the belief in things

the water is deep. it hides unknown things. there could be a simply hungry shark, or a stealthy submarine watching you as you do your thing - up on the surface. you could be swimming carefree at one moment and end up being someone's lunch or conquest. it could be a conspiracy or just natural entropy.
so - do you think about the other side of the reflective surface?
on the up-side there is definite serenity. stroke-two-three, stroke-two-three, stroke... the water is calm, the only thing making waves is probably my head breaking the surface for air. and probably my ass. i've fixated on a patch of pines on the other side of the bay. i've never been there, at least not swimming. it's the goal, for now - it's an idea. i will get there eventually. it's just one of the ideas for the future. for now i'm satisfied with my stroke. it's the breaststroke, but with a twist - a little butterfly-kick to delay my breath. and it feels good on the back. i'm looking at the pines. i passed along the other shore years ago, by bike. there is a little clearing where the locals play petanque. i've heard that the world champion plays learned to play there, and sometimes does still.
the water is cold today. no wonder - there's two more weeks to go before the tourists come, before they make into the summer soup that it sometimes is. there's no one in the water. not even boats. just seaweed blown in by the storm this morning. the bay has a very small mouth and most of what gets tossed in stays in. but there is always enough space. if you're not worried about what lies beneath the surface.
i feel as strong as a horse. i'm thinking i might even get to the other side. my majka isn't expecting me to be out long, and it would probably be a terrible fright, but who cares. i feel like conquering the world, just by getting to the other side.
it's strange to be swimming in such a big lake. i'm aware that the mountains are around me, even though the only thing i see is the reflective surface of the water before me, the mellow dents in it, and the pines at the foot of the mountain. there's no horizon for miles. i'm deep inland surrounded by 1000-meter peaks. but i am well aware that the ships that pass through this same water that i'm swimming in have sailed the seven seas, seen far-off lands, and that they carry with them secrets of the deep.
no way! i'm not going to make it. or at least i'm not going to risk it. swimming is not my sport and no matter how wise i am about pacing myself i know when i'm entering uncharted territory. and regardless of what people think - i don't take risks. educated adrenalin shots maybe - but not risks :)
i've made it maybe a third of the way. i'm sure that i can make it across but how would i get back? lesson learned. another one added to another volume of the book called life. i look behind. the houses on the shore look a lot bigger than i expected them to. but then what do i know? off to the west clouds are resting atop the first peak above the bay. i've climbed that one (the lesson learned that day was much greater than the one today - and it could have been much more costly). the evening sun managed to pierce two rays through the thick cumulonimbus, and they shine on the water. the gray mist covers the mountainsides and the image reeks of energy. the might powers silently struggling between themselves - air against sun, water against stone. millions of years at war, and me seeing but a puny strife. me sitting there in the middle of a dark bay, my white body gleaming beneath the water's surface on a calm evening in late spring. i can imagine the view from the mountain.
the sun rides parallel to the mountain above the village. it skips off the oaks and olive trees on the protruding parts, and slams into the old village half way up the mountain. there's no one living there any more, no one but an old couple with their donkey, two cows and herd of goats. the occasional tourist passes by their home on the way to the old church, to see the view. the only way up is the medieval cobblestone path winding its way steeply up the hill through groves of chestnuts and oaks, and then olives. the clock strikes seven. it's a new clock, driven by electricity. the old one is now just an exhibit for the curious.
the tranquility of the water. no waves, no sway, just water. and then i see my legs beneath the surface and remember that there is 20 stories worth of water beneath me...
the main place everyone visits in this part of the bay is right across. that's where the petanque champion grew up, but no one knows him. the town is famous for its captains who sailed around the world, brining riches to their awaiting families, and the church that they built out on a rock in front of the town. lady of the rock. she shines now in the evening sun. people travel miles to see it and i feel spoiled. its but a boat ride away, and its been like that for years. now i might even swim to it one day. the church floats in the middle of the bay as though it was built out of styrofoam. its unreal. but it's there.
i take a look around once more. the village up the mountain, the rays piercing the clouds and water, the island glistening in the sun, the old town and its church tower. this is a reality. and right now it's my reality. it's not that i belong here - i don't, at least no more than i belong anywhere else. and i definitely don't belong in the water - i don't have fins. but this is where i am and what i should take advantage of. and it is also something that will be there later. even if i'm not here. it's time to go back. i guess i'll be back here again some day. like so many places i've been over the years.
i stare at the yellow house, in the second row from the water. stroke-two-three, stroke-two-three, stroke... the journey back can never be compared to the one going out. it's the way back, home. i'm there in minutes, or at least that's how it feels. the adventure is over. i was on the water, i was in the water - i didn't get pulled under. i did what was mine and i'm going on to the next thing. the cold air greets my dripping body. the breeze makes me focus on by breathing. muscles pulsate as i walk up the street. the sea stays behind. i hose down instead of showering and wipe myself with a damp towel. it didn't have time to dry since my last adventure. it probably won't be dry in time for the early morning one tomorrow. it will be the good-bye swim. but i'll be back, sooner or later. that's the way life is i guess. you go and you come back, but you always keep fighting the monsters from the deep - in your head if nothing else.

