Thaw in Ludza

I carry my love
As a child—a one year old—
Carries a chestnut leaf:
So seriously holds the outstretched hand,—
It’s so difficult to balance the tiny step
With giant autumn all around.—
From the trees
Fall and fall
Rustling golden secrets
And confuse his steps.
But the little one doesn’t slip.
He carries his leaf.
He holds on to his leaf
And elegantly walks into the blizzard of leaves

“Unable are the Loved to die. For Love is Immortality».

~Emily Dickinson



Vatican City


Poem 151 by Michaelangelo


Not even the best of artists has any conception that a single marble block does not contain within its excess, and that is only attained by the hand that obeys the intellect. The pain I flee from and the joy I hope for are similarly hidden in you, lovely lady, lofty and divine; but, to my mortal harm, my art gives results the reverse of what I wish.

Love, therefore, cannot be blamed for my pain, nor can your beauty, your hardness, or your scorn, nor fortune, nor my destiny, nor chance, if you hold both death and mercy in your heart at the same time, and my lowly wits, though burning,  cannot draw from it anything but death.


We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.” –Jawaharial Nehru

The Netherlands

Dream by Pagan Warrior


Why do I have dreams I’m flying

Floating above the Earth uncontrolably

I feel so weightless and so free

Without my feet underneath me

But then I go and float off

And always catch myself in time

As I float away into the sky

I have a hard time staying in control

Of how high up I float

I drift free of the envy

Of those on the ground beneath me

Wishing with the birds they could fly

I hope not to drop too fast and die

But overall I am free

From all the mundane stress and worries

Could it not be a dream, instead my astral self?

Or only wishful thinking I could reach the top shelf

I experiment with these things, and think them over in my mind

Wait to see what I find out, it’s only a matter of time


Denne lysbildefremvisningen krever JavaScript.

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”

St. Augustine




Illusion and Reality by Kabir

What is seen is not the Truth
What is cannot be said
Trust comes not without seeing
Nor understanding without words
The wise comprehends with knowledge
To the ignorant it is but a wonder
Some worship the formless God
Some worship His various forms
In what way He is beyond these attributes
Only the Knower knows
That music cannot be written
How can then be the notes
Says Kabir, awareness alone will overcome illusion

Denne lysbildefremvisningen krever JavaScript.


«The self is like a pearl. To find it you must dive deep down into silence, deeper and ever deeper until it is reached.»

– Sri Ramana Maharshi



The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Denne lysbildefremvisningen krever JavaScript.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain




Houses and People by Angkarn Chantatip

Each spot each spot kindles an image…

the seashore the plain the top of a mountain

the rice field the roadside he bleak grey twilight

there, then here, the light is tended…

Glistening splendour of life

each place each direction arrives in the city

the countryside riversides near far

never without houses and people 

The forms of the houses are created by people

everywhere is old from the beginning

the dark ancient times are finished
go beyond the past until you reach the present

People build houses homes

their dreams are built from the light of their lives

the truth of all things is sustained

by that – forever

Each place is the dream of an image

reveals a truth stronger than
the heart of the darkest darkness

everywhere under the sky there is light

Glistening brilliance of life

the deep dark night the traveller the wide world

each place everywhere it breaks through
never without houses and people



Denne lysbildefremvisningen krever JavaScript.



The use of traveling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are.” – Samuel Johnson



French Polynesia


Denne lysbildefremvisningen krever JavaScript.

There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.”

Robert Louis Stevenson