Tag Archives: life

Je Suis Charlie: A thank you to all my diverse selves, wherever you are out there

It’s no coincidence that I have been reading “Tomorrow’s God” by Neale Donald Walsch when the events in Paris happened.

And even though Walsch says that any act of violence is a cry for help, is so hard to look at the attackers and admit that they are merely the embodiment of our collective failures in how we treat one another. Hundreds of years of bowing to fictional descriptions of a series of Gods who are continually separating us from one another. It was such a tough mirror to face.

So, like never before, I was so proud to be a human being when people gathered in Paris and other cities of the world, showing that Life, above all, is what we treasure most and what unites us all.

Many humble thanks go to everyone who was out there on the streets marching on behalf of Life today. With your permission, from the wild northwest of Donegal where I am now, I would like to call you all my different other selves and join in your diversity and solidarity.

100_6017Tomorrow’s God does not require anyone to believe in God.” N.D. Walsch



Tomorrow’s God is separate from nothing, but is everywhere present, the All in All, the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the sum total of everything that ever was, is now and ever shall be.” N.D. Walsch

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATomorrow’s God is without gender, size, shape, color or any of the characteristics o an individual living being.” N.D. Walsch


OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATomorrow’s God talks to everyone all the time.” N.D. Walsch

self assurance

Tomorrow’s God is not a singular Super Being, but the extraordinary process called Life.” N.D. Walsch



Learning from the water how to master change

“There is no such thing as “change for the worse.” Change is the process of Life Itself, and that process could be called by the name “evolution.” And evolution moves in only one direction: forward, and toward improvement.

Therefore, when change visits your life, you can be sure things are turning for the better. It may not look that way in the very moment change arrives, but if you will wait a while and have faith in the process, you will see that this is true.” Neale Donald Walsch.

What made me think of this quotation, was my experience of getting a bad kidney infection with the probable cause being: I did not drink enough water.

Now, as I am back to normal, I realize that I could not take for granted water any more. It made me pay more attention to its simple but overwhelming power, to the way change it’s its main state of being… no better teacher than the wisdom in the glass in front me.


Under pressure

Why do I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders?


It’s light.

It’s light when I clothe my soul in a different skin.


It’s light when I burst into blooms of colors and scent.


Why can we only love what we see, but fail to see when we love?

darkness coming

A night of weary thoughts rushes in through my pores, and it’s not the darkness I fear, but the fear itself.

Why do I feel the weight of time on my shoulders? Or more likely the lack of time that presses down ever so slowly, and ever so fast like the night pressing down on the setting sun.


It’s light and I’ve been awake in my dreams. It’s time to fall back into the sleep of reality again until I convince fear to see me.


An average dream

Could not even remember where exactly, but I saw this phrase: ‘average dream last only 20 minutes.’ And I could not help myself stop and stare at the screen, thinking of course, how did they manage to measure that? And started to attempt bringing back from my memories the various dreams I had…that I was going to be a doctor, then a journalists, then a media owner and then a perfumer….I even considered being a writer, I’m sure that dream did not last 20 minutes.


What happens with a dream after the 20 minutes have ended? Is there an automatic machine that sorts them according to the attention we give them?


The small, common and all-the-same, like a bag of freshly picked chestnuts pop up to the surface and blind us with their sense of security and comfort and we fill our palms with them, we smell them for a while and even though they don’t really bring back memories of the soul, we end up buying.


And the big dreams, the larger than life ones, usually end up in this small, recycled box and from the rainbow color they have when they are born, they turn this grey-translucent non-color and form the foundation of us-that-will-never-be.


How many of these dreams escape the sorting and sneak out, living in a sort of resistance in the deep seas of our soul, small ponds that long to touch the sea?

From there they come out disguised as a word a friend mentioned, or a phrase we read while we are running around carrying the small, average dreams on our shoulders, or a sound the wind makes while we have stopped and stared out the window. How many of them will ever recover their colors?



For is it the sunset we see in the sky after those long rainy days, or our dreams, escaping our memories and giving us another chance to look at what-we-could-have-been?

Wisdom of rocks

Thinking of miracles I always imagine something surrounded by fireworks and colors, song and light. But then I remember that it’s in the dark that seeds get their strength to become trees, dreams get their wings to carry us to the highest of ourselves.

So I approach The Old Man and The Sea, one of my favorite spots on the northwest coast of Donegal, on the Wild Atlantic Way.

