when you go through the winter of words, read RUMI

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty

And frightened. Don’t open the door to the study

And begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.



Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground.



Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field. I’ll meet you there.



When the soul lies down in that grass,

The world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

Doesn’t make any sense.”



……………………………………………………….



“my worst habit is I get so tired of winter

I become a torture to those I’m with.”



……………………………………………………………..



“Late, by myself, in the boat of myself,

No light and no land anywhere,

Cloudcover thick. I try to stay

Just above the surface, yet I’m already under

And living within the ocean.



You’re crying. You say you’ve burned yourself.

But can you think of anyone who’s not

Hazy with smoke?”

……………………………………………………..



Love, tell an incident now

That will clarify this mystery

Of how we act freely, and are yet

Compelled.

it is RUMI who has helped me to find the words to say what it is like to leave Rome, what it is like to be in between places, to await for the arrival of Spring.

the commentary on last year's world affairs

This is ironic given how apologetic this particular publication has been for the lack of regulation of financial markets. This is ironic how before the financial crash this year alone has pushed additinal 100 million people into starvation, mostly due to financial speculation on the commodities market. It is ironic how few billion are still missing from the hunger pot.

but we bail out the banks. with hundrets of billions.

yoga

YOGA

I learn to open my body
Stretch out my mind
When wind blows through me
With its healing whispers

Inhaling faith
Exhaling fear
Inhaling trust
Exhaling tears

Yoga

I open my mind.

Who are the Romans?

In the mist of madness and chaos of preparations for the sudden Heads of State Summit in Rome to address the food price crisis I am still enjoying the intense smell of jasmine while driving back and forward in front of the Colloseum on my old motorino... Sleep deprived from the late night work sessions I pick up a newspaper in the coffee bar across from my office. Suddently I can't finish my caffe machiato. I see the flashes of fascist salutes from the demonstration wittnessed a few years back in the middle of a major piazza in Rome. I choke on the coffee. I order a glass of water from the tap which Romans jokingly call "da sindaco" - meaning "from the mayor of Rome". THe tap water is still drinkable but the sindaco or the mayor of Rome has changed. For the first time since I live in Rome which has now been more than 8 years - the new mayor belongs to the neo-fascist party. This news didn't bother me so much as I could understand the disillusionment of Italians with their stagnant center-left political system bringing some on the verge of radicaly wrong voting choices. What schocked me is the anti-immigrant discourse that has suddenly turned into acts of violence that this city has not yet seen.

"Fears of rising intolerance towards migrants in Italy grew after a masked group armed with sticks went on the rampage in a multi-ethnic Rome neighbourhood, smashing shop windows while hurling abuse.
In the 10-minute blitz on Saturday, the group of between 10 and 20 men attacked a food shop owned by an Indian migrant and two stores operated by Bangladeshis, disappearing before police arrived.
The assault comes as Silvio Berlusconi's administration launches a crackdown on illegal immigration, and days after a mob firebombed Gypsy camps in Naples. Last month crowds at Rome's town hall welcomed newly-elected mayor Gianni Alemanno with fascist salutes." quoting the paper....

As a white blonde with a semi-stable job it shouldn't bother me, right? Everything is normal, right? Yet, the history of scapegoating makes me sick to my stomach. Only the other night I have witnessed one of the most amazing tributes to the diversity of Rome in the performance of its famous Orchestra di Piazza Vittorio. The blending of musicians from Senegal, Tunisia, Peru, Hungary, US, Brazil and Cuba among others who have created some of the most spectacular world tune rhythms thanks to the courage and creative vision of one Italian orchestra director.

