Wednesday, 15 October 2014

Duality © by Irina Serban







      Day and night, good and bad, hot and cold, male and female… We all know about the everyday opposites, we all live through them and with them. Each element of duality has a thin border that is so easy to be trespassed, so hard to notice even when one has stepped on it: between day and night, there’s the dawn or the dusk—an instant, as fugitive as the blinking of an eye, between hot and cold, there’s warm, between light and darkness, there’s shadow. They interweave and complement each other. One neither can exist nor can acquire meaning without the other.

     We all enclose each aspect of duality, and all the shades in between because that’s what makes us complex, intricate beings. Or is it? Are we so unique? Isn’t it there that Nature offered us the matrix long before we were even aware of duality’s existence?

     Look at the rivers! Their strength in shaping their own bed, in shaping stones and surpassing obstacles borrows something from the masculine strength. But their sinuous movement, their tumultuous flowing, their nurturing and life-preserving essence has many things in common with the feminine attributes.

     Look at the trees! They look sturdy in their upright flight towards the sky, and their deep, strong roots are hard to be plucked out even during the strongest storms. Do you know why? Because that’s when their crowns bend in the wind, trying to protect the whole tree.

     Look at the mountains! Their peaks touch the clouds and their rocky versants sometimes give cold shivers even to the most skilled climbers. Yet, they hold whole forests filled with creatures needing their steep protection.

     Have you noticed the pattern? Masculine – Feminine! Giving – Receiving! Nature works in circles: a circle within a circle within a circle, which beginning or end cannot be grasped. We are in the same image. We all contain light and darkness, masculine and feminine aspects. We are maps created on dual aspects, but what differentiates us from all creation is the capacity to choose. If the tree cannot choose whether to stay upright or not through a storm, we can! If the river cannot choose whether to stop in front of a damn or surpass it, we can!

     As helpless as we may seem in front of such an infinity of traits, of circles within circles, it is the best way to live because that’s where magic loves to dwell: in the thin threshold between all the worlds contained within us.


     We are infinite, and we carry within us the memory of an eternal soul, a memory, which lies dormant, but which is revived at the touch of another dormant soul. About this in my next blog post.


© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved 


Thursday, 9 October 2014

Great People, Small People © by Irina Serban






     Small People hold a grudge against Great People. Why? Ask them, and I’m sure they won’t be able to give you a valid answer. They just feel it. Full stop.

     Small People live their lives hunting the imperfections of Great People. That’s what makes their day: Great People’s mistakes.

     Small People don’t have a life of their own, not because they haven’t been endowed with one, but because they developed a wonderful strategy of avoiding living it while preoccupied with Great People’s lives.

     Small People are the aggressive. They attack Great People when the latest are hurt, because that’s how, they think, they can bring them down on their knees, and they can prove their superiority.

     Small People are the gossipers. They know everything in the world, but nothing about themselves.

    Small People function well in packs. Their force is in numbers.

     Meanwhile, Great People live passionately, make mistakes, cry, get hurt, fall, stumble, get up again, love, fight, search peace, colour their lives in as many hues and shades as possible.

    Great People are alone, but never lonely!

Great People learn! And one of the lessons is that they have to heal their wounds, thus, Small People hold no weapon against them anymore.

For this is true: when you don’t live your life, you get to know everything about everybody, but not a thing about yourself. Such a weird place to be: outside your soul, delving into preoccupations that are not your own! Such a weird way to live: as a stranger, unknown!


© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved 


Random Thoughts On Random Facts © Irina Serban





Wednesday, 1 October 2014

Under The Yellow Leaves © by Irina Serban



Illustration: Owl by Gaudi Buendia http://gaudibuendia.deviantart.com/art/Owl-373807245

Under the yellow leaves
My dreams were strolling,
I fell asleep
As I watched them falling.

The trees quivered at her suave voice while singing what she always called ‘the song of my heart’. The eerie melody had nothing of the joy the whole forest was used to seeing on her beautiful face. For the song of her heart spoke about longing, about shattered dreams and broken heart, about disappointment and tears.

