tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10211365985491419022024-02-07T03:00:55.415+01:00Wortkleider ~ Gedichte, Gedanken und andere BilderSchauen und staunen ~ mit Stift und Kamera sehen ~ in das Spiel des Lebens hinein, aus ihm heraus, aus ihm herein ~ Worte, Bilder geschehen ~ mal ernst, mal leicht ~ Momentaufnahmen, die erzählen ~ von Schönem, Wunderlichem, Flüchtigem.Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comBlogger699125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-28763161606272631782023-01-01T17:52:00.000+01:002023-01-01T17:52:02.814+01:00A new year ✴<p><span style="font-family: courier;">This being human is a guest house.<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">Every morning a new arrival.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A joy, a depression, a meanness,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">some momentary awareness comes<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">as an unexpected visitor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Welcome and entertain them all!<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">who violently sweep your house<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">empty of its furniture,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">still, treat each guest honorably.<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">He may be clearing you out<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">for some new delight.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">The dark thought, the shame, the malice,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">meet them at the door laughing,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">and invite them in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Be grateful for whoever comes,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">because each has been sent<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier;">as a guide from beyond.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">(Rumi)</span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-3633467665000309432022-12-16T09:05:00.000+01:002022-12-16T09:05:45.572+01:0016th December 2022<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let me ...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">... be a feather</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Strong, with purpose.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet light at heart</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Able to bend.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">And, tho I might</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Become frayed.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Able to pull myself</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Together again.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Anita Sams, Daniela Grünwald,<br /><i><a href="https://www.seltmannpublishers.com/collections/photodarium/products/photodarium-2023" target="_blank">Photodarium</a></i>)</span></span><br /></div><div><p></p></div>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-9588595982352960902022-08-26T12:17:00.001+02:002022-08-26T12:17:31.934+02:00Never gone<div style="text-align: left;"></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes it seems as if the magic of life is gone forever. It just doesn’t show up for you anymore, it</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’s</span></span> like it has forgotten you or like you used it up, it leaves you empty and dull. And then you starve, you long for it, you feel like you can’t go on without it. It’s hard to live without something that has become so dear to you. So you keep going as best as you can, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">feeling more like</span></span> a zombie that</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’s </span></span>crawling through a tunnel, hoping to find the light again. You look for this certain kind of magic that passes all understanding, you know it must still be there, maybe even in the darkness, but you just can’t feel it. Days, weeks, months pass, and nothing happens. Until the time has come, a moment when you didn’t expect it, when you weren’t thinking about the absence of what you were longing for</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">. Boom, there it is, overwhelming you gently. And it might not stay for long, it might not be stable, but it’s happening again. Like a snippet that says: Hello, I’m still there, I haven’t abandoned you, my love. I’m never not there. How could you forget that?