Stuart

Stuart worked at a local bar where he officially got drunk from Thursday to Monday and not officially from Monday to Thursday. He had a ‘buddy’ called Harry (from Monday to Thursday he was referred to as a ‘drunk’). Harry was a middle-aged, big-nosed, comforting-faced, buddy-like person.

“What is happiness?” he once asked Stuart.

“Happiness is when you can abandon your whole life and not feel a thing,” answered the barman with a smirk. “’Cause that means you’re free and freedom is happiness. Past is a prison of shame.”

“That’s funny ‘cause I always thought it was the other way around you see. That committing to something you care deeply about is the way to go. Which brings me here, to this cozy little pub, trying to get pissed every day of the week when I know I can’t any more. What I’m really doing is committing to the one thing I care deeply about- rum!” Harry laughed. “Cheers, Stu!”

Stuart was left bemused. “Are you happy, my friend?”

“Happier with the glass than without it. I think. I am a drunk and you are a man with no past. When I look at you and then when I look at myself, I’d say we’re both far far faaaaaaar away from the answer. Far away from the truth,” said Harry and skulled the last of his rum.

Blackberry Stone by Laura Marling

Well I own this field,
And I wrote the sky,
And I have no reason to reason with you.

I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered,
But I'd understand that I'd never let it go.
I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered,
But I'd understand the world does what it does.

You never did learn to let the little things go.
You never did learn to let me be.
You never did learn to let little people grow.
You never did learn how to see.

But I'd whisper that I love this man,
Now and for forever,
To your soul as it floats out of the window,
To the world that you turned your back on,
To the world that never let you be.

And I am lower now, and Laura still,
And you did always say that one day I would suffer.
Did always say that people get their pay.
You did always say that I was going places,
And that you wouldn't have it any other way.

But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like wouldn't let me.
But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like, I needed.

And I shouldn't turn my back on the sweet smelling blackberry stone.

Doubt

'A woman was gossiping with her friend about a man whom they hardly knew - I know none of you have ever done this. That night, she had a dream: a great hand appeared over her and pointed down on her. She was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The next day she went to confession. She got the old parish priest, Father O' Rourke, and she told him the whole thing. 'Is gossiping a sin?' she asked the old man. 'Was that God All Mighty's hand pointing down at me? Should I ask for your absolution? Father, have I done something wrong?' 'Yes,' Father O' Rourke answered her. 'Yes, you ignorant, badly-brought-up female. You have blamed false witness on your neighbor. You played fast and loose with his reputation, and you should be heartily ashamed.' So, the woman said she was sorry, and asked for forgiveness. 'Not so fast,' says O' Rourke. 'I want you to go home, take a pillow upon your roof, cut it open with a knife, and return here to me.' So, the woman went home: took a pillow off her bed, a knife from the drawer, went up the fire escape to her roof, and stabbed the pillow. Then she went back to the old parish priest as instructed. 'Did you cut the pillow with a knife?' he says. 'Yes, Father.' 'And what were the results?' 'Feathers,' she said. 'Feathers?' he repeated. 'Feathers; everywhere, Father.' 'Now I want you to go back and gather up every last feather that flew out onto the wind,' 'Well,' she said, 'it can't be done. I don't know where they went. The wind took them all over.' 'And that,' said Father O' Rourke, 'is gossip!''

But what happens at 5 o'clock?

White morning. Clear and pure. A beautiful sight to behold. I caught what my third eye couldn't and it was a wonderful catch.
I moved my bed next to the window. How can I be miserable when the first thing when I open my eyes is see heaven?
I put my favourite books on the windowsill. How can I be miserable if the first thing I breathe in is understanding from people I’ve never met?
I put some photographs of my favourite place on the wall. How can I be miserable if the first thing I feel is everlasting content?
I put my friend on the floor next to me. How can I be miserable if the first thing I hear is the sound of laughter?
I let my lover next to me. How can I be miserable if I’ve spent the night awake in my dreams?

Purple night. Dirty in it’s hush and vulgar in it’s sounds. A cold to reach each fingertip. I caught what I had to so I would never have to say this again.
I moved my bed next to the window. How can I be happy when the last thing before I close my eyes is see a starless and unforgiving sky?
I put my ashtray on the windowsill. How can I be happy if the last thing I breathe in will be my death?
I put a clock and a calendar on the wall. How can I be happy if the last thing I feel is the time running out?
I put my enemy on the floor next to me. How can I be happy if the last thing I hear is the sound of mockery?
I let my lover next to me. How can I be happy if I've spent the night a thousand miles away from him?

There is no me

My most recent lesson was this- just because a group of people agree on something, doesn't make it The Truth. I shall stay true to myself. As stubborn and as true as I am.

I've been hitting rock bottom for many months, but my feet haven't touched the ground for ages.




Olematu laul

Ainult õhk on me vahel, nii puhas ja hõre,
Et üleni päris sind näen.
Ent ses õhus on ees valgest kaugusest võre
Ma kardan, et sirutad käe

Ja tuuli vaid tunned, sest mind ju ei ole.
Tuul on kõikjal ja tuules üks lind
Sulle laulab, et midagi muutunud pole.
Ära taipa, et polegi mind.

Minu juured on kevadet ootamas mullas,
Ise lendlen kesk taevast ja lund
Vahel helbena suudan su juurdegi tulla
Ja sa näed minust heledat und

Kuid tuuli vaid tunned, sest mind ju ei ole.
Tuul on kõikjal ja tuules üks lind
Sulle laulab, et midagi muutunud pole.
Ära taipa, et polegi mind.

Ära püüa mind kutsuda, valjusti hüüda-
Ma ju kuulen, kuid tulla ei saa,
Mind ei ole veel olemas sinule nüüd
Ja endas hoiab mind külmunud maa.

Sina hellita tuuli, sest mind ju ei ole
Tuul on kõikjal, hell sinine tuul.
Ära kutsu mind, niikuinii sinuga olen
Lumehelbena sulan su suul.

[Leelo Tungal]