Gushes of Tears from Your Deep

 A breeze – you are – my face is fanned by;

a high tide – which off my footsteps wipe;

a plume – tickling me in my palm;

a foam – gently caressing my soul;

the voice of yours – murmuring – charms.

Here – you are – my second half – close to touch;

breath – rushed from your lungs – has enveloped me mistily;

the sapphire – of your eyes – has fluidly penetrated me;

my bosom – by peace of your heart – has been swollen

in the ardent embrace of the sun.

An ocean – you are – quietly on the flow,

engulfing – my whole being – in emotion

and then – submerged in waves – the ocean ebbs far off,

beyond reach – not a drop to be hold of.

The open arms – of a tranquil lake – I dream of,

to go down – below its waterline,

getting drunk with tenderness, getting drowned in love,

only – to dwell – in your depth.

Gushes – of tears – from your deep

only – do I aspire – to wipe dry,

drowning – I am – your solid ground.

Gushes of Tears from Your Deep © Ladanseuse

English translation of "Slzy prýštící z hlubiny Tvé", dated 25. 4. 2022, edited on 17. 1. 2023

Continuum

Water, which wells up from the springs of life, is a continuum: It flows on and into the eternal ocean of time. It continuously ebbs and flows, its foamy waves washing ashore, thus influenced by the cool silvery moon, which it elementarily constitutes, just as it forms the essence of our physical Self as we are born of a watery womb and out of our heart gushes a carmine intravenous stream circulating within us and flowing out of us in sync with a lunar cycle. As if the inner was symbiotic with the outer: Both is of identical nature.

The flow of water is wavy like locks of hair as you caress them and they slip through your fingers; it undulates like mountain tops, femininely curvaceous; it spins in a whirl of chaos, voraciously devouring everything in the deeps of her eyes; efervescent, it bubbles in a velvety foam as you float in her arms; it burbles softly like a stream or rages widly like a torrent... Water is a life-giving force, water is a lady, water is life in all of Creation.

As it cleanses and washes away, water is a cathartic transformation: both on the physical plane and in the psychical sphere, it banishes evil and gifts good. As if along with monthly blood sorrow and all doom flowed out while room was given to a new seed of joy in life. Relieve yourself of that old, useless attire, immerse your body in the waters of a lake, washing off dirt and gloom; throw Morana, the winter of woe, into the river flow so as it carries it away and revives sunshine and sunheat within you; may bitter wails be washed away by the sacredness of your tears, mightfully gushing out as the heart speaks its truth through them; dance in between drops of rain, which will flush the dust away, erase footsteps, quench your thirst and cool the burning heat down.

Water is the embodiment of the adage that "what is soft is strong": with its gentleness, fluidity and pliability, it will – despite appearances – overcome rigid hardness.... or, in Keith Richard's words, "The strong guys are gentle, always. It's only weak guys that come on strong.", or, using Bruce Lee's simile, "the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind", whereas "the stiffest [immobile] tree is most easily cracked". Its strength lies not in aggression, but in a certain kind of a flexible persistance with which it will pulverize stone eventually. Water is stronger than ice: That "water hears and understands' renders it shapeable, welcoming and open, whereas by freezing it stiffens, becoming inflexible and unyielding, thus "ice does not forgive'. May ice melt, becoming water, as we need more humaneness, and tenderness in this world, we need to open ourselves to love.

Bruce Lee speaks of water "making its way through the cracks" that is "not assertive, but adjust[s] to the object and [thus] shall find a way around or through it'. As if our surroundings as well as ourselves were water:. "We are always in the process of becoming and nothing is fixed," and so only if devoid of inner ossification, with an empty mind, "formless [and] shapeless, like water," can we "change with the ever-changing" and "outward things will disclose themselves." His wisdom says: "Flow in the total openness of the living moment. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo."

Water is one of the fundamental substances of the universe without which there is no life – birth, flow, change, catharsis, good, eternity. My relationship with her is multilayered; I love her; she is both without and within me..

Continuum © Ladanseuse

English translation of "Kontinuum"

Completed from excerpts of my own thoughts on 4.7.21, 30.10.21, 13.-14.4.22,

spiced up with quatations by Keith Richards and Bruce Lee

A Merge with Eternity

If you can
discern
whence stems a dread
of dark shadowiness 
amidst a sunlit day,
then you comprehend
why in the heart
ceaseless unease can dwell.

