The book is his searching for me...

A new book in a new language - my first last page in Italian... 

Antonio Tabucchi, "Notturno indiano", India from hotels to hospitals, India of prophets and untouchable, Portuguese jesuits  and French photographs. India of crossroads and people, search for oneself through people, "...perché nei viaggi si incontrano persone". For me in a voyage we meet first of all our own person...

Вдохновившись

Этой осенью я хочу:
- выучить итальянский и прочитать хотя бы одну книгу А. Барикко в оригинале
- после выучить хотя бы 5 слов на местном диалекте
- научиться рисовать портреты карандашом
- подняться на гору
- проехать до озера Гарда на велосипеде
- испечь тыквенный пирог с оливковым маслом
- узнать, чем занималась в жизни Берта, которой 90 с чем-то лет (она не помнит)
- завести друга
- снова увидеть море и зайти в него по пояс
- доехать до Вероны, Панта Рей, снова и снова Флоренции-Милана-Генуи
- поздравить дедулю с 80-летием
- закончить Тибетскую Книгу Жизни и Смерти
- медитировать
- танцевать
- писать живые письма
- сочинять истории
- слушать мантры
- пить orzo  вместо lavazza
- собирать кленовые листья
- быть счастливой от солнца
- выходить утром босиком на траву

СПАСИБО, милая! Оригинал здесь: http://quietdomesticity.com/

Pass it on

Hurra! It happened to me today - the famous "pass a good thing on"-thing!

Rain. No even a glimpse of sun... On my way to the Italian course. Checking out a student library down the road. Going to take a coffee from a coffee machine. And suddenly a guy  with a simple smile passes me an espresso. And doesn't absoluuutely want to take my 60 cents for it saying he anyway wanted a macchiato. I leave with a rainbow smile and on my way through the subway meet a Roman guy who is always playing his synthe there. Today he is wearing a hat. I give him my 60 coffee-cents. He smiles and starts to play louder. 

Pass i on...

Про макароны и Бога

Просыпаюсь утром, сладко потягиваюсь. Первый раз за неделю белое солнце. А у меня окна в потолке, и небо в них прозрачное. Всего 8.12. Рано для воскресенья. Но уже не сплю. Кастанеда на завтрак. Вместо кофе и булочки. Вместо медитации... 

Еду на велосипеде вдоль реки. На заднем фоне Доломиты, яблочные плантации, виноградники и каштаны. Останавливаюсь на детской площадке. С собой рикотта и вяленые томаты. Это астерикс к вопросу о радостях жизни. Папа и сын качаются на качелях. Смех. Мыльные пузыри. Мальчику года два с половиной и он еще не умеет метко дуть, делает плюф губами и заливается оранжевым смехом. И я с ним заливаюсь. Смехом и слезами. Слезами беспричинного счастья. 

Каким-то непостижимым образом день заканчивается разговорами о Боге и буддизме, макаронах и фенхеле, о вере, целях и грусти среди развалин то ли школы годов 50-х, то ли дома терпимости, который сгорел в начале века. Пикник на этих самых развалинах.

Хесус говорит, что мужчина как понятие и явление есть средоточие грусти, а женщина - счастья. Он - поиск, она - движение. Еще говорит, что нельзя любить нескольких, ведь если ЛЮБИШЬ (как там? по-настоящему?), то больше ничего и никого не нужно. Так ли? А еще что есть любовь к Богу, любовь к другому и любовь к себе. Так ли? И можно ли любить одно, не любя другие?

Опять выстраиваю мысленные схемы в поисках смысла жизни... И понимаю, что все сводится - в который раз уже? - к этому (из Тибетской книги Жизни и Смерти):

Always recognize the dreamlike qualities of life and reduce attachment and aversion. Practice good-heartedness toward all beings. Be loving and compassionate, no matter what others do to you. What they will do will not matter so much when you see it as a dream.

