This is my daily walk navigating by the eternities in modern world. My digital pictures, visual thoughts and sound words help locate myself in history of art by transforming the complaints into a play of irony.
Love reminds of a flower. This word directs us at the eternal beauty. The sound and vision cast glamour over us, and all people rejoice at their beloved – anybody worry over the details. That looks so natural, that ir becomes hard to perceive the existence of the cruelest wars because of the love. It’s hardly surprising that we question ourselves ” why does the sun leave a stage to the Moon?”
Love is like a flower. The intoxicating smell cast glamour over us and makes the question “how does the flower looki like in the concrete?” the seconddary matter. Therefore the roses look at marguerites and they both are withering up. The Forget-me-not ceases smiling too. The beauty of the wild flowers becomes the agricultural product – the history declares the hay time. Thus all people around eagerly look to the love today – passionately search the remnants of the humaneness. Wow, what’s that?
While reading the Bible, I have learned that the love may be
1) the love of self (the passion)
2) the brotherly love (the national feelings)
3) the agape (the divine love)
The love bears all the above mentioned and it enables everything to exist. As you see for yourself, we stand face to face with three quite different pictures of the love. It’s the obvious that the formless visions (the general words) depict nothing at all except for the mess. We take a try at hiding in the flowers, but are forced to admit that just the love is just nice word and therefore the beauty of our language is impotent to make any shield to us.
The love exists indeed, but she is the spirit and we must to confess our faith aloud. The love is what we accept or not. Thus our choice reveals either we enjoy the flowers of our own yard (bother about the security of our flesh ), or rest in the eternal peace of divine love that embrace us all likewise all over the world.
While starting writing a blog costs nothing, the reward for the blogging is just the priceless.
I have discovered lots of wonderful people while browsing the web. It was the fabulous indeed exercise for the mental fitness. While writing to blog, I have felt the responsibility for my word and the mourning over my sad circumstances of life was exchanged such way into a passionate search for something positive.
Writing to the blog shifts us from complaining to the dreaming – from self to other, and we set back into awe towards the recognition of self in other. The former strangers become the fellows and thus the heavy clouds disappear while blogging.
The discovery of the grateful eyes of a passerby, who was welcomed by you, throws out the masks from the people.
Have a look. If we all were complaining for the threatening alienation between people in the modern world, it means we all were longing for the same spiritual warmth.
It means we all are not the strangers but the people who are longing for the same values.
What looks as the death of spirituality was just a failure to hear one other. The current mess is not the awful destiny but the mistake that has appeared because of the differences in our vocabularies.
What could be more joyful than such discovery?
I’m deeply convinced we could rejoice over the results of the blogging more quickly than currently we do, in case we would refuse the nicknames and sign our posts.
Just think. How do my words look like in case I would sign them as the tr4br6? Would you trust me then? It’s certainly not. The tr4br6 and the alike are fine names just to the spam-makers, who are the cowards.
Thus does it look not oddly that most bloggers fear the publicity of their names while daringly opening the hearts ?
My dear, we have recognized ourselves in the eyes of one other while throwing of the masks. Thus let’s come into a hug without the nicknames. The world will become more secure place to live in than our current mail systems overloaded with various spam and fear of deceit
The bloggin history awakens by reminding the omnipotence of the love we experience at welcoming other
Butterfly is learning to speak
“how much it costs”? was ranging in my ear as I traveled around the city. This uproar stopped only when I reached home.
In other words, God has used my path to study my heart.
Road condition affects traffic, but the direction of our movement is determined not by the technical condition of the road surface but by the spirituality of the person.
When I named what I saw, I realized what I really wanted.
The blind man followed Jesus for a long time, but Christ opened his eyes only after the blind man had asked the Lord Himself.
God knows our dreams and He will give everything, but we must ask for it ourselves.
Now, looking out the window, I am fascinated by the street I had passed. It didn’t bother me anymore because I realized the secret I was meant to comprehend.
Dear God, I ask for Your help to see the true light of life in the darkness of our ambiguous day, and please help me write down these visions clearly in order what is poetry about could become the tangible , would get the flesh and blood, in order to reflect the true beauty of Your Word.
Typically, the words come out as of itself at the meeting of friends. However, the reports of these chats rarely inspire the passersby. What makes the openness the noise? Why does the sages’s dreams about the community of thoughts and feelings became the wish for secure shelter?
While searching for the answer, I have found the writing in the foreign language the most beneficial thing I could take as a shield to protect my eyes from my thoughts. Just think. While writing in English (in the language I dont hear on my daily walk) I must open the dictionary prior saying a single word. What could be more profitable than questioning what’s this? Wow, my surroundings appear in the new light now. The search for the name of what lay’s underfoot throws down the masks, and what was used to disguise as the dust uplifts my eyes. Could you imagine yourself meditating on what could the word oak mean?
Joy of discovering the essentials becomes the daily bread as I try to talk in the language I dont hear in daily conversations.
Traffic light marks the crossroad and the picture revives the fairy-tales. The heroes hadn’t such prompter then, right? Or am I wrong in such thinking? The Safety of the traveling enjoys but it doesn’t head to any discoveries and leaves us without the passionate followers.
While the mediocrity attracts with its chatter, the prominent sculptures of the famous carry just respectful silence of the admirers. The history urges on choosing what we want in the concrete. Are we ready to pay – to accept the talking with walls as a cost of our trip to light?
Modern traffic light didn’t shadow the need of the heavenly guidance and the history testifies that nothing changes under the sun.
The overview is short to read but too long to retell…Could you help me with the task?