Friday, April 18, 2014



Снощи, посред службата за Велики Четвъртък, просветна слънце сред дъжда и се появи двойна дъга. Напомняне за обещанието на Господ да не наводнява повече светa.


 

Разпети Петък




Господ слезе сред нас като Слово, като Син и като Рана. Да ни покаже - там, на кръста - колко го нараняваме, как кърви, когато го замеряме с думи и мисли, с делата си; как страда, когато го удряме с неблагодарността си. И как всеки път, когато се разплачем, като Баща, който обича, ни прощава.


Thursday, April 17, 2014



Dying Easter eggs and then later on - a double rainbow amidst a sudden burst of sunlight in the rain. A reminder of God's promise not to flood the world again. In the middle of the Great Thursday service. 



Thursday, November 28, 2013

Monday, November 12, 2012

***



Бог има, и това е въпрос не толокова на вяра, колкото на обикновенa наблюдателност. Бог е онова нещо, което, живеейки в дървото, му дава листа, с които да яде светлина, тоест, парчета от слънцето.





Thursday, September 27, 2012

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

***



God, have mercy on us.




Sunday, September 16, 2012

***



Hard to remember, hard to forget.



 

Saturday, September 15, 2012

***



Forgot my handbag in my dream. I'll have to get back to fetch it.



July 28, 2012



Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Saturday Evening Walk (Memories of Heaven)



The wallpapered birch trees 
with their peeling dresses,
the ones that look like 
the exquisite garments 
of the Santos dolls, 
clothed by a local paper artist,

the church bells three avenues down 
the grassy, 
hyacinth hill,

"Dinner is served", 
a man's voice bellows
from the inside of a house,
children slide down the steep front lawn
rolled 
in an old carped 
like a laughing burrito,
and later on -
a boy learning to balance 
on a tight rope 
stretched 
between two sycamore trees.
I think about how 
a tree learns to keep its balance 
so perfectly,
never tempted 
to lean 
over the abyss.

"Gravity holds everything 
in place, only man 
pushes out beyond what 
he belongs to" *

Once upon a time
I, too, belonged
to this earth, to this world
as the sycamore tree
walking the tight rope
of its dream
silently,
contently,
in perfect balance.



April, 2012

------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Rilke, Book of Hours




Monday, September 10, 2012

Things-in-themselves



It's a beautiful, understandable world - all things small connected through the letters they send to the senses. That's what I gathered today - the smell of a rose is a poem she writes in the book of the days. It's her essence, the fragrant transcription of her soul, the way she would like to be understood, to be remembered. 



 

Thursday, January 19, 2012

***


"It's nice to have a pet mama. You can hug her."


Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Arcadia



Танцуваме, рисуваме, свирим на пиано, решаваме задачи, пишем стихотворения, шием сърца, чаршафи, котета, корабчета, правим склуптури, правим бъркотия, правим боклук, метем, разчистваме, подреждаме си обувките, целуваме се, караме се, разхождаме се, говорим, говорим, говорим...

Идва есен, идва зима, чакаме пролетта, лятото е късо, минава незабележимо.



Sunday, December 25, 2011

***



Thou shalt not abandon thy blog.


Thursday, September 15, 2011

***



"I have dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind."



Cathy Earnshaw, "Wuthering Heights"



Sunday, August 28, 2011

August



Houses, soaked with light
And the sun, forcing its way in
As an eager, unrestrainable lover.
The streets breath in the dust
As the city makes love to the summer.



Sunday, July 31, 2011

***


Herron Island, a Year Later: Heaven Revisited


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Passion



Milla went to bed in her dancing clothes so she can dance in her dreams.



Friday, May 13, 2011

***


Студ и тъга.



Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Milla on the Moebius Strip, Inside-Outside, Perception-Conception lecture:



"Blind people don't have an outside. They only have an inside."



100.5 F


In my next life I would learn
to play the piano -
all the Chopin's preludes,
nothing more.
More would be unnecessary excess
like all those pretty dresses we buy
and never wear, cluttering our closets.
 