The trick is to have positive intention during the dream. This is the essential point. This is true spirituality.

Аллилуя и макарошки...

Come vuole

Ciao Papa! I am still in Casa di Riposo Stella del Matino, in the foot of the Dolomiti. The food is good here and the weather is autumnious. My little favorite tree in the yard has lost its last leaf. Isn't it symbolic? Anyway I am healthy and happy, just wanted to share today's episode with you: 

Early morning. 

Greating Giuseppina (85 y.o.): "Ciao, Pina, come va oggi?" ("Hi, Pina, how are you today?"). 

Pina: "Come vuole" ("The way you want").

Ciao Papa, hope you are the way you want it!

And here's a postcard for you: 

"Увидеть Неаполь и умереть"

Неаполь - лучший город Италии, пахнущий, страшно суеверный, город легенд и духов - очень особенных, живых, привиденных, гоняющихся по пятам за жителями... Город, подоткнутый, как одеялом, холмами и самодовольно сползающий в Средиземное море. 

Неаполь по-итальянски - "она" (а Милан, например, "он" - верно, верно!). Эдакая упитанная загорелая тетка - не первый раз замужем, в грязном переднике, пахнущем дымом и рыбой, ждущая своего рыбака с уловом (или без, ведь тут такие волны!). У нее 15 внуков от разных браков, артрит, три кошки и сундук воспоминаний. Она готовит лучшую пиццу (в мире и на своей улице), пьет чернейший мокка-кофе с бразильских плантаций и ругается матом на неаполитанском диалекте. К такой зайдешь в гости на полдник, а останешься на месяц. И ей все равное будет, кто ты - пришелец с другой планеты или сосед - возлюбит тебя всего, с прошлым и будущим. Big Mamma - это про нее...

В Неаполе узкие улицы и широкие улыбки. Развешенное между домами бельишко и новейшее арт-метро. Гигантские замки Анжуйцев и маленькие воришки в испанском квартале. Герой-Марадона и мальчишки, играющие в футбол на пьяцца Данте. 

Местный кофе - шокотерапия и лоботомия в одном, а пицца - услада.

Здесь пахнет морем и стройкой.

Здесь заговорившая с тобой на улице старушка станет лучшей подругой и попросит твой facebook ник.

Здесь собаки едят спагетти, а люди верят в чудеса и легенды.

В Неаполь - как в Индию - не стоит ехать с предрассудками в кармане, иначе хлопот не оберешься. Да, здесь воруют, но открыто и весело. Да, здесь воняет, но ветер уносит все запахи в море. Да, здесь разговаривают громко и много, но если вслушаться - о хорошем и по-доброму.

Говорят, с близлежащего острова можно увидеть Тунис. 

А еще говорят "Увидеть Неаполь и умереть". 

Я бы сказала: "Увидеть Неаполь, выжить и остаться"

Снова о вечном и проходящем

Сегодня подумалось о мыльных пузырях, как те, что Антонио выдувал...

Мы рождаемся из однородной массы, растем, растем, растем, такие радужные и непохожие друг на друга, по пути сливаемся в одно или отталкиваемся, оседаем на чьих-то влажных ладонях, оказываемся друг у друга внутри, цепляемся или улетаем, пробираясь меж деревьев, так и не задев ни одной ветки, в лазурное небо, и все-все когда-то лопнем, плоп, словно не было, разлетевшись мелкими брызгами, оставляя разводы и свободное пространство для новых шарообразных...

Такие вот надутые Богом пузырики... 

И эта тонкая пленка, отделяющая нас от мира, она ведь такая условная и пружинистая...

Главное - не забыть, что внутри и снаружи все едино, все Пространство...

Еще от Мики, Неаполь, ночь, она с бутылкой Кьянти, а я слушаю: рассказывала про бабушку дедушку. В их мире главным были любовь и утренний чай из термоса. Так и есть - любовь и утренний чай... 

I am not surprised!

So... More of transurfing. 