If you can
penetrate
the essence of life
before you deplete it completely,
then you learn
of whence we came,
the source of our fragility.

If you believe
in the existence of reliables,
then tell me
what it is supposed to be
when each moment passes.

If you say,
only that which prevails, matters –
is it in seach of a safe guarantee
that is trustworthy?
Or, your attachment to it
renders you wishful it would last for eternity?

Where find certainty?
All is at risk –
each step taken on your path
can be fatal,
but not to go on
means to reject life,
which life won't accept.

And so you know
there is no way of relinquishment
and keep this senseless battle on,
hurting as you sense it's in vain.

Certain instants
belong to silence
in the time
when retreat means your victory,
open your heart,
there exist moments 
wedded to eternity.

A Merge with Eternity © Ladanseuse
Original text undated; edited, translated into Czech, and published bilingually on 5. 4. 2022

We, Stories

This dictum 

echoes in my ears:

"In stories we will turn".

but we are these

stories that breathe!

We'd better detect 

means of their portrayal

before breathless we are,

before reminiscences we become!

We, Stories © Ladanseuse

Translation "My, příběhy" on 5.. 4. 2022

Written in Czech on 23. 12. 2021, edited & published on 2. 4. 2022

"In stories we will turn", a paraphrasis of In the end, we'll become stories" by Margaret Atwood

Love and Doom

 Upon leaving this place I knew of being awaited by a new world – a world in which I could fully perceive its beauties with my mind veiled in a sweet nescience, with my sorrow drowsing at the edge of an abyss; a world in which my senses would be inspirited by joy to dive into inner peace with a heart keen-sighted and open to all.

Observing the undulating sea, I can sense its cruel lovingness and feel its salty flavor all over my body; the sea is bitter-sweet, the deep of the endless blue, the deeps of marvels and presences. I can hear its swaying murmur, the hum of cicadas and the rustle of stone pine needles... as branches swing and oleanders open their lovely flowers to a realm of scents, sounds, and touches that awakens a wild love and affection within me.

Steep, murderous crags of the mountains loom above the azure ocean lying in their womb. A landscape with thousands of dwarf trees and bushes scattered throughout... the mountainous skyline... windowless and roofless houses with only walls left, houses with protrudent wires and bright bare bricks, houses with alabaster plaster and gleaming windows... a barren and deserted land, a plundered and desolate land, a captivating and wild land, nobody's land, a land of death that still abounds in germinating resilient life... a corner of the earth that reeks of abandonment and has permanently become home to suffering, a corner of the earth with the palpable presence of a war the menacing eyes of which have always been blind and the heart of which has invariably been insatiable... And these ruins used to be homes, which people have left or in which they have found death – who knows? This horrifying query hovers over this wasteland, brimming with wildlife but filled with human demise...

Thereupon, all turns to life... a life which dwells in little houses drowned in a flood of flowers... in tens of cafés resonant with music and utterances, food-scented locales with a tempting offer of ice-cream... on overcrowded paths and beaches of a pulsating town. And the thrum of car and motorcycle engines, the pounding beat of discotheques, the wail of the wind, the hubbub of thousands of voices, the tolling of bells, the roar of waves furiously crashing against the cliffs and murmuringly washing ashore – waves that rock in their soothing arms but that are also capable of slaying...

It is a July summer... The blazing sun is merciless, but life is rich in percepts in shadowy, watery and green places. All the trees bow to the sea in silent reverence, out of voiceless necessity – what for? –  and create an oasis of peace and a shelter from the sun; they rise upwards, the trees, so salubrious, magnificent and tranquil...

Along the sea shores there are hundreds of people lying, sitting or walking around... on the beach... under Asianesque reed sunshades in bars fringed with surfboards and perfumed with the sea, each with its own background music... in cafeterias with tens of chairs and small tables... at the stalls with popcorn, ice-cream, pictures, bijouterie, hats, bathing suits and other clothing, CDs, seashells, fruit – at the stalls with perhaps all that exists...

All these places are filled with people... and sentimental images of little houses and pensions in an inundation of blooming greenery: cacti, grapevines, fig trees, oleanders, palms, stone pines... whereas the mountains above them hide their terrifying void...

Love and Doom © Ladanseuse

Somewhere in former Yugoslavia, in a July; original edited and published on 2. 4. 2022

Translation "Láska a zkáza" on 3. 4. 2022