Odense

The father had a toolshed. One of the items he created in this toolshed were knifes. He melted their blades and made them handles out of different trees. He loved to show me around and I  fascinated myself over the times he must have spent there. As I learned more and more about the tales of strangers I felt not only privileged to be listening to their tales but I gained some insight in the generosity of these worlds.
Out of nowhere I could find adventures where different values and ideas were established. Another day filled with something new. The amount of myriad knowledge ways scattered around these diverse adventurous paths of interest were humongous. And as an explorer of choices I often lost myself in the endless possibilities that could occur and who would never happen. A choice is always made in the end and then another stream of endless possibilities flow themselves in my brain and so go I forth. ‘A friend of wisdom’ is what a friend of mine called this affliction. Also known as a philosopher. But I just wanted to enjoy without giving names to the things I did.
When I ate breakfast, the light came through the windows and it illuminated the house and the faces of everyone in it. That is when I realized that I came to a house of Hobbits.
They lived far away, in between the lands of men and I was a guest to write about their hospitality and friendliness. A story was written and as I gave it to them on a piece of paper they smiled and hugged me like family. Adventures hides in plain sight. And as we glide in them we lose touch of fear and unhappiness. It is as if we entertain ourselves with the presence of splendor. And for how long can we enjoy it before we have to slip back into states of distress? Be someone again? Maybe, but maybe we might glide for as long as we choose…..

I expected that I would leave on foot that day but they had a surprise.
“We are going to take you to the train station.”
It was a simple offer and a welcoming surprise but it surprised me. Emotions began to rise. And sadness fell over me once again. Damn it! I could not go through a single day without the rising of strange feelings. The offer was met with a hostility in me: A reaction spun from old wounds of abandonment. Distress wanted to know why they would offer such a thing. Have they not done enough for this traveler? But It was I who did not do enough; A burden passed down from childhood. I always felt privileged to receive attention. Why should anyone give me attention? That was what a burden could do if it was locked in your heart for a while. It could spin stories. And with the passing of time you begin to believe them. You begin to identify with them. But I was not afraid to fight against the shame that held this burden in place.  
 I entered the car of the family with a burst of bravery and tried not to think about myself while they drove me to the train station. My mind thought of every single scenario that could happen if we arrived at the train station. It was my tendency to be in control of my own possibilities. I didn’t like scenario’s where people cared for my wellbeing. I found that I created many expectations if I stepped into these kind of happenings. Probably trying to protect the little child inside who got hurt to often.
When we had arrived the woman got out and gave me 200 crones. “Here, than you have money to go to Odense.”
I was relieved when felt gratitude. I wanted to thank her but I could not find the words. I was too busy trying to talk with my mind about the implications of what she did. I sure was a boy who had a lot of thoughts.
Grateful and at ease once again I stepped into the train and forgot that I was ever worried.
The hobbit family earned my unforgivable define love and I could only respect the time they had given me.