<br /><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gHxi-HSgNPc" width="320" youtube-src-id="gHxi-HSgNPc"></iframe></div><p></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-37072450743861270552022-07-06T16:20:00.000+02:002022-07-06T16:20:48.543+02:00No clue (needed)<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Sometimes you have to lose your path completely, sometimes you just have to not know what your path is, have no clue anymore what your path is. Maybe sometimes that’s the path, that’s the next step … to not know what the next step will be … to not know where the hell your life is gonna take you. The path of the moment.” </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">(Jeff Foster, <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBqQS_-ObV0" target="_blank">From Depression to Awakening</a></i>)</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“We</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>re coming back to our raw, moment-to-moment experience, and we</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>re remembering that we only ever have to deal with this moment. Life is never bigger than this moment. ... Sometimes life can seem so overwhelming, and we</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>re caught up in the past or future, and we forget that there is only now.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">” (Jeff Foster, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3X9gpISieg&t=29" target="_blank"><i>Mindfulness Meditation for Stress</i></a>)</span></span></span></span> </span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-29836283786336626032022-06-28T12:44:00.000+02:002022-06-28T12:44:42.562+02:00Another one <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzlFnK--exBpdanC3jJgAef_PIxV-NQfI-9V-Kd1iQHjmcoFX9L7czUE2g-EtpmREFMGy7-DY4S9ZJmGjLCSQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I just can’t get enough of the plays of shadow and light in my place. <br />They’re always different, always new. <br />They never cease to amaze me, no matter how I feel.</span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-27983811251012127762022-06-26T17:15:00.003+02:002022-06-26T18:54:24.084+02:00♪<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Sometimes I feel I'm gonna break down and cry<br />Nowhere to go, nothin</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;">'</span></span> to do with my time<br />I get lonely, so lonely<br />Livin</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;">'</span></span> on my own<br /><br />...<br /><br />I get so lonely lonely lonely lonely yeah<br />Got to be some good times ahead <br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;">(Freddy Mercury, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DedaEVIbTkY" target="_blank"><i>Living on my own</i></a>)</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DedaEVIbTkY" target="_blank"><br /></a></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-53331281152807391052022-06-23T20:36:00.001+02:002022-06-23T20:38:02.464+02:00Veil?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2r4JvUhdkA6Dbkv4Ge5oUNQ4zll13B0SJVQQ19_Egad_GantOPojBQ9ACfv8ndI6eSHiZHsrG4LEQSNmlmYAkjOwDzMDsuH-01WCXysFqnVWQBthNMthXHHpUdhh6mh4xH7qILnnIPpQSRkKF47EPIIMAR-OvqscimlHf1Os0nEV-JlMIsVPxUTN8rQ/s2016/veil.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2r4JvUhdkA6Dbkv4Ge5oUNQ4zll13B0SJVQQ19_Egad_GantOPojBQ9ACfv8ndI6eSHiZHsrG4LEQSNmlmYAkjOwDzMDsuH-01WCXysFqnVWQBthNMthXHHpUdhh6mh4xH7qILnnIPpQSRkKF47EPIIMAR-OvqscimlHf1Os0nEV-JlMIsVPxUTN8rQ/s320/veil.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Longing for the veil of greyness to lift. Which veil? <br />Nothing to wait for. Waiting and hoping are poison, some say. <br />Yes and no, I guess. How could I seriously know or claim anything?</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-85475997985697312722022-05-23T16:05:00.008+02:002022-05-23T16:05:55.917+02:00Sheets<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnddrr4Ju6cRQXkp0knFyPXEACaYIzfMDVLXw3Lkz9tTSpvnDAqptzGFS5HuvemxvFQJgJIBiUvFAm9WnGdY8Brdw2JfCRT2G-1Dkzh6ikXEYuAMX4wn6tCJH-66_lWEVi2MZnOIL8_FwZt2xQfR4meSb-GyUn_vXdNFxTfwPdAQKy-VMqajZexgNSig/s1509/leinen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="1508" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnddrr4Ju6cRQXkp0knFyPXEACaYIzfMDVLXw3Lkz9tTSpvnDAqptzGFS5HuvemxvFQJgJIBiUvFAm9WnGdY8Brdw2JfCRT2G-1Dkzh6ikXEYuAMX4wn6tCJH-66_lWEVi2MZnOIL8_FwZt2xQfR4meSb-GyUn_vXdNFxTfwPdAQKy-VMqajZexgNSig/s320/leinen.