Wednesday, August 25, 2010

A post to longing
To my beloved

En liten vise

Om kvelden når det mørkner, og alle går til ro,
da stenger jeg for stall og for låve.
Og spurvene, de netter seg i hver sitt lille bo,
da går vel også du til din kove.
Men siden vet jeg ikke å få tiden til å gå,
for i de lange netter, da lenges jeg så,
da har jeg ikke sinn til å sove.
..................................................................

En vise til
....
mellom oss to var det inga bru
men eg var hjå deg det må du tru
i kvar liten blund
i kvar vaken stund
den eg drøymde om
var alltid du

Saturday, August 21, 2010

More Tao

A few thoughts of lately:
Sometimes, if you watch and observe your toughts and your mind, staying aware and without any identification or roles in it, it can be quite funny.

It is like watching a stubborn and persistent child saying things and wanting things that are, you find in the end, actually quite absurd. In knowing that there is a difference to your ego desires and you, to your thoughts and you - it actually is comical to listen to your own mind. Thoughts that before maybe even made you suffer and cry. I figure this is the secret into understanding Buddhas wonderful and simple smile. Don´t misunderstand - I am not putting myself next to him, I am putting us all next to him :-)
Here are two little stories that made me laugh and that illustrates this point very well:

"...After two ducks get into a fight, which never lasts long, they will separate and float off in opposite directions. Then each duck will flap its wings vigorously a few times thus releasing the surplus energy that built up during the fight. After they flap their wings they float on peacefully, as if nothing had ever happened. If the duck had a human mind it would keep the fight alive by thinking, by story making. This would probably be the ducks' story:

I don't believe what he just did! He came to within 5 inches of me. He thinks he owns this pond! He has no consideration for my private space. I'll never trust him again. Next time he'll try something else just to annoy me. I'm sure he's plotting something already but I'm not going to stand for this! I'll teach him a lesson he won't forget.

An other story with the same topic:
Two Buddhist monks, Tanzan and Ekido, were once traveling together down a muddy road.
A heavy rain was still falling.
Coming around a bend, they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the intersection and in tears.

Tanzan, feeling compassion for her, at once picked her up and carried her to the other side over the mud.

Ekido did not speak again five hours later, when they reached their lodging temple.
Then he no longer could restrain himself.
"Why did you carry that girl across the road?" he asked Tanzan, "We monks are not supposed to do things like that"

"I put the girl down hours ago," said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying her?"

Thursday, August 12, 2010

I post for the emo souls ;-) from an other

"...I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."
~ Pablo Neruda

"Det var en fest kun før natten den sorte;
Hun var en gæst kun, -- og nu er hun borte."
~ Henrik Ibsen

I have written a poem in norwegian and the english translation is kinda bad. So, if anybody have any suggestions about improvemnt, feel very free to come with them :-)
~ Aasa

Silent knowing
I whish to speak to you through words without
letters whish to reach you there behind
everything that whiz through me in
the moment you take my hand and
softly brush my skin It opens up
to you, reach for you, nearly
pulls against you like close is not even
close enough my skin whispers stories, it
sighs in simple enjoyment over
your warm hand I see
your eyes your words the hours but
they do not really know yet only
my skin reaches behind it all
it knows
the wordless
it knows more
than both you and I


Stille viten
Jeg ønsker å snakke til
deg gjennom ord
uten ord jeg ønsker å nå det
bakenfor som suser gjennom meg i
øyeblikket du tar
min hånd og stryker sakte over
huden min den åpner seg for
deg strekker seg mot deg nesten
stritter etter deg som om
nærme ikke er nær nok
huden min hvisker historier og
sukker i en simpel fornøyelse over din
varme hånd jeg ser øynene dine, ordene,
øyeblikkene men de vet ikke, skjønner ikke
riktig enda kun huden min kommer bakenfor
den vet
det ordløse
den vet mer
enn både du og jeg

~ A rainy afternoon in Oslo, 2010

Monday, August 02, 2010

Because poetry...
whispers between the lines, directly to your soul


English translation will follow

Enojy! :-)
~Aasa

"
Drømmer og utopier sier de kloke menn,
de som er kalde av hjertet. Hør ikke på dem lenger
Livet er ikke bare hus og penger
Vi er bestandig på vei
Bestanding et stykke lenger
På vei mot seier eller nederlag
Det haster - Det haster i dag!

