The path's unexpected ending

A path I have walked many many times, a path I cannot walk again. Passing a clear blue sky free of clouds and an explosion of flowers in the colors of the rainbow... It leads to a place completely unexpected.

The surrounding houses there display great character and carry themselves so well. They stand as remainders of tradition, honor and excellence.

After a longer gradual uphill or short steep staircase, you enter a park flourishing with diverse beauties. Of course the flowers are blue, but at least laughter can be heard. During daytime the playground is occupied by energetic little ones, parkbenches of the early 19th century are occupied by ladies passionately discussing trivial matter and young boys (not at school) enjoying their youth. At night, mystic people and secrecies lurk in the park, which I have not really explored, but they are eccentric and exciting. ~ An ambiance anything but bleak.

Passing a river of sparkling blue water. There you find voluptuous trees, some with big branches and grand deep green leaves in all shapes. They usually leave a shaddow on the grass below them in the face of a bright summer sun. This is why people picknic underneath them, protected below from the burning sun by its leaf-branches. Although what strikes me the most is how massive the bridge is and begin to think how ironic it is that I have only passed the bridge by car and never actually walked over it myself...

Towards the end you finally arrive into the arms of angelic hospitality, in which it does not ever matter if you are inside looking out...

Love is life

Love can never grow old,
Locks may lose their brown and gold,
Cheeks may fade and hollow grow,
But the hearts that love will know,
Never winter's frost and chill,
Summer's warmth is in them still.

Live to fly...Fly to live

If swiming against the tide doesn't work, maybe your destiny is to flow together.

We don't like It and It is a pain. Step away from It, and It casts glances of disapproval, disdain and fear. It is silent but potentially deadly. As much as a tiny whisper, and It could be a melodramatic opera where the theme tune plays and everyone turns around and gasps... A lie. The lie of It.

And yet the Cowardly lion must face the the dark forest of life, the winged monkeys therein and the Wicked Witch of the West, who is threatening to shout and turn his fluffy friends into flameballs. Without resolve.

The Fox and the Grapes

The fox who longed for grapes, beholds with pain
The tempting clusters were too high to gain;
Grieved in his heart he forced a careless smile,
And cried ,‘They’re sharp and hardly worth my while'.

Home is where you hang your hat

A house is made of walls and beams;
a home is built with love and dreams

There comes a time when every child separates from their symbiotic relationship with their parent/s - when leaving home! One cannot comprehend what home is untill one has truly faced life completely on their own, without backup.

Reflecting on your defenition on where and what "home" is, may make you realise that it is rather something abstract versus concrete. In fact, the term connotes memories. It can either take the form of pain in which one had no "home" or nostalgia in which one had a pleasurable one.

Living in a near ideal and perfect home alongside a silent-killer atmosphere, moving away from home may unleash your mind with reflections. You may realize that "home" is in fact not the place itself but rather the safe haven in your life. Your child-home may have been a nightmare, yet sleeping sound in that childhood bed of yours. This is no wonder seeing as the crib as well as the bed stands to be a symbol of warmth and dreams.
So wherever it may be, home is always your safe haven. Home is where you are comfortable enough to take of your hat!

I know my love can be heard

Every breeze that blows
brings your scent to me;
Every bird that sings
calls out your name to me;
Every dream that appears
brings your face to me;
Every glance at your face
has left its trace with me.

The passive survival

By being a result of your past, all you may have is a bunch of yesterdays and perhaps very few tomorrows. You call out for something wider than this world can give. So naturally giving up may seem the most suitable. It is the easy way out, but see it is not a way out. It is the road to degenerating into further tragedy and misery.
You must never complete your life sentence to being sick because life is never solely terrible. For every piece of happiness there is a piece of unhappiness. If one of them is not there, you have not told the whole story. That is how life is. So at some point you have to stop telling yourself the same story, in other words the bitter one in bitter-sweet.

Enchanted at first sight

I look up high to see only the light,
And try not look down to see the shadow.

Have you ever had a plain horrible day when nothing goes your way, where everybody sees but no one does and you even begin to think that the beauty of being numb is getting hurt. A day when the world went away, seemingly it wandered into far cold grey... But suddently out of the blue, like an angel sent from above, someone comes along and so easily, without an effort and even knowing it, takes you out of misery. Almost as if he knew... And maybe he did. This person is now a sunshine in your eyes, for he turned your world around in an instant. Thank you! Beware your shaddow and do not forget to give yourself some credit because you were open to it, for everyone is not...

Harmonizing me

She adored him so passionately,
He was so godlike in her eyes;
and being, though untrained, instinctively refined,

her nature cried for his tutelary guidance.

When the mind takes over

To say that we will never have a wonder cure for Schizophrenia is bullshit! To ask someone with thought disorder to verbally explain is nothing but torturous. So to have psychotherapy as the only other option is even more bullshit!

