Spring 2015


I'll leave you with some questions before I go. I'll leave you with the guidelines for a fair play. I'll leave you with the Light and hope for tiny change that long; and with the summer's feel- put on your flip flops and let's go!



The Rules of being Human


1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the rest of your life.

2. You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time school called 'Life'. Every person or incident is the Universal Teacher.

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Failure is as much a part of the process as success.

4. A lesson is repeated until learned. It will be presented to you in various forms until you learn it. Then you can go to the next lesson.

5. If you don't learn easy lessons, they get harder. External problems are a precise reflection of your internal state. When you clear inner obstructions, your outside world changes. 

6. You will know you've learned a lesson when your actions change. Wisdom is practice.

7. 'There' is no better that 'here'. When your 'there' becomes a 'here' you will simply obtain another 'there' that again looks better than 'here'.

8. Others are only mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another unless it reflects something you love or hate in yourself.

9. Your subconscious rightfully determines what energies, experiences, and people you attract. Therefore, the only foolproof way to know what you want is to see what you have. There are no victims, only students.

10. There is no right or wrong, but there are consequences.

11. Your answers lie inside you. Trust your heart, where the Laws of Spirit are written. You know more than you have heard or read or been told. All you need to do is to look, listen and trust.

12. You will forget all this.



An elderly man on a bench in the park gave me this; he said I looked bored. 'Have you ever came across this?' he asked. I could't believe what I was reading! 'I have' so I said 'and I see you have too'. 'Nah, I forgot it all' he pointed to the twelfth paragraph and smiled; and then he disappeared into the secret of nature leaving me alone to drink tea (!) and eat philosophical wonderments.

I walked home thinking- as we age, the impulse of spirituality (Love) becomes more distinct, powerful and intellectual. This natural impulse never goes away; so elderly people say...


See you in a week's time; be great!


If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.

 -Antoine de Saint-Exupery


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Strength and Delicates


It is the world within the world


Sparkling in style, casting a confident reassuring glow ahead

Makes see sense

Through uncanny grotesqueness of the irrational world of chance-

Rich vein to mind.


This airy adventure

Transporting me into the sublime sphere of adulthood-

Pulled me out from the pot hole

Erased the question of return ticket

Then dropped me into the sea of blissful literal musings.


And even that I still fear the acid rain 

And another shadowy figure waiting backstage-

With clear cold light of the Moon I made friends.


Onwards I go, calling myself Don Quixote

Safely encased in the armour of my own certainty-

In an effort to quell the inferno.


And to dress my Soul in paradise colours

That I can amuse myself alone-

Join with gusto and feel like a school child in the beginning of August.


Ah, everything is just peaches in my bio-life yogurt...



by Brigita Stasun


I am apparently in much the same state as yourself.

Maurice- you remember Maurice- has kindly come to see me and I've shared all my medicines with him and shown him what little hospitality I can. We are both horrified to hear that Bosie's suspicions of you are quite justified. That and your being a Protestant make you terribly unique (I have told Maurice how to spell the last word which often occurs in the Protestant Bible). 

Alec lunched with Bosie and me one day and I lunched alone with him another. He was most friendly and pleasant and gave me a depressing account of you. I see that you like myself have become a neurasthenic. I have been so for four months quite unable to get out of bed till the afternoon, quite unable to write letters of any kind. My doctor has been trying to cure me with arsenic and strychnine but without much success as I become poisoned through mussels. So you see what an exacting and tragic life I have been leading. Poisoning by mussels is very painful and when one has one's bath one looks like leopard. Pray never eat mussels.

As soon as I get well I'll write you a long letter.


(The last Oscar Wilde's letter (to Robert Ross) from Hotel d'Alsace in Paris. November 1900.) 



I read and reread this letter, and a few more times, not enough. It teaches me much: what is in the voice that mesmerise, how to brief huge into minimal of same importance and how to outlook the details- those tiny sacraments of extraordinary nature- every writer prays for. Ah, Oscar, I'll take you with me to the woods, I'll study how to detect then imprint that chameleon like quality into my own pages, for someone's who will read me journey never dim. 


I made art a philosophy, and philosophy an art; I altered the minds of men, and the colours of things; I awoke the imagination of my century so that it created myth and legend around me; I summed up all things in a phrase, all existence in an epigram; whatever I touched I made beautiful. 

I am dying, as I have lived, beyond my means.

