Manuls

Pallas's cats Zelenogorsk and Mia: spring passion!

When you wanted to hide but you keep getting found.

Watch til the end, poor Mia some of her hair got stuck in Zelenogorsk's lips.

Wild!!!

Moods #48

Paagi | UDD

Ang nakaraan, nasa harapan

Ang kasalukuya'y ilusyon lamang

PS, eclipse, new moon, another roller coaster cycle for all of us

Moods #47

Toxic | Pitch Perfect

It's getting late to give you up
I took a sip from my devil's cup
Slowly, it's taking over me

Crossing to the other side

I am hopelessly restless as I am writing this journal entry right now. Thinking maybe it is the full moon or maybe something else entirely. Also, maybe my mood is affected by my period, maybe hormones, maybe just deeply worried about something I can feel, just this nameless feeling, that has been making me unfocused and uncentered lately.

I have been quiet for a few months actually, because the last few months felt like years ~ long long relentless years that brought about a lot of new faces, old wounds, new routines, endless adjustments, old forgotten problematic emotions, new challenges, new issues, new problematic emotions, old ways of evading problems, new ways of evading problems, endless worrying and procrastinating. Day after day of these bouts of attack into my psyche, my daily routine, my overall emotional and psychological health (if there is still health left there) my physical body, I don't even remember how I survived.

But here I am.

Writing.

Still writing. Still trying to make sense of the last few months or desperately trying to just forget and move on and life live as it happens. 

Plans failed, but still here I am picking up the pieces. Not really knowing if I should just let the pieces fly away, just let them scatter on the ground, not to bother at all. And just keep walking forward.

Methods failed. I used to think I had a good layout of strategies for facing the challenges that might come in life, at work, in my family, with friends, but all just fell into pieces and crumbled. My best laid plans, it just couldn't handle the flood. The waters that can drown. The ocean. The heavy downpour. All swept into the force of the stream, the tidal wave.

The Flood

I would like to describe the flood but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I would like to describe the flood the way Russian novelists can spend entire book chapters just to describe a beloved sitting down, opening a book in a library ~ as the lover stands there ruptured at the sight of this marvelous scene, describing the lighting effect of early morning sun against an open window in a misty Saturday morning, with soft rays coming through the window slats. The soft golden rays hitting the hair of the beloved as she innocently flips through the pages of the book, how it touches the heart of the lover, every single nano-second tattooed in his mind, soul and being. The sound of the pages of the book as she touches it and thoughtfully checks the pages of the book, while absentmindedly sipping tea from a favorite teacup. The Russian novelist might both describe the lover and the beloved ~ intimately, with details ever elusive but somehow touching the eternity in this very mundane scenario, reading a book on a Saturday morning. The simplicity hiding the marvelous mysteries and magic beyond the physical mis-en-scene. 

This, I would love to do this. Describing the flood like this. But I cannot. Yet.

But instead I listened to it. 

Oh boy, did I listen to a lot of music during the past months! Lots and lots of music.

Yes, I might be crazy, but I feel there should be a connection between the flood of my life and the music I listen to. I have been listening almost religiously to the usual classics: The Doors, Joni Mitchell, Tom Jobim (as interpreted and rendered by Daniel Jobim), Caetano Veloso, Caesaria Evora, etc ~ because somehow they capture the flood in their music. But yes, Jim Morrison, you are such a revelation to me. Jim, how could you both drown into the flood and be the flood itself? How could you sing while you drown? You should have lived longer to guide us all! But of course, there will be no Jim without the whole band, but wow, I mean how could their music capture such emotions? 

Pure magic, how could they communicate directly to a throbbing, sad, pained soul? Maybe they have a map of pain, grief? Is someone brave enough to keep on going through pain again and again to be familiar with it so much so that he/she can draw a map out of it?

The Mess after the flood

Needless to say, after the flood, there will be a universe of mess again.

Yes, that's maybe why I am restless and full of worries because I have to clean up. Cannot help it. 

Have a deep reflective full moon everyone.