighter, and she tightens her grip as well. The same way they held the ropes of their relationship together for 70 years. When she would let loose he would grip harder and when he was tired, she would grip so hard, that her hands would sometimes bleed. But she didn't care because she knew; that to love is to "to be wounded by your own understanding of love; and to bleed willingly and joyfully" (Khalil Gibran). Willingly and joyfully they held it together. They maintained a balance, never letting the ropes fall apart, until the ropes no longer needed to be held, and were in place naturally, and easily. 

 Their love grew so much that two hearts were no longer enough to hold it all in, and they loved new souls into the world. Their first child, was the first blossoming of the love they had for each other, and a third heart to help share the love they both felt; and it went on and on, and with every child their love grew bigger. Two hearts, three, four, and then there were eight hearts; beating together, for each other.  

The parade was almost over, her husband looked at the person next to him and said "We came here 55 years ago, and I am happy we can be here again after all this time." 

She's smiling really hard, she was really happy to see the parade, like a little kid. And he's smiling even harder, he was really happy to make her smile, like a little kid, even after all that time. 

The parade was over, and they started walking back home, hand in hand, just as they had come in. 

Dublin, Ireland, March 17th, 2014.

That day I saw one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life; a woman with a green sparkly hat, white hair, a curved back, a cane in one hand, and his hand in another, a pure heart, and a story that needed no words to be told. 

'The Kiss' by Klimt is one of my all time favorite pieces. Two hearts, and one golden halo. Pure, true, sacred, vulnerable, unbreakable, eternal, precious, just like the lady in the green sparkly hat, and her husband. 

'The Kiss' whispers the story of the woman with the green sparkly hat. 

Join the Wanderers, for they will see it all...

Majestic Mountain Lake by Bob Ross

There is a land, somewhere in my imagination.

It is beautiful; it has lakes, mountains, and forests.
In this land, many lived. The inhabitants of this land were divided; each group occupied a different part of the land, and no one left the place where they thought - or rather knew-  they belonged. They never considered leaving, and so they lived and died, in their separate parts of the land.

They lived and died, and never knew what they were missing out on; the beauty of the place they lived in.

Those in the forests lived among the trees. Embraced by tall tightly packed trees, that allowed only the rays of the sun to come in, and brighten up their days. Those people never saw the majestic sun as it rose every morning, to warm up the earth and bring forth a new day, a new beginning. They never saw the sunset either; they never saw the way the sun said goodbye, and the way the sky's heart bruised every single time the sun kissed it farewell, and how no amount of reassuring could stop the sky from bleeding out in colors. They never heard the sun promise: "I'll be back tomorrow" as the sky let it go gracefully, waiting patiently for it to come back in a few hours.

Those in the mountains lived in the cold snow, but they never saw the forests, they never saw the beautiful colors of the forest flowers, the way the trees never give up in trying to reach the sky, so hopeful, always aiming to go higher, and the way the branches stretched out like arms, up to the sky praying for the sun to come, for the rain to pour down.

Those by the lakes lived by the water, but they never got the chance to the see the world from above, from the mountain tops, and never were they embraced by the trees, and welcomed into the forests. They never saw how glorious the mountain tops looked when they put on their white gowns, trying to charm the stars and make them fall in love, while the moon glowed making every mountain top jealous.

But then there were those who did not belong. They didn't live on the mountain tops, or in the forests, or by the lakes. They did not belong, and they did not want to belong, for they were wanderers. No place was big enough to contain their adventurous souls.

The wanderers felt lost most of the time. Lost but free, or rather lost and free; free from the chains of certainty. They did not know where they should be; and figured that maybe they should be everywhere. They enjoyed being lost, for it was their motivation for seeking more. They liked not knowing; for it was their uncertainty that led them to different places, different parts of the land. They wanted to see it all. They wanted to walk down every path, and see the land from every place they could. They wanted to be part of the mountains, the forests, and the lakes, and they were; everywhere they went, they made it feel like home.

They saw the birds, they were embraced by the forests, welcomed by the lakes, and danced on the mountain tops. Their hearts were brave; they had no roots to hold them to the ground, but they still ventured. They explored the land, every corner of it. They ran between the mountains, into the forests and jumped into the lakes.

The wanderers were like feathers, they went with the wind, wherever the wind took them. They refused to be tied down, and flew all around. Lost, they wandered, and the more they wandered, the more they found. They learnt the secrets of the skies, of the forests, the mountains, the lakes, and of their souls. That was all they wanted; they did not need the security of belonging. They lingered in the joy of being astray. They were lost, and alone, but they were together in their lost loneliness. They recognized each other, even walked together sometimes. They were simple, and pure; as if freshly born every day, and they knew that this was what life was about.

That is the story of the land, somewhere in my imagination.

Now let me tell you the story, or at least part of the story of another land; the land we live in.

There is a land, where we live, somewhere in the universe.

In this land, many live. The inhabitants of this land are divided. Each group occupied a part of the land, and no one left the place where they thought - or rather knew- they belonged. They never considered leaving, and so they lived and died, in their separate parts of the land.

These people have chosen different beliefs, and each group defends its own belief, as if it were the only right way. They are people who have failed to understand one another. They have failed to see the view from one another's part of this land. They rejected all that was unfamiliar because they preferred to be secure and safe.