- Oscar Wilde


Museum of Clouds . Konstantin Kalynovych, 1990

Museum of Clouds. Konstantin Kalynovych, 1990

by Brigita Stasun


Driven Until Points Turn Towards the Facts

(part three)




I like talking million(s) dollars I'll tell ya. I dream about them on and on, and why not! You wonder am I greedy? No! My ambitions are big, that's all. Why does the modern world see ambitions as greed (or vanity) we don't understand it here in Cork, hehehe

I often talk millions these days. Without the intention, they just happen to pop out. We contemplate about them with a friend who works hard towards his dream that he priced in similar amount. We say we understand big money never fall down from the sky, unless you win a lottery or be lucky enough to get an inheritance of someone else's work well done. Unfortunately, neither of us have a wealthy spinster aunt in America, and we do not buy the lottery story; we cannot afford to waste precious time hoping for irrationalities. 'So what is your road?' I ask my friend while playing Rubik's Cube (got three colours!) 'To add more value to mySelf for a time being' Ha! My boy, hehe

The Universe is very generous, I have no doubt. The thing is- the more you want, the harder you will have to work for it. Big things do not happen because of pure luck. You have to put a million efforts in order to get them. Sometimes I am worried do I have enough time? My grey hair already flying around...

How fun is to talk millions when you have no money for a scented candle nowadays; but I guess many big stories have started with 'When I was broke...' hehehe. So I'll believe I am in the context of classical tales then, walking myself to a (white?) horse...


The meadows are over for now, sweet Sunshine;

I am cleaning my house chanting new mantra, gathering maps of the woods I am about to enter:

I trust my abilities; I trust I will figure it out,

I trust I will build it, find help and advance!


I'll be a poet, a writer, a dramatist, somehow or other I'll be famous, and if not famous I'll be notorious. Or perhaps I'll rest and do nothing. These things are on the knees of the gods. What will be will be. 

 -Oscar Wilde


Artur Andriko, 2009

Artur Andriko, 2009

by Brigita Stasun


Driven Until Points Turn Towards the Facts

(part two)


The Purpose


The Universe has warned me it is not going to be easy before I took this leap in life. I understand the meaning of it now, besides an understanding of what I truly want; that I can set life's purpose for myself, in other words- life's work. I believe that you define your life's purpose yourself; it is not something you discover one sunny day, although you are given the clues time from time, if you are ready to notice them. I think life's purpose always comes from the 'bigger picture' and so it is focused around 'what do we want to serve in life'. Yes, serve, you read it right. To contribute would be another word, if it feels closer to your heart. I want to exude the life to myself and to others: to inspire passion, to point what's beautiful, to support through the changes, to guide towards Love. I want to teach how to be, how to accept and appreciate- how to feel alive. I wish to be one of those 'free souls who love their life and lead their people'. I wish to be able to put on a paper what I feel it might be of value, and give it to the world as my contribution. I wish to love truly madly deeply. Love is the purpose, you know?

So to put in three down to earth words, this is what I want: to be healthy, happy and (very) wealthy. How easy I can define my purpose! How challenging (?) it feels once I think deeper, once it comes closer... But hey- if not now, then when?

Cop on and move on, sugar, bells ring.


You cannot stay in the dream land forever. It comes a time to take action towards your dream. 

I've started mine not to stand still or go backwards.


All men and women are created equal, though we do not live equal lives due to differences in will, motivation, effort and habit.

 -Brendon Burchard


Freedom requires responsibility to choose who we are above and beyond our immediate impulses, needs, and social pressures, so that we can genuinely express the type of person we want to be, live the life we truly want to live, leave the legacy we desire.

 -Brendon Burchard


The Road (2) . Fota Island, Cork. Briga Saulė, 2015

The Road (2). Fota Island, Cork. Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Driven Until Points Turn Towards the Facts





Second day raining non stop brings touch of tropical surreal into my vision; something that I experienced in Thailand years ago, except that it is not that hot. I laugh at myself putting the dot after this grammatically incorrect sentence (not a line!) in the name of rhyme.

 'You cannot do that' finger points my tutor during the first private literature lesson that I took today. 'Aye, I know, but maybe the reader will accept that, no? For the sake of charming sound flow?'