Odense was a town where my parents had friends. Long ago, my parents were together still and they roamed a little bit across Europe travelling with their children. Odense was one of the places in Europe where they stopped and got acquitted with some of its inhabitants. They spend a lot of time here just enjoying life. As a young boy I used to come here with my family to enjoy the freedom that these friends gave us. But as time moved on these relations faded from our lives. When my parents broke up that era had come to an end. They didn’t like to talk to each other afterwards and the past was something that remained a mystery to me. They never really talked about the time they had spent together. Years went by as I grew up and I came to a point where I needed to build my own path. I had no idea. The only thing I knew was that I somehow wanted to be free. I did not know how to establish this. I had only a vague wish to find peace. As life pasted by I listened to my surroundings to explore my path. I went to volunteer for a festival when my mother told me to. I danced on stage when my emotions could not hide their excitement anymore. I was jumping from experience to experience. Joy came over me when I surrendered to the expression of peace. For I felt at peace when I could do what I wanted to do. As school asked me to focus I could not ascertain to their wishes. Distraction was keeping me from fulfilling their dreams. I did not really know what I wanted to do. But then suddenly life gave me another experience and when I heard the words that I dreamed of all my life coming out of the mouth of the Psychiatrist I wanted to hug her. I wanted to be free. How could I have forgotten? I was so silly! And life expanded from there. Just like that, my whole future was painted in blue and I did not care a damn thing anymore. In the past there was a hitchhiker in our house because my mother picked him up that day. That memory came to live inside of me and I was going to be that hitchhiker. My parents supported the decision. My plans were made and a backpack and a sleeping bag were given to me. They appeared and wanted to keep me warm and safe. But freedom needed some rules otherwise there was no freedom. So I made up my mind that I would not pay for any of my nights while on the road. That was it. Oh! One small thing. I was going to be making poetry to everyone! I had high hoped of myself.
But then it was a question where should I go?
And an answer came quickly. The lost friends of my parents! When I grew up I just wanted to be free. Nothing else. But I could not really do that because I was a human and not a ghost who could go without food and water. I had all these needs tying me to a place and time. These feelings and emotions who wanted to be expressed. This young kid who wanted to be seen. And these years of history wherein I never really got the wish of a perfect family who speaks about love all day long. If I were to be free, I better solve these unfulfilled wishes. So that was why I decided to find the lost friends of my parents. To recreate my parents footsteps and make friends with their old friends. To reconcile with the past and forgive my wishes for being so romantic. What better way to reconcile with your past than to step into it and admit that you knew nothing about the reality of breakups? I wanted to find out who my parents where when they were still together. I was very lucky. Even though my parents broke up they had this wide range of strangers who knew the answers to the questions I was looking for. I just had to travel to them and ask whatever I wanted to ask.
I was going to take advantage of this opportunity and hopefully discover dreams that were left unseen.
So I walked around Odense waiting for my mom to give me the address of her lost friends. I tried to interact with my surroundings but I was shy and not able to gather enough courage to speak to anyone. Fortunately the universe gave me a break after hours of self-neglecting myself.
“Hello, can we ask you a couple of questions about how the people in Odense live?”
I looked up from the bench where I was sitting on and saw two persons standing next to me with their eyes full of hope.
“I don't live here sorry.”
By the look of their sad faces I felt a spark of my old self and said.
“But, I can make you a poem, just give me three words.”

Surprised they happily obliged and gave me three words. I was more than happy to begin writing. Inspiration flowed outwards upon the paper and it felt like I was on fire. After I had written the poem I told them about me. Introducing myself to people really took some skill. You don’t want to scare them off or make them feel too comfortable because you want them interested as well. So mystery had to go in there. But you had to be direct as well. Ha! This would be fun.
“ Let me introduce myself first. I am Cestmir Bergsma. I am from the Netherlands and I am a traveling storyteller who goes around without money in search of love and kindness. I am planning on publishing books about my discoveries and by making poetry for people I celebrate the connection that we have. You can also give me a donation.”
This was the version that took me five years to perfect. It shows a softness in the beginning because you connect yourself to a place and a title. That is cute. Then In the middle you have the master plan and In the end you have the end goal well hidden because the people will be still busy processing the title and place and master plan to be offended by your plea for money if they wanted to. But it is just enough to get the attention out there and no one can argue about your goal. After the introduction I would recite the poem. In this way, people would forget their last attempts of bargaining. Or sometimes if you do the money donation sentence afterwards they fall silent and they wait until you go away. But if you put the poem afterwards, then it is what they shall remember more vividly and that is really the end goal. But you have to eat as well.
 So as I had introduced myself I was about to recite the poem with eagerness and temptation. As the two people listened, their eyes came alive again. And smiles appeared. As I spoke the final sentence I felt myself washed by their happiness. I enjoyed it very much to surprise people with joy.
“Can we get your autograph!? One day you will be famous!”
I smiled at their compliments and gave them exactly what they wanted.


