wonderful weekend in Wales....

rainbows out the train window... three at once over the sea! three little gorgeous blond girls... pancakes and pine nuts... haircuts all round... old friends and new friends... fried brunch... SNOWDONIA and snow-topped mountains... rivers and trees... tasty stew... an epic night of pictionary... covenant people... beautiful voices... soup... getting drenched by icy waterfall spray... drying out by the fire... sofa time... roast dinner... rummikub... laughter... many more trains with a great travelling companion and old school tunes...

HOORAY hooray HOORAY :-)

paints a pretty picture

CREATIVITY

it seems to be becoming more and more apparent just how important creativity is. Let's make space for it!

"TO COUNTER THE IMPERIAL COLONIZATION OF OUR IMAGINATIONS, WE NEED POETS, PROPHETS AND ARTISTS TO HELP US CREATE SUBVERSIVE IMAGERY THAT CHALLENGES THE REIGNING REALITY" (tom sine, 'the new conspirators' p. 91)

"... the outcome of such poetry is hope" (Walter Brueggenanm quoted in above book)

HOPE IS REALLY KEY.

autumn :-)

FLICKR

I've just set up a Flickr account.

check it out here! :-)

'train of thought'*

WHEN DID WE ALL STOP TALKING TO EACH OTHER? how ironic. now, now that the globe can be crossed in a day, now that the the nations gather and collide in any one city station. Now that we live out our lives just 10cm of brick away from the family next door. above floor. below. cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. we hear the bed springs creak yet don't even acknowledge each other in the hall. breathe down each other's necks on the tube and sit thigh to thigh every morning for an hour on the way to work. but do everything in our power not to make eye contact.

contact. never that.

so we're sat in a crowded room with glass walls with our earphones in, transporting us to somewhere else. somewhere other than here. simultaneously living in each others pockets and living on separate planets (where we'll update our status and tweet the day away). blocking out the sound of the stories right at our fingertips. literally. deafened to the rhythms of the heartbeats that surround us, the harmony of real lives being played out at this very moment.

think of what we could give and gain if we only wound down those imaginary windows, unlocked those expressionless doors, and asked a few questions. started a CONVERSATION.

just in this train carriage i could write down 20 new recipes, learn five new languages, discover the secret to healthy hair, pick up some gardening tips, make someone laugh, perhaps make someone cry because it's the first time anybody's listened to them all day. all year. surprise the shy and embrace the forgotten. welcome the wisdom of age and be inspired by the young.

but no.

i'll just continue sitting here writing down my thoughts with my MP3 on, casting only furtive glances at the pretty woman with dreamy eyes sat less than a metre away.

*Literally... my thoughts on a train. unedited.

having said this, in the morning I did actually have a proper "train conversation", and I am not one of those people who 'always gets into conversation', although I'd like to learn to be. Anyways chatted with a lady all the way from Brighton to London and it was really great. put a spring in my step the whole day. :-)

1001 things

i went to london yesterday to spend the day with a great friend of mine. it was good.

i like London.

i like the colours and the variety and the creativity... everywhere you look, of people, clothes, shops, buildings, food... i know there's also a lot that's not good. but it's definitely inspiring. a whole flood of images rushing before your eyes.

we went to the Photographer's Gallery near Oxford Circus. There's an exhibition on at the moment which i highly recommend. It's by Jim Goldberg and called "Open See". It's about immigration and people trafficking, with images of people and snapshots of their stories from all around the world including DRC, Greece, Ukraine, Liberia, Afghanistan. It's on until the end of January and entrance is free.

i also love a certain cafe (named 'cafe onethousandandone', hence the title of this blog post) on brick lane. there's quite cheap coffee, mango juice, big pastries, homemade cheesecake, and a bar among other treats. then you go up some steps and there's a softly lit big room full to bursting of comfy sofas and little nooks to sit in. and a "book orphanage" and interesting paintings on the walls and good music. it's my idea of ideal, really. :-)

that Voice

i wrote this in Bolivia 3 years ago, it just resurfaced recently from the mass of pieces of paper that fill my life :-)

that voice

calls me from the desert

calls me from my lost wonderings

like His chosen people i circled going nowhere

until i heard that voice

that voice

Voice which speaks LIFE into being

where there was nothing .barreness.

an empty womb now holds a seed of hope

that will blossom as it bathes in the light of that voice

that voice

whispers tenderly.

carried on a breeze.

that voice
breaks with grief.
when they put their hands over their ears to block out the sound.
when they turn their backs and bury their heads in the sand.

BUT THAT VOICE WILL NOT BE SILENCED.

Hear it rage in the storms
in the pounding of hooves racing into battle to fight.

when that voice speaks for you,

who can stand against you?

that voice

roars in the waves.

sings with the stars.

who has ever heard anything more powerful,

powerful enough to shake the earth's foundations,

to drown out death itself?

yet if you listen closer,

you will hear beauty beyond description,

melodies that cut into the core of your being.

vibrations to unsettle you from the tunes you were dancing to before.

harmonies that beckon you to follow.

thirst for more of that voice.

that voice.

which articulated itself in flesh and bone.

mind.

emotion.

tangible.

man.

took the risk of being ignored.

hushed itself to humble whispers in a far flung corner of the earth.

that voice.

spoke healing.

challenged. provoked. wept. loved.

that voice

was crushed one dark day.

all creation moaned.

but on the third day

that voice

proclaimed

VICTORY.

and

that voice

is calling me