'Absolutely No. You are confusing your readers' he says ' besides, it will make them to question the knowledge of your English language; you write like you just beginning to attend a school, which is a pity, because your English is better than good. Do you want to sell books?' he shoots an arrow straight to the point, how kind is he not to waste my short money.

'You are challenging the way I think' I am almost in tears.

'Not at all, I am challenging the way you structure and present your thought, as for the readers to travel  y o u r  visions. You have to  t h i n k  English and be able to learn from your failings' he says 'now go home and rewrite this gorgeous piece of yours, young lady.'

'To rewrite?' I am shocked; never rewrote any before. 

'You have to know the rules before you brake them, kid' he looks into my eyes and starts speaking in a voice of God 'do not even think to drop off writing. You have a song; unique, but too sharp for today. It is about the time to start polishing your notes.'

And just like that, these points were planted somewhere deep into my literal psyche putting a question mark after each word...



A little stunned I came back home. Today I clearly realise how much it takes to become the master of a craft; and literature is no joke. To succeed in non-native language sets the crossbar even higher. Maybe I should go back writing in my native tongue sometimes I think. On the other hand, I am coming to an equal- for twenty one year I lived in Lithuania, for eighteen years I communicate English abroad...

This is the turn then, here you go. And today I say Happy First Birthday to Soul Links dot com. For one more year you'll find me here. And then- who knows. When you take on journey of similar kind, you don't know in which flattering angle your life will unfold, hehehe. I'll keep on going so, 

even if it's slow, even when it's low, even when it snows... I choose to grow.



I don't expect people to get me. That would be quite arrogant. I think there are a lot of people out there in the world that nobody gets.



There is a time and a tide in the affairs of men which if taken at the flood can lead on to greatness.


The Road   (1) . Fota Island, Cork. Briga Saulė, 2015

The Road (1). Fota Island, Cork. Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Good Afternoon Wet Kisses


Is it something about the lightning in this coffee shop. My silver ring shimmers brighter, my skin looks darker, my teeth- whiter and raspberry jam on the scone appears, somehow, the same colour as my screaming red painted nails in a day light. Clean empty glasses that hang and a rack shine like soap bubbles- in all colours. I see no multicoloured lights around, so how do you set lightning like this, I can't figure it out... Dark polished wood gives a sense of true antique times; I almost see the flights of red wine on this counter in previous life. Mixed berry smoothie 'Belini' for me, Miss, please; I am from the new times, hehehe

I sit by the window watching people walking through the afternoon, melting down the street like in an impressionist painting. The rain weeps in thick drops, rolls down the canvas at the same paste as the music inside, makes me dream and that dream mystifies, and the usual- slows down a time, growing the moment into fully lived beautiful mosaic. Of colour, sound, taste and the feeling- of flooding Love in my life...

On the way home I get myself the treats of new season strawberries, organic carrots and Japanese rise tea. French movie I rent to spoil my bank holiday promised rainy weekend. I feel cosy and glad from the thought I'll have a time for Jung's autobiography tonight, and for long yoga session- yes, these are those kinds of times; and the rain is part of God's plan.


To see the world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.

 -William Blake


Indrė, 2013

Indrė, 2013

by Brigita Stasun


The Artist Way


At Italian poetry evening the stars shine seven times seven,

I preserve happiness necessary for each tomorrow.

Measure settles and extends the edges

of being content with compromised versions.


'Wine and poetry gets on together well' is chatting me up one Italian poet with full glass in each hand.


Il tuo a amore viene

Come la pioggia

Goccia doppo goccia

Una dopo l'altra


(Your love come

Like the rain comes

Drop after drop

One drop at a time)


How simply amazing is his lullaby!

Alessandro serenades in Italian, pity, I cannot understand, so I stay around until my cheeks start hurting from the laughter that I have looking for the common words hopefully he'd know,

while in a mean time he questions (in sign language) my glass of wine- untouched.

Ah, I will never be able to explain him that, so

soon I disappear into the night singing sweet old song in my mind:

'There are hundreds of languages in the world, but the smile speaks them all...'

And I feel mesmerised.


Thank you, God, thank you again for allowing me to write.


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Original Sensuality of Our Beings


After the workshop on the 'First Page of a Novel' I invite my literature-minded friends to go to some poetry book launch; International Book Festival is running this week in Cork.