I strolled around Odense for a while longer and then noticed that It was almost dark.
It was time to find a place to sleep. Let’s ask strangers again! I went to different houses and knocked on their doors. My request of sleeping in their gardens was mostly met with a weird look and so they turned themselves away from me. On my third try a young fellow opened the door.
“Hello, can I sleep in your backyard.”
“Ooh, wait a minute, I must ask my dad.”
 A few seconds later he returned.
“Yes, you can, shall I open the gate?”
I was guided to the gate and it opened before me. A world of kindness lay behind.
The backyard was beautiful, full of flowers, and enough space to put up my tent. The boy who had opened left me alone and I went to work. There was a river flowing next to me and as I settled myself I felt humble towards the gratefulness of rushing veins. There was a weird power present that beseeched me in a secluded euphoric state. I was overwhelmed by the hospitality that lay behind a door. It made me joyful and calm.



I slept like an angel and when I woke up the mother of the family came to me when she saw that I was up and about.
“Hello young man. I am very happy to meet you. Yesterday I tried to come but you were already asleep. I work till late. Are you hungry? Do you need a shower? Please, come and refresh yourself.”
I followed her in the house.
“Give me your clothes and I wash them for you. And also, if you want to stay another night you are welcome. Then you can enjoy Odense without having to carry everything.”
 She washed my clothes and waved me good bye as I went into the town without my backpack and sleeping bag. I could not believe that just happened. Quick as a fox she was. She had me tied to her kindness before I could say anything. It struck me as odd that I had accepted this as just another adventure. Because the manner in which her generosity came to life was without a doubt. Merciful and complete.

 As the day passed I found myself sitting on the grass in the park for hours. Observing the people playing ball games while I wrote stuff down. I saw also three girls talking amongst themselves. A conversation with my mind began.
“Cestmir. You should go to these girls and make a poem for them.”
“No! that is impossible.”
“Come on…. You can do it. They are not so scary you know.”
Perhaps the fortune of having a house with a shower gave me a new found stubbornness. That is the only explanation I can think of. Anyway, I picked up hope and walked over to the three girls who were sitting there on the grass. My heart was racing and my mind paced back and forth waiting for some plan to help me approach them. But as I walked further, they started to notice me. Slowly their conversation faded as they wondered why I approached them. My heart wanted to express. So, I expressed.
"Do you like poems?"
“Yes.”
 "Do you like experiences you always remember for the rest of your live?"
“Yes.”
"then I’m your man."
they looked at each other and agreed.
I sat down and asked them for words.
“You can give me three words. Each one. And I can make you a poem.”


The three girls were excited about the poem so with no further delay I wrote and performed it.
I loved sharing my words and diving in the moment. I could see that the girls liked it too. They were smiling and filled with silence. When I was finished they gave me a donation and a surprise.
“In a couple of days we have a poetry reading ourselves and we would like to invite you.”
“That sounds amazing. Yes. I will be there.”
It was my very first time talking to a group of beautiful girls. I thought I handled that quite well. Maybe next time, if I want to spend the day with them, then I would not ask them for a donation. After the poem I felt that I needed to leave. I had made of them my customers and that made me uneasy to interact with them some more. I could not yet balance attraction and reality. Damn! It was hard to talk to girls.
After exchanging our contacts I stood up and wished them the best.
I returned to the family who took me in. The family was like a warm bath of hospitality. I could not dismiss the trail of growing up that they put me in. Receiving hospitality must be met with a decent amount of growing up. At least the notion that you learned something while under their roof. As I was invited to seat myself in the big dining hall and eat along I was almost stupefied of the gentleness with which they eased my strains. All the distress of living was met with a loyalty towards the loveliness that was proclaimed. and I ate with them. It was a luxurious home and my belly was quite happy that I was there. The mother and father had a daughter and a son. A few years back some other travelers had knocked on their door, asking if they could spend the night. This was why they knew exactly how to host me and give me the necessary ingredients to go further. With eagerness I attempted to grasp an idea. I wanted to give them the loveliness that I felt. And it came to me! My escapade with the three girls inspired me and I began to make each member of the family a poem. I was thrilled that they seemed to enjoy it very much. It was a blessing to be able to give back what I received. I dare say that it is a responsibility to equal the amount of attention amongst family. A family would not worry about such fuss but it is exactly therefore that a family would favor such active communal chances of bonding. To share an equal burden of taking care of each other. What you have is easily mistreated as something common and can turn into animosity quickly so I was grateful that this family gave me the urge to return the willingness of joy. I had granted myself the arrogance to exclude myself from this play of Humanity. But it was my fear of not being accepted as who I was that made me dance along the sidelines.