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-75108039552326703592022-05-23T16:05:00.004+02:002022-05-23T16:05:17.801+02:00Sea<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTkUsI-B6_KpcQKbLB9NixsNK4sPRxxWuXjJw-aPMRXRNv9idOjIfIbNZwgv0fc9kKi6pMME6ZrF7ZBcPmhffaKi3HWCTvSTyDeThhHM0p5qdNK3w87BhbGrJx1kVTcw9pmSMQMZZJfgjYJEYLzmzAo9WAuiR3PISM1y7KoWpBX84op3z2fnevFC7Gg/s957/sylt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="957" data-original-width="957" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTkUsI-B6_KpcQKbLB9NixsNK4sPRxxWuXjJw-aPMRXRNv9idOjIfIbNZwgv0fc9kKi6pMME6ZrF7ZBcPmhffaKi3HWCTvSTyDeThhHM0p5qdNK3w87BhbGrJx1kVTcw9pmSMQMZZJfgjYJEYLzmzAo9WAuiR3PISM1y7KoWpBX84op3z2fnevFC7Gg/s320/sylt.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-84914937775719766292022-05-23T16:04:00.004+02:002022-05-23T16:09:05.006+02:00Jeans<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TIe-M5WS9wDf57WIAx_kNsLfYX5Sfr_KYgSozPQayo7XcGlhuTQyx_1zOFUZrbyKJnTT1wuql1oN41VAxeozIpG9kHc-KzwjPO9LjvmU7ckBdbBy2vD5QmwsVWOgWYUIrg8z9erXhS1DAFNGAD6ercSNUdWu_D9Nw6EmfYvnPUQDE5ZVdZjQahUc0g/s1509/jeans.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="1508" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TIe-M5WS9wDf57WIAx_kNsLfYX5Sfr_KYgSozPQayo7XcGlhuTQyx_1zOFUZrbyKJnTT1wuql1oN41VAxeozIpG9kHc-KzwjPO9LjvmU7ckBdbBy2vD5QmwsVWOgWYUIrg8z9erXhS1DAFNGAD6ercSNUdWu_D9Nw6EmfYvnPUQDE5ZVdZjQahUc0g/s320/jeans.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-28580308285664191862022-05-23T16:04:00.003+02:002022-05-23T16:08:05.039+02:00The landscape of my lunch<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA5zf3lYHVjS-U4fOHvehBVzUys7Au6EC9mz1KxwR_dSTPnNN5u_gHq7faplEVSu6a5Ujuy3FzrvswbqdcTGj50W8dQhFv1sIxCvDBDtSqb50Z9UrTl8Sb-0CggWS_UWatoq2HwI3R7lMM7-mVKAxDqibqy03VDLcVgWCoHP1J7zqsfYElk7loCJJEqg=s3456" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA5zf3lYHVjS-U4fOHvehBVzUys7Au6EC9mz1KxwR_dSTPnNN5u_gHq7faplEVSu6a5Ujuy3FzrvswbqdcTGj50W8dQhFv1sIxCvDBDtSqb50Z9UrTl8Sb-0CggWS_UWatoq2HwI3R7lMM7-mVKAxDqibqy03VDLcVgWCoHP1J7zqsfYElk7loCJJEqg=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>Sometimes I feel like spending the rest of my life just watching the <br />forms and the colors, the patterns and the structures in the world.</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-57242453251478780322022-05-08T20:35:00.013+02:002022-05-08T20:46:23.948+02:00Let me show you …<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">… how beautiful you are<br /> said the light to the shadow.<br /><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwxeDMUnS56wvf-L1YVKnZHG97TcJUOI3FFA3stj10fvJ1lXWfpJBxI-aaKbTu9-9GQiY5-UnMjM_TTwusZdQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-58291149071124574532022-03-25T22:42:00.000+01:002022-03-25T22:42:29.320+01:00Sometimes<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes I feel like Cinderella, I want to be saved. By whom or what I don’t know. Maybe by a man, by a friend, by a stranger, by God, by myself. By the next thought or feeling or happening or view. By sleep, by death. Maybe all of that, or rather none of it. It seems the best salvation is that which is not needed. Or which is happening, all the time. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Well, </span></span>I know it’s like that. I just forget sometimes.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-67364517822674446832022-03-21T10:56:00.000+01:002022-03-21T10:56:20.289+01:00Don’t forget<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXVdE3iGVbTN8dQ0cqsK0kQtgAsh114RV7xw3Aplz9_ychIt3qzZnYgEIn8sZwvwa3RUGZaqwFraTEVFfFmZbvywaDr4M8tFM3fqQAeogTu0ULmrsJprWagGxiN-1SqcSi4KfbaPQM3Jll8mkeNYRYg4KYBTObUDFL2SxJyv_WBClvGryWQidb_OeCqg=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXVdE3iGVbTN8dQ0cqsK0kQtgAsh114RV7xw3Aplz9_ychIt3qzZnYgEIn8sZwvwa3RUGZaqwFraTEVFfFmZbvywaDr4M8tFM3fqQAeogTu0ULmrsJprWagGxiN-1SqcSi4KfbaPQM3Jll8mkeNYRYg4KYBTObUDFL2SxJyv_WBClvGryWQidb_OeCqg=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The world can be so beautiful.<br />The flowers know that.<br />Oh, let me be a <br />flower girl.