'Poetry in Irish?' they are pouting their noses. They think novels about the transcendental cockroaches from the afterlife are way more fun. Here I laugh loud. They are laughing as well; we all spacing out in the moment, how sweet! I take a rose made from red napkin to remind me this happy day out and off I go on my own to meet true Celtic pride, to smell the war up in the North where 'small fat boy walks backwards'; in the oasis of Triskel church obsessed by strange images talks last sign of first point...


'Museums... Present not what is left, but what is lost... Protect, what is lost...'

Hehehe, those curators of loss; walking thin lines, singing mad songs, sheltering honesty...

In the name of Cork!


Foresee the time signalling new journey into the unknown.

What is yet unknown though apart from one kiss leading to another, with all vitality striking new tone? My Love, we never grow old...


There never was more so meaningful self portrait on a Christmas morning, classical restrain...

Seek the kingdom what matters, somebody said.Transcendental now and present epiphanies it is about to begin.

Face it. Evoke the kiss and keep the nights of being together. Bringing together drawn spaces into the big One; graveyards of literature to run, and celebrate the company of craft beyond.

With pleasure,

          we travel through the years to set off...


Refreshments left after each collection. Figures drop, drip, cross, poke.

Finally you get sold out, exhausted and happy. Here is your story. I knew it, like I never know...


My palms get sticky pulling honey made strings closer to myself, invisible to others; almost reaching your chest I walked through as a flower in my dream. Two chairs away from me you sit. Two days later- just a page, but an eyelash close to your beautiful woman.



'She holds the key. A woman, who haunts the woods near his home...' I think the story.

Oh no, not you again, please, feck off!

Frighten-ly secure this time I play dumb. Loath to leave forced to manoeuvre in time with precision.


Searching around desire for less of separation, for more of the vast Universe which binds...



Marga, 2011

Marga, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


Magical Sheen Between You and IT


This Friday afternoon I spend in Crawford Art Gallery spinning around Dali, Matisse and Picasso bunch of colourful dreams, gathering strange sonic nuances that in my head, feeling hungry for the similar success, hehehe (hey, Brendon Burchard- thank you for all this!)

I look at the etchings I never had patience before. Oh, my God. Pay attention how exactly created is the Form...

Excitement I share with Madam: 'You can dress it either outfit afterwards...' 


All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. All these aspirations are directed toward ennobling man's life, lifting it from the sphere of mere physical existence and leading the individual towards freedom.

 -Albert Einstein


Etching with Nikon. Briga Saulė, 2014

Etching with Nikon. Briga Saulė, 2014

by Brigita Stasun


The Pilgrims File


My heart is sore, dear God.


Days come and go with no bound forward sometimes it feels. I have my head dipped in suffering to which I cannot assign any particular reason, how unfortunate is not being able to blame. Visible gap stretched in my feelings, my language is stuck, my vision too far from the real, my connection seems lost. My life is too boring for literature, my resistance too strong to create another character to contradict my thought. Today I just feel how much I am not...

Today I cannot see the new road and not sure do I want. And the old one is buried under the ashes of yesterday no more, gone; away with chocolate cookies and cigarettes. And that at this very moment feels way worse as it did while it was...

I feel like robotic walking figure with programmed responses today. I wave to neighbour's child and welcome my colleague's stubbornness wild talk. I politely listen to some stranger's bizarre story on my way back home and reward him with sunny inspiration I feel an obligation to give, because that is what I transmit. At night I feel like barking at the Moon like a dog questions I cannot logically to form. Sometimes they have too many forms, sometimes they don't. Today they don't. Today I live still life. Through days which come and go with no intrigue, romance or any sort of atmospheric abstract; organic free or expressive unique. Still life half blind. Sore heart makes my body shiver a little. I wrap myself in silver lining- I read, days go...



(... in changes which are not yet revealed.)

Humanity has recurring character and its narrative, which is struggle and progress. If we will throw out the struggle, we'll never have progress.

 -Brendon Burchard


'If you had a nightmare doesn't mean you stopped dreaming' sings Jill Scott.


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Bright Celtic Colours


How are you going to vote on coming Gay Marriage Referendum I ask one of my solicitors today. Surprise opens his mouth I see. 'It is a private matter' he says for not so private and way too brave me. I cannot help it but a little wonder at his confusion publicly revealed. He eventually tells me his views on this matter (why then?) and quickly slips out of reception that I mind 'before I call him homophobic' see you later alright... I would never call or think of him or anybody else as being homophobic, but he doesn't know that I guess.