 

Monday, May 9, 2011

99.5 F



If I can wash my heart
like a white shirt
bleach out the blood stains
mend the holes from the backstabbing
take out the soil and the dirt
iron the wrinkles
hang it out to dry in the mild sun
of all the past summers
with their slanting afternoon light
and the smell of roses and geraniums burning to ashes
If I can inhale once again
its clean smell -
homemade soap and cotton
kissed by the fading sun,

maybe I would be ready to live again.
Or to, happily, die.



Saturday, May 7, 2011

Out of Nowhere



"Mama, my fingers are trapped in my hand."



Friday, May 6, 2011

***



Yes, our hearts are thinning out like the souls of the trees feeding on air and water.



Monday, May 2, 2011

Imaginary Houses



We were walking through our talking when we came upon our beautiful house. Even when we were walking in our house, we were still walking through our talking.


Milla,

05.02.2011



Saturday, April 30, 2011

Bloody Fruit


"Mama, do you know that the fruit has blood?"
"It does?"
"Yes, it's its juice."
 

Night Vision

 
"Mama, it's to dark in the room."
"You don't need much light, Milla. When you sleep, your eyes are closed anyway."
"Yeah, we don't see anything at night except our dreams. Mama, how do people see their dreams if their eyes are closed?"



Friday, April 29, 2011

On Being Sick

 
"Mama, I feel like macaroni in the soup. I feel like spaghetti. And I am lonely." 
"Why are you lonely, Milla? I am right here, beside you." 
"Because I have nothing to do."
"That's not lonely, MIlla, that's being bored."

"OK, then I am bored."

"Sick and bored. That's not a good combination, is it?"

 

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Moments



One day we bought chocolate and on the chocolate wrapper there was writing. It said enjoy the small things in life. I thought it was about bugs and other small creatures. But daddy told me it meant enjoy the small moments in life. I agreed. And during the day I got to see all the different moments that happened. In the morning I was happy because we were painting eggs. Then I was grumpy, because I like to be bossy and I wanted the eggs to be on the coffee table and my mom wanted them in the kitchen. Then in the afternoon we sat at the window and watched the sea. It was beautiful and relaxing. I could imagine what the weather was outside. I could feel what it felt like. It was like summer night, kind of windy, but warm. Then, at 11 o'clock, we went to church. It was squashy. But the music was beautiful. It was Easter. I was happy.

Life isn't one whole big moment. Many different things can happen in a day. You can be happy all day, or be grumpy or sad.  But even if you are sad, there would be all these small moments that you could enjoy.


Milla,

Easter 2011


Monday, April 18, 2011

Gravity



Went to Seattle Planetarium this afternoon. Turns out the fastest way to lose weight is to go to Pluto.


Monday, April 11, 2011

9:00 a.m.



Странни години. Апоретични. Хаотични. Издълбани. Премълчани.



Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Taxonomy of Love

 
- What was the name of this movie, mama?
- "The Fifth Element".
- What is the Fifth Element?
- Love.
- Isn't it supposed to be the First One?
 
 

Friday, April 1, 2011

Sonata for Rain and Piano



We met a girl today. Two years old, blue eyes, red hooded raincoat. “Hi” - I said. She stared at me for a while, then asked: “Is it me?” “Yes, it’s definitely you.” - I said. “That rain is awesome” - the girl said and started singing and dancing, clapping her little hands. I smiled. Her mother smiled. My daughter  smiled.

Somewhere in the recesses of the universe God smiled too. And the rain kept falling. 



Bloody Carrots



"Мамо, днес обядвахме хот дог и моркови. Морковите бяха меки и кървави."
 
 

Thursday, March 24, 2011

***



MIss my old apartment on the 14th Avenue, the attic in Sofia, all the places I have inhabited, exscribed my soul onto, then abandoned in order to move on, to exist. They inhabit me now, inscribed into memory, deeply forgotten, forever remembered, lost dwellings, cluttered in the house of memory as orphaned children in a motherless home.