<br />⚘ ⚘ ⚘</span></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-82063525428294696422022-03-16T10:21:00.004+01:002022-03-16T10:21:36.017+01:00♪<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dU0rZFFFtEg" width="320" youtube-src-id="dU0rZFFFtEg"></iframe></div>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-21002601296751523152022-03-16T10:13:00.001+01:002022-03-17T17:58:04.809+01:00Enough?<p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">So if you can do it, or help someone else <br />A little bit, to stay alive, or happy<br />Then that’s enough <br />So why are we made to question <br />The value of our lives</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Rebecca Elson, <i>A Responsibility to Awe</i>)<br /> <br /><br />Maybe my specialty is not to be very special<br />maybe my expression is not to express much<br />maybe my creation is not to be creative?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe my talent is to just be there<br />to look around, wonder and enjoy?<br />Not the worst thing, actually.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m not sure<br />but sometimes the best answer <br />is when the question dissolves.<br /></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-60262412797015087702022-03-14T21:04:00.001+01:002022-03-14T21:04:42.850+01:00Humans<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Eight billion individuals, undividables<br />autists if you will. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Everyone in their own world<br />literally being their own universe. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Yet connected, in varying ways and degrees<br />dancing with each other, loving, fighting <br />(mis-)understanding, (not) caring, ...<br />and basically all one<br />the one life expressing <br />as all of us and everything.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Paradox and beautiful<br />beyond measure<br />beyond beyond<br />poor words ...</span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-32829752612002256752022-03-14T20:55:00.006+01:002022-03-14T22:05:11.737+01:00🌚<p style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hQKGP3J6Q9s" width="320" youtube-src-id="hQKGP3J6Q9s"></iframe><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;"> <br />„Nachtstadt. Alle eilen nach der Arbeit nach Hause. Blinklichter von Ampeln, Scheinwerfer von Autos. Niemand bemerkt dich. Weil du in einer anderen Dimension bist. Du bist gleichzeitig hier und nicht hier. Du bist außerhalb der Zeit, außerhalb des Raums.“ <br />(Kommentar von Roll1and)</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Wo ist mein Platz in dieser Welt? Brauche ich einen? Will ich einen? Gibt es einen? Was ist diese Welt? Was soll sie sein, für mich?<br /></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-89922676209574191742022-03-09T15:35:00.017+01:002022-03-11T11:32:07.532+01:00🌞<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyuFvsxajiBwWcbS9DDXdBbxAUtQ0GlelTQ8bqOlRB7oHHtpkAkWbg4nUrcCMVrz0R1NatO_kN9QsbqxQqu6w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-78158022526141194282022-03-07T11:55:00.000+01:002022-03-07T11:55:59.811+01:00Vorfrühling ⚘<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Härte schwand. Auf einmal legt sich Schonung<br />an der Wiesen aufgedecktes Grau.<br />Kleine Wasser ändern die Betonung.<br />Zärtlichkeiten, ungenau,</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">greifen nach der Erde aus dem Raum.<br />Wege gehen weit ins Land und zeigens.<br />Unvermutet siehst du seines Steigens<br />Ausdruck in dem leeren Baum.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">(Rainer Maria Rilke, 1924)<br /></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-18678900101900815532022-02-24T11:52:00.002+01:002022-02-24T11:52:50.472+01:00Just a little shift<p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was so happy when I
first saw <a href="https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap211003.html" target="_blank">this picture</a> last year. Stereogramms are so much fun and so
symbolic. Just a little shift in perspective, another focus, or rather a defocusing, and then ... Today I looked
at it again and saw another version of the motive: a teapot that’s
broken in half and a smaller one in front of it. Amazing! (This only seemed to work on my phone where the picture is smaller than on a laptop.) It was as
if life were reminding me that there’s always more to be discovered, even in that which is apparently the same and known.