life eras

(in math i was taught the cartesian coordinate system, and later in physics more graphs had time on the x-axis)
i spent around half of my life with one flag. then there was another and now i'm up to three.
life had many more eras than states, many more states than countries. and we keep looking forward, into the future. in the 21st century does anyone look back (with or without anger) at the 20th century? the fast pace of life takes us away from our neighborhood and childhood friends, whisking us away across oceans of water and time. and still we keep on going. yesterday lies in the dust, but tomorrow shines around the corner. and as our computers approach the speed of light and planes shrink the globe we have not the opportunity to think back about a red star or the first thirteen stars, or what used to be our own star. aren't we all stars, someone's star - sometimes buried by the sands of time, sometimes shining brightly in the darnkess of night.

some things are worth more than their weight in gold

a hot cup of chocolate a piece of mud cake with the realest whipped cream and above all a smile. few things in life top that. the smile. "my sunshine".
seeing people grow is great. you probably remember growing up, but the question is do you recognize that others do the same. we should - both grow up and take notice. the (human) world is only made up of people. and people are only human. and we are never standing still - we are always going somewhere, if nothing else - we're steadily making our way towards the end. but the journey is so great, it takes you so many places, changing all the time. "a business that is not growing is dying." (life is a kind of business, but lets not make it to commercial.)
a trip, a step out of the ordinary helped my weary eyes focus on the other things. but the other things that are actually THE things. the smell of roses and cappuccino, and the long sunsets that don't exist back home. a different land but not so much unlike my own, yet surprisingly incomparable. and in it a very familiar homy face. and in it i recognized a maturing youth, a freshness and wisedom, and the eternal Sunshine. may we all have that special sunshine in our lives, including those that shine so bright. and let them never be underrated!

on the plane

getting on a plane was always a big deal. when i was a kid that meant only one thing – we’re going half way around the world to see our grandparents. it also meant a huge adventure, one that i’d be looking forward to probably for a year. and then when it started i’d think it was a dream, and that when i woke up again in by bed at home it would be tomorrow, not a month later.
i still get the jitters when i get on a plane. i’d been lucky enough to have had the time to take trains when i travel through europe, as well as not having a job that required even occasional flying. the plane remains a synonym of far-off adventures, anxieties and tranquility.
the plane has stopped in göteborg. the north is living up to my expectations – i’ve exchanged the 30-degree scorching may days in belgrade for a cold rainy morning in southern sweden. we’ll be off to stockholm in a moment, just as soon as our third-world carrier refuels and picks up some passengers. the advantage of being from a country where there are so few passengers to this region is that you get to make additional stops, which means additional take-offs and landings – which is a close as serbia gets to a rollercoaster! it is quiet in the cabin. a group of apparently pilots on a business trip break the silence with rough jokes and boyish laughter. the flight attendants (i’ve always found stewardess to be much more romantic) are attending to their every whim, with a complementary drink and flirt. worlds apart. i try to imagine what the swedes would think if they knew what this was about. data error! the system wasn’t designed to process irrational fantasies.
i an hour and a half i will be leaving serbia behind. i enter sweden with a different passport, i assume my purely international identity. nothing ties me to the surroundings, yet my eyes connect me to everything. i truly become the man of the world that i’ve always tried to be – above borders and nations. five days of abstract existence, fueled by a new city and a new country. then on the sixth day i get on another plane that takes me back to my bed, and the question – what was it that i learned from my swedish dream?

i sleep well

very well.
sleep is one of those places in life where you are truly alone, or at least nothing is there that you don't take with you. and i apparently have mastered the great jedi power of leaving things behind. it's nice to know that there is a retreat, somewhere up there, where dreams are made and (in my case) forgotten, left behind. the new day starts as fresh as the first ray of sun on the morning dew, hours before the city erupts into action, or at least that eternal coffee break.
but regardless of how much you rest, how much i meditate and clear my thoughts, those forehead wrinkles and the odd gray hair keep catching up on me...

the image of people

its difficult to get a good one. after years of taking pictures, i still trash most of the portraits. it makes me wonder how the pros do it. you want to get involved with the subject, to understand their background and inner works in order to convey them in an image. but on the other hand those that you know (too) well never turn out the way you want. and for me posing is out of the question (a mistake?).
taking the picture means understanding the subject, grasping, comprehending... and this is what is my goal: at one point in my life i will understand people enough to put on an exhibition of pictures of people, ones that will speak what i feel and what they are.
this is a picture of my grandfather, probably making his first mobile telephone conversation ever. that day he was diagnosed with "spots" on his lungs, as he called his condition up to the end, four months later. the only axiety in his eyes is that stemming from the question why i was taking his picture. i only remember he was talking to his housekeeper, but not what it was about. and the fact that he continued the conversation with me where we had left off - something that i still haven't mastered.
this is one of the last pictures that i took of him. with his spiraling health, he had no choice but to go with the flow. pictures were last thing that were on his mind, or mine for that. but i still got this one. that was a fun day at the hospital, my father was there too. on the way back i even got my grandfather to snap a few shots.
its histories like these that make photographs. i just have to get to know people.

into the forest

into the forest we march, searching for that which is not of our own. and we walk searching for the trees and leaves but in fact fleeing our daily existence and expecting to find ourselves. the strides are light but difficult, they kick up last year's leaves and dust, but they are far from the square asphalt of the city we have come from. this is nature. tame, but still nature. and it brings joy for this is where we came from.