how words help

I think it is time to write again, nonfiction, non-poetry. Thoughts. I was stumbling around today and I tried to figure a subject, and I thought of something yet I forgot. I just moved houses and this always entails a process of settling and finding my way around the house, even more so when it is a surprise move, and work and social obligations make it difficult to focus. I think that aside from ‘love’ home is one of the most common theme or word in the songs that I know. Moving house always makes me rethink home. Jon Foreman puts it beautifully ‘Ooh I’m going home but I don’t know if home is a place,  I can still get to by train’. In a way, in this digital age my digital little world, my computer, my facebook, my email and my blog are just as much my ‘home’ as the other stuff I collected throughout the years. At the same time, there are many proverbs about home, for instance ‘home is where the heart is’ referring to the people important in your life. I would say I would like home to be the place where my heart is safe. Whether it is safe because of the fact that the people I live with are kind, or because the walls of the house keep intrusion of strangers at bay. Hanging out with self-proclaimed introverts, I have found my own introversion in the last few years. Perhaps, all who meet me would be sure I am extroverted- I talk a lot, to friends and strangers no different. In fact, I sometimes get my self into trouble for being so outspoken. At the same time, I spend most of my time alone and after a day full of people I need some time to recover. To settle down and hear my own thoughts again.

The title of this post is ‘how words help’ I have found that although it is sometimes difficult to talk to others about how you feel, whether it is because they do not understand or because you don’t have the energy or the space to connect to other people, words of others can help. If only to prove that you are not the only one who thinks this way. In fact that is what I love about the whole ‘social media’ thing, instead of hearing only a few voices, all voices can be heard or found, which in itself to me proves the point every time that everyone’s opinion is valuable, even if half the time wish I would just shut up, or at least hope that everyone forgets I said anything.

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verbal

Vermin, mess, and teddy bears

How did I now find me here

In this world of ever growing

People coming to our yard

 

DSC01984

crash and bike

 

 

Bike rides from my home to work

And back again

And I remember when

I did just start cycling down the street

Holding the handle bars so tightly

Still falling down having the biggest scab I ever had

Right there on my elbow, and the joy of it.

And the joy of it.

The freedom that I found

Let me find it once again.

The desire of an Angel

Last Sunday I saw an angel. My guess was that she was 5 years old, and obviously, she was British. She had long gold curly hear and a dark blue dress partly covered in sequins. And this little angel was eating jello. Now I know she was an angel because I met her in a church, and because of what she said to me. Now here I was, sitting alone, waiting, waiting for a friend I just made to arrive. I was looking at the angel for a while, so beautiful, her legs adorned with blueish stripes, that might be drawn by pencil, or perhaps a sign that she had fairy blood as well. After a while of thinking of the fact, that I, in fact, had never eaten jello (we do not have this in the mundane world that I come from), it appeared that the angel also had been looking at me. She came with a spoon held out. I tried to make some conversation, telling her about that I had never had jello because we did not have it where I was from. And in turn, she told me that “Actually, it is raspberry flavoured”. At first, I was sure she came to give me a bite of the spoon, yet I was unsure how to proceed. So even though I wanted to try, I made awkward conversation, and we looked into each other’s eyes. And then she said it: ‘I’d like to share’.

 

hazelaar (konijn)

Not an angel, rather a drawing I made years ago, to represent Hazel from Watership down, however, it seems appropriate.

 

Relieved by her confession and eager to fulfil her desire, I told her: “Shall I take a bite?” “Yes,” she said. And so I took a bite from the bright red jello, that I for me always was more the stuff of nightmares instead of dreams, and I found out that it was unlike anything I had before. Indeed it tasted like liquid raspberry. Then, without warning, her mum came to us, half embarrassed that her daughter was bothering me, and the moment ended.

Although this was short and unsophisticated encounter, this angel taught me. Sometimes the best way to go is to just tell others about your desire. And, it is ok to do something, just because you like it. At the same time, it taught me that things that might seem horrible and fake from a distance can still be wonderful and tasty. And lastly, it taught me, that where ever you are, you might just get surprised by an angel, teaching you life.