My blog post around that time:
I came across several houses with big gardens but each and every one said no. Until I knocked at a door where a Young man was opening the door. He said that, after consulting with his dad, it was no problem.
and this was a nice garden by the river bend but I slept early and I did not meet the parents of the boy.

After a good night sleep, the mother came to me when I was already breaking down my tent.

I could sleep another night there.

and you could not believe how gentle they were, it was like a restaurant. My clothes got washed, I could take a shower, I could have breakfast. I could have gotten any thing my heart
desired.


A family had given me shelter, love , acceptation and above all else a grown version of who I was. A streak of experiences born out of bravery and new found awareness. This journey told of a blank future and I was going to try to enjoy the outcome of its painting. It was time to say goodbye. My life wanted to move and find so let’s entertain the movement that it gifted us with.
My mom had given me the address of her lost friends so there I went. I was kind of exited: I was five when I was last seen in their midst. The friends lived in a communal area with their own dirt roads and gardens. On the side of a big street there was a little gravel path surrounded by bushes that went sliding of somewhere. A little supermarket was here, marking the end of civilization. From now on, little blocks of green and gravel guided me to self-build houses. Each had their own garden and natural fences around it.
“Hello. I am looking for Raka and Christina.”
There was a customer in the supermarket and he smiled as I asked him.
“Yeah. I know them. Follow me. I am going back now.”
I could not silence the expectations that came when I walked after him. It disrupted my confidence a bit. I had no clear idea how my parents lost friends would treat me and especially how I needed to treat them. I didn’t really remember anything about them and would they know that? Or would they expect me to.
As I approached the gardens I watched with fascination how my guide was greeted by all the people we came across and we were met with smiles that did not elude the friendship that resided here. “Christina! I brought you a visitor.”
It was a woman, dressed in silk garments and white cotton pants.
Her hair was braided and her face told of many challenging years. A wise grandma looked at me and I could sense wisdom that knew how to cover the elegant excuses of life. As peace gathered around her I saw that she was Christina. I remembered her from photo’s.
“Cestmir! Welcome. We are most happy to receive you. You have grown a lot. I am pleased to see you. Come and feel at home.””
A queen like energy she had around her. I could feel that I wanted to be strong but I was not yet ready to defend my honour. So I let my soft side take over and I was left feeling overwhelmed before her presence. I gave her a hug and stepped back.
“Yes. Hey, Christina. I am happy to be here. Thank you for the invitation.”
And so my story began. The story wherein I met the lost friends and gained a little bit more insight on the past. My awkwardness rose when I admitted to myself that I did not really know what I was doing here. I had just followed a dream and suddenly I arrived at the place where my dream was alive and talkative. Reality did not seem to have prepared me to stumble into an ocean of peace and communication. Christina looked like the queen that ruled the struggles of life. And I had too many struggles to count. Therefore I didn’t really want to embarrass myself by explaining that I wanted to get to know them and therefore acknowledging that I did not know them. In short. I didn’t really talk to anyone or showed interest in getting to know the community. My mind was preoccupied with the suspense of being there. Everybody knew my parents. They were famous people around here. And I was therefore a famous child. I didn’t want to ruin the image they had of me. Of course, later I realized that it was just a fear and an excuse that held me back from talking and getting to know the people. But children tend to be preoccupied with themselves and their own problems. I want to blame myself but I cannot really. Christina led me to the house of Raka.
I was going to spend my time in this oasis of peace in his garden. Raka was a very gentle and laid back man. He had dreads as well and he used to be great friends with my parents. So I found myself a guest of a man who could give me rest of the turmoil inside of me by being friends. He was working on a marble statue of a woman and was quite frankly very talented.
I set up my tent and tried to arrange my wishes. I wanted to make poetry in the town. I wanted to get to know Raka and Christina and I wanted to learn more about the love that my parents had shared. My dad had been a freedom fighter of rock and roll and my mom was remembered as a strong willful woman. I was finally on the grounds where my parents lived once while they were still in love.
I don’t know what I expected but it had something to do with rainbows and fairy dust. To enter the lands where my parents were once in love and that it may expel unanswered questions and give me the answers that I need to move on from the past. This had to be the biggest wish I had around that time. To be free from any reluctant belief that my parents were once in love. To be once again a child in the midst of parental love. My wish to have a mom and dad who never separated, who kiss and make love and share a togetherness that is heard in stories of lovely mischief. Conclusion: I wanted a fairytale that could never be. But I searched for it. Oh. I did my best to find that loop of time where I could erase the separation of my parents and it never took place. Oh. How I searched for it and got lost in the process.

