I've been reading - Esenin

Because it is summer... or because it is cold... Because it is time to hit the road again... or because the gypsies' carriages will soon travel the countryside... Because it is a bit scary... or because it feels like need of a story... Because of a little too much... or because of the lack of it... I am back to Esenin and one of his most beloved poems "Shagane, you, my Shagane":

Шаганэ ты моя, Шаганэ...

Шаганэ ты моя, Шаганэ!
Потому, что я с севера, что ли,
Я готов рассказать тебе поле,
Про волнистую рожь при луне.
Шаганэ ты моя, Шаганэ.

Потому, что я с севера, что ли,
Что луна там огромней в сто раз,
Как бы ни был красив Шираз,
Он не лучше рязанских раздолий.
Потому, что я с севера, что ли.

Я готов рассказать тебе поле,
Эти волосы взял я у ржи,
Если хочешь, на палец вяжи -
Я нисколько не чувствую боли.
Я готов рассказать тебе поле.

Про волнистую рожь при луне
По кудрям ты моим догадайся.
Дорогая, шути, улыбайся,
Не буди только память во мне
Про волнистую рожь при луне.

Шаганэ ты моя, Шаганэ!
Там, на севере, девушка тоже,
На тебя она страшно похожа,
Может, думает обо мне...
Шаганэ ты моя, Шаганэ.


I managed to find a relatively decent translation though not doing justice to the beauty of the original but still... it will give an idea.

Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet!
You will know because I am Nordic;
I can tell you a meadow, most scenic,
Moonlit rye waves one cannot forget.
Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet,

You will know because I am Nordic;
So bright shines the moon out there
That it may outglow any glare
Of Shiraz blazing forth from its tunic.
You will know because I am Nordic;

I can tell you a meadow, most scenic,
For my hair was gifted from rye,
Twixt your fingers you may intertwine -
I don’t feel any pain, any heartache.
I can tell you a meadow, most scenic.

Moonlit rye waves, one cannot forget,
Look so much like my curly hair, darling.
Oh, my love, please keep joking and smiling,
But don’t let me think of the silhouette
Of the rye waves, one cannot forget.

Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet!
There, up north, lives a maiden who also
Does resemble you terribly close,
May be now she’s thinking of me…
Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet.      
(http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shaganet-o-my-love-shaganet/)

The poem is part of the Persian cycle. The rhythm of this poem is very specific and surely reminds of the Eastern, Arabic samples of poetry. It's a beautiful story about the touch which sometimes causes us pain but we still linger for it, and about love, present and absent. What I dislike in the translation is that namely the part about the pain is not conveyed well enough and is somehow lost among descriptions.

Weddings, peonies, a bit of music...

I waited a while before writing about the past Depeche Mode concert because I really didn't want to sound insane. LOL What can I say? As always when a dream comes true, it was quite a bit surreal, like both believable and unbelievable, standing there, two days ahead, watching the stage building and trying to imagine how it will be, how it will look, feel, smell... Nothing I could imagine was even close to what happened in reality. I was once again reminded that my mind is so limited and this is so sad. The good thing is that apparently another mind somewhere out there has such imagination! I hadn't planned to work at this event, yet I had to, for a couple of days but it was a blessing in disguise for which I'm so grateful now. And it was cool to be serenaded at the sound check when the audience is missing, the stadium is empty, and only we, who were working there, were listening. I will remember this night. It would be impossible to forget. :)

Meanwhile, a friend of mine announced her upcoming wedding and, naturally, put me there, at the front, to organize it. LOL I'm not very much into weddings but... a friend is a friend. I wanted to avoid the usual white/pink (or peach)/red theme and chose creamy white and chocolate brown for her. Wishing them both a smooth and sweet journey together. :) And peonies. I love peonies. They are lush, seductive, aromatic, long-lasting, gentle, they are like a whisper on a hot summer night, like a soft touch of velvet, like a cake with rum or a Turkish coffee. Delicious and intense. :)

I'm still at the stage where I'm trying to picture it in my mind and browsing for palettes and ideas. It should be a bit old fashioned, yet elegant, may be bronze, or old silver...

I really like the process of creating the event in my mind, of walking around and taking photos of things and colors I'd use, of creating the pattern and then fitting the objects in it. It's my favorite part.