I go to the Piazza Vittorio market whenether I manage to wake up early enough on Saturday or have to cook anything requring any spices from any corner of the earth... The contrast with the disgust at the political discourse that seeks to blame the frustrations of an average Italian with the country's economic and political crisis on the immigrants - the useful scapegoat they are and have always been. On Sunday my American friend tells me: "it is amazing how you can see the history of Rome on the faces of Romans - they came literally from everywhere". Roma. Romans. Who are we?
As you, my beloved Eternal City, open your doors to welcome farmers, delegates and journalists from all around the world next week; as your beauty lies in your openness to travel. "All roads lead to Rome" -. "tutte le strade portano a Roma" - this is precisely the story of the musicians from Piazza Vittorio and this is the story of the millions that have chose you as home since the time of Romulus...
Stand up and defend your open window to the world.

Freedom is a luxury...

Oh, my dearest 3 or 4 devoted venting expat readers - this is just to re-confirm my commitment to this blog and to assure that despite my long silence it has hardly been heartlessly abandoned.


31, so far, has been my age of disillusionment and of the intense recognition of how prescious my little freedoms are. Of how I am willing and ready to compromise and give some of them up for the sake of a healthy attachment - as long as that would not result in compromising the essence of who I am. I thank the flying confessions project - the film made about women like me for women like me: the travels, the conversations and above all the goal: to let go of fear. THe fear that we have been tought, the fear that has been installed in us, the fear that results from all of the unnecessary suffering of the female kind. Freedom is a luxury that I am only learning how to use...and it exciting...

And I look forward to passing the camera myself...you can learn more at www.flyingconfessions.org

Everything is Illuminated, again

One of my best friends has just came back to Rome from Pakistan. Beautiful how the words "best friend" have just slipped out even if I don't know her for a long, long time in someone else's definition of how long you need to know someone to call them a "best friend". I call her a "best friend" because I miss her when she is away and I am happy whenever she is back. I am calling her a best friend because she asks me the right questions - she asks the kind of questions that only the very best of friends bother to ask. I call her one of my best friends because her presence and existence have enriched my life and because I know that we will be friends for a very, very long time. And so there she comes, with her shawls and chocolate, but above all with her love of books and literature. One day, she is carrying in her hands "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Foer and I realize that for the very first time....First, I have seen the film. It has always been the other way around: first comes the book, then comes the dissappointment with the film that I have already played out in the eye of my imagination. Regardless if first came the book or first came to film, now I know that my two friends, who came from very different cultures, did find something in common to laugh at and both are and will be the best of intercultural communications professors that college students could ever be blessed with. Intercultural communication is our daily bread in the age of globalization. Mastering it requires a bit of a heart. M. and A. know how to open it. This sneak preview shouldn't hurt.

Romancing Glass Books

“(..) burn the books, they got too many names and psychosis, all this increminating evidence would surely hunt me if someone would break into my house…” Alanis lullabied my early 20s in New York City, what seems like ages ago… Then I dreamed of having the proverbial room of my own with books everywhere...

Post polluted Bangkok filled with soothing tenderness of Thais I burn the incense bought at the temple of Wat Pho in my own Roman apartment.

My incriminating evidence “Love, again” by Doris Lessing bought in the Border Bookstore outside of Liverpool the day before attending the wedding of boyfriend’s sister. It is laying next to my bed together with Anais Nin’s “Spy in the House of Love” and recently borrowed “The History of Love” by Nicole Krauss.

I attend some UN Consultation on Gender, Property Rights and HIV AIDS pandemic. One presenter steers away from illusive technical classifications of the pervasiveness of gender discrimination at all levels and he cites Lessing: “I write what women are saying, I hear what women are saying but they are not listening.” My sudden aversion to anyone, anywhere who says that “we want to give women a voice”.

The power of words. I listen to overly familiar “testimonies” of women from Uganda – stories of domestic violence, inheritance battles, pride and loss. We are one in our inability to intellectualise human suffering caused by simple and unaddressed injustice. I am intellectualising my refusal of the victimization tactics. Words can hurt too.