I tried to find peace in the gardens of lost friends.
“Cestmir! Your tent can stay in my garden, we will have a nice time.”
 Raka invited me in his home and his comfortable life style was likeable and without questions. From the start, I was a part of his home and I could do whatever I wanted. I think he had a lot of respect for my parents and he was easy on me because of it. The days were adventures. As I strolled through these sand lanes and self-made houses I forgot the vanity of the working class outside these gardens. It was like a park inside a city where the stress of living amongst granite and cold stones was faded in a lost memory. I could not yet open up to the moments of timeless endeavor where I could rest my sorrows and enjoy but I did what I could in order to join hands with this timeless space. I was trying to forget that I was on a quest and the people here tried to indulge me in any curiosity I might have. Most of the time I spend with Raka. He taught me that easiness was a gift of life. “Cestmir. You can either stress or calm yourself down. You have these two options. Which one do you choose? Let the world hear your answer.”

I asked the world if he wanted to go easy on me but he didn’t listen. Or I didn’t choose. The past still haunted me. Every day I went through a period of denial and self-loathing. Then I would drink tea with Raka and bless myself with peace. And then in the evening I tried to connect and listen to stories. Every day was a ritual of growing up. Slowly I felt that the gardens taught me that the past was nothing more than a sequences of choices. Made by those who went before me. My desire to blame my parent for breaking up came to a rest as I ventured forward in life. As a young boy I missed the union of parenthood. I missed having respect for my parents. Because in my idea they broke one value that I held dear and that was love. The forgiveness of love. Raka and the others taught me that maybe my parents did the best they could. That they just followed a sequence of choices that led them to believe they were on a good and prosperous path. I could hardly blame them for not seeing what the best future would be. I could hardly blame them to be washed away in the accumulated knowledge that life presents. It is hard to figure out where you want to belief in and what values you go for.  There were so many angles that created so many different outcomes. But was there not a way to go forward in life while keeping love intact? Change should not come as a surprise and you should not destroy the beauty of what you have established by blaming circumstances. Every time I went to my mother with news about my father she would value the news negatively based on some pain that my father left her with. And my father would not ever come to spend time with us because he did not believe that was important. Happenings of a personality that did not want to change drastically. An identity is shaped from the simplification of our mind. And it is rather easy and systematic if we prolong the identity that occurred. Then we don’t have to change all the time. Than we can identify ourselves by naming our actions, putting it into a form and use the outcome to say: That is who we are! But change is coming and it will neglect all this fuss. It does not bother itself with well-educated self-development so much. It is the chaos of living. It is like a video game. We try to die as best as possible. Heroic scoundrels are constantly on the verge of rescuing Maidens of love. Yin en Yang energy balances inside our body. Female and male spirits speak the language wherein we convert knowledge into wise consequences. My parents consequence was a kid who wanted to die and die again. To sustain the art of living in a constant survival nomadic life who brought me to the far reaches of my mind. To exploit the art of living by challenging my instincts.  Here I was. A kid who just wanted to trust, in the joy that human instincts were capable of.
The days with Raka went by and we gathered stories. About each other and our past. Every Friday he organized a chess evening with some friends and I was looking forward to it. Chess was a game that I started to love from an early age. It told me many things. It taught me to self-reflect in a most elegant way. Stretching my mind to see the patterns arise. I loved to watch how moves influenced each other. To see the response of a mistake and how you could mend it afterwards by tying the strains of insecurity to a peaceful mastery of movement. I began to understand that reality was something made. Past stories lingered in my mind vaguely as if I held on to them.  But I could also let them go. Give them the expression that they want of me. Unchaining the capabilities that may have no idea what they want or where they come from but at least the stories that my mind made up could be expressed. I was too tired to maintain these stories in my mind waiting for perfectness to show me the way.
Every day was a blur of emotions who tried to teach me something. And in the midst of this whirlwind I found myself occupied with this strange feeling of loneliness.

