Spring 2018


You play, you win. You play, you lose. It's the playing that's irresistible. 

I was careful to steal enough to buy a bottle of the best champagne.


-Jeanette Winterson, The Passion



Fusion with Magic


I am a mourner.

I mourn today that could be but is not.

Day and night, I mourn my own fault.


Behind the scenes, the angels are working hard 

making deals with boredom:

negotiating the next available blank page,

for I could write in 'the day that could be, and so it was.'

But the blank page I'm not able to face,

so even the angels get a little annoyed,

for their efforts are flushed down the drain.


On the other hand - resilience falls asleep watching me

OCD-ying a bridge forward and back.

No one comes and no one leaves

while I spend my days kissing the past goodbye.


Mourning farewells we hug and I cry,

for 'see you later' promises are not allowed this time.

We hold hands with the past and I cry

for the memories of early sunsets and late sunrises,

for headaches, aches and heartbreaks,

for things never done - 

I thank the past for all these kinds of 'good times.'

Is this for real?

Is this the last time?

Oh, how I mourn how I cry

skinning myself to the bone

for that last one goodbye... one last kiss...

a promise of the very last hug...


'Good God! This madness must end!'

said the angels and left, to bring back some help.


Back at Home, in the Kingdom of Stars,

The Council of Trust decides

to call for the fairies of Ireland

to cast a spell on me, poor cailín,

caught up in the wheel,

being no use to the world ever since.




I've seen the fairies in green mantles that night.

They came into my house

and shut the blinds of my mind.

They told a thousand kind words about me

and washed 'the day that could be but is not' out of my hair.

They wrapped me up in the stardust , sang 'She Moved Through the Fair'

and put me to sleep.


A gentle voice woke me up in the morning.

'Rise' it said 'and open the door for the rest of your time.'


I sat in bed feeling the urge to make my way forward.



I've survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.

-Joshua Graham


author unknown

author unknown


These days, in fact these past few months, are all about Ireland for me. I open Irish history books to revisit the old stories of the particular counties of Ireland, I discuss with my Irish friends in what way each of them is unique and how they differ from each other. I question my Irish friends about what makes them feel Irish and insist we review my insights into the Irish people's character traits. And so I get valuable advises on how to deal with the situations involving a conflict between the Eastern European temperament and the 'ways of the Irish'. I can't say I am very comfortable with the perspective on life that the Irish people have in some cases, but I give the Irish 'right of way', because I feel so much love and respect for their country. Ireland keeps polishing my Eastern European horns, and so very naturally I turn out as a kinder, more patient and compassionate girl. 

These past few months I wake up to a sound of the Irish harp and finish my day listening to the delightful Celtic tales. I travel places I haven't visited before and I am falling in love with Ireland again. I write strange flash stories about this very special, I trust - to many of us, country, and I have a plan to spread them around the world, for everyone can have a taste of human kindness and get that airy sense of magic being present in our lives, which Ireland offers in abundance. Fancy some?

The amount of gratitude I feel for Ireland grows with my days. You'd ask me to kiss this land - I get down on my knees the very same minute, whenever I stand. I am so grateful for Ireland gave me Life. For it accepted me for who I am, nurtured my old wounds and kept inspiring my soul, reassuring I AM good enough. Beautiful, loved.

I am so grateful for it gave me a chance, ongoing opportunities to be who I desire to be, to do things I am best at. Ireland has recognized me as a human who is eager to grow, and so it keeps supporting my growth in many different ways - it educates me, it gives me true friends. I am grateful, for Ireland has made me. It's not only a privilege to be made in Ireland, it's a true honour, my friend. To be a little shiny star within a sacred space that the Universe has created to help each of us heal? I beg you, God - please allow me. 


A true love story is soon to see a daylight...


For where your treasure is,

there will your heart be also.

-Matthew 6:12


Co. Kerry.  Briga Saulė, 2018

Co. Kerry. Briga Saulė, 2018


The force of the myth


The tea culture is a serious business in Ireland. In facts, drinking tea is as important here if not more important than the Irish drinking culture. The Irish are the second heaviest tea drinkers in the world (right after the Turkish) so that by itself says a lot.

Everything begins and ends with a cup of tea in Ireland. Everyone drinks tea, at any time of a day or night. Drinks tea and chats. 

Should you be invited into an Irish house, you can be sure that as soon as you cross the threshold, you'll be offered tea and biscuits, which is a symbol of hospitality, camaraderie and friendship. And once you finished that cup, you'll be offered more tea, and so on.

'It's a necessity to keep tempers pleasant in a country that's cold and rainy for most of the year' winks my friend as he pushes a 'cuppa' towards me. 

'To keep tempers pleasant, ha?' Well said, I smile.


I collect Irish Tea stories, because I simply love tea and stories. The identity of the Irish is