Creamy white peonies for the bride. :)

Speaking of peonies, on our way back from the Rila mountain yesterday, I found myself into Wonderland:

These are wild peonies in the forest. The whole place carried their aroma, it was magical. If you ever come to this part of the world, the trip to the Rila monastery and the lakes is worth it. :)

Nestinari (Fire Dancing)

Nestinari are people who dance bare feet in burning coal on the night of June 3rd. The custom was originally pagan but as so many other customs and dates, with the coming of Christianity, successfully combined pagan symbolism with Christian faith. Since then Nestinari dance with an icon of St. Konstantine and St. Helena in their hands. The dancers are generational, it is very rare for an outsider to become a Nestinar. Usually they come from Nestinari families.

Nestinari was added to the UNESCO list of non material tresures of the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIAcYCAWIqo - a rare sighting of a lone Nestinar in a village where today the custom doesn't exist anymore.

The day in the Bulgari village, the only place remaining where the custom is preserved as it was, starts with a ritual procession of the Nestinari taking the icon of St. Konstantine and Helena to the sacred spring nearby, ritually washing themselves in the water, then taking the icon back to the chapel in the village where they stay inside for the rest of the day with no food or water. They listen only to the beat of the ritual drums for the whole day and pray, gradually reaching a trance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f41lmvMKtE0

When the dusk comes, the fire is started at the village square and when the darkness falls, the Nestinari enter the coal, sometimes they yell but not of pain, they experience a culmination of their long held emotions, it's ecstatic. Gradually the dance becomes more rhythmic, following the drums as the Nestinari dance, first making a cross in the coal to honour the saints, then continuing in a circle. It's very common for the crowd to fall in trance too, so if you're an emotional creature, bring a friend to keep you away from the coal! :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8vPckBOGb0

Seriously, I've seen it once many years ago and it's a lifetime experience. The drums themselves are so powerful and the feeling is surreal! Nestinari is an act of sacrifice, cleaning and surrendering. It's a culmination of spirit ruling over the matter as Nestinari never get hurt or burned. It's faith against all else, mind against all we see and touch, it's about the most important being known with the heart not with the brain. :)

While there are Nestinari attractions for tourists along the seaside, the place to truly understand the symbolism and the meaning of the ritual remains only Bulgari in the Strandza mountain.

I've been reading - The Messenger

Klaus Joehle, "The Messenger":

“‘They’re not really stupid.  They just act like that because they’re scared.’”

“‘Scared of what?’”

“‘They’re scared of everything; scared of not being loved, scared of too much Love, scared of dying, of living, of not having enough food, scared that others will hurt them or take what they have.’  The words were just coming out of my mouth and I was listening to them the same way as he was.  ‘They’re even scared of what they don’t have, that others are better than them, of being alone, of being with people, of being made fun of, of not being liked or accepted, scared that something will go wrong, and sometimes they’re scared even when things go right.  They’re scared of those who are not so scared, and most of all, scared of each other.’”

“‘So?’ he asked with a puzzled look on his face.”

“‘Fear can drive you to do very unloving things.  It can even drive people crazy. It slowly drains all the Love out of life and leaves you with anger that can turn into hate.  It all comes down to a lack of Love.  Love is the food of the universe and everything in it.  Without Love there’s chaos, hate, anger, and fear.  Where there is Love there is peace, joy, fulfillment, trust, and abundance. That’s why things are the way they are, it’s just a matter of not being enough Love.’”

" Openly trusting

I’ve thought a lot about trust lately, partly because something has come up, that has touched that part of me that I keep so well hidden.

I wonder what it is that I’m afraid of?
 I wonder if I have really ever trusted, or if it was nothing more than a temporary illusion.
 I’ve thought about how many wonderful things I have destroyed because of my lack of trust.
There is nothing in life that I have ever come across that I couldn’t handle, yet the question remains: why am I scared?
No relationship works without trust regardless of whether it consists of friendship, Love, work or play.
It comes down to the same thing, trust.
Maybe it’s really myself that I don’t trust.
Do I trust myself, that I will pick the right whatever?
Possibly? Maybe? After all, who knows what’s right for me better than me.

I’ve heard it said that if you do what is right for you, that is selfish, but I know that if you don’t do what is right for you then that becomes destructive.  
So where is the balance?
And what will happen to me if I just say the hell with it and just trust?
Perhaps it’s whom I trust?
Well that didn’t work, did it? It appears I’m right back where I started.
Well, that leaves me with one choice, doesn’t it?
I hope that it’s not going to be as painful as my lack of trust has been.
On the other hand, Ladies First! "

I've been reading - The Prophet

"The Prophet"
Jubran Khalil Jubran  (Gibran Kahlil Gibran)

***
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,
and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.


***
Children

And a woman who held a baby against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.