I was excited again when I recalled that I had an appointment with three girls. On the day of the poetry reading I said goodbye to Raka as I happily made my way to the town. All confusion at once stopped when I left the gardens. Strange, as the world guided me to a blank future I had no fear. I welcomed the possibilities that were endless. There was no security anymore. No responsibility to take care of anyone but myself. No one looking out for me or caring for me. I loved to be forgotten in the womb of the world. There was always a nagging feeling disturbing my senses when I was around people. The gardens of lost friends was not a place where I could find answers to my restless nature. But I would return there to await the birthday of Christina and then free myself once again from the feeling of being a part of something. As I walked the streets I came across two persons who greeted me happily. It took me a while to remember them. They were now with a huge group.  ‘Do you remember us? You wrote us a poem just a few days ago!’
It were the guys who asked me if I lived here. They were very excited to see me again.
‘We shared your poem with every one of our friends! They loved it. Could we get a picture this time? You will be famous!” 
It was curious how these people seemed to be extremely fond of me. It was almost adorable to see. It reminded me of a child who had made a grand discovery and now he wants to share it with the world. A child experiments never stopped. They could always find something new. Their joy was contagious. And as they left me I felt warm inside. It was glorious to be able to change so effortlessly into states of being. Any insecurities that I might have had were melted in this warmth. Curiosity to explore peaked my attention. Bravery endeavored itself to fill my veins. After a moment of hesitation I prolonged my stride. With their warmth still inside. It was fascinating to feel how they could give me warmth and comfort by being joyous as a child. Their happiness was infectious. They accomplished what hours of mediation could not. I forgot my strive to be someone and I became. I felt one with all the personalities inside of me. And just by interacting with a child. It was a glorious day. If only we could love our insecurities and mistakes the same way. I made my way to the poetry reading and when I entered the little café where it was held I noticed the three girls who had invited me.
“Cestmir. It is so good to see you. Welcome.”
Attraction seemed to pass by in the alley of experience. Attraction was a feeling that I had wanted to dodge in life. But the more I followed the path of freedom, the more I got in contact with this feeling. One of the girls especially. She was all my dreams packed into a snow-covered landscape of rainbows. My chest wanted to express, inflame and dissect the fairytales that strolled in her eyes.
“Are you ready?”
I could not stand to look at her.
“Yes. I am looking forward to it.”
There were many people and I felt alive with new sensations of love. The café was small and the people came closer to each other to sit on the ground and wait for the first poet to recite.
The girl I fancied did a number of poems herself and even though they were in Danish I still loved the way she spoke. I loved to be in the vicinity of poets again. Back in the Netherlands I had introduced myself to the world of poets there and I began to miss it. It was a different world. A reality wherein the fragrance of words embellished everything around you. It was like walking in a constant poem. I really liked the poetic world. I could weave my insecurities into a constant beautified memory. Grasping it and holding it in place by mere strength of mind. I could even categorize my fears and act as if they were humans like us, with feelings and struggles. A whole array of personalities within personalities. It was a great way to hide the tears of a shattered child.
“Next up is Cestmir! This is a poet from the Netherlands who came to us in the park to write us a poem. We invited him to come over and share what he has to share and he gladly accepted.”
It was my turn.
“hello Everyone. I am indeed from The Netherlands but I left my country to travel. I was more than happy to accept the offer to recite here. Back in The Netherlands I competed in a competition with one of my short stories and I won third place of my country. This was my first step into the poetic world and later I started to do Poetry slams. Well, without delay I wanted to get started. First I will do a spoken word poem that I made just a few days ago.”
And so I went.
It was my first performance in international waters and I loved it. From time to time I would look slightly to the girl I fancied and it gave me acknowledgment to continue my parade of words. Many other faces could be seen showing signs of interest. Several poems and some stories of the previous days passed the revenue. Captivating feelings gripped me and I tried to translate them into words. On stage I felt a king. I fell in love with the power that resided in this vacuum of time when people stopped their behaviors and listened. All eyes were on me and I adored every single consequence that it brought along. It was the feeling of morphing myself into a timeless mirror of reflection. Every word, every detail, every pause was a clear statement of shape. If I used to many words, then I would pause. If a silence arises which was unknown I would play with it and dance straight through the fog. To captivate myself in a constant desire to express. Silence was a mystery to me. Expression was an act of surrender. Why do people want to captivate themselves? What is the goal of every thought?  I wanted to unravel the secrets of the dark. The unknown layers of movement that lurks behind every impulse. Why did I suddenly decide when I was 10 to confront a girl and tell her a story that I did not had prepared? How could my mind make up these stories that came out of nowhere but suddenly they were being spoken and becoming real. The need for expression is a driven subconscious guide that leads us. A thought that springs from muscle memory exceeds our own knowledge and tells us where we need to go. If we just have the balls to follow, then there is no more need to belief in boundaries or separation because we would easily belief that everything is going to be alright. When I was 10 the girl said to our teacher that I told her a story. The teacher therefore build me a stage and told me to perform. She wanted to listen. As I walked on that stage I felt that I came home. I felt the possibilities open and the stage waiting for me. There was no one anymore who could disrupt me for talking too slow. Me and my stutter could finally, for the first time, speak up and tell the world what was on our minds. We fell in love with the power of being on stage. Representing our own capabilities and shushing the whole world to listen to us. I was mesmerized by the feeling of a quiet room who listened to a very young boy.