Her long, diaphanous dress made of silver moon rays sparkled in the first shreds of morning light. Her bare feet touched gently the moist land, her little white hand caressed the autumn flowers, which petals were heavy with dew, dew that she would gather in a golden jug every morning.

She had given up her wings for him, the Lord of the Owls, and that put an end to their impossible story. He blamed her for not being able to fly and follow him anywhere anymore. She suffered, closing the words and reasons inside the secret vaults of her soul—she had to give them up in order to be allowed to live their love! Otherwise, a faerie could not love a night creature, be it as majestic as him!

Snow, for that was her name, perhaps acquired because of her white complexion, crouched by the river, which crossed furiously through the very core of the woods. She bended over, and mirrored her face into its waters.

“What did I do for love?” she sighed.

She thought that love was to be felt only with one’s soul and heart, while head and reason had nothing to do with it. Life taught her otherwise: that love should not force anyone into giving up who they were, for love did not ask for such a sacrilege. On the contrary, love should suffice itself and should overcome any obstacle.

“What did I do for one who did not love me?” she said again, playing with her fingers in the gelid water of the river.

Under the yellow leaves
My hopes were dreaming,
I hid beneath
As I watched them dimming.

Snow had dreamt of becoming one of the most powerful faeries, of guarding the forest and its creatures the best she could, of flying to the other side of the green realm in one instant. Now, all she could do was walking and gathering dew to brew the magic potions for all the creatures in need. She had not seen the other faeries for so long that she even forgot how they looked like. She was lonely! She knew she could not turn back time, or change things to how they used to be. Yet, she never failed seeking for a solution, waiting for a sign, smiling.

“The light of your smile scares even the sickest darkness,” her beloved used to tell her.

And he did love her! From high above, hidden between the branches, the Lord of the Owls watched her every day, and his heart softened and filled with sadness. He was waiting, too. Days ago, he returned from an important journey. He had flown for seven nights up to the abode of the Great Wise Owl, seeking advice.

“Go back,” he answered. “You gave up her love! You cannot help her! It’s all in her hands! I shall come in due time!”

Under the yellow leaves
It’s love I’m searching,
I’d fly above
But he’s still missing.

Snow rose and took her golden jug filled up to the rim with dew. When she turned, she saw the Great Wise Owl approaching at a slow pace, leaning his many years on a wooden, crooked staff. She had heard about him, but never had the chance of meeting him. She bowed her head in respect. He raised her chin with his wing.

“Now, child! How come such a beautiful smile not cast away the clouds inside your heart?”

“I suppose it still works only for others not for myself anymore.”

“What are you searching for, child, and haven’t found?”

“I’m lost, Great Wise Owl! I have no clue what to search for! I used to be one of the most beautiful faeries, with great silver wings forged from moon dust and tied together with star threads. I fell in love with one of your kind. My kinship gave me freedom of choice: my powers, my wings, everything that a faerie is, or him. I chose him, thinking that the absence of wings wouldn’t matter to him. But it did, more than our love. And I learnt that one should never give up her dreams, herself for the love of another. For the one who loves, never asks such a thing, and the one who doesn’t, never understands such a sacrifice. I can’t be whom I used to be anymore, and I don’t know whom I might become.”

The Great Wise Owl caressed her long silver hair, and something from his old age experience made him smile.

“Wings or no wings, powers or no powers, you are the same, you do the same things a faerie does. You still guard this forest and its creatures. But I gathered, that you miss flying the most, my child. I can give you wings, but I can’t give you the inner flight, which you long for so much. Yet, the wings I can give you are not faerie wings and cannot be attached on you under this form. Either you change completely and learn to become someone new, or you remain as such and learn to live with yourself.”

“Better someone new!”

She did not even finish uttering the words that, with one move of the staff, the Great Wise Owl gave her a new pair of wings and a new look: that of a snowy owl. Her love for the Lord of the Owls never diminished, so, she forgave him, and they lived their love happily.



One can still hear her singing the eerie song, but she does it for others this time, for she is always around the people who are sad trying to tell them that nothing is lost unless they give up hope, that it is never too late to change and live the life they have always wanted, that love, indeed, suffices to itself and never asks for anything in return.

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved 



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