Perspective

A reflection of the year and a "see you someday".

My home was where my little corner would be in the apartment. A fixed place in the universe.

[...] Home needs to come to you / before you can even know what home means [...]

In this episode, we'll take a journey through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and ask a question: is the sorting ceremony a forever choice or rather a momentary one?

[...] sectarianism: / belonging gone bad. [...]

Imagine picking up/ The house from down below

[...] How much brushwork complexity do you need / to say the elemental? [...]

The forest is dark and frightening place and on the darkest of nights, witch's voice is coming from the depths of it, especially on the eve of the night of the saints. Nobody knew what creatures were hiding between the darkness of the trees. No one in their right mind would voluntarily walk into its mouth, knowing that would be the last time anyone would see them. [...]

[...] The woods surrounding the village were as dark as ever. No sound of life could be heard, no birds chirping, no leaves rustling, no twigs breaking under the paws of foxes. Even the stream was silent. Only a hissing, low and desolate whisper started now to be audible, as it elbowed its way through the briers to the sky. [...]

[...] For me, this time of year always traps me in between happiness and melancholy. This is the time of “I wish...” and “to be...” - always, always with a mug of tea in my hands. [...]

[...] The seasons change, pass, follow one another, in a flow that doesn’t really take everything they find on their way with them, because everything that is in the way of the seasons also kind of is the seasons actually. [...]

The alternate history moments usually stop at the 10th infinity. Today, it continues. As if, my brain wants to explore every corner of the universe imaginable.

Ella Frances Sanders once wrote: “A lot of people are so busy running about doing nothing of any real importance—so busy that they do not ever notice they are covered in stars.” In side A and B of this episode, we will make time to notice “we are infinite as the universe we hold inside”.

On a day like this, when the wind is just enough to suppress the city noise, I try to listen to the stories it wants to share.

[...] The average depth of the ocean is two and a half miles. And only about five percent of the ocean has been seen, let alone explored. [...]

This lonely moon observing and wishing, to be able to experience the same emotions and feelings as the lucky ones down below, every night without a doubt. Always different place, always different people but the same emotions shared between them.

[...] while more or less everyone was minding their own business, out of the blue, without a sound, the Moon shattered in a million pieces. And the whole Earth was sprinkled with a light rain of silver dust… [...]

[...] And then you smile. No reason, other that pure joy that is surrounding you - just for a moment, shorter than you might like, but grateful that it’s there. [...]

[...] Can this be hell? Is stillness hell? Or do we look for stillness from hell? [...]

She recognised the boy unsecure and unknown With the bouquet of flowers, she saw once, before Colorful and bright, just like the life she has led The one, once forgotten, unsaid

[...] Once upon a time, one particular violet slowly bloomed out of its bud, and under the tender kiss of the morning dew, realized it actually didn’t feel a violet at all. [...]

This is a special case, and I will try to treat it with the utmost respect, but a case we need to talk about, nonetheless.

[...] There have been times when going to the cinema, into this world of illusion and yet of truth, has affected me for the better in a much more real way than the real world could. [...]

What if that would be possible? What if that happened? We would talk again about anything and everything? About all of the stories and movies and so much more. We would be “us” again.

[...] Perhaps it’s better for dreams and reality to stay in their separate realms. But then again, which of those two lives is more real, more authentic? In which of those two lives are we more awake? [...]

Silence. A concept that we, small human beings struggle with understanding it. Because what is silence anyway?

(The time to write a postcard)

[...] Somehow is all this madness of moving from country to country, from being a student to starting to work and having project and ideas and my own life, I have found peace in the motions of making tea. [...]

[...] For me, tea simply creates a special moment of astral coincidence in which absorption and rest are perfectly aligned. You are there, but you can be there without struggle. [...]

I know a strange concept, how can I rest in the constant roar of the cars and horns. Well, my perfect resting city, isn’t perfect, of course. No place is perfect. But it’s perfect to rest because it has all of the things I need to rest.

[...] Cities can break your heart. Or give you peace. A city is a whole universe. They can be ghosts, or dreams. Sometimes I wonder if those two things are the same. [...]

As translation is a complicated topic, even more complicated matter is when you add other means of communication to it. In this old-ish format of the episode, Magda focuses on what really are the elements of this wonderfully complicated mess of translation!

