martyna.

mamoyobornfree:

quick writes #9

that beard, 

the brown in it, can teach 

a garden how to grow

the pout of his lips partly

palled with a cloud of hair

lightened by the summer

eyes wide like lanterns

i want the right words 

to capture their light

hairline receding 

but i don’t care

too fine not to be a player

we met a couple past lifetimesback back. centuries agomaybe in kemet
he gave me tunes that swellin your chestleave red dust in your mouthif we never touch the world wouldn’t stopme from wanting all of that shuga

but  for realif we never kiss i couldpossibly denounce god

8.09.15 | grateful for:

Giggles with 6-year-olds.

Stretches.

Healing power of:

books

writing

cinema

time.

1.09.15 wherever you go, there you are | thoughts on solo eating in public places as a way of finding balance in life

The first summer of my 30s has been a trying yet terribly insightful time and I am forever grateful for it. I regret nothing. I cherish it all, the good with the not so good. It has been painful, but I don’t think I have ever journeyed within with such clarity.

One of the things that I generally enjoy in life, and got to enjoy a lot in Warsaw, are my solo trips to random food joints. After work, waiting for a friend or a doctor’s appointment, I entered my half an hour of calm - a meditation, a life compass adjustment through a mindful food session.

There is this tiniest street in the Warsaw city centre, called Widok, which translates as “the view”. There you’ll find a tiny vietnamese spot. It’s a cash only, self-service kind of place. The cooks are Asian and Polish servers take time to come up with a mix from the menu that would suit a small stomach. The place is after all called “The Big Bowl” (Duza Micha), so the sizes are adequate. The food is fresh and I like the energy exchange there. There is usually a fair number of English-speakers dining, which puts me at ease. Most of those trips to places like Duza Micha end with me belly-full, enjoying the comfort of my own company, people-watching and dipping in and out of their conversations and viewpoints, no judgement, pure presence. Observing. Absorbing. Reflecting. I leave quietly, thankful and recharged. Ready for what’s next.

Out of millions of ways to learn, a child-like curiosity is my favourite after all. I am most receptive when I just sit there and let the food and the thoughts settle for a bit. 

And hence my solo food trips become a metaphor for a life lived well:

1. Observe the experience + accept it for what is

2. Sit with it

3. Mindfully choose which part to engage with

4. Step away from what no longer serves you

5. Direct your energy elsewhere

6. Give yourself time to adjust

7. Sit with it

8. Let things come to you

I have had to let go of a lot of mental baggage in the past weeks, and I feel like I have been caught and paused in the midst of a resolution. A storm before the calm, a painful rumbling stomach before a belly-full.

Here’s to hoping that September will be in most part a mindful solo food session. With some extra spice in the form of happy faces, dancing feet and a helluva lot of life. 

29.07.15 on time, paths travelled, and everyday miracles

Since arriving in Poland, I have been receiving litlle signals that I am on the right path.

First, the meditation class. I enter a slightly run down community centre in my local area, searching for the elusive “yoga meditation” class, and minutes later I am welcomed with open arms. The ‘leader’ of the group, Artur, whom as I later find out is an interior designer who has lived in the US, has a very calming presence. We immediately launch into a conversation about the role of ego and super ego in our lives; something I would have found pretentious in the past, but now it is a part of a common language I share with those also seeking their spiritual path. 

The next morning, as I am sat on the bus, a woman sits down next to me, holding a booklet for a London-based participatory photography course I have been wanting to do for a while. I don’t hesitate to ask “I’m sorry, but why do you have this?” Her name is Olga. She works for a major Polish humanitarian organisation, and on the side travels to India to run storytelling workshops with the local kids. We talk about photography, youth work, world poverty, following one’s heart and taking risks, and decide we should meet and talk about working on something together in the future. A week later she welcomes me at her place with Turkish coffee and Portugese dip and we eat vegetables until our bellies hurt.

Next day, it’s a slow, overcast Saturday in Warsaw and I am heading for coffee with friends. On my regular bus, 500, just as I am reading about Warsaw Uprising, having just skimmed over my favourite poems on Kindle and thought about my grandmother (because I wrote many poems about her), a woman taps me on the back and asks me for directions. She looks about 70 and doesn’t seem Polish, her grey hair has little streaks of purple, and she’s got that aura of overt familiarity about her. She says she’s lived in Stockholm for 27 years. I am sad to leave her but I need to get off to catch the metro. So I just tell her “my grandmother used to live there”, and we wish each other all the best as I jump off the bus. I do my maths. The woman from the bus left Poland when I was 3. It was 1988, Communism was about to collapse in a year, yet nobody had a clue. My grandmother had already lived in Sweden for 6 years by then, and she was happy. I can’t shake off the image of her yet again. Her deep laughter, her white curly hair, her bright pink jackets from H&M, so mismatched with the Soviet dullness. There and then I decide to dig deeper into her story, her life in Sweden, her mental health battle. There and then I get that warm feeling when seemingly unrleated events connect and make your heart full. 

And although some days and weeks it gets harder and I still allow myself to ever so slightly forget what I am built of, the others I feel lighter and my eyes shine and my mouth is hungry for life. The physical pain has been consistent yet humbling. I see the power of time passing and the power of its healing. And with each day, I grow stronger in the conviction that the path, this path I have chosen, is unfolding just as it should.

5.07.15 on remembering

The first month of this summer was nothing short of extraordinary. Tough and enjoyable in equal measure, with peak levels of anxiety and presence. It was the magic of what then seemed like my last weeks in London that helped me to remember some crucial truths. 

Up to that point, I had spent majority of the year conflicted about where I should/wanted to be - geographically, professionally, financially, spiritually. I put time and effort into convincing myself that I had to press a pause button on everything I cared about due to my physical limitations. I lived in a house that didn’t feel like a home. I thought money was never not going to be short. I wasn’t focused on my goals and I’d forgotten the essence of me. I craved reassurance that I was still capable, that I was worthy; forgetting that it was me who withheld it from myself in the first place. 

It all started when I accepted an offer of a job that I knew wasn’t for me, but that seemed safer than any other option I talked myself into (not) having. To resign myself into a life of working on my physical healing, to “take off that life of striving for more and rest.” was what I had to do, the little voice inside my head said. 

Shortly after I felt my heart sink. 

And this is when the shift happened. 

Thanks to a person who saw beyond my self-sabotaging, an osteopath with a magic touch came into my life. His “let’s fix you” was a starting point for a newly found desire to inhabit my body after a year of disconnect. I remembered that sometimes it really just takes that one person to give you a hand. Literally. 

I learned that I am still capable of feeling and tenderness, and that intimacy doesn’t have to threaten my sense of self-sufficiency; and that kisses aren’t contracts yet they can make me feel good, even if for a moment.

I was reminded that I am only as skilled and focused as I believe myself to be. As tough as it was to admit, I know now that I am the only person that can ever rob me of the confidence to be the best version of myself.

Last but not least, I remembered that to move on in life you must shake it up a bit, shed some skin so that you can feel lighter. And that it is OK to take a step back, if only to add more spring to the next two you take forward. 

It took going back to where I’m from, to remember where I belong. And it seems pretty clear and simple to me now. 

So here I am, finding this home within myself, day after day, perhaps in what to the norm may seem like an unconventional and at times chaotic way, but coming a full circle has never felt better.