Keep exploring and savoring, wherever you are drawn to, my dear. It’s beautiful :).</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-7528408715589509082022-02-18T18:46:00.003+01:002022-02-19T11:51:13.248+01:00"Life is so weird sometimes."<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ProvVFrF6b8" width="320" youtube-src-id="ProvVFrF6b8"></iframe></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A Japanese music artist creates an astonishingly <br />beautiful record for a skin care company <br />to “give away” with perfume bottles. <br />Some of them leak and damage the<br />vinyl, which leads to crackly <br />sounds that some listeners <br />interpret as being part of<br /> the music. Decades later, <br />this album is on YouTube, <br />being enjoyed by hundreds of <br />thousands of people and doing all <br />kinds of lovely things to them. The <br />“mundane” and the “beyond” wonderfully <br />intertwined. How it all connects, or isn’t <br />really separate in the first place... (This <br />little story has been taken from the <br />comments by “breakline” and <br />“t4exanadu” in the comment <br />section of the video.<br />Thank you.)</span></span></div>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-3740665535220557402022-02-18T18:44:00.001+01:002022-02-20T12:54:01.449+01:00In love there are no lines<p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I don</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>t know why, but I was thinking about the Stockholm syndrome recently. How the word syndrome is already so hard and judgmental and problematizes that which it tries to describe far too much. How it hurts me and gives me bruises inside. How all kinds of labels do that and how outrageous that is, that overly rational, divisive thinking. The truth, or what feels truer to me, is that it’s all blurred and that the lines we draw just aren’t real. You can take them, stretch and bend and move them, you can play with them. You can take any subject and treat it as a coin with two sides, clearly defined, where the coin lies on either one side or the other. Heads or tails. This or that. Period. No more discussion. File closed. Subject killed. Or you can take the coin, put it on its edge and let it spin. Then it turns into a ball that has no points, no sides, no edges. It simply rolls while being everything ... </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The so-called Stockholm syndrome was invented as a psychological phenomenon after an incident where victims sympathized with their hostage-takers. Maybe they even fell in love with them, which says it perfectly: The unconditionality of love graciously took them in. Now you could call that wrong or problematic and pity those people, and yes, on a certain level, in a very dualistic</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> sense, it “is” so. Life can pretend so. But you, it, life as you, could also see the beauty in that, the gentleness and the saneness; the sa<i>n</i>eness and the sa<i>m</i>eness. You just have to go an inch deeper or wider, it’s just a little shift. Then these are people who don’t fight what</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>s happening, who surrender. They surrender to the goodness of the life that everyone and everything is, and this is what (dis)solves the situation. And maybe (and not even that is necessary) they see the isness in it, the beauty, the dance that dances itself, just like that, in that guise, in that moment in time. You could call it love.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">These thoughts, which have not even really been thought but more like sensed (only now, while trying to write them down, literally, taking them “down” into the realm of thoughts and words), have been with me for a couple of days and maybe, I don’t know how it all connects, have led to the moment in time this morning where I felt deeply in love with the greyness and heaviness that has been with me for quite a while, having me in its grip, having taken me hostage if you will. There was no resistance, so it was completely alright and beautiful as it is. And in that, life did its magical, paradoxical thing, and the greyness kind of disappeared. The problematicness of it vanished, it transformed into “beyondness.” The “place” where there is no need to accept or reject anything revealed itself, in its very innocent, obvious way. You could call that home.</span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-54386309262235163902022-02-08T23:33:00.004+01:002023-05-18T13:04:08.364+02:00Coffeeshop notes ☕<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>m in a coffeeshop and brought the book <i>A Responsibility to Awe</i> with poems by the astronomer Rebecca Elson. Between a delicious broccoli cream soup and a cappuccino with chocolate cake, I read in it, only a bit actually, I feel more like just gazing out the window and immersing myself in the little everyday scenes that are passing by.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Expanding Universe</span></span></i></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>How do they know, he is asking,<br />He is seven, maybe,<br />I am telling him how light<br />Comes to us like water,<br />Long red waves across the universe,<br />Everything, all of us,<br />Flying out from our origins.</i></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>And he is listening<br />As if I were not there,<br />Then walking back<br />Into the shadow of the chestnut,<br />Collecting pink blossoms<br />In his father's empty shoe.