[...] But the conclusion I wanted to get to, in the end, is, in the words of my friend Amruta: “knowing two languages doesn’t make you a translator any more than having ten fingers makes you a pianist.” And yet, as I sat down thinking what I would talk about, if I had to talk about translation, I realized this wasn’t the conclusion at all. [...]

[...] Today those mountains made me smile appreciating what I have and where I am. While filling my eyes with tears of the things I have lost or never experience again. Have I lost the thing that I wanted to have or is this the step into the right direction? [...]

Let’s make this clear from the beginning: when it rains, you really shouldn’t be in a hurry. Especially if you have to drive. And especially if you have to drive an old and bashed and clangoring car. And especially if, being older than the other cars, your car’s body is also heavier than other cars. And even more especially if your car is so old the tires have glued themselves to the wheel, so the last time you could change them was when you bought the car in the first instance. [...]

The city was like a rainbow. No. Even more so. It was like there is an invisible prism breaking the sunlight into millions of the colours of the world. Standing there in the city centre was like standing in the painting from the impressionism era. (...)

[...] June is the color of bees, of wheat fields, of fireflies, of bicycles, of kites, of silence. [...]

[...] Somewhere in the far distance, there was a splash. Another chunk of ice fell down, disrupting the cold arctic water... [...]

[...] Perhaps, when the archaeologists of the future will rummage in the garbage we will have left behind to give some sign of what it was to live the way we lived, what they’ll find is that we were just too overwhelmed to do or know or feel anything. Too lost to understand, or even just to listen. [...]

This episode we are trying to imagine a life without clocks!

[...] There was a big explosion. They called it terrorism. Terrorism is when some humans decide some other humans are not humans anymore. They told me the hands just stood, in shock, where they were. The face transfixed into the exact moment time had stopped. They repaired my friend. Time made the hands flow again. Made the heart tick again. But there’s a difference between a ticking and a beating heart. After years, my friend just couldn’t pretend anymore. Time had to stop. And it did. [...]

[...] Is it something so glorious that we need to call it the art? Is it really something that we need to put in the same category as the da Vinci or Shakespeare. As if the art of letting go is something equally beautiful to the writings or paintings of Michael Angelo or Dante [...]

[...] What I want to say, is that sometimes you need to let go of the things you lose. Because they are lost anyway. Because life needs to go on. Because you can be dead when you’re dead. But that doesn’t mean that they’re lost on you as you think they are. [...]

[...] How can you ever be sure that if you think about me, when you think intensely about me, I am not at the same time thinking about you from some other dimension? Will you ever get of rid of me? Do you really want to get rid of me? [...]

We are going back in time to an old format of the podcast, but it just one of us doing the talking! You will hear what witches and vampires are up to in XXI century and a debate on why magic and immortality is still a case with such advanced science.

[...] The way the heat would warm me up was actually making me glad for the night that settled into the meadow. One of the beautiful moments to experience in the winter is the warmth of the fire cracking quietly in the corner of the room. Sitting safely surrounded by the four walls. [...]

[...] It was as if we were all possessed by an intimate realization that there, with the snow all around us brightening up an otherwise cruelly gray city, we were a family of the enchanted. [...]

[...] Sometimes, I wonder how free we’d be, how magical and luxuriant, how honest and unrestrained we’d be, if we let ourselves live like rain. Will we ever have the courage to live like that? To live and not care for anything else that isn’t living? [...]

[...] Ah, that quiet noise of the rain tapping lightly on the window. While staring at the glass surface following the small streaks being pulled down by the gravity, I got lost yet again in the spiral of thoughts, completely forgetting the tea I have made myself. It must be it! After all, I am known to get lost in the simplest things. [...]

[...] So one fine day, as I was laying on a hammock I was looking at the wind lightly touching my hand. Naturally, I would then shift my focus from the wind to my hand and the skin protecting my bones. We use the word skin to describe many things. Some realistic, some… less possible. [...]

[...] It’s worth it, to stick around, to drown and to float, to sink, shrink, and to rise, with a new thank you wrinkled on your skin: it’s been an honor, every time, to entwine my story with yours, to pour my river into your sea, and be if nothing else one line of the design life has painted, waited on your beautiful face. [...]