100th day of Beauty

Spent time with my two favorite men.  Their contemplative wisdom is always an inspiration.

The seven steps of happiness.  By Marcelo

Being an artist

I can go for years without writing a song, weeks without singing a note, months without touching an key on the piano...and the moment I do, not a moment has passes since the last time.

The artist might do other things, might never be recognized by others, might never receive money for their work...and yet they still are.

Their work might be awful for others, for themselves or beautiful for themselves, or others.  Still they have to make something, something that has never been hear before simply because of that...it's creation.  The judging of worth is a worthless, though popular second stage.  But the action, creation is what is most important.

I want it back.

To celebrate, to remember, to relish

Karinikah is when I tend to write, to reflect, to reboot.

This has been quite the year and I anxiously await Karina, version 34.0.

But writing starts a little early this year and it begins with celebrating a wonderful man who is no longer with us.  This man mad me laugh and smile the few times I spoke with him.  He could have been my brother-in-law.  He is the reason that I know, love, and cherish his brother.  And today would have been the first day of his celebration:  Sladjanika.  I think he would have found idea a little silly but would have humored me.  We would have concocted wonderful plans to celebrate with friends and family.  Since he isn't with us anymore, we celebrate in his honor.

I asked Ivi what Sladjan's favorite things were.

-Hang out with friends (fake and real)
-Cook something
-Talk to an interesting stranger
-Eat sour cherry pie
-Spend time with family
-Spend time with partner
-Motivate someone
-Think happy thoughts
-Come up with a new idea
-Make and/or drink juice
-Watch a movie like Emerald Forest

Our hope is to do at least one of these things a day, to celebrate and feel close to him after he passed away so quickly this year.  And thank god we decided to because it was the only thing that got me out of bed today.

I've been tired lately, swirling in a mixture of longing for my partner, professional power struggles/lessons and biological confusion with the seasonal change.  Were I an even less logical person, I would heed my animalistic instincts and burrow into the dark loam until spring.  But instead, the burrower dressed in biz cas and jetted down the expressway.

I love work-in-the-field days and today was one.  But instead the early a.m. darkness of my room found me to be all resistance.  I was all the cranky pants and if I were five years old there would have been a loud, aggressive tantrum accompanying me as I made my way to the bathroom.

I made it through my day and I made it through my commitment of celebrating my brother in law:  I came up with a new idea for my clients, drank some juice, motivated a student and spend some electronic time with my partner.  My hope is to do at least one Sladjanic thing a day during this celebration and to continue the tradition for as many years as possible.

I hoped "think happy thoughts" could have been checked off the list but, by the end of the day, I knew it was pointless.  I was gritted teeth, white knuckles and that was that.  Then, while practicing my Serbian read aloud which came in the form of poem Ivi once read to me "...Ja ne zabranjujem ništa.  Sme se sve što se ne sme....", grace came.  It was like the fall wind blowing mist, bangs, tears away from my eyes.  And I noticed the wonderful Serbian influences that were there because of Sladjan and his endless love of fascinating people.

There's a few of Sladjan's cookbooks on my kitchen counter,
the world map resting on the wall with a picture of Ivi and myself sharing a kiss that spans the Atlantic,
several "Learn Serbian" books for a kindergartener to an adult traveler,
Serbian apps on my phone for translations and radio stations,
books of poetry that Ivi gave me on my last trip,
books that Sanja, the Serbian admin assistant I randomly met at a school, gifted me when she learned of our story,
the purse that my soon-to-be Serbo-Austrian sister in law gave me, white with black lace inlay that always makes me feel more dressed up than I am,
the pictures my soon-to-be nieces drew for me, mentioning how nice it was to meet me and how much they appreciate my love for their uncle,
the book I got from the library about Balkan history, the smallest out all of my choices but no less dense,
the rakija/Serbian brandy my soon-to-be father in law gave me after my first trip that makes me laugh and feel slightly queasy every time I see it.

And most amazingly, there is this love that I carry deep within me.  Maybe depth is the wrong word because it is not a far away, fixed point but instead a constant warmth at the molecular level.  Each cell carrying the light of my partner's love.  A love steadily given and felt, regardless of the 8,000 km difference.  I've never experienced something like this.  As my fascination with it grows, so does it's meshing/embedding within me and I think of it less as a cautious risk and more of an alternative category for exemplary couples.

And so at 9:33 pm, I also add "think happy thoughts" to the Sladjanika accomplishments knowing well that he was a catalyst for every single one.

Lists of international relationships in my life

Mom (USA) and Dad (Chile)

Aunt Cindy (USA) and Uncle Oscar (Chile)

Aunt Ximena (Chile) and Uncle David (USA)

Cousin Rene (Chile) and wife Claudia (Germany)

Cousin Francisca (Chile) and husband Mark (New Zealand)

Cousin Marite (Chile) and boyfriend Florent (France)

Friend Flor (Chile) and husband Andrew (USA)

Friend Jaime (USA) and husband Jeko (Bulgaria)

Friend Gonzalo (Chile) and Wife (Russia)

Friend Yarela (Chile) and husband Stephen (USA)

Friends Jaime (Chile) and Ellen (USA)

Friend Kelly (USA) and husband Selim (Turkey)

Friend Ariana (Chile) and husband Jaime (USA)

Friend Amparo (Venezuela) and husband Steve (USA)


More and more I'm seeing this as par for the course in my life  and not such a big deal.  Honestly, I'm now surprised I ever felt so in the first place.

The Good Type of Challenges

I have a ton of good challenges in my life these days.  I feel blessed, lucky and a wave of different emotions at different times.  I'm just trying to steer the ship and let the wind do the work.

Shadow poem on a day of much open light

Today is a good day.  A Saturday that has never happened before and will never happen again.  In this productive and open-hearted space I found a poem from a darker day.  How grounded and articulate, how solid and seeing I was in my pain.  I love looking back at harder times and seeing how clearly I was taking patient care of myself.

Poem from a Shadow Day-June 17th 2011

My darkness, it enlivens me
My shadows help me see more clearly
as a sky with no moon brings the stars to light

My fear electrifies me
My pain jolts the unfinished in me
pointing out when the ego controls my life's flight

It is not a life of sunshine
that one should hope to seek
but the precious dark without a spark that forces shadows' speak

I take the time to know what's mine
without the blaming of my brother
with no distraction from reaction, who are we to one another?

I am my breath

I am not my thoughts.  I have to keep reminding myself of that.  I find myself swimming in them, slaying imaginary problems and resisting my own blissful optimism.

So many things happen in life: wins, losses, draws.  The idea that anything is guaranteed, promised, unchangeable can become a painful illusion in the face of life's uncertainties.  But that doesn't make me want any less and I cannot stop this energy of mine.  I still want to dig my hands deep into life's sacks of grain even if there are holes and the sack is slowly draining.  I will still pleasantly recall the 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 weeks of cool and surrounding sensations.  I will smile and then walk on.

So as I listen to my heartbeat on sleepless nights, I agree to be my breath instead of my thoughts.  I fill my lungs slowly, deeply all the way down to my appendectomy scars.  I part my lips to release the air with ease and grace, counting down past the shhhhing sound to the silence of its last bits.  And I am still.  I am still here.

Then I might clean, write or play guitar until 4 am.  Promising my breath that, even if I forget it, I will always return home.  My thoughts, for all their wit and critique, lack the comfort and constancy of my breath.  And I need comfort and constancy in the face of a life that can occasionally be neither.