'You never ask people something like that' after educates me in whisper the girl I work with.

'Is it there something else I should't be asking?' I pretend to be innocent eejit curious of her perspective.

'Yes, two more things' rushing she says 'you do not ask people how much money they earn and what their age is. Besides the political views, got it?'

Ha! It is not like I don't know that to be honest; I just like to challenge somebody on these banned questions now and then. To test their ability for potential (social) honesty you know, not to be mean. Bit of a craic so to speak, hehehe. Can you blame me for that?

I excuse money matters and will not argue in regard of political views today, but the age?

'Come on now, get over yourself' so I laugh to the girl.

'Irish person will never tell you the truth when forced to answer question like that' kind of proudly she says. 

'Sometimes they do, haven't you just witnessed that?'

Not long to wait I start to come up with some witty suggestions on age to inspire her laugh at ourselves; I think it is a good start in challenging our perspective around unavoidable states of life, and the mind.

'I am thirty plus VAT' now we both laugh nonstop spilling coffee all over the shop; getting closer to becoming friends with each other, with ourSelf and with time, so I hope...


          Neat analogy for conveyance

          Sorting through my hair

          Death notices and current affairs-

          Life's avant-garde top player


You generate your attitude. It is not fixed.

 -Brendon Burchard


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Catch some gorgeous biblical amour from Conor O'Leary!




The planet implodes. Hours before, a 100 million life capsules shower into space. Nowhere in the known universe can sustain their species. They hope for sheer luck- out of the millions of lifeforms there is hope that a handful survive. They explode, crash, burn up. They are like dandelion seeds over a summers fire.


A baby is born as an amputee in the atmosphere above a planet; he floats, sustained by gaseous nutrients, held aloft by the watery buoyancy, the wonderful astral currents that causes even boulders to rise from the planet ground below. He grows into adulthood, observing the lava and fauna on the virgin world far beneath him. The baby, now adult, knows nothing of its own existence but sees everything outside itself and knows only the outside.

One day he dribbles and his spittle floats off into space. In its surface he sees a reflection of himself. The first self-aware thought rises in his mind. 

I am.

As soon as that thought arises the logical corollary also arises.

I am not.

Fear arises in the floating man as knowledge of himself also brings knowledge of his death. He obsesses in differentiating between what he is, and what he isn't.

I am seeing. I am thinking. I am urine. I am breathing.

And in the planet below a spewing volcano destroys a forest with one burst of anger.

The man panics and starts to choke on the thin air.

I am not!

In everything he sees that he is not and desperately claws at the thin air with his only hand. He collects a rock and declares 'this is mine' and he falls in love with the rock and feels fierce at the thought of loosing it. 

His desire to protect himself means that he looses all peace within himself, collecting and hating, dividing his experience into self and non-self. So he forgets how to simply be. 

With sadness for thoughts for his own death he lets his arm dangle limp by his side, aimlessly collecting dust, pollen, feathers; anything that talks to him of what he could be; beautiful, immortal, a master of every known thing.

One dawn he sees that the stars are uncollectable and he weeps at their unattainability. His tears surround him like silver mirrors and he sees his sorry state and becomes deeper depressed under the weight of his condition; the prison he knows no end to except through death. 

And then, snuggled into a cloud below he sees a life-form that reminds him of himself and yet is delicately different. The body is more subtle, more drawingly beautiful than any star he has ever seen. 

He floats down to within a few metres of his new discovery and raises his only hand in a wave. He whispers:

'Hello. I am me.'

The life-form raises a sleepy head and smiles.

'Hello. I am me also.'

From that moment until forever in his life the woman became like a sun that shone internally. She grounded his sense of sorrow, showed him the joy of sleeping in the clouds, dipping into the cool strata of the upper atmosphere, and singing down with the birds.

He felt the desire to share the joy of being with woman, with the rocks, the sky, the animals of the world below.

And so he did. And now that planet is bustling with life; the girls and the boys of the man up above.


by Brigita Stasun


Following the Thread


We take comfort in watching the restless waves,

let loose like lies, climb one by one onto the shore.

In the time it takes to rise up, we're uncovered the earth's curve.

The wind is transforming. Our unfinished hearts are shaking.

 (Edward Carson, Taking Shape)


I cannot get rid of the feeling that by smoking I am cheating myself.

Simply gets worse and worse, ah.



