Maybe, maybe….

Maybe unicorns and rainbows always do go together. Maybe life is always a series of maybes… maybe there are no great timings at all. Maybe we make our own timings and we just have to trust that everything will be ok. That our hearts are stronger, that our souls are wiser, and that our minds will be silenced enough for us to really live. And maybe just maybe, that is more than enough.

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Not a precious stone, did I bury in your deeps: Ivan Aivazovsky

 

“Ocean waves, self willed waves, whether at rest or play, how full you are of wondrous life! Laughing in the sun, tossing back the sky’s reflection, heaving, throwing breakers at the world, in your watery wild wilderness, I find your quiet whisper sweet, caressing, love-filled; your restless murmuring I hear, your prescient moans. In the wild element, gloomy or glad, in your quiet, blue night, guard the secret you have taken. Not a treasured ring-gift, did I drop into your swell. Not a precious stone, did I bury in your deeps. No, at a fateful moment, lured by mysterious delight, all my soul, my living soul, I buried on your bed. ” Ivan Aizazovsky

 

 

The mysteries and depths of Aivazovsky’s soul…. as wide and as encompassing as the vast ocean he so much loved and admired.

 

ivan-aivazovsky-passage-of-the-jews-through-the-red-sea-1891-e1268606572388

The passage of the Jews, Ivan Aivazovsky. 

Travel: Etihad Tours, Abu Dhabi 

Right next to our hotel are the Etihad tours. The project from the outside is breathtaking, but it’s even more astounding as one wanders through its interiors. On the ground floors is a shopping mall with shops ranging from a Lamborghini stand to Cartier, that Malé my eyes glitter with deight. Upstairs is a beautiful lobby with these huge crystal chandeliers, scattered couches, small bonsais, large glass panels to the city and the smell of a thousand spices. Because of the holidays, Eik days, the top restaurants and bars were all closed. For another day, for sure. 

An art installation in Bordeaux. 

This art installation, named Le miroir de l’eau, placed across from Place de la Bourse and designed by landscape artist Michel Corajoud is composed of about 2 cm of water which alternates in depth and rhythm, creating beautiful reflections of the heavens, the architecture and the children whom run around as if they are walking on clouds. I’m pretty sure the pictures on my Leica are muchhhh better… when I get home. 

Twin souls. 

He offered her the whole world. ‘ No thank you… ‘ She said as she walked away. She could get the world herself, in time… what she was looking for was something much deeper than any gift could ever seduce, lure or buy. She was waiting for that one special person in the whole world that echoed a love so true it made her whole soul vibrate and flutter into completion. 

Fiction: Learning to fly.

If Celine was faith and lived a life flying in the heavens… then Christopher was reason, deeply grounded on earth. But maybe, just maybe, he wondered, she could teach him how to fly.

 


 

Se a Celine era esperança e vivia a vida em voos deambulantes pelos céus … então o Christopher era a razão, profundamente enraizado na terra.  Mas talvez, pensava ele, talvez, ela pudesse ensiná-lo a voar.

 

Extract from a soon to be novel.

Fiction: Unique languages.

They both smiled.  It was good to connect, in thoughts, in feelings, in words… in life. They sort of spoke the same language… A language that was only theirs. They read between the silences, and listened to what was not being said, intuitively responding effortlessly.   (…) she understood, for the very first time, that whatever was growing between them seemed to be indeed, incredibly special.

 


 

Ambos sorriram.  Era bom ter esta ligação em pensamentos,  sentimentos,  palavras… e na vida.  Eles quase que falavam a mesma linguagem… Uma linguagem só deles.   Conseguiam ler por entre os silêncios, e ouviam o que não era dito,  respondendo instintivamente  e sem qualquer esforço.  (…) assim, percebeu pela primeira vez,  que o que crescia entre eles, parecia ser de facto, algo incrivelmente especial.

 

Extract from a soon to be novel.

Painting above is by Chagall: details here.  

A poem: A dream of love.

Couldn’t you hear me calling?

Awake in dreams, wandering free. 

I knew in my heart that it was true. 

That you were mine, and that I was yours. 

Just as the sun revolves in heaven,

As the dawn always breaks,

As the birds forever sing. 

So it is true that you are in me, 

And I am always in you.