Heartbreaking experience of making new friends

Yesterday I meditate on the rhythm of the swelling waves upon the low tide of the Weser river.  I watch perched upon the granite high wall of the Weserburg.  The fishman smirk.

Today I study intently my German grammar book, puzzling over the logic of the four German grammatical cases intending to sort through.

Tonight I drink wine glass after glass and glass as our dinner party swells to 20 so people and I simply wander convo to convo in search of satisfaction.

Twenty fascinating people, a tumult of good food and sensual accuity.
I find HowLisa combined with wine results in the confessions of true family life in a semi-family home, the Wohngemeinschaft.

Tarika wishes to share her summer, attempts to live with a boyfriend, a man and still be a person on one's own.  The theme of the summer.
Papa calls.
And American speaks to me.
A chilean with the Zealand accent and that tone of ease, a traveller.
A school student girl that is bicultural and at a party with her father until 1am.
A time to take them all to the bar and then return to our house guests alone all tough in the dark.

Good night.
Call me social, but let me sleep alone. Let me write in peace, and you can read.

Read that I am falling apart and that each confession is a new friendship, and the growing silence in my heart is actually the crecimiento of the new tree growing there- the return of my own silence,
that sound you can consider to by the story of my own soul.

I am.

Priyanka
31st July 2015

Listen

To withhold myself and listen
When my heartbeat wont stop flying
To deny myself the simple right
of selfish ambition
By physical power
to prevent my indulging
in pleasurable worry
To stop myself and listen.
By mind I lose to personal daydreams
By heart to distracting desires
By decision I withhold
my personal pursuits
silence my spider-web mind of matters
and Listen
when there is someone speaking
To hear when someone calls
To learn when someone teaches
What have I missed
in searching for what I thought I wanted?
Who have I hurt
in finding what I thought healed me?
Home I have lost
in the race for some elusive ‘other’
Call me home
And I will come
Hear my call
Answer me
I withhold myself to listen.

9th March 2010

Hunkerville

Another day in Hunkerville
A place where men slump
and feet bump each other down the path to home
But the Sun still shines
like in the days of the young.
And occasionally the men
even have a heart to dance,
jiggle and juggle
have a bit of fun,
And then there are the rainy days
when the air frizzes up
and cranky turns crikey
and there's a little twist to the tale...
Hunkerville is weight
on the shoulders, even the lungs,
a bit of silence, stuffiness, coughing.
Where the mist plays with the sunrise
before it reaches the ground.
But oh, it still lights up their eyes
When they look up to see the morning sky!
Men don't go slow in Hunkerville
The world just goes slower for them.
There's no reason to die in Hunkerville
where the men stumble down their paths to home.
It's just a place to be
when the cloudy days are hunkering down
for the season.
Love is a reason to sing
in Hunkerville
And talking is a 'take it or leave it' deal
There are people there
who don't know where they came from
and are trying to find a reason to be there
But Hunkerville is a place to be
when you need a safe place to be for a while
Without any reason at all.
Hunkerville is not a question.

Hunkerville is a season
A walk down a muddy pathway
on a day when you've lost your balance
and people are a blur
as they walk by your place.
They don't stop for a glance at brown.
They are cool and cuddly
And sometimes they blink so slow
You get lost in the depth of their eyes.
They are beautiful between the falling leaves of fall.
All the colors
that come before white.
Hunkerville is walking on the right side of the road
and counting your footsteps.
Men count their footsteps in Hunkerville
till their boots are worn,
but they've lost count
plenty of times before.
There seems to be a sunset in Hunkerville
But no one knows the scheduled time
until it comes.
1st December 2009

Suddenly I feel as if I am bathed in sunlight and I realize that this is the feeling I have been longing for all these days, shivering in the sun. But sometimes sunlight can't do it, and sometimes something else can.
Sometimes the people we most want to avoid talking to can give us what we need.
Sometimes places we never want to go to can give us a new home to be at.
Sometimes things we hide from things which are really things we want most.
So how can we judge what is what and where to find it?
We sometimes have to just go to dark places and speak to ridiculous people to find what it is we really need. We can't hold on to things we once loved and places that were once home. We have to let it all go and be ready for hope from any quarter, and see a home in any place.
Sometimes we don't see the lesson being given to us. But the things which will hit us, the things we really learn and never forget will reach us, and in the end we will know what we need know; understand what we need to.