“You have a power to ensnare every one of us and make us listen to you and at the same time your childness is keeping it fresh’
 “You are so positive, I love you for being so positive, you are the highlight of the night.”

The audience clearly loved my presence and I was humbled by their compliments.
It was the girl that I fancied that came over when we were standing outside of the café. I struggled to comprehend her attention towards me. I didn’t know what she wanted. Damn! Why did people always say that you could just be yourself if you wanted to talk to a girl.
There she is! Let’s listen.
“The poem you made in the park is still in my mind. It was wonderful that you came to us and gave us this poem.”
I felt a rush of bewilderment seizing my veins. Her green eyes were rested calmly in a gaze that pierced my heart and I was struck with a feeling of beauty. Naturally I responded as a little blind boy and I began to think too many things. I stuttered and stumbled and words went flying without a clear reason behind them. She shared her emotions so openly with me but I felt not privileged enough to receive them. I could feel that I helped her embrace herself a little bit more but I was still a young boy who believed that he was not good enough for attraction so there was no way I could flirt with her. But there was a beginning. Even though my confusion about her interest in me, I began to respond to her and actually felt my nervousness fade away and I could discover topics with her and speak lively.

I felt too much anxiety for who I was but there was a growth and that was a good sign.

my blog post around  that time:
It is strange that you can talk with a stranger as if you have known each other for quite some time, just connect with a person as if you were destined to meet each other. It made me feel delighted. I became, myself, without the spoken word artist inside me, with that red headed girl. I wanted to share the night, but I was too afraid of reacting to my feelings. It was a flash of lighting, that lightened me up inside and made me realise that I can make a person feel good without my poems, just be the one, who is feeling what other people are feeling , and just speaking about problems, as if I can make them go away.