“Before he could speak and harm her with words while she lay naked and exposed, while he prepared a judgement, she was preparing her metamorphosis, so that whatever Sabina he struck down she could abandon like a disguise, shedding the self he had seized upon and say “that was not me.”. “Spy in the House of Love”

We have to keep gender relations in mind. Not just women. Someone says repeatedly in the forum. Then the whole talk of empowerment, humiliation and apparently empowerment in public acknowledgement of humiliations. I have never seen men come to international forums in order to feel empowered by sharing their stories of humiliation and violence incurred on behalf of women. I say then …no…this is about women’s rights. And one of the feminists has a son. I can just see how terrified she is when she finds out that if a woman is battered it is the fault of the mother of the batterer according to cultural understanding in one of the countries. Laws don't help. Too many women walk away from courts afraid of the power of hurtful words.

We are all fragile. Violence is an expression of our own inability to acknowledge our fragility.

“During the Age of Glass, everyone believed some part of him or her to be extremely fragile. For some it was hand, for others a femur, jet others believed it was their noses that were made of glass. The Age of Glass followed the Stone Age as an evolutionary corrective, introducing into human relations a new sense of fragility that fostered compassion.” “The History of Love”.

Would we all break if we couldn’t write? Is this why the web is also run on fiber optics?

Once on the way to Bangkok

The fortune to get that window seat on the flight Zurich-Bangkok checking in at midnight on the way from Lisbon. For once the Swiss got the vegetarian meal right. Tune into the entertainment - films. Suddenly I am awake. Suddenly someplace in my twilight zone, one thing is real. For once. For once Once is the film I know I want hear again and again. It touches the core. Ireland with the Czech soul. I hear my own parallel. Music. English pop that is the constant background to my own love story. Music that is background to any story... The film I wish we could have made. If only I wouldnt be on the plane again and again. Kocham go, kocham ciebie, miluje cie...
See it if you can.

Roma - La Cità delle Donne!

Rome - the city of women. It was so for Fellini and it is so for me - not that I aspire to compare myself to the cinematographic genius of La Bella Vita in the times when Via Veneto was filled with life and laughter as opposed to the overpriced cafes with bad bellinis for confused tourists on the honeymoon Soprano's style at the Exelsior. Of course I belong to the less posh but far more lively and authentic Roman quarters. If you know me and you've been to Rome with me on one of my weekday evenings - chances are you have been dragged to the Tre Scalini on at least one occassion. This certainly is not the place for those in Italy after refined wine tasting tours offered on the Tuscan vineyards. This is the place though that certainly offeres the best atmosphere that a Roman wine bar can possibly pull off when in need of a table to meet your girlfriends. The food is good and most importantly cheap, the bartenders still remember me from the time we shared that bottle of Zobrowka straght out of Warsaw (courtesy of my friend Olga) securing a small "sconto"(discount) for future libacies and you can always find a good bottle for a decent price on the wine list - the trick is not to go for it per glass.

So it is in Tre Scallini where we often meet. Probably the best addition to the oh so "BOBO" (Borgouise - Bohemian) Monti quarters. I can just hear Lynda lecturing me that Monti still lives in its antique tradition of small fruit vendors and proper working girls behind the facade of Soho styled boutiques and Chinese dry cleaning.

But I was supposed to write about women. Yet, they are not just women, they are my friends, my amazing friends. THe people with whom one can discusses the pains of love, the misunderstandings of distance relationships, the need of hugs in the time where good hugs are a rarity, the twisted stories about everpresent exes or unpresent future love interests. The expat stories of what brought us here. The conversations are worth writing down - they strike me as better then in Sex in the City. So perhaps, I will, one day, risk writing it all down in the form of a new series starring a multiculutral community of women in Rome with the Cheers like element of the regular meetings in the Wine Bar where everybody knows your name.

