Tag Archives: invisible stories

Happiness is the root of all life

We are all unhappy people feeding on shines of never-ending stories of happier people around. Are we? Are they?
We are being consumed and trampled over over and over again.
After careful consideration and many well-built walls and some exquisite moats I declare that happiness does not rest with (other) people. Happiness starts with just US.
Yes, people create magic with a mere smile on a windy, bleak, hopeless morning that speeds away with every bit of light. Yet we are tired of being sunned over and then led into a haze of misunderstandings and apprehension…
Still we are totally unhappy and utterly happy in our own world. After bitter disappointments with the people I hold dearest, I place my every happiness in my carefully crafted dome.

“Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons.” – Oscar Wilde

I divide my happiness by seasons and I season my dome with everything I love and feels warm to the heart. In the aftermath of winter I put my glorious bike trips in the cold into odes to spring – my poems about the coming of the Sun, the ladybirds and the folstitia…One can never write too many invisible stories about spring and hunt too many lilacs.

I have there my beautiful early mornings drenched in autumn rains and also in beautiful snippets of music.

I have there the fairy tale books I read on cold, misty and pointless winter evenings… I have there my every expectation towards spring like a dull root waiting for warmth and birdsong to make it come out into the crude light again.

I can do whatever, I can solve everything, people can blow all their freezing-cold thoughts all over me, still they cannot steal my glow, they can merely break some windows, because I am protected by all of these small beauties awaiting me under my dome.

They say pennies are the mother of pounds. Small, insignificant pleasures like the new moon or a beautiful flower are the mother of happiness.

First you’ve got to see the moon to be over the moon.
















Art by Rob Gonsalves.

Love Labyrinth

Labyrinth is called
The love
outstretching and unending
like the gusts
of fadeless despair…
Against the mild dews
in pure mornings.

Tomorrows spread
and dawn always
Whilst the scent of your
Love is immortal.

Love is not love
if created in a feeling
of today.

Joaquim Mir - The Labyrinth









Art – Joaquim Mir – The Labyrinth.


The story in the beginning
is always hard…
Then you cannot escape it.
It coils around you deeper and deeper
and burns with words
I met him one shiny wintry day
My heart was as confused as the weather….

Ivan Fedorovich Choultse









Art by Ivan Fedorovich Choultsé (1877 – 1932).

The desert

“…the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.”
Michael Ondaatje.

The desert…
Where everything is communal and eternal.

Where every whisper of Love hits
the depth
Of Reason.

Where moonbeams
linger longer
and draw misterious chants
in the sand.

I believe in it.


Rene Magritte








Painting by Rene Magritte.

What friends?

I have the sun
and the full moons,
The air and the water

The memories of
the sweet hills
and the crescent moon
keeping the vineyards
in bloom.

For my love
I would give
My hills
wrapped in balmy
vine flowers.

“If I can stop a heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain”. Emily Dickinson



William Blake’s birthday

William Blake: 28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827.

“Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.”

“The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.”

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.”


William Blake, “The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy“, 1795. Blake’s vision of Hecate, Greek goddess of black magic and the underworld.

William Blake








He has been my beacon in declaring my Invisible Stories, as imagination can make the Invisible, Visible.