After the poetry evening I went back to Raka and played chess with his friends. They had brought several chess boards and we sat for hours and hours in the house moving pieces. Chess was a game of concentrated perfectness.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes. Bring it on.’
I indulged myself once again in the art of thinking ahead. That is chess. Movements are effortless and wide. You consume the board as a whole and you dominate the field of rationality. You bend like a snake only to counterattack fiercely as an arrow straight ahead. The goal is not only to trap the king but do it in such a way that you opponent is left surprised and defeated by the force with which you put behind your moves. A force invisible for the weak and unsteady. A force only to be revealed by the masters of rationality. So, It was a great gift for the dreamers like me. It could teach me to shape my dreams into a foundation of constructed elegance. To not jump ahead but realize what my options were and benefit from the limitations that I surrounded myself with.
“Cestmir, what are you doing!?’
‘What!!?’
‘if you would have sacrificed your queen you would have won.’
Limitations are straining us to adapt to the game. To keep your eye on the target and don’t mess with integrity. It was wonderful to play chess.


Cristina’s birthday was upon us in the weekend. It was the last day of celebration for me in the garden. I had to change my scenery to dive in new adventures but first I mingled one last time with the friends that I made. Cristina had made 30 cakes, all with much color and deliciousness. Raka was playing guitar and I had created a poem for Christina. In that poem I tried to explain every thought that I did not express before. It was difficult to maintain integrity for me. I wanted to dance around with fairytales and hide myself in them every chance I got. And therefore I did not know how to speak to these fairytales yet; How much it meant for me to be in that garden. But also how much confrontation and doubt I faced by being there. I granted myself no space to talk about my doubts and fears in a conversation. Therefore I made a poem about them. I never was the biggest fan in explaining myself. That’s why I loved to write poetry. Because I could give my doubts and fears a poetic touch which people took for granted. They would never have the chance to undermine me with their questions and I would have explained my feelings. Poetry was a protection for me. To conceal myself in the grand gesture of words so that life was a stage and I was the performer. And there were not so many people who asked questions about a theater play. This is how I moved myself in the shadows and became a young boy who protected himself from the love of attraction. I guess this young boy needed to protect himself, to not loose himself in time that was not his. For there where many people communicate, many misunderstandings take place and I was not really ready to take the time to digest all the different perceptions and perspectives out there. First, I needed to find my own.
“I came here to found out who my parents were. They never told me stories or showed me the love that created me. So, by coming here I hoped to see what I longed for; I hoped to see past figures of my parents life who could explain to me who my parents were. I could not connect happily with you all because I dreamed about this moment too much. This made me lose contact with the world as it was given to me. But nonetheless I can say that I enjoyed every second while I was a guest here and I hope I will return when I know who I am and where I came from, to enjoy without a quest inside of me.”

I grew up wanting to feel pain. I could simply not neglect the suffering which people went through. And I projected their fear upon myself. Fear to let go of negativity. Fear to live because why should I feel happy when some other people seemed to be afraid of death. In a sense I took existence on my shoulders with all its perilous sensations. The world was wide, and a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek knowledge of life amidst it's dangers. For me, it was the energy of pain that made me curious. The spiritual side of suffering; The all mighty search for hell. This curiosity was founded when I had enough one day, of living. I looked around and found boredom where there had to be boldness. I decided that I lived amongst people who were satisfied to watch Tv and linger on living, trapped in a world where their belief had shaped a consistency and ‘things were the way they were.’ I looked around and decided that this was not my life. My life consisted of dancing emotions who whirled my heart into ups and downs and straight through the fog. A constant discovery of action and reaction and a world of fragile heartbeats who wanted to reap the knowledge which was entangled in a breeze of time. To teach the facets of a multidimensional personality how to consume the wisdom of death and shape it into paradise. For that was what I was certain of; we already lived in paradise, I just had to found out how to free myself from ignorance first.