Old man and the sea

In this land of quiet miracles, I try to learn some of the wisdom of the rocks, discover some of the majesty that makes a rock – like a Romanian poet once said, by never crushing the world’s crown of wonders but understanding it by adding to its secret, by filling it with love…

Soft rocks

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii

by Lucian Blaga

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii

şi nu ucid

cu mintea tainele, ce le-ntâlnesc

în calea mea

în flori, în ochi, pe buze ori morminte.

Lumina altora

sugrumă vraja nepătrunsului ascuns

în adâncimi de întuneric,

dar eu,

eu cu lumina mea sporesc a lumii taină –

şi-ntocmai cum cu razele ei albe luna

nu micşorează, ci tremurătoare

măreşte şi mai tare taina nopţii,

aşa îmbogăţesc şi eu întunecata zare

cu largi fiori de sfânt mister

şi tot ce-i neînţeles

se schimbă-n neînţelesuri şi mai mari

sub ochii mei-

căci eu iubesc

şi flori şi ochi şi buze şi morminte.

… is life ever in black and white, or only shades of grey?

Shades of grey

… how comes the simple act of mirroring can show you a whole different world?


… how can I really open my eyes to not just see?

Getting close

… if I understand rocks, will I ever understand fear?

Ancestors' memories


One must be extremely strong in mind and spirit to survive more than a year in Donegal. I don’t even know why I say that, it just came to me as I am listening to Mary, Martin and Michael playing in Teac Jack. There is Michael’s humor combined with Mary’s gentle but powerful fiddle and Martin’s quiet, melancholic pipes. And it’s Donegal in its essence, it captures you, it makes you feel you are the happiest being on earth and in the same time, its strength makes you suffer.
It’s the kind of suffering born from pure happiness, that “too much feeling”. You suddenly yearn for the banality of a city life, where you know you are being diminished and your spirit has left you and, you long for being back in Donegal again.
Mary continues to speak through her fiddle and I can’ believe I’m still in this fairy tale world. I can see and hear people from the “real world” around me, in the bar.
It’s funny because they seem to be so immune to the music, as if only a few of us can see and hear the musicians. As if two parallel worlds are being displayed in front of me.

And there are actually three parallel worlds, as musicians seem to be in that trance they go into, and we, the “privileged ones,” get to peep through the door.
But it’s too hard to get in.
One must be very strong to survive more than a year in Donegal. To cope with moments when people either go back to the real world, as their holiday is over, or others go into this trance, which is music, and it’s as if they are totally gone, leaving behind a sound, a smile and closed eyes.
Minutes later, both doors close suddenly and I’m not fast and good enough to dash through any of them.

Will I have enough spirit to wait until they open again?
From the haunting memory of a revived tune, by an old man living in the mountains to “I shot the sheriff” played on guitar and pipes, to hop gigs and rhythms… Why do I feel that life has just said hello and looked me straight in the eyes?



We underestimate the importance of questions in our life. When I met my husband twenty years ago he asked me so many questions, with the genuine curiosity of a child. And there was a certain energy flowing out from him to me, as if with each question we were adding an extra brick in building a yellow road to a relationship.

Ever since, I began to notice an invisible thread that links love to our ability to ask questions – there are so many reasons we can find not ask questions: because we would be consider indiscreet or nosy; or it is not proper to question an authority; or because we are insecure about letting ourselves be vulnerable in showing our genuine interest in something on someone. But isn’t love about opening exactly those windows of vulnerability and truth?

Most of the time, I sadly noticed, we don’t ask questions because we are not really interested or because we are afraid to get a confirmation and then be faced with that reality. And losing interest has a lot to do with losing the ability to love. Asking questions brings about the responsibility of dealing with what the answers reveal.

I believe Love loves questions and never gets tired of them, like a shower of innocence trying to contain a fire.

Someone once said that real faith is always the result of questioning. And a writer once wrote that even God appreciates a good question as it proves her existence. It would be rather impossible to have a conversation with someone whose existence you don’t acknowledge…So, have we forgotten the ability to acknowledge each other in the day-to-day rush?

No questions asked

Walking the old streets of L’Ile Rousse in Corsica some time ago, I had a lot of questions in my head I wanted to ask this lady in the window – why open only one shutter? why open only one eye to the world outside? what was her story?

But I admit that I hid behind my camera shutter and was afraid to ask her at least how she was really feeling that day, even in my broken French. I guess I was afraid I was going to really like this old lady who could open new windows in my heart or simply lead me to more questions…


This post is dedicated to the newly launched Ireland Writing Retreat in Donegal, Ireland – one of the focus in their workshops being “Developing character – ask the right questions.