I have met my oldest friend, whom I known all my life. He looked sad and beaten, so I said “Look at the beautiful view, don’t you like it?”
He said “Let me tell you what I see, man, then we’ll see… Ok ?”. “You are telling me you see a beautiful scene, but I see the sun setting down on everything you hold dear, don’t you see ?”
“I also see the storm gathering like the madness up ahead. The coulds came home and you have nowhere to run anymore and no friend to turn to”
“It will be great and merciless and you will have to fly through it, my old friend”
“So to cut the long story short, No I don’t see the beautiful scene but I see what is to come”.
I asked in vain “Don’t you see anything beautiful at all?”. He answered swiftly “No man, not today.”
“I dont believe in the light of the upcoming day, but in the darkness it left behind. And that we will dwell in it for a time now”
So without any more words I sat near him and watch the darkness in all its irony…
Flowing with the wind. There is almost peace in that idea. Becoming the wind itself and flowing over the mountains and the seas. The “nothing”ness of the flow and the power it has is magical. In the end, it is not “you” anymore when you let yourself in the wind, it is not the air nor the thermodynamics , it is just the flow itself. The “change” changes not, as it becomes clearer that there has never been anything to change.
Where will you be when that storm gathers ? Home ? Sleeping ? Will you run away ? Or just try to prove yourself ? Where will you be ? That was the question in her eyes. I guess I will be waiting near the shore waiting the storm come near to sail away. The deep blue sea and the darkening sky without question are the simple solution to all of her questions, and so I smiled when the storm begin to gather…
“Last words before I go” she said, and then she was silent. So I thought I was an idiot, yet there was more in her silence than I could understand. Since everything passed before me, it is my time to tell the tale and I ask you “what do you think?”, answer freely please and do not despair, since “ex nihilo…”. Well you know the rest my friend of evermore…
Never realizing how much time I took to answer the questions, I noticed things getting dark and cold. So I look upon his face and there was he not. Instead I saw her face smiling. She said “I see you my child, don’t worry, but do you see me ?”. I was confused. Still the song goes on and on and I never knew the way before me…
“Life from death ?” he said, “Do you believe that?”, “something from nothing?”. I didn’t get the question and so I didn’t answer. But he continued “So it must follow that cause and effect has a beggining?”, yet I still cannot answer and he kept going on, “And time ?”, so I cannot keep quite and try to speak a word, but there was none. Next thing you know, was a big bang… and he was silent and I was talking all the nonsense and noone can tell the cause from effect.
“Do you see yourself there” asked the traveler ? I didn’t know the answer then, so I said “No ?”. He said “you are not there, you special speck of dust, yet you will return there?”. Shocked I was looking at his face, then he said “Do you see me there ?”, then I realized it was me telling the story. Yet still the question remained altough the story was beautiful…
What lies behind the rocks of ever-being ? Does the sun light your way or does it welcomes you from the beginingless-time ? What elements do you see and what answer will you give them ? Have you been even asked a single question ? If so what was it ? Or even more important, who was it ?
What would you say if you have a wonderful sunset infront of you and noone to share that view with ? Is that the fault of the sunset ? Is there even a fault ? You just stand there and watch the sun go down. With its beauty while the sun goes down, it also brings darkness and cold. Yet you begin to understand that “you can’t swim in the same river twice” has a lot of meanings and the sadness as a river flows in everyone of us.
You may be feeling different, even alone in a wonderful city with lots of people. Yet you can’t complain about the view, you stand there and watch it very closely. While you do that, the river flows from your past into your future and it becomes sometimes wild and powerful, sometimes a nice sound in the background and sometimes barely visible.
Also the river brings you stories about other people, you just don’t see them as a part of the background. They then become the main actors/actresses in the scene while you become somewhat of a background.. Some stay long and some not, yet they all have roles and in the end they also very crucial part of the scene.
It is very rare you may think to find someone in the crowd, who doesn’t pretend. While you were thinking that the journey along the river brings you to yourself. You see past yourself as an actor/actress also. It very clearly shows you your performances and the applause you got for it. While the river may not be that strong now, it has left a riverbed to remember it by.
But all of this doesn’t mean that there is not true beauty. There actually is and it is a very kind and graceful thing. That doesn’t make it vulnerable. The beauty goes thorough the river and the waters don’t even touch it. You recognize it instantly and in the blink of an eye it is gone.
The beautiful things fly free always. The question is what are they free from ? They are free from the river. That doesn’t mean they don’t feel sad, they do, but it is not their sadness, it cannot hold onto them. Then they become free to travel and be seen.
It is therefore important to recognize the beautiful things when you see them. This way they also can see themselves and feel the freedom they have. It is a kind of saying “thank you” with flowers or taking a deep breath while walking in a park. It takes very little time before you go back to your river and flow away with it.
We always think of “home” as a physical place, like the building we live in. The abstract notion of home comes second with our memories of that place. While there is logic in it, that explanation seem to lack some basic ingredient.
It may very well be that the idea of home is created, but also the explanation still came out true, when the conecpt of “home” is. That it just “is”, that’s it… Than the whole search begins from the beginingless and endless time. While it is an open question for me, there is no doubt that “we find a speck of truth in each riddle” as Mr. Ian Anderson put it:
Deep red are the sunsets in mystical places
Black are the nights on summer day sands
We’ll find the speck of truth in each riddle
Hold the first grain of love in our hands
So is “home” an abstract notion, I don’t think so. While it has a side, it isn’t completly formed by it. How do we know that ? In fact we feel that, like sometimes you can tell “I am home”… For those times…
A few weeks ago my friends asked me to photograph them for their newly formed dance groud Durga. The love bollywood and they love to dance. The rest of the photographs are on their site, www.durga.com.tr
It has been a long day, but in the end it was worth it. They looked great and it was really fun walking around with people who looked as if they just jumped out of a movie.