My world is definitely taking care of me and hugging me gently! Today we (me and my world, of course) on the way to the playground managed to pass by a chocolate shop and I got an extra candy! 

Speaking real, at our language school I met an American couple. They are 50+ and they have been studying neuroscience for some years here in Italy and the husband speaks Tibetan, is related to buddhism, has worked on mind and matter things etc., and - here comes the candy - he knows a Tibetan doctor here in Trento, which is a gift for me, as Ten Pa, "my" Tibetan monk, doesn't accept any conventional drugs and only wants a Tibetan doctor! Miracle in progress.

I somehow radiate these Tibetan-Buddhist waves on my way! Wow. 

Bhavatu Sabba Mangalam! 

Feeling grateful again...

Motivation letter...

They often ask me why I came here. And how come in my 30-s I still want to volunteer. They expect me to find beautiful words and equivalent phrases. 

There is a fantastic book "On Freeing the Heart" by Michael Hookham. It's a series of transcribed talks from one of his teachings (mostly in Nyingmapa Buddhist tradition). What grabbed my attention most is the chapter where he talks of our constant searching for aims and goals and of our desire to achieve them - a very Western way of thinking, right? Even experienced meditators and practitioners do that - they sit down on their cushion having a very certain ideas on what and how they should attain, achieve and realize in their meditation. 

The same here...

I was constantly asking myself too - "why do I go to Italy", "why do I want to work with elderly", "why do I want to volunteer". I couldn't find sincere answers first. And I was again wondering "why"... The "right ones" were on my lips before I would even start to think. But that was a year ago. Now I just smile back when they question me, cause at the end there was no real goal, there were circumstances and the flow that altogether brought me here. I was even resisting. And only when I arrived I started to get the "why". Only AFTER I got the BEFORE. 

Small things started to happen themselves: like with that Tibetan Monk - when I am holding his hand I feel similar to how I'd feel on the 6th day of vipassana. No thoughts. When I give hand massage to Italo, who's got severe dementia, he livens up and looks me in the eye. When I bring an orza-coffee to Pina, who constantly shouts "signoooora", and she says "God bless you", I do feel blessed. When Emma says "BauBau" - that's the way Italian dogs speak and that's the way she expresses her humor - I answer "GavGav" and she starts to laugh happily an squeezes my face. Endless stories.

I am here for that. For no special reason. Just for all that.

Who am I?

The notion of time an space changes here...

I wonder how Rosalia, who turned 103 yesterday, perceives it. Seriously, it's like a cat's time but all the way round - must be different from "ours" (I didn't dare to say "normal", cause what is normal actually?).

Berta's phrase of the day was "Ca n'a pas d'importance" ("It's not important")  whatever I'd ask her: how old she was, if she remembered her husband's name, if she wanted a magazine to read. Sounds like Zeland's "drop the importance"-hymn...

Have been called Diana, Ariana, Maryanna, Iliana today... Asked myself: and if everybody around forgot who and how I was, who would I be then? The "I" would just leave space to the "Being", and the self-definition would become just a moment-to-moment process. And vice versa - if  I forget who and how "I" am (is), what happens? And then comes a new question: how can I stay aware if I have forgotten who I am? Is it possible at all?

Thinkfull and thankfull...

I don't want to go to Paradise..

On Tuesdays and Saturdays they have a mass in the prayer room. 

Most of them go there.

Not all though.

This morning, Tuesday, Antonio, an ex-priest who comes to accompany them during the mass, tried to get my Berta into the prayer room. 

Berta is 93.

Berta speaks French.

Berta is in a wheel-chair.

I am passing by them and she grabs my hand, saying: "Save me from him, he wants me to go to Paradise! But I don't want to go to Paradise!!!" 

The nurse took her to the hair-dresser instead...

