Waltz Fall

18th of September 2016

The gold tones of Autumn are still few, but I know that it already started. Rain shall fall and wind shall whistle. Leaves shall immerse into an effortless dance; and my recondite thoughts shall join this furtive waltz.

The Enclosed Garden

11th of September 2016

 We hold in ourselves a suspend place called the enclosed garden. Is fairness is made of sparkling roses, gentle moss and elegant little ivies. Our soul knows keenly this place, full enchantments, because every time she faces a war, it is here that she returns to revive. Mine has been there for a while: bathing in roses, eating the magic from starlights — healing. Now, she breathes profoundly, she is genuine and pure again. She is not covered with the mantel of fears that we all wear. She let it fall into the floor to become moss, and than earth.  She wears now a translucent dress made of hope, mercy and crystalline grace.

 

Where are you going, Little Princess?

                                                                                        7th of September 2016

Dear Diary,

This morning, memories of my infancy flood through my eyes  – my grandfather appeared to me with his tenderness and I heard him call for me: “Little Princess, where are you going?”. I was less than 5 years old, my feet were small and fragile. Around me was the little paradise raised by my grandmother and grandfather’s hands. A vivid bougainvillea climbed through the walls with gracefulness: it was so immense and so utterly beautiful to gaze it. Peaceful I was in those days, I was part of everything and I wasn’t apart from nothing. I was fearless and pure. I didn’t felt emptiness or loneliness because I was bounded to a secret imaterial world where such a thing didn’t exist. Those days of joy where my grandfather father’s hand was still reachable are felt today with affection and nostalgia.

August

                                                         30th of August 2016

Dear Diary,

I wonder: we walk, laugh, grow, and one day we get older! We walk in circles, we walk in inverse processes: today we are younger than tomorrow. We live a lifetime to find out that the contradictions and opposites of this life are too the foundations. Right now, I am inside of an old house: the glass windows are broken and outside I see a garden, a garden that challenges the humanity!  And everything I do is perhaps too.

Catagramma Butterfly

Catagramma – is an obsolete genus of Neotropical butterflies; the name continues to be used e.g. among butterfly collectors as a form taxon. “Catagramma” species are popularly known as “88s”, in reference to a pattern on the hindwing undersides of many that looks like the number 88.

Butterflies cards available here: Etsy shop.

The Recipe for a Meaningful Week

Ingredients that will turn my week into a meaningful one: beautiful hairdos, vintage dresses, books, tea, forgiveness, self-esteem, love, flowers, creativity and quietness.

War and Peace

I’m currently watching the period costume drama War and Peace, the BBC adaptation from 2015. I love the plans and the photography, the dazzling scenarios,  and sometimes I wish I could steal all the dresses and furnitures… I could take such a pretty photos with them… and decor my house too.

Over a Flowering Bed

 

16th of August 2016

Dear Diary,

Dandelions, dragonflies, little birds flying everywhere. In this garden, life appears to me as a singular delight and my soul lays peaceful in contentment over a flowering bed. Mysterious doors, closed windows, old walls, stories waiting to be unveiled and told. Here there is no sadness, no fearful nights or injured memories. Half of me shall recovery here. Half of me shall find love here.

Mother

 

13th of August 2016

 

Dear Diary,

 

Last night I had this dream…:
“With barefoot, I was walking slowly into a dark and watery forest, my pale toes were gradually sinking into the soil mud and In my hand, I was carrying a sconce with a virgin candle to enlighten a fading love. Ahead of me, it was standing a beautiful lady wearing a long and white translucent dress. My hands were unbearably cold and shaking: the whispers of the strange creatures were resounding and blowing messages into the wind. I could hear them say: let her go, let her go. Finally,  when I reached this lady, by her side was standing an endless hole, she looked beautiful with her eyes shining the million stars that were hanging from the night sky. Her voice had a fainting tone and few words she said: let’s us bury our burdens, lets bury all of these unburied feelings. I cried bitterly, right before me was standing my mother: I nodded with slight head movement and our feelings started to fell graciously into the hole, they fell to return to the sacred earth and become pure: to become something unblemished… Tears fell and painful nights too. Caresses that never happened, bitter sobs, shouts and cries, dreams and laughs, misunderstandings, mute words from the past, present and future, everything fell and abruptly vanished… only peace remained.”

 

I walk alone…

 

                                                                      8th August 2016

    Dear Diary,

I walk alone into a romantic garden where once lovers met, where once someone cried, where once writers wrote meaningful poems to their nymphs and muses… I walk alone into a garden to discover that all of the beautiful things are fragile and soon, to be dead: to become a gentle dust that settles peacefully.

In this garden, everything seems so acoustic and similar to an Andrei Tarkovsky’s movie. Everything reverberates nostalgia and poetry. I walk alone because there is nobody besides me. I walk alone to become one, to find myself in the fragility of this dual world.

Someone once asked me: “Where do you find contentment when everything fails? I answered: In nature, in all the elevated forms of art and in spirituality.”