Post Landing Tomato Blues

Landings are always difficult. Especially landing back in the hot, small apartment in Rome after all the airconditioned spaces of airports and hotels, after the cool breeze of the summer evenings in Poland. Opening myself to let all of the African and Bengali culture in and closing in on the so called roots back in Poland. THere was a week of traveling up to the Baltic Coast - the place where I saw the sea for the very first time. Went back to that very wide and white Baltic beach in Jantar, the amber coast, where my sea addiction has began at 1.5 year old. And now, after 12 years in New York and 7 years in Rome, I can't imagine living too far from the deep blue..And as Warsaw changes daily, maybe not in the same frantic rhythm as Shanghai, I still spotted the same houses crafted out of the wood, the same fishermen selling freshly smoked fish in our northeastern coast... Letting so much in: the smell of the Baltic sea, the smell of the moonsoon rain in Dhaka, the odorless winter dry air of Johannesburg. An intense summer of mixing more work then pleasure but still the "gratitude" for having been able to work for a bit back "home". And so hit with the difficult landing back in Rome. The job, so fascinating, but so insecure. All of it so that I can pay for this tiny, hot flat. The digital divide between Montefiridolfi and anywhere else in Europe. Almost as if the perfect taste of these round, red, perfumed tomatoes is not enough to soothe the fundemental question "why am I here?" But just when I am about to launch myself into the project of applying for jobs in Brussels I am reminded of the words of Andi Shiraz "Anyone who’s lived and loved the proverbial bel paese knows that the only thing harder than living in Italy is walking away from it. Italy is a dream that when you settle into it makes you think hard about what you’ve done". And so I know I will read her article again and again on the American Mag: http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?show_article_id=568 because she is back home in Rome. Seeing Andi in Tre Scallini is filling that empty spot I felt back in Warsaw. Picking my peperoncino from Calabria to spice up my pasta while cooking for my friend Gary made me feel home. Having the Australian grils crash over to see Rome - made me feel home. Yes, Luca and Javier have left to London and Madrid respectively and they took with them the soothing sounds of their guitars. But it is thanks to my mad job that I have an intimate understanding of the samba in Brazil and it is my life in Rome that tought me just how good it is to have a big window open to the sounds of the world. Even if I miss Poland's green grass and the skies that make fool out of my attempt to praise the sun when there is sometimes much more poetry in the shades of grey.

Peperoncino

Oh.

Am in Warsaw now escaping the uberable heat of Rome...Am happy and trapped and missing the spice of my urban-gypsy-Roma lifestyle. Home? My language. The language in which I choose not to write this blog... Home? The bar on Via Marmorata where everyone knows my name. Home? My small urban apartment near the Gazometro...

I am calm though...at least that much. Not stressed. Morning mist intenesely green grass under my feet. Laptop on my laps. And too much clean new funky shops and houses with perfect gardens to find any reason to write poetry.

I miss the spice. I don't miss the heat. Ready for the South Africa and Bangladesh tour courtesy of my work...

The Immigrant Punk

It is not so much that I think that Gogol Bordello is the greatest rockin man out-there, but he is definitely one of the most original... I have certainly not seen such intense energy exhibited on stage since ages. Yet, the best part was being there with my little expat group of friends: Ukrainian, Norwegian, Russian, French, American and of course Polish. You may say that the representation was skewed in favour of those familiar with the so called slavic folk sounds, but Gogol grooves in many dimensions.

Viva expats! OH YEAH!

few words

Lately I have been captivated by reading the words from the blogs of my friends...Andi, Lynda, Marco, Luca. Writing as a cure, writing to restore sanity, writing for the beauty of it.

Lately I have been captivated by the idea that I can sleep more and do less
Lately I have been captivated by the idea that I want to do the parts of my work that energize me and not the ones that destroy me
Lately I have been captivated by the fact that I need TIME to read and to write
Lately I have been inspired by the idea that I will get through the unpaid month of working by perhaps not working and actualy doing the above..
Lately I have been dreaming of connecting people and countries on my own terms while pushing or my own women empowering discourse
Lately i realize I can't empower others without standing up for myslef
that this is not being selfish, this is not excusing myself for having to pay my rent, this is what I might just as well deserve..
and that I am not going to be anyone unless I believe that I myself deserve to get credit for being phenomenal...and this is not being selfish.

