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(un)watered gardens


the feeling of having lost something.

my most essential part.

where to find it?

you open a book, the chapter reads 'on separation',

you read:


Sometimes I forget completely

what companionship is.

Unconscious and insane, I spill sad

energy everywhere. My story

gets told in various ways: a romance,

a dirty joke, a war, a vacancy.

Divide up my forgetfulness to any number,

it will go around.

These dark suggestions that I follow,

are they part of some plan?

Friends, be careful. Don’t come near me

out of curiosity, or sympathy.


The poet is Rumi, the words

eight hundred years old,

but brand new

reading what you lost,


the loss is less

- but still, don't come near me

you keep reading


My worst habit is I get so tired of winter

I become a torture to those I’m with.

If you’re not here, nothing grows.

I lack clarity. My words

tangle and knot up.

How to cure bad water? Send it back to the river.

How to cure bad habits? Send me back to you.

When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools,

dig a way out through the bottom

to the ocean. There is a secret medicine

given only to those who hurt so hard

they can’t hope.

The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

Look as long as you can at the friend you love,

no matter whether that friend is moving away from you

or coming back toward you.


I started looking,

less loss,

but the friend I love seems to be moving away.

no matter.

keep looking

keep reading:


You miss the garden,

because you want a small fig from a random tree

You don’t meet the beautiful woman.

You’re joking with an old crone.


Let yourself be silently drawn

by the stronger pull of what you really love.


yes, yes, this loss is my loss

this garden is my garden.

a dear friend once sent me this poem

of a garden untended:


The wind, one brilliant day, called

to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

'In return for the odor of my jasmine,

I'd like all the odor of your roses.'

'I have no roses; all the flowers

in my garden are dead.'

'Well then, I'll take the withered petals

and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:

'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'

Below, a beautiful reading of the poem:


how to water your garden?

find a well

and dive in

is it bad water?

send it to the river

does it get caught in habitual whirlpools?

dig a way out through the bottom

to the ocean





listen with ears opened

otherwise it's just sound

how to open your ears?

i don't know

- let go

it happened

I listened


I heard

this song:

I listen

not just sounds,

also words,

Open on all channels

Ready to receive

Cause we're not at the mercy

Of your chimeras and spells

Your chimeras and spells


We are of the earth

To her we do return


(One day at a time)

One day at a time


The numbers don't decide

The system is a lie

A river running dry


We'll take back what is ours

Take back what is ours

One day at a time


Open, ready to receive,

one day at a time.

That's all it ever is, ever can be.

my eyes see a bit more

my ears hear a bit more

there is a bit more

the loss is less

slowly, returning

back into the world

through the well


through the well

(no shortcuts)

‘Let yourself be silently drawn

by the stronger pull of what you really love.’

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