I know that they will be successful and they will have fun. So I can’t wait to see them on stage real soon.
It is a privilage to say to someone “happy mother’s day”. It is a special thing to be a mother and when you are a male, it is something you only see but never feel. So Mother’s Day means something special to men. Yet it is also a very lonely day to spend at cemetery.
Still, not having someone to congratulate doesn’t mean you shouldn’t celebrate it. It is a day to remember that you have been given a chance, a chance to everything, a chance to see what love feels like up close. It is the day you should remember that you have been given everything by someone who loves you. In spite of the materialistic view of the century it is a day to remember that every materialistic need is inferior to our essence. That puts us into perspective…
That is why we celebrate it and why we give flowers. Flowers which resembles the beauty…
And while I was thinking I had noone, there is this little lady with her three little infants, curled up into a little corner near my office. She is very beautiful and graceful. She always welcomes you into her family. The best 15 seconds you can spend looking at her sleeping with her children. Just let everything go and be there for 15 seconds, looking at her sleeping with them, that surely is meditation…
So, I celebrated someone’s Mother’s Day, and I think she also enjoyed it. So happy Mother’s Day to whoever reads these lines…
This city never belonged to me. I was never really there to appreciate her. I was born in it and that is the whole story. To her it was different…
She came to this city on a boat and the first sights she has seen was almost like these. And she always tells the story about how beautiful it was…
I never felt that much love for the city, while I was still in love with it.Yet she saw what i couldn’t and felt what I was never able to understand.
Yet there is darkness lurking in every corner of this city yet she always saw the light at the end of it and never was optimistic about it.
It is a very beautiful gift, this city that belonged to her and my ability to see it through her eyes. Yet while I am never near to be able to say thank you, I still feel almost an obligation to show my gratitude for everything that she showed me. The time flies while we both are in the same city and we both are distant as the day and night, but it is not an excuse to give a flower and say “thank you, I feel blessed that you were born”.
It is not always clear, which comes first, we, the people of the city or the city itself. You also cannot tell who belong to whom. Therefore I think one can call us the ideas the city has. There are good ones, bad ones, angry ones etc. etc. We resemble the city and in return the city resembles to us. Still one cannot tell the reason from the effect, in the end the city becomes an ever flowing river of ideas and feelings while we flow through the streets, dreams while we sleep. So one could say that we may dream about the city at night but the city definitely think about us in the morning.
It is always either our dreams that we run to or our fears we run from. The fact that we are always on the run never changes. Not a single second to breathe and feel the flow, like so many birds instinctively can do. The thing we call “talent” appears naturally without any effort, but we still never let one second for it to appear. In the end we become tired and give up without ever realizing our nature, at which point we become experts on others people’s talents and stories yet never fully understood that there is no thing such as “talent” like there is no coming and no going.
It always feels great to step into a new adventure. Your heart beat goes up, you feel like something good is coming your way. Still the very idea of new things may scare you, but as the waves goes by your confidence goes up and you begin to look for a storm.
Just as sure the passing of the seasons, the little waves becomes larger and the horizon looks more and more dark. You may look confident but there is a little voice telling you that, let alone yourself, the ship is a fragile little thing in the hands of the sea. You do not look at the coming storm as if you are looking at your opponent in a war anymore. You understand your place but you tighten your fists and get ready to fight.
And yet the storm passes you by. All your dreams of glory and adventure must now wait. Yet the passing storm leaves something behind. A beautiful scene… And it is not just a “beautiful scene”, it is your way back home. In that moment you realize that the storm have not only passed you by, it also defeated you. You stand on the deck of a tired ship sailing the sea, looking back home…
There are times when your mind is troubled and you are in a deep and dark place. Every try to be hopeful just turns into a worse idea and every move just brings you deeper. At that moment when you are about to give up completely and crawl back to your cave never to go out, in that little moment, life shows you something to change your mind. In that moment when you give up all the effort to be happy, in that moment when you are silent, you see that there is peace and understanding in everything, even in your suffering. Then your suffering just leaves you as if it was never there and you begin from the start. Photo was taken just moments ago while walking in the cold.
“But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen.”
– Ernest Hemingway
Looking at yourself from a different time, you almost can’t tell if it is the “current-you” looking back, or if you are the trail (or shall we say the path) coming from that moment and going somewhere. It is like this old church from Berlin, you see the windows and you are seen through them. You almost can feel a kind of paranoid since you are also being looked at (“time” being another spatial coordinate in space-time). Remembering yourself is a nasty business and you should not judge since there will come a time when you will also be judged by a person almost like you.
It is hard not to attach ourselves to the object of our happiness. It becomes even harder when we lose that thing in our lives. We never accept sadness as we accept its sister happiness. Yet they both fly around us and sometimes visit us in most unexpected places. You can never tell when you will be feeling like you are on top of world or just seconds away from misery.
Yet the idea of change is still there, that is all we know. We can be happy or sad any moment. There is only one fine printed note, which we ignored when we signed the contract, that happiness is like bird while its brother sadness is more like a anchor which weighs heavily. Attachment is possible for only one of them.
As the sun begins to set over the city, the city just shows you a different face, and different people. You know every one of them has different story.
And as you begin to walk among them, you imagine their stories and their lives in a way. They flow with the city and they become thi city. You do not walk beside them as long…
As long as you do not mix your story within. Only thing you need in order to mix your story is that one sight reminding you and then you are lost in the story never to be remembered again.