Luna

Este acea creatura mica, palida si schimonosita de intelepciune si timp. Ochii ei mari si goi patrund in intuneric si parcurg strazile pustii ale oraselor adormite, iar urechile ii sunt amortite de persistenta linistii. Muta si rece, este martora somnului nostru, al tuturor, chiar si al celor care nu dorm.

Puterea ei vine insa din visele pe care ni le daruieste fiecaruia. Cosmaruri sau idealuri, fac din noapte zi, o zi ireala, absurda. Planuri de viitor, idei, sentimente de dragoste. Toate incoltesc sub privirea amuzata a lunii. O multime naiva de oameni ce isi inchipuie ca pot muta muntii din loc, ca pot strabate deserturi de nisip si gheata, ca isi pot infrange propriul destin.

Si totusi, unii dintre noi pot fi si binecuvantati de batrana luna. Pentru ca asa vor stelele, pentru ca asa trebuie sa fie.

Iti aduci tu aminte oare ultima noapte cand luna si-a aratat la fel chipul pe cerul instelat? Da, atunci...atunci cand am simtit si sarutul buzelor binecuvantate ale lunii pe fruntea mea.

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Este incredibil cat de placut este sa stai noaptea in sau langa piscina si sa faci pluta sau, respectiv, sa "plutesti in propriile vise" in timp ce savurezi lumina micilor stele.
Pentru mine, lumina (naturala, evident) si focul au insemnat foarte mult. Indiferent de context, stare de spirit, este inevitabil sa nu-mi induca o stare semi-meditativa daca imi focalizez privirea asupra zonei incandescente...un fel de transa. Imi revad visele, telurile, scopurile. Dealtfel, imi revad si reusitele. Nu in ultimul rand, imi regasesc toate motivele pentru care ar trebui sa fiu fericit in cel mai concret sens al cuvantului: familie, prieteni, situatie etc. Imi confera o senzatie de siguranta de sine pe care cu foarte mare greutate o pot regasi si in alta parte. Imi ofera cateva clipe de fericire pura, de relaxare, de detasare fizica de lumea care ma inconjoara.
Nu fac altceva decat sa sorb picaturile de bucurie oferite de natura, de lume, pe care, altfel (din cauza vietii mult prea grabite pe care o traim), multi dintre noi, printre care si eu, nu le observa. Le calca si le zdrobesc fara sa realizeze cat de importante sunt, de fapt. Le sorb cu nesat si imi doresc ca aceste momente sa nu se termine niciodata. Insa, dupa cum bine stim, orice ne aduce un strop de fericire este efemer...mult prea efemer ca sa fim cu adevarat satisfacuti.
A mai trecut 1 an. Si nu ma simt mai batran. Ma simt chiar bine. Simt ca acum incepe viata pe care abia o asteptam cand eram mic. Ma simt "crescut mare". Ma simt mai in stare sa fac cu adevarat ceva.

Multumesc celor care sunt cu adevarat langa mine :).

Miros de ploaie

Ploua. E frig. Ploaia intotdeauna mi-a facut bine. M-a curatat. Mi-a limpezit gandurile. M-a revigorat, mi-a dat inapoi energia pe care am irosit-o. Imi place apa ei, ma unge. Imi place racoarea ei, ma trezeste. Imi place mirosul ei, ma imbie. Imi place sunetul ei, ma linisteste.
Ploua si odata cu picaturile ei cad si gandurile mele intr-o groapa adanca unde se amesteca toate. Cu toate astea sunt foarte clare, pot sa le deosebesc. Nu se pot incurca. Nu cand ploua.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de o strada laturalnica. Imi aduc aminte de prieteni. Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie de vara. Imi aduc aminte de un strop de nebunie. Imi aduc aminte de o intelegere copilareasca. Imi aduc aminte de picaturile ploii. Imi aduc aminte de pielea uda. Imi aduc aminte de un dans.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de ea. Imi aduc aminte de o camasa. Imi aduc aminte de un sarut. Imi aduc aminte de niste sandale. Imi aduc aminte de un parc. Imi aduc aminte de o banca.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de niste carti ude. Imi aduc aminte de un tricou. Imi aduc aminte de o inghetata. Imi aduc aminte de un ceai.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de o umbrela. Imi aduc aminte de un brat. Imi aduc aminte de un drum.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de o tabara. Imi aduc aminte de un dans. Imi aduc aminte de sampon. Imi aduc aminte de ciuperci. Imi aduc aminte de munti.

Imi aduc aminte de o ploaie. Imi aduc aminte de melci. Imi aduc aminte de mare. Imi aduc aminte de niste valuri. Imi aduc aminte de o plaja. Imi aduc aminte de nisip.

Gandurile continua sa se reverse, unul peste celalalt, fara sa tina cont cat de mult se inghesuie. Continua sa curga. Ele trec odata cu fiecare clipa a vietii, fara sa tina cont daca ar trebui sau nu sa existe. Fara sa tina cont daca vreau sau nu sa le am. Fara sa tina cont daca au mai fost sau nu, daca vor mai fi sau nu. Fara sa tina cont de nimic.
Ganduri, amintiri, melancolii, obsesii, toate apar si dispar, indiferent de ce se intampla in jurul nostru.

Vreau o sticluta in care sa pastrez mirosul ploii. Oricand sunt trist sau obosit, sa pot sa o deschid si sa-i simt prospetimea si vigoarea.

Vreau sa simt mirosul de ploaie.

Snowflakes

He was just standing there, by the window. Those little Snowflakes amazed him with their funny dance through the cold, thin air. Everyone of them had a beauty of their own, everyone of them had their own rithm. How could they be so calm when they somehow dance to their own death? How could they float so easily to the place where they will melt someday?
He was just staring at the snow's blinding whiteness, looking at nothing. He could hear everything that was going outside: every little Snowflake was landing with a silent screech, sliding it's way to his own equilibrium point, even though he would only remain trapped there, having no where else to go. Every little bird had it's beautiful song, calling out the sun. Every leaf had a unique rustle (n.a. rustle=foşnet). Every drop had it's own splash.
He couldn't hear anything else. He didn't want to. This was the only way he could regenerate every bit of him. And he awfully needed that. Because he was broken. He didn't want to talk to anybody, just to himself. He needed to mend his ripped soul. Nature helped him a lot just by being in front of him.
The boy was so concentrated on the Snowflakes' dance he didn't feel her sudden embrace. Her skin didn't feel so soft and loving as it used to be. A shiver came down on his spine at her touch, but he didn't move. Her cold fingertips weren't as he remembered. He shook his head struggling to forget everything that had happened, everything he had heard and he had seen.
-What's the matter, dear? she asked.
He didn't answer. How could she play so inocent? His lips couldn't move just as they were glued and his throat was all dried out.
-Please, talk to me..did I do something wrong? she insisted.
-No, i just need some time off, that's all...
-You sure?
-Yes.
-Ok, i'll wait for you at the party then. See you inside.
He noded. But he was stuck to that window, just watching the small, careless Snowflakes. He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to look at her anymore. All that he wanted was to forget everything and move on, just as the Snowflakes did.

...with our hearts burnt and our souls ripped, we have nothing else to do, but to move on...