Be nice!

I enjoy giving people compliments. I've realised that it's a risky business though.

Women seem to simply enjoy that someone notices that they have put some effort into their hair, their nails, their jewelry or their less conventional body art. Or the design of their web page, or their photos, or their work effort. Or their behavior. A really small thing, such as saying "you're nice!" can make people very happy.

Men, on the other hand... Say the same things to a man, and they think you're coming on to them. Is it so, that men don't get enough attention? That they would do well with more compliments? I think so.

Actually, I think all of us would benefit from more compliments. As long as they're sincere. No smooth-talking. Only real, true, from-the-heart compliments.

It doesn't cost much to be nice. And you get so much in return.

Madeleine cake, Japanese style

I just had a Proustian moment.

I was sitting at a bench, outdoors in the sun, lots of lovely spring sounds around me, and a smell of grass. The water lilies in the pond in front of me were just opening up to the sun.

I was having the miso soup that came with my take away sushi lunch, straight from the cup. I was enjoying it, very much, but suddenly I thought: "Why aren't there any little pieces of tofu in here?". Then I remembered that they never put tofu in the soup, and realised that it was a taste triggered memory. I was remembering the first time I had miso soup. It was in a lovely flat in Potsdam, outside of Berlin, round about this time of year, a couple of years back. I was visiting my then lover, an amazing man, quite a few years older than myself. I remembered how much he taught me. About me, about him, about people, about life, about food, about enjoying the moment, about living, about yoga, about sensuality, about crying, about laughing, about beauty, about minds, about bodies, about touching, about taking pleasure, about giving pleasure, about dancing, about courage, about work, about play, about giving, and about taking. I was better at certain kinds of giving than others, and certain kinds of taking than others, so there was a bit of an imbalance between the two of us.

At the time, I didn't have a very good idea of who I was, I as still finding out, and didn't take to kindly to his attempts at showing me these things, as I felt that he was trying to influence, change, me. I wanted to do the changing, the finding out, for myself.

Today, I can see how much he really did influence me. And what a good thing that is. That was a lovely spring. And lovely miso soup.

Green

There is a smell of grass outdoors. Newly mown grass.
It smells like my childhood.

It almost brings tears to my eyes.

Take me home

Pick me up, like a flower.
Take me home, put me in a vase.
Feed me, water me.

Carry me in your arms, like a child.
Take me home, put me on a chair.
Feed me, bring me wine.

Put your arms around me, like a lover.
Take me home, put me to bed.
Hold me, bring me sleep.

Grace

I don't have an elegant bone in my body.

I laugh too loudly.
I swear too much.
I walk too fast.
I stand too straight.
I have too wild hair.
I cry too often.
I don't turn away when you meet my eye.

Sometimes I wish I were cool, sweet, calm and odourless. That I could wear a pale summer dress without staining or wrinkling it. That my hair would stay in place for more than five minutes. That I were tall and slim, fine limbed. That I could walk gracefully down the street.

But only sometimes.

This is one of those days...

...that calls out, screams out for rock 'n roll. My body craves it.

So... Put another dime in the juke box, baby...

And dance with me.

Every breath is unique

Lie on your back. Still. Perfectly still. Your body doesn't/can't/mustn't move. Inhale. Exhale. Calmly. You're not moving, it's not you breathing. The air is pressing/squeezing/seeping into your lungs as if though it wanted to go there/had its own will/on its own accord. It probes/wanders/lingers, visits every crevice/rounded surface/wet warm spot of the walls of your lungs. You experience how the air inside of you is part of/not separate from/the same as the air surrounding you. You are wrapped in/filled with/merging with the air. When you exhale, it's not you exhaling, it' s the air growing tired/curious/satisfied, moving on to a new pair of lungs. Soon, very soon, new air, previously unknown to you, will fill you/examine you/experience you, just like the previous air. Only different. It's not you moving through the air, it's the air moving through you. Lie still. Lie perfectly still. Let the air breath you.

Inhale. Exhale.

(Thanks BKS and CMIII)

Hypnos

I spent the night with the God of Sleep.
He took me by the hand, walked me to my bed,
and he laid down beside me.
He touched my face, touched my eyes,
kissed my forhead, and I was his.

By morning, he had vanished,
as if though he had never really been there.
He had left no trace,
only the lingering feeling
of him gently stroking my skin