WAY UP HIGH, WAY DOWN LOW

Strange situations often proclaim strange efforts. What is it holding us together in this way too fast driven world, just prior to World War III? Yes it may sound melodramatic, but do we ever have the common feeling of fear because of political responsibilities around us or do we focus just because of seeing the world losing its mind on more inter-human relations and begin to respect our old values once more?  How can we know that words given today will still count tomorrow? Where is stability – who will give it and what remains?  Safety stays a non-explainable construction of simple human trust, a function we often aren’t even able no more to see in those who stand right next and close to ourselves.  So what happens when we lose ourselves, forgetting about the little wonder we are? Who is there to remind us where to find us again, who we are? Who is the one behind us all the way giving us that important feeling of security? Nevertheless what we call safety today is nothing but the boundaries which once were unknown frontiers, so must we learn to leave, it doesn’t matter how frightened we are, the safe harbor as a simple consequence that ships were meant to sail the sea?

I sometimes wonder if it is really too much to ask for receiving a feeling of sureness. People nowadays seem to forget that even though we live with constant non-binding nature what sometimes helps is to think oneself safe however someway we aren’t capable to evoke this particular state of affairs. As a consequence we feel like manic-depressives – way up high, way down low, never sure what we should, will or do have to feel and so we seek refuge in old habits, hoping to maintain the unaffected. But can we expect promises to be kept?

Maybe again the support we might need is nothing but the feeling of having a home, that place which will be there for us it doesn’t matter which adventures life held for us, the blanket of our lives, because anyway all we need is crutch to think oneself safe.

And in the end we are nothing but guests of subsistence, like travelers between stop one and two – if we want safeness we have to search it in ourselves.  

Cheers

Lorax

IT'S UP TO YOU - NEW YORK

The island of Manhattan is a strange place. Totally crowded with millions of people it conveys the feeling of being welcome and home even if you haven’t been there for years. It may be the phenomenon of skyscrapers limiting the space – though you are in between the diversity of the human race a glance up to the sky suffices to feel total loneliness and nevertheless a kind of safety. Yes, it is definitely the skyscrapers, but what do we actually define as our homes and how can we express what it means to ourselves? Is a home where your family is, are your friends you might can find everywhere in the world the better family and are homes as a consequence therefore replaceable? Somebody one day said home is where your heart is – seems easy, effectively quite hard. Maybe this quote should be taken more literal than emotional. As our hearts are inside ourselves – not in all but at least in most cases – we carry our homes along every day it doesn’t matter in which place on our planet we are located for a while by furnishing it with memories we caught up since our ability to remember killed our childhood innocence. So why can a city like New York impact our feeling of home? It’s like coming back to your small hometown, having the impression nothing will ever change while the time stands still. Of course you can discover new adventures at any time but basically the structures last. People – fashion – the subway. You are used to it, that’s why it’s common and might be replaceable much more easily than you could ever have imagined. At the end we are able to replace everything from a broken plate to a friend if we actually just want to, so why are we often afraid of doing the same way with our homes? Human’s nature of convenience? I believe things would go like they did with Rupert Everett and his VIP dressing room he was so proud about getting after his first big success at one of London’s West End theaters. We are flying high. Five minutes. After that it makes us sick.

Every time I breathe the wasted air of New York City it is the bespoke feeling that comes over. What is a home? Can we accept a certain place as the one giving us the safety we need no matter what happens or is it our actual living style we need to get into somewhat deeper in order to establish nearness around us? I am afraid we often avoid the idea of loving the things we actually got in order not to run the risk that someday that something might be gone. In some points Frank Sinatra might end up to be right by singing It’s up to you! Doubtful if he meant the city or his very self. No matter where we will make it or want our vagabond shoes to stray – sometimes home is just a feeling.

Cheers

Lorax