Good ol'times

I am at my parents' and just before leaving for Saint-Petersburg and probably for Europe I spent this wonderful cold September day in our Dacha where we used to go every weekend during spring-summer-autumn time (hm, Carelian variant is May-September:) when I was little and also spent some summers. 

It was natural and almost obligatory to grow your own tomatoes, pick berries and spend your vacation in the "dachnik" posture - with your booty up working-working-working and then working on your work's results - cooking jams, making pots with tomato sauce and pickles...



And then in late summer and during the whole winter you could enjoy the fruits of you "wonderfully spent summer". When I was a child I used to think this was too much work for too little joy. Then adolescent I became a follower of DIY and was growing my own cucumbers and flowers. Hard work I remember and... it was normal :)

Then several years in Europe made me a real fan of frugality and there I could see how it was becoming pop and expensive and fancy and alternative - really - "ALTERNATIVE", hippy, cool to grow your veggies. 

And now when I came back for the summer I found myself in the middle of jars of strawberries, freshly picked mushrooms, pappa-grown tomatoes and herbs. AMAZING FEELING - so close, every day, NORMAL. 

So I asked myself - why nowadays so many things that used to be logical for our parents, like growing their own stuff, healing sore throat with raspberry jam, drinking chaga, picking herbs for their salad from outside the door, are so abnormal and high-standard?




THAT should be normal, as normal as it is to go and get a double cheeseburger for 1 euro now...

Geography of our memories...

It happened to you, right? Places where old memories pop up, where you had met someone and now you suddenly turn around looking for that person in the crowd. Right? Well, it's logical - like with fragrances or music. Our subconsciousness just registers some facts that go together and makes our mind remember the "missing" part once we encounter something like that... 

BUT when this synchronicity happens out of nowhere??? Today I was driving my bike in one of the streets of Piter and all of a sudden with NO reason thought of my ex - Sashka, wondering if he'd be in the city. I often try to understand where thoughts come from so I was veeeery surprised to find no logical chain of my mind-work that would lead me to this memory. And the tadaaaam, I got it - the moment I thought about him, I was passing by the place where we had met once just after my jump with the parachute and where my emotions were bouncing together with my heart :) The thing is that the thought about him came BEFORE the memory connected to the place - never happened to me before! 

Apparently I left some emotional imprint on that spot :) Or is it something from quantum physics? Entanglement? Connections? Interesting... (Takashi, sorry for the plagiarism:)

This world is a biiiiig enigma! Definitely!

"Let's fly again let's flyyyyyyy again"...

Sachmo would love the thing we tried today :)

Katya gave me a great present for my birthday... after some time of keeping me curious and excited she finally cracked and I got to know that we'd go and try this new yoga style (new for Russia) called aerial yoga or yoga in hammocks. 

Don't think that if there's a hammock, you'll lie there like a wombat and there's gonna be total shavasana and no work-out! On the contrary! This piece of tissue hanging from the ceiling gives you SO MANY more opportunities for stretching and hanging and ... flying that by the time you lie down flat you're happy you're not a bird. Or not happy. Cause the feeling of freedom and stretch-itude is fantastic!

One of my best-ever shavasanas and one of my best-ever B-day gifts!!!

Breath of Love

Me and Olivier we once crated this phrase to describe a certain flow felt around the heart (and from it). BOL - I still use this word to describe the moment when there's a rainbow in your smile, when you feel you love the whole world, when your chest hurts - so much love there is, when you are ready to hug everybody around. 

They say happiness is a choice. I truly believe it. Happiness can be born, raised and nurtured. You have to consciously, every day, decide you're choosing it. Happiness is not smth that comes itself (it can, but then it's only a temporary thing - depending on someone/something/somewhere). Happiness is wholeness. Happiness is stillness. Gratitude. Faith. Joy. Every moment - no, from moment to moment. David told me once about meditation: "one moment of concentration gives birth to another moment of concentration". I'd say the same about happiness...  second per second...

Bhavatu Sabba Mangalam

Be Happy Be Happy