Dulcinea

I learned the story of Dulcinea, a character from Miguel de Cervantes' novel, Don Quijote. She does not even appear in the novel, however is the ideal woman, love, beauty imagined by the protagonist, Don Quijote.

Although I have not read the novel myself, I fell upon a simple song, with some of the prettiest, most earnest lyrics. Here are some that moved me the most:


"I dare not gaze full upon thy countenance
Lest I be blinded by beauty. But I implore
Thee - speak once thy name...

I have dreamed thee too long,
Never seen thee or touched thee.
But known thee with all of my heart.
Half a prayer, half a song,
Thou hast always been with me,
Though we have been always apart.

Dulcinea... Dulcinea...
I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea,
And thy name is like a prayer
An angel whispers... Dulcinea... Dulcinea!

If I reach out to thee,
Do not tremble and shrink
From the touch of my hand on thy hair.
Let my fingers but see
Thou art warm and alive,
And no phantom to fade in the air.

Dulcinea... Dulcinea...
I have sought thee, sung thee,
Dreamed thee, Dulcinea!

Now I've found thee,
And the world shall know thy glory,
Dulcinea... Dulcinea!"


My question is, whether it is only Don Quijote who imagined his love and loved her with all he had, or whether all love is in fact blind...

Cinderella

"One day I'll fly away
Leave all this to yesterday..."

("One Day I'll Fly Away" performed by Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.)

It's odd how Life works, I seem not to understand it.
Today I cannot quite decide between two very different thoughts:

One, how annoying, difficult, and agitatingly pointless Human existence is.
It depresses and screams to be noticed.
When it is, it leaves but that difficult stain.
A stain, like red wine spilled on a glowing, white carpet, tearing through each bloody seam.
Oddly, only the scar remains, a pink, nervous piece of the past.

Two, where the rays of the sun break through the cloudy skies and emerge blissfully, serenely giving us but a glimpse of the heavens.
Where the single dove screens these skies, soaring towards the better world down South.
Whilst it soars, landing carelessly on the branches of that hollowing tree, it's willows leaving enough space for children to hide and play.
The playful yelling, swinging, and sound of little feet, leaves only that lingering, glistening smile on their Mother's lips...
Heaven.


In reference to the words from Moulin Rouge,
which I believe is possibly the most relevant part of this entry,
the past somehow never leaves us.

As I sit here today, enveloped in my disgusting, self-indulging thoughts, I notice that pattern. I have never gotten past certain matters in my life.
My boyfriend, my darling, asked me a question. Jokingly, smiling, laughing. It hit me horribly.
I discovered that even though, for a single moment, I felt myself relieved a year ago, felt like my secret, shared and discussed, left even unjudged, had been cleared and forgiven. It meant I was free.
I'm not.
My past lingers, regardless of how much was truly my fault.
It keeps following me, resenting my will to eliminate it, crying to be noticed, similarly to that human parasite above.

Secrets.
Everyone has them.
I don't quite think I can share them again.
I hate myself for them, regardless of all my blatant arrogance.

Cinderella will always remain a servant at heart.

Baby Adolf and my Questions

Hitler's First Photograph

by Wislawa Szymborska


And who's this little fellow in his itty-bitty robe?
That's tiny baby Adolf, the Hitler's little boy!
Will he grow up to be an LL.D.?
Or a tenor in Vienna's Opera House?
Whose teensy hand is this, whose little ear and eye and nose?
Whose tummy full of milk, we just don't know:
printer's, doctor's, merchant's, priest's?
Where will those tootsy-wootsies finally wander?
To garden, to school, to an office, to a bride,
maybe to the Burgermeister's daughter?

Precious little angel, mommy's sunshine, honeybun,
while he was being born a year ago,
there was no death of signs on the earth and in the sky:
spring sun, geraniums in windows,
the organ-grinder's music in the yard,
a lucky fortune wrapped in rosy paper,
then just before the labor his mother's fateful dream:
a dove seen in dream means joyful news,
if it is caught, a long-awaited guest will come.
Knock knock, who's there, it's Adolf's heartchen knocking.

A little pacifier, diaper, rattle, bib,
our bouncing boy, thank God and knock on wood, is well,
looks just like his folks, like a kitten in a basket,
like the tots in every other family album.
Shush, let's not start crying, sugar,
the camera will click from under that black hood.

The Klinger Atelier, Grabenstrasse, Braunau,
and Braunau is small but worthy town,
honest businesses, obliging neighbors,
smell of yeast dough, of gray soap.
No one hears howling dogs, or fate's footsteps.
A history teacher loosens his collar
and yawns over homework.



I read this poem in highschool. Back then I simply thought about how ironic life is, what becomes of people, and how ordinary each of our beginnings are.
Today, I cannot believe the sheer guts of life.
How is it, that when one least expects it and even loses all rational hope, a miracle occurs?
How is it, that people ,who least deserve it, have all the luck?
And how is it that I am one of these people?

Confusion.
Questioning.
Happy.

Beautiful

In the words of Izzie of Grey's:

"I'm a pretty girl... He doesn't make me feel like a pretty girl. He makes me feel like me. I think he might know me..."

Just a thought circulating around my mind, uncertain of whether it's even true or just my imagination. Thoughtful day, today: many little ideas, questions, smiles, wonderments.

There is nothing like that exhilerating notion, that what awaits may just be beautiful and that one can even plan for the life ahead.

"Izzie, you did good..."
(Denny)

Called it love...

And so, despite the troubles, questions, and sorrows,
they found love at last.

Grey's

I never expected such tears to flow for a TV series as they did today during Grey's.
I haven't even followed the show like others, I am not even aware of each of the situations and ideas...
I never expected such sorrow at their loss.
All shook up.

Everyone is just searching for the same thing.

Wrong side of the world.

There are these awkward days in life when things just starts out wrong.
A small word or odd suggestion by someone and it just provokes strange feelings of annoyance and irritation.
Today resembled such a day.
Typically, just as I felt things working towards the better, finally settling, getting easier.
It is trully incredible how an argument, simple words, agitation: any negative mood has the capacity of pulling me from satisfied to entirely exhausted.
That's life I suppose.

I found myself feeling better just a few moments ago, it must have been the good company, because suddenly I feel I may need a conversation with an understanding person.
Ironically, I do not find myself with words to discuss matters.
Strange emotions.
Strange situations.
Strange life.

I believe it may be time soon to get away.
Take a trip to a warm place.
With someone pampering me.
With no worries or concerns.
With no one suggesting I exist in another manner.

Well, a cup of tea will at least assist my tiresome eve.

As Reasons Lost Importance

Just a little melody that is echoing in my mind,
a tune persistently voicing itself,
a thought continuously smiling at my naivety:

"What other reason can I give to you
When I want you and I need you
What other reason can I give to you
When I want you, 'cause I love you..."
(Chorus from "What Other Reason" by Johnny Hates Jazz.)