</i></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I can relate to that so well, to what she is, I believe, pointing at. “Erklärungen sind immer so hanebüchen,” I once read somewhere (or was it my </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span></span>own” thought, I don’t remember). Explanations are always so outrageous. Yeah. How outrageous it is to claim that I know anything. But also, how outrageous to claim that I don’t. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My thoughts go on wandering, on the up to just now blank page of the notebook on which I’m writing this. Only this one page, the third to be precise, is blank on one side, all the others are ruled. Oh, these lovely little details that surprise you and make you wonder … It’s life on such a sweet note.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now a scene from the movie <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8pGJBgiiDU" target="_blank">Paterson</a> appears in my mind. The character of the same name is calm and content and works as a bus driver. His life is very routine and ordinary, still, or just because of that, there is so much beauty in it. Some of it he captures in poems which he writes in a notebook during his lunch breaks or when he spends some time alone in a little room in the basement of his house. His wife adores his poetry, she is more outgoing and ambitious (in a lovely way), so she urges him to make a copy of his notebook and publish the poems. If my memory doesn’t lie to me, she says something like, “You’re a great poet. You should let the world know,” to which he nicely replies that she scares him. Later, their dog destroys the notebook, and the poems are gone. In the end of the movie, Paterson meets a Japanese man who gifts him a new notebook, and he just seems to go on writing as before, for himself, for the sake of the moment. That might not be enough, or simply everything.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Back in the café, there</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span></span></span>s this little episode happening in front of my eyes. Outside there are a couple of little olive trees decorated at a balustrade. One of them gets blown down by the wind several times, and each time a passerby takes care of putting it back up. This touches me deeply in its uncomplicatedness and loveliness, how it takes care of itself in this pure, simple way. When it happens again, it makes me laugh and share it with the waitress. I think she feels what I mean, but the urge of having to intervene takes over, so she goes out, attaches the tree to the balustrade, and the little play ends. Then she does something else which leads to another plant pot falling over, to dirt falling out and soiling the entrance area. Oh, sweet irony. Now </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I laugh about it, but in the moment it happened, I felt somehow sad and silly. Like as if more was lost than gained through my talking about it. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut, why didn’t I just enjoy silently, for myself?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now that I type this on my laptop and look for the link to the Paterson trailer on YouTube, I get lost in this beautiful movie again, reading the comments, sharing the awe about it with other people across the world, loving how they feel similar and how they put it into words. No, words don</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span>t do, but then yes, somehow they do. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>s all dancing with each other, all the time.</span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1021136598549141902.post-14011287525836566762022-01-30T18:35:00.001+01:002022-02-17T12:39:58.241+01:00Loslassen<p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Wie schön, wie okay, wie frei, wie einfach-so-seiend es ist, nicht immer loslassen zu können oder zu müssen. Heute bekam ich eine Bestellung über ein gebrauchtes Buch, es ist die dritte innerhalb weniger Monate, bei der ich feststelle, dass ich das Buch doch nicht hergeben kann. Die erste Bestellung habe ich storniert mit der kleinen Notlüge, ich hätte das Buch nicht mehr. Bei der zweiten habe ich ganz ehrlich geschrieben, dass und warum ich ihm das Buch leider nicht verkaufen kann (und eine sehr nette und verständnisvolle Antwort bekommen; wie schön, dass sich so diese kleine Begegnung ergab). Jetzt werde ich der Bestellung nachkommen, aber mir das Buch wieder zulegen. Putzig, wie es gehen kann ... Aber was soll ich machen, ich brauche diese Bücher, ich mag sie hierhaben. Eins passt farblich zu gut in mein Bad, ein anderes entführt mich in wunderschöne Buchhandlungen in Europa (was für ein Geschenk in der aktuellen Zeit), und das dritte heißt <i>Hurry up and wait</i>, hat einen zitronengelben Leineneinband mit einer farbenfrohen aufgeklebten Zeichnung und eingelassenen Buchstaben, über die es sich so schön mit dem Finger fahren lässt, und stand bis eben dekorativ (und wahrscheinlich auch symbolisch und prophezeiend) auf einem schwarzen Stuhl in meinem Wohnzimmer. Nein, es geht nicht, sie müssen alle bleiben. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“When I was a kid my father would say if you get lost, don’t look for me. Stay there. Stay there and I will find you.” </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I didn</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>’</span></span>t even know I was waiting. I thought I was just here.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“</span></span></span></span></span>Tell me exactly why I should go. I mean, stay. Tell me that.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>(Maira Kalman & Daniel Handler, <i>Hurry up and wait</i>)</span></span></span></p>Dorotheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16760812441234296360noreply@blogger.com