Leaving no footprints where I go
barefoot I go
to feel the earth
and the hard stones
the puddles after the rain
don’t want to leave footprints where I go
but maybe breadcrumbs
I wish to leave some traces of me
when I go
some artefacts
what will people think of me, what will they understand
when they find my writings my scrolls , my stone tablets
a long time from now
who I was
when I walked this path
barefoot
Leaving no footprints when I go
Life is
Life is hard
Life is beautiful
Life is
I used to say the Life is the only God I know.
That was when I was young and that was true for me
Now that I am a little old, I know that Life is not all of it, but that is not the point here.
The point is, that Life is beautiful.
And hard.
And all we have now.
Survival is hard, Gaza is hard, inequality, poverty.
The indifference and egotism of people.
Those are hard realities.
I kill mosquitos every day, I step on ants all the time.
Surely that is hard for them, I am not a saint.
But Life is beautiful, I even see that all around me.
In the eyes of a young child, the colors of the evening, the ocean waves.
In the gracefulness of women and in flowers.
There is so much beautiful in Life, when I can see it.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess it was Goethe who said that first.
And I know that as true.
My Beauty is inside.
And from there it goes out and it touches Life.
It warms the hardness that I see.
My Inner Beauty!
My Soul’s Beauty!
I am thankful that you are there!
Traces
When we get older it is easy to succumb to temptations of reminiscence, of looking back and wonder …
What was this, my life?
Did it have some real meaning?
What’s the traces?
What do I leave behind?
Who could I touch?
Who got uplifted?
What difference did I make,
in the life of Man.
I guess it is healthy,
to ask such a question.
To find a theme to my song.
Not just a random pretty melody.
And in the end, there is maybe none.
Besides the fact that I have lived my life to the best I could.
Following my heart, the whisperings of Soul.
Obeying the guidance
of Intuition.
Mostly
😉
in silence
there is strength
in silence
there is power
in staying still
there is answer
in letting-go
there is strength
in silence
there is power
in staying still
there is answer
in letting-go
there is strength
in silence
there is power
in staying still
there is answer
in letting-go
background
the background texture of our everyday life
the things we usually don’t really consciously see or acknowledge
but they are there, they are reflected in out retina, tickling into our brains
they are the visual context of our everyday life
they are beautiful or they are not
they are organic, alive, harmonious or they are not
they are self-chosen or forced onto our psyche
they either nurture us or not
but whatever they are, we still have a basic choice:
to see them
to receive them
to acknowledge them
to be fully aware of them
to contemplate them
to let them in
to let them talk to us
tell their story
i call it mindful seeing
fully present perception of what is there right now in my outer world
color & b&w
Color
Form
Movement
More Colors
Forms
Movements
Playfully
Just for the fun of it
Iterating
Mutating
Changing
Alive
Color is so great!
But sometimes it takes a simple B&W
To do the Magic
ebb / flow
In my life I try I go
With the ebb and flow
Of things
Darkness and light
Happy times
And sad
That’s the way
The world’s heart is beating
I know, I know
There are other things beyond
Like non-duality
Like the ultimate truth
Like pure consciousness
Lands we have still to discover
Realities still waiting for us
States beyond what is known
And still here
I’ll go for that land
Always I go
What else?
I know beauty
I know beauty when is see beauty
No thinking necessary
No academic analysis
A woman’s face
A certain cloud formation
A butterfly’s wings
The reflection of sunlight
In a dewdrop
I know Beauty when I see beauty
Because it nurtures my soul
Beauty
It rises quietly, like mist over a river,
soft-footed, unannounced—
not in grand things,
but in the tilt of a white heron’s neck,
the silver ripple of a fish breaking the surface.
Beauty, I think, is the way the world
leans toward wonder,
like the sunflowers turning their faces,
or the way a Guanacaste tree carries the sky
on its broad, patient shoulders.
It is not something you take,
but something you notice—
in the fragile breath of morning light,
the swirl of stars stitched into the night,
and how, in between, life unfolds,
ordinary and wild.
It hums in the curve of a seashell,
in the taste of ripe peaches,
and in the way the wind
sends leaves skittering across the ground,
as if even falling could be a kind of dance.
Beauty is a verb, I think—
not a thing but a motion,
the way kindness lingers in a touch,
or laughter rises from a room like birds startled into flight.
It’s the feel of bare feet in wet grass,
the shimmer of rain on a spider’s web,
and the quiet persistence of flowers,
blooming, no matter who is watching.
Beauty is what saves us—
the way it insists, again and again,
that this world, even in its brokenness,
is worth noticing, worth loving, worth living for.
And when we let it in—
the golden glint of a butterfly’s wing,
the scent of salt on a beachside morning stroll—
it changes us, just a little,
making room for joy, for grace,
for the possibility that this moment,
just as it is,
is enough.
The Mirror of Beauty
Beauty is not in the face,
it is a lantern in the heart—
a light that spills out when love stirs,
when the soul remembers itself,
like a hidden garden waking at dawn.
What you seek in the world’s shimmer
is already inside you—
the rose unfolding, the breeze whispering secrets,
the moon’s silver glance upon restless waters.
Don’t chase beauty; become it.
Let your eyes soften and see—
how every stone hums a quiet song,
how even the dust in the street dances
when touched by light.
The stars are not outside you, beloved,
they live in the marrow of your bones.
When you love, you open windows
for the divine to peer through.
When you give freely, you become a doorway
where beauty enters the world.
Do you see? The broken bowl holds the same grace
as the perfect one—
the cracks only make room for more light.
The wounded heart sings the sweetest song,
because beauty and sorrow are lovers,
holding hands beneath the same sky.
Stop and breathe—
the fragrance you seek is already on your breath.
The beauty of a bird’s flight,
the sway of a branch in the wind,
is the same beauty flowing through your veins.
Let yourself be a mirror,
so the world can see its own beauty reflected.
Become the open sky—
where every cloud, every storm,
finds a place to belong.
And when the day breaks
or the night falls, it makes no difference—
for the beauty you carry has no season.
It is endless, timeless,
and always here.
~
~~
~
We are the stars which sing
We sing with our light
We are the birds of fire
We fly over the sky
Our light is a voice
We make a road for the spirit to pass over
– song by Death Can Dance 1996