It is so important that we remember Manfred Bleuler's words, the father of Schizophrenia, that there is a normal psychological life within each schizophrenic person hidden behind the psychosis. After all, he was so right! Schizophrenia is bottling up angry sadness from hurt, being a storehouse of horrors. They are not caged in misperceptions as commonly believed, they face symbolic consequences of being maligned and ill-treated.

The same way a child's imaginary friend serves a pristine purpose, the Schizophrenic's hallucination serves to allay the imminent catastrophe delusion from continuously being battered with realism. In reality, the schizophrenic is the creative child. A child who does not need to be subdued by neuroleptics or longterm psychotherapy, which is treatment-refractory in Schizophrenia anyway. They need an alternative way of expressing since verbal language fail them. Art therapy is an encounter with the image and the psyche, our inner world represented outwardly by our creative expressions. Give him a pencil, color pens or watercolors and he will paint! The process of art therapy in Schizophrenia sessions reveal the vivid inner life, which words so often fail to bring forward. Therefore it expands communication and offers insight outside the scope of the reasoning mind.

As for psychiatry, it seems that it has learned nothing from the past nor present, seeing as they keep isolating schizophrenics from their external life through hospitalization. Now how would someone, with an already bottled up internal life of silent demons and internal chaos, possibly contribute from being isolated externally as well?? Art therapy may be one way of entangling the symbolic chaos of Schizophrenia, however it will not serve any good if psychiatry stays conservative and change avoidant.

Echoes of psychoanalysis

Taker of innly symbolism,

Defiler of my deepest secrets,
Reflect my life back at me,
Lift the unopened lid,
Unpack my heart of woes,

And retie my awry bows.

Remove the meanders of wail,

Moon lit mysteries of the mind,

Rooted in lady shaddow of lows,

You fight for me like no other,

Caringly to ocean-watch me sail.

The eloquence of woodpeckers

Woodpeckers of mistrust
spreading hazy dark dust,
in mist, hollow, delight,
I must not let them,
stray blossoms so bright

One pristine wish...

Dear fairies I see at dawn,

As you spread your golden dust that gently falls into my hand and heart, I think abou how lucky I am to come across rare immortal inner children that I can see Myself in. Through you, I discover and fulfill Myself. Through you, I exist and express my reality whose name is Love. All that is before me, is also within me. So when the sun stops shining, birds stop singing and flowers stop blooming, I lay in anguish Myself... If I had one wish, just one wish, it would be that the spark of light and life dwelling in everyone, grow in strength and beauty. Let it illuminate their whole being and shine forth to embrace all that lives on the face of our beloved Mother Earth.

I love you! I love you Mother Earth.

A ray of hope

Looking at the stars,

each a singing wish,

an infinite melody of hope,

Their glow calls my heart,

I feel the smooth embrace of light,

Oh shining fairies of the sky,

grant me strength to fly.

Anxiety beclouds the future

While it slowly eats your inner child,
there you stand motionless or hide.

Anxiety is the beginning of conscience, which is the parent of the soul but is not compatible with innocence. It is not fear exactly, because fear is something right in front of you, a real danger. Instead it is a generalized sense of dread about something out there that seems menacing, but in reality is not menacing and may not even be out there. As it continues, you will find it difficult to talk yourself out of this foreboding because you become trapped in an endless loop of what-ifs. However, those what-ifs do NOT exist! So such phrasing should not either. Disallow yourself to ever utter 'what if' again, and once you do, catch yourself in the process. You will be surprised at how often you use the phrase without realising it. Lastly, the most demanding part is exposure. If you are motionless, you have to force yourself to move. Whereas if you hide, you must force yourself out into the open.

Moments of escapism

A spiral wind to end nowhere,

Keeps me swirling since I do not dare.

When happy cherub faces sting,

Feathers and tears fall down my wing.

Yet always kept in steady a hold,

Thus, escaping the chevy cold.

All flowers are not in one garden

Fact or fiction? Realism or Idealism? Which do you prefer?

Does fact mean realism and fiction, Idealism?

Absolutely not!

Alot of people seem to think that realism provide facts that are accurate picture representations of reality. However, what they do not seem to realise is that if you do not believe in a concept such as idealism, then of course you will not see nor experience it's beauty either.

With that being said, what crosses America as so astounding to me is that it has more rugged reality than not, breeds realists in a majority, yet is in fact an idealistic country. As such, my whole view of America has changed quite abit... The US is even more courageous than I thought and blessed to have a mesmerizing minority of triumphing idealists. I dare even say that they built the country and made it into everything I love about it! However, being in the minority is problematic because it means that you flowers out there are not allowed to bloom freely. You, like myself in Sweden, probably face discouragement each and every day. So if you thought you were just another brick in the wall. You are not! You are a rare daffodill in the thrall.

Is it then any wonder that more than 44.3 million Americans suffer from e.g. depression and anxiety, where about half of those are on antidepressants? Now that is realism with some actual substance!