Shimmering with cause and effect magnolias help

to let energy of oxygen loose. At night,

they flower into stars. Looming you

to cross over into the otherwise.



How to sustain motivation, question I ask


Marga, 2011

Marga, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


      Shifting Temperatures


Here I am writing another postcard story of magical quality

from the chocolate boutique in Kinsale...

Watching cocoa dripping on coral zephyr makes my heart slip into a crystal bowl and melt,

shape into an ice cream cone


tasting cool ivory calm, flying kites

in the wind of emotional resolutions, mmm


Sampling the goal towards I go

sensing soothing living on Victory boat picked from the same crystal bowl:

          breathing splashes of gold, tainting daydreams in colours of virtues

          looking after the rainbows, singing newly made songs

          clapping hands to call butterflies home, talking evening to flowers

          Bathing in Treasures of Joy!!


blending them all, shaping again



looks like fine dust of Hope



I save two butterflies from Desmond Castle prison and snap series of shots of magnolia flowers waving at me in a window of spring. Art Galleries I walk chasing ideas how to paint houses for fairies...

For a wee moment I think how very very lucky I am to feel at home anywhere I go

I sit in a harbour before my bus leaves for Cork watching the sun going down, listening to boats sound of steel, asking gulls to fish me new thoughts out of emerald waters, praying magic this time...

Boat named Resurrection passes by... you must be joking, I smile. This holy Easter morning Madam wished me the thing; she is able to predict future, hehe, just like I


'From the bottom of your heart tell me what you think of Kinsale' she asks later that day

'One big butterfly' 

Copied, saved.


We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.

 -Harrison Ford


Change before you have to.

 -Jack Welch


Kinsale . Briga Saulė, 2015

Kinsale. Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


               The Lunch Hour


Clear spring sky and a cup full of tea

On the grass back to the tree

I circle my thought around you and me

Inseparable, safeguarded, free

throughout the history of our coming and going...

We sculptured Love between us-

Sensible place to rest when night falling

Us growing

Synchronised wings, velocity in loving


Clear spring sky and a cup with no more tea

I walk away thanking sunshine, grass and the tree

for another snapshot of common whole

beyond identity of opposite, besides the perfect


Let's keep Love going



I came across the question several years ago I never managed to forget. Back then it made me think about nobility of humankind, today it is a common sense of where I am going...

What is your circle of Love, how big it is?

Who is included, and who is excluded? Who is welcome, and who is unwelcome?


Every time I observe synergy between mother and child I cannot help it wonder:

What is this within us that allows to develop and maintain flawless Love for our children but prevents us from doing same towards most others? 

Taking into account that children can and, sure, do make us feel annoyed, angry sometimes, upset, cheated, disrespected, misunderstood or ignored- just the same as any other living person would do- Why do we accept and forgive children shortcomings and love them never less but often will not even consider to tolerate such a behaviour of others?

Within Love of the capital letter, allow me to call it, I believe, there is no 'I love you more' or 'I love him less'. You either love or you don't. Love is one same whole, there are no alterations in levels.

Just letting you know where I am going, hehe

Amplify Your Story!


Love is not an intellectual concept or a moral imperative or anything else. It is a background emotion that exists when one is connected to the energy available in the Universe, which, of course, is the energy of God.

 -James Redfield


Resentment is a barrier to our growth. Forgiveness is the beginning of our freedom.

 -Sister Stan


by Brigita Stasun


Layered Concentrations


Some people talk inspiration melted on the chocolate eggs, blooming tulips on Easter breakfast table and joyous children bouncing in rented castles close to the clouds. Some talk legacy of God knows what, intrigued by so called gurus who see your karma carried through lives suggest enlightenment by squeezing you into ground long skirts combing the hair rabbit tale style to prevent your antennas from catching different diapasons. Ah, me no like... Some talk happiness impossible to find in places it got lost, some- plans which they don't want to talk about just yet, in case they not happen to work...

'So to whom should you listen?' raises big question my honey sweet new friend. 'For Vedas, which was written five thousand years ago? Maybe Catholicism, which is two thousand years old? Or for the Universe ever existing which fits in your heart, as you say, the entire world? Which one holds the truth?' she feels confused.

They all hold truth I do believe. Slightly different one for the slightly different each of us. The greatest thing is that they all talk a free will which, to my understanding, encourages and promises to justify our searches at all times. The truth you longing for you'll have to find yourself. 'The truth is what is the truth for you' to recognise...