But I had to erase the Maya peom as found it a bit too cheesy for my taste.

But I believe that believing thin things turning out alright is being half way there...I try to remember this.

The Unreported News from India

There is still such an incredible institution called United Nations. Its processes are frustrating, not only because 200 countries need to reach a consensus in order to do something but mostly because if a very few oppose the actions of others the "it" is blamed for disfunction. Never the governments that make the decisions that lead to dysfunction...The idealistic United Nations system also continues to have its specialized agencies such as the one with the ambitious yet underminded mandate to fight hunger and promote rural development... It is called FAO and it continues to attempt to sometimes try to fulfill its mandate...against all of the gossip that you have no right to decide what to grow or what to eat...

Last week FAO had two Committees...one on the commodities (probably not a blog word..) and another on agriculture... Do you remember the mandate?

So here is the NEWS from India...The one of greatest importance to me. This one makes me want to work to help people understand that these non immediate processes in our immediate media culture can make a difference.

Hardworking women hungry for change

As Sharad Pawar, India’s minister for agriculture, sits down in Rome this week, ActionAid hopes that women like Kamala and Rambati will be at the forefront of their minds. Kamala and Rambati are making determined steps towards ending hunger by ensuring women in their villages have land titles and a say in decisions which affect their lives. But they need support from Mr Pawar and his counterparts if this is to translate into widespread and enduring change.

As the main food producers, women’s access to land and natural resources is a key factor in eradicating hunger and rural poverty, but progress on this front remains erratic and inadequate. Decades of discrimination have also placed women firmly amongst the poorest of the poor. By adopting recommendations from numerous international forums since the 1996 World Food Summit, the 20th session of the Food and Agriculture Organisation Committee on Agriculture in Rome this week could be a crucial step towards concerted governmental action on the issue.

In India the need for action is clear. Some 70% of the female workforce is engaged in agriculture yet only 10% of women farmers own land. At the same time one in four Indians go to bed hungry.
India’s Land Reform Act passed in 1954 shortly after independence, addresses land rights for dalits and other marginalised groups. But it makes scant mention of women and anyway has not been implemented. Since the mid-70s, calls for women’s land rights gained strength with social movements such as Bodhgaya in Bihar at the forefront. In 1977, mass mobilization and judicial intervention led to a landmark ruling paving the way for joint pattas (land titles) in the name of both men and women. Currently India has a patchwork of Acts guiding women’s property and land rights in line with different religious and customary practices. Laws vary from state to state and between caste, religion and ethnic group. Yet none of them succeed in meeting women’s constitutional right to equal and non-discriminatory access to these means.As a result, women and children are being left destitute or at best in highly unequal bargaining positions within the family and wider community.

The situation is compounded by neo-liberal growth model which has widened the gap between haves and have-nots and put women and men in the firing line. Nandigram where at least 14 people lost their lives threw a stark spotlight on community struggles to protect land from being grabbed for Special Economic Zones. Women in Jagatsingpur district of Orissa are still guarding barricades to prevent government officials from taking over their villages for South Korean steel giant POSCO.

Meanwhile in the village of Nuaput, in Koraput district of Orissa, Adivasi women are taking their own small steps towards land ownership. Supported by ActionAid through local organisation SPREAD, villagers have applied for joint pattas so that both husband and wife have a legal claim on the land they use. Kamala Matan explains the significance: “This patta gives us strength. We don’t fear the men now – they can’t threaten us with throwing us out (of the home) now,” she says.
“Other people can learn from us… When we get the patta we can claim land and after us, our children will inherit.”