In this land, there are wanderers. We are neither secure nor safe, we are lost but free, or rather lost and free. We break the chains of certainty, we rid our minds of judgement, and we see life through other people's eyes. We do not have a set of beliefs which we think is better than others', and our minds are deep enough to take in all beliefs, all ideas, everything we encounter. We don't have a framework through we which see our lives or the lives of others through, but rather we see life as it is; frameless and unbound. In abandoning our limiting certainty, we leave room for possibility, and in that possibility is where miracles happen.

We want to live and die, knowing that we did not miss out on the beauty of the diverse world we live in.

We question all that is around us, we are mesmerized by the mysteries behind the simplest of occurrences. We don't choose one path, for we want to stroll down all the different ones, and we don't want to belong, because we love to wander. We love to wander, because we know; that is what life is about.

We are the wanderers. We belong to no place, and to no one. We know nothing for certain, and that is why we explore. We search for answers, in all the unfamiliar places and faces we encounter. We wander around, and we see life, we see the world, we see it all.

'Majestic Mountain Lake' whispers: Join the wanderers, for they will see it all.

Wake me up, Let me run free...

Jesus the Son of Man - Gibran Khalil Gibran

Happy Sunday,
First and foremost I would like to apologize for not posting these two previous Sundays.

See, every time I sat down to write I could not complete more than two sentences. I had so many different ideas, but none of them felt worthy of sharing. I felt like they were not original, like whatever I was about to write was something people would already know. Something that people who are older, wiser, with more experience,  have written books and given lectures on.  I love reading and writing about humans, their experiences, their self-discovery, but I just felt like I had nothing new to offer.

So I wrote less and read more. I read Eckhart Tolle, Paulo Coelho,  and Khalil Gibran. As I was reading I felt a certain joy, a warm buzz, a shiver through the spine although I was reading things that I felt I already knew. I felt like they were, through their writing, telling me more about myself, or not telling me, but rather revealing to me what was already within me. I felt like reading was helping me tap into a deeper level of myself,  reconnect with parts of myself that I had lost connection with. Through other people's words, I found it easier to understand the words my heart was telling my mind. I never felt that I was inquiring new ideas through my reading, but rather I felt like I was targeting the release of what was already there; a gush of knowledge that was buried within me.

Those of you who know me, know that it is my dream to become a teacher, and those of you who know me well, know that my decision was inspired by the great teachers that I had in high school; two in specific, my English Teacher Ms. Sue Barnes, and my Art History teacher Mr. John Leistler. These two precious teachers gave great lessons in the their subject areas, but the most valuable lesson they had offered me was one of hope. They saw in their students, what the students themselves did not see. They saw potential and dwelling knowledge. They knew the secret; that every single student had tremendous knowledge within, and an enormous field of energy, that they can use to achieve all that they ever dreamed of. They helped me see that, by believing in me and not letting me for once think that there was something I couldn't do.

And on my trip down memory lane, and back to my high school days the fear of being "unoriginal" disappeared, and I felt like I could write again. I realized, the ideas I want to share are not meant to be some new or unheard of discovery, but rather they are part of the knowledge that's in my teachers, that's in me, that's in you, that's in all of us.

Inside each and every one of us is a treasure box with all the knowledge we will ever need. The key is realizing its existence. My teachers helped me realize what's within me by showing me what's within them. And this is why I want to become a teacher; so I can be to others what my teachers were to me; the key to realizing all that I could be.

The treasure box is in everyone's possession, and it's the most valuable thing one could own. It is the truth of who you are, a miraculous collection of knowledge everyone is born with, and it grows as we grow. Some might have it wide open, letting the treasures fill their souls, hearts, and minds up, and some might have it shut tightly and even not aware of its existence, for others it might be something in between. But its existence is definite, there in core of every person. And when you're searching for yourself, the truth about who you really are, it is your answer, you are that core, you are that treasure.

Do you know that feeling you get when you watch an inspirational talk, by a survivor, or a believer, an achiever or whatever it is that inspires you, and you get that shiver, that pull you feel towards the person, the goose bumps? This is you recognizing yourself in another. You see them, their true self shining through, you see the treasure within them and for a moment of shivers and goose bumps you know that its within you too.

My teachers, are people with their treasure box open wide, they glow with the beauty of what is inside them. I saw their glow, and I wanted to be like them and they helped me see that I could. You can see that glow in many people, those who have a shimmer in their eyes when they speak, a passion in their heart that is so strong that you feel it when you're in their presence. When you speak to them they don't utter words, but rather pull you in to feel the tranquility in their hearts, and hear the rhythms of knowledge in their souls.

I was wrong to think that my ideas were "unoriginal". What I see in art, reflects what is already in me, inside my treasure box, waiting to be released, to be awaken. 6o or more years ago, the magnificent artist Jackson Pollock created a collection of art reflecting what he had in his treasure box. He said: "Painting is self-discovery, every good artist paints what he is."

Khalil Gibran was also a great artist and writer. He wrote "No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge." In his artwork 'Jesus the Son of Man', the curled up, half asleep figures, remind me of the treasure, the knowledge we posses. Waiting for us to wake them up, realize their existence, and transform them into endless possibilities and achievements.

These curled up figures are within me, these curled up figures are within you. And if we listen close enough, we can hear them singing songs, the songs our hearts yearn for, and our souls need to flourish, the songs that can make us happy when we start to sing along.

"Jesus the son of man" whispers,  wake me up, let me run free.