I chose to listen to my heart which codified the Truth for Me I never doubt. Three simple stakes I follow in my life, annoying my aunty to tears sometimes, she cannot agree to cut me from the mission of saving Lithuanian's ancient Baltic pride, I have obligations to my native land, she says. My dearest, let's sit down... I cuddle her, I kiss her as many times as it takes her to promise me Love no matter of how different we tend to think in life; and then I beg her hear me verbalise the truth of mine:

My Native Land is The World

My Nation is The People

My Religion is Love


- so yes, obligations, I know!!



One I can say- everybody is talking solutions, which is Universal Birth sign!

I talk travels these days.

In search for paradigms off to Kinsale.


In the evening of our life, we shall be examined in love.

 -St John of the Cross


Rimantas Grašys, 2010

Rimantas Grašys, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


Miracles to Feed You


That feeling of content in what you are. This peaceful hour of the day which is about to end. With candle on a cake. With someone's Love that aches. With chill of ordinary wind. With unfinished letter left on an open window to divulge the story to destiny...

It comes a time when you slip into a phase of enjoyable healing. When silence of your mind charms doesn't feel suspicious imagination takes a toll on stage and colours change...

You have to remind yourself to breathe when curtains open up and the giraffes start coming for breakfast you about to have...


'Ah, what a wonderful day, dear' one leans her gracious neck towards a glass of orange juice.

'Wonderful indeed' the second one agrees, passing me raspberries nods 'They are for the pancakes, senjora. And here is some fruit...'

White rabbit brings chocolate eggs to the table each wrapped in silver cloud; squirrel comes with a basket of new season nuts. Honey drips from the sky into a tea pot to sweeten our lives; carrots appear in cereal bowls for giraffes... Pablo and Matisse, two talking cats, lick milky dust from silver spoons of luck; bird of my heart sings in wonder... 'Is this how stories line up?'

'I'll have a flower' honey bee stops for a snack when the door opens up and the master of the house walks in gowned in Cesar's robe.

'Glorious morning, senior' tells giraffes.

'Let's share the stars' he kisses my hand. 'Spectacular morning, my rose'... 

Flowers start growing under the table in a blink of an eye, tickles my legs, lifts table cloth... Albert, the dog, plays with a Leprechaun mad; arch of the rainbow shows hidden gold you may have...


I am a grateful... grapefruit.



by Brigita Stasun


Intergalactic Intersection


'After you get an intuition of what might happen next then the next step is to become very alert and watchful. Sooner or later coincidences will occur to move you in the direction indicated by the intuition.'  


Synchronicity is an energy.

'Synchronicity is about being awakened to the infinite possibilities available to us within the divine matrix of perception. Have fun with it, embrace it, and let it flow to you like the pure water of the spring. Allow the mystery to unfold.'

As the White Queen said to Alice:

'It's a poor sort of memory that only work backwards.'

You can be the director and star of your own film- you decide how it is...


'It is kinda scary on a wave' I share my feelings loud. 'Why? There is nowhere to fall' laughs the girl from Cobh I happen (coincidently?) to know...


You must understand what is at stake. The truth you are pursuing is as important as the evolution of the Universe itself, for it enables evolution to continue.

 -James Redfield, The Celestine Prophesy


Muse . Marga, 2011

Muse. Marga, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


Tease Me Into New Syllables


Five Word Challenge we play in the beginning of each writer's class.

Sign, Computer, Pause, Glare, Key 

is today's.


                                                      I wish I could tear that glare from my computer vision

                                                      too distant from the sign to see

                                                      I wish I could manage a pause, a restart


                                                      find a key for the door into space

                                                      where you grow taller...


'Alice, how nice'

... now he knows the path my magic walks by


I talk some antibiotic nonsense about my Visual vision and writings; I say I cannot do it, I am not able to describe somebody else's work, I am not good at it. He says I am crazy



                                                  that kindness of a dandelion

                                                  plasticity of summer's tall grass

                                                  radiance of a young rose flower

                                                  curiosity wind blind

                                                  playfulness of colour's glare

                                                  Yellow Light


                                                  All aligns

                                                  creating magical real my lines...



'You just did it' he says and looks kind of surprised by the way I reason myself.

Patterns I am aware these days...

and possible new ways, seducing me to surf the highest wave again


by Brigita Stasun