Vær utålomodig menneske
Sett dine egne spor
Det gjelder vårt evige korte liv
Det gjelder vår jord"
~Fra "Vær utålmodig menneske" av Inger Hagerup

Fra en annen virkelighet

Syk blir en av ropet om virkelighet.
Altfor nær var jeg tingene,
slik at jeg brant meg igjennom
og står på den andre siden av dem,
der lyset ikke er skilt fra mørket,
der ingen grenser er satt,
bare en stillhet som kaster meg ut i universet av ensomhet,
og av uhelbredelig ensomhet.

Se, jeg svaler min hånd i kjølig gress:
Det er vel virkelighet,
det er vel virkelighet nok for dine øyne,
men jeg er på den andre siden
hvor gresstrå er kimende klokker av sorg og bitter forventning.
Jeg holder et menneskes hånd,
ser inn i et menneskes øyne,
men jeg er på den andre siden
der mennesket er en tåke av ensomhet og angst.

Å, om jeg var en sten
som kunne rumme denne tomhetens tyngde,
om jeg var en stjerne
som kunne drikke denne tomhetens smerte,
men jeg er et menneske kastet ut i grenselandet,
og stillheten hører jeg bruse,
stillheten hører jeg rope
fra dypere verdner enn denne.
~Gunvor Hofmo


Ja visst gjør det ondt
Av Karin Boye

Ja visst gör det ondt när knoppar brister.
Varför skulle annars våren tveka?
Varför skulle all vår heta längtan
bindas i det frusna bitterbleka?
Höljet var ju knoppen hela vintern.
Vad är det för nytt, som tär och spränger?
Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister,
ont för det som växer
och det som stänger.

Ja nog är det svårt när droppar faller.
Skälvande av ängslan tungt de hänger,
klamrar sig vid kvisten, sväller, glider -
tyngden drar dem neråt, hur de klänger.
Svårt at vara ovuss, rädd och delad,
svårt at känna djupet dra och kalla,
ändå sitta kvar och bara darra -
svårt at vilja stanna
och vilja falla.

Då, när det är värst och inget hjälper,
brister som i jubel trädets knoppar,
då, när ingen rädsle längre håller,
faller i ett glitter kvistens droppar,
glömmer at de skrämdes av det nya,
glömmer at de ängslades för färden -
känner en sekund sin största trygghet,
vilar i den tillit
som skapar världen.


I kväll har himlen ingen skrud
By Karin Boye

I kväll har himlen ingen skrud.
Han huttrar naken.
Och aldrig såg jag förr hans blick
så alltför vaken.

Säg, när du somnar in i kväll:
En dag är vunnen.
På vägen där man mister allt
en rast är hunnen.

Så skall du leva dag för dag
och ständigt mista,
och ändå vilja vara kvar
in i det sista.

Så skall du finna livet starkt,
som orkar brinna.
Så skall vart miste bli en vinst --
ty du skall hinna

allt längre mot den livets grund,
som fött dig naken
och bortom alla drömmars svek
är själva saken --

tills i ditt största mistes stund
din själ förbrunnen
går till de släckta ljusens stad.
En dag är vunnen.


You shall thank
By Karin Boye

You shall thank your gods,
if they force you to go
where you have no footprints
to trust to.

You shall thank your gods,
if all shame on you they pin.
You must seek refuge
a little further in.

What the whole world condemns
sometimes manages quite well.
Outlaws were many
who gained their own soul.

He who is forced to wild wood
looks on all with new sight,
and he tastes with gratitude
life's bread and salt.

You shall thank your gods,
when your shell they break.
Reality and kernel
the sole choice you can make.



Tonight the heavens have no garb
By Karin Boye

Tonight the heaven has no garb.
He shivers naked.
And never saw I yet his gaze
so all-too waking.

Say, when you fall asleep tonight:
A day is won.
On the road where one loses all
a rest's begun.

Then you will live from day to day
and lose, lose fast,
and yet desire still to remain
until the last.

Then you will find life strong,
if you can burn.
Then will each loss become a gain -
for you shall turn

ever further towards that ground of life
that gave you birth,
and beyond all dreams' deceit
the cause is there -

until in the hour of your greatest loss
your soul, burned down,
goes to the place of extinguished lights.
A day is won.