In the Shivpuri district of Madhya Pradesh, 35-year-old Rambati an emerging leader in the poverty-stricken Sahariya community (a primitive tribal group in which men typically marry twice) shares her concerns: “If the government doesn’t give ownership of land to women, what will happen to the first wife? How will she manage her and her children’s lives? In 1995 the chief minister of Madhya Pradesh announced pattas for tribals and landless labourers in the state. Since then, partly due to persistent demands from local women, joint land titles are slowly increasing. Despite this favourable legislation, many Sahariyas are still struggling for their land entitlements. Nandigram where at least 14 people lost their lives highlighted women’s part in ongoing community struggles to protect land from being grabbed for Special Economic Zones. Women in Jagatsingpur district of Orissa are still guarding barricades to prevent government officials from taking over their villages for South Korean steel giant POSCO. While local women’s groups are having some success in securing land titles and national level dialogue between concerned citizens is underway – including an innovative initiative Consult for Women and Land Rights which encourages women to mobilize around land issues – this needs to be matched by further action at regional and international levels.

ActionAid has written to G77 agriculture ministers - the largest group of developing countries in the United Nations – urging them to use their voice in Rome and beyond to support specific measures including convening intergovernmental regional roundtables on women’s rights to land and natural resources and establishing an database system on land tenure and agrarian reforms to capture the global picture and monitor progress. In India activists are also calling for a review of laws related to women’s land and property rights and collective land ownership, accompanied by affirmative action to implement policies and practices that will help women tackle hunger and poverty.

Notes to editor
1. The Government of India has acknowledged that improved access to land and natural resources, especially by women, is a key factor in eradicating hunger and rural poverty in the framework of international commitments at World Food Summit 1996 and its Plan of Action; in the Voluntary Guidelines on the Implementation of the Right to Food unanimously adopted by FAO Council; and most recently at the FAOs International Conference on Agrarian Reform and Rural Development (ICARRD) that was hosted by Brazil in March 2006.



2. The 20th session of the FAO Committee on Agriculture meets in Rome 25-28 April 2007.

Returning to Botswana

I came back to Botswana after little less then 2 years since my first vist in June 2005. I came back two years later maybe a little calmer, a little older, a little wiser (?) and most definitely much much more sober. I was begging Gina to please take me back to the land near Mokolodi where during one cold African night in the bush we have turned liver-destruction into pure art form and a movement... Unfortunately, the original "EAPS" founding group is slightly dispersed at the moment. Goddess bless our Chairman whose 2 year long failure in establishing a proper website for the group is fully excused by his current work with MSF in Chad helping Darfur's refugees. http://www.hodder.whereareyou.net/

Jokes apart, it is not only about being in Botswana but about being in Botswana with Gina. I adore her because she is smart, fun, honest, real...She is my true co-conspirator, my Thelma and my Louise, but most importantly a good friend with whom I can discuss the Economic Partnership Agreements, relationship woes, and who above all understands the importance of a good pedicure before a walking safari.

What I also adore about the idea of living in Gabarone is arriving at the airport 20 minutes before the plane leaves and not being the least troubled by the possibility of missing it. So yes, after late night Friday mini-EAPS celebrations, we departed on Saturday at 8 am to Maun in Okavango Delta.

Here is the luxurious tent where we slept:


And here are some pictures... Can you locate the elephant?

The hidden Diva within

I am really not Mina nor youtube obsessed but...

Watching her sing makes it alright to be dramatic, emotional, proud..

She is stunning, powerful, authentic, dramatic, diva.

Viva Mina. You make heartache feel grande. You are THE DIVA.

back on my motorino

It was an emotionally difficult landing after a great trip to Botswana and Johannesburg. The stories are all stored within me and are just waiting for a better moment to be published...

Overwhelmed with this constant lack of certainty with regard to my future. No, not scared or afraid of uncertaintly but perhaps enjoying the certainty of the things I love. Such as driving my motorino being one of the most healing experiences.
Driving with my mp3 player on.

Today, driving through Garbatella...thinking of Nanni Moretti on his vespa.. Laughing to myself at the lines of the film I used to watch several times many, many years ago before I even knew where Garbatella was.

And you can't understand this because the person i want to take on the ride doesn't have dsl. Yes, my colleagues from India don't believe that there are places in the heart of Tuscany without dsl connection.

My disoriented Tuesday night back home realizing I don't even have any coffee in my cupboards and then my neighbours open up their windows and sing out laud "Grazie Roma". This was their reaction to loosing to Manchester United. I didn't know about the game, I just heard them sing and couldn't help but to smile to myself and say "Thank God am back in Rome".

So here is the ride through Garbatella... wishing to find my man to take him on the ride...again..

And maybe just like Nanni we could also enter one of the houses, just to see, tell them we are making a film...And when they ask what the film is about, then we'll say it is about a Marxist owner of local pasticceria living in the conformist 1950's, in Garbatella... A musical.. Where is my partner in crime??? Yes, I know everyone in Garbatella knows this line.. but what has happened with being a little crazy?

Snow in Heidelberg

Two days in Heidelberg and arrived here not exactely knowing what wil be the next country where I will spend my nights in: South Africa or Malawi? No, I will be going straight to more meetings in Johannesburg as thank God I need a visa for Malawi.. Am tired of this constant readiness for work related adventures..

Yesterday was the first day of Spring, the Equonox and after warm winter I find Heidelberg covered with that white poweder I missed this winter... The witch in me misses the forgotten slow arrival of Spring...

http://www.ciae.ntu.edu.tw/chinese/newsletter_3/heidelberg%20snow.jpg


A few moments looking at the contrast between blooming spring and the melting snow... Another few minutes thinking to myself what it would be like to grow up in this perfect small German town... What are the lifes of people who have normal jobs and families? Do they feel the angst to get away from it or are they aware how prescious this tranquilty can be? Suddenly the idea of living in a small town and of having a more normal job without the objective of saving the world seems appealing.

Sunday morning I will wake up in Johannesburg...I love traveling but hotel meeting rooms, however fascinating the meetings, make me feel sometimes as though this is my second home. To succeed in what I am doing I need that home base with someone waiting for me with a cooked dinner.

Am looking forward to going back to Africa...

Having Faith

......And sometimes it becomes just so difficult to believe that having "faith" alone will get us through the difficult times. Faith is such an intangible concept, so ethereal, and so confounding when you dismiss any form of religious fundamentalism.

To have faith, to have trust in the world, to believe in the good in others... How difficult to cultivate faith in the face of all the injustice, all the wars, the momentary sense of powerlessness and despair.

.....AND THEN MUSIC ENTERS MY WORLD...

…she gives me a warm embrace, she carries me, she gives me strength, she guides me and restores my faith. SHE!, LA MUSICA; MUZYKA.

.. .. And when I doubt why I am working for a smaller salary then back in New York City, then I am reminded that I am where I need to be, that I am making my contribution of faith in the humankind. And I thank Jovanotti for inspiring my passionate love for the Italian language, for seducing me with his music back in the cold lights of New York City walking with my walkman through the endless underground corridors of the dark metro stations. And now with my mp3 player, years later, he reminds me to have faith. And Rome is simply beautiful when the wind blows in my face as Lorenzo sings to me when I drive my little motorino... Yes, as much as I love tomatoes it was more then the hunger for taste that brought me to Rome. It was also hunger for music with meanigful lyrics... Thank you Lorenzo for seducing me with your serenatas rap... Thanks to myself for having faith to follow your music.

Here she is, for all of you my friends, listen....

This is Ashtanga Yoga

For those who ask: this is ashtanga yoga. Isn't beautiful? .....Depending on how much time I will devote to it, depending on how much discipline I will gain, depending on how much courage I will have to let go of fear and how open I will be to change - maybe in a few years from now I will get the elegance of some of these magic postures..

This was a very stressful week as the eclipse has stirred up so much in store...and I am still learning how to take care of myself in the mist of the job that is swollowing all of my energies. All I am thinking is how angry I am that I will loose time from practice during my upcoming travel and how to squeeze in a mat into my luggage.

This weekend I detoxed (relatively as the concept is still new) and attended a marvelous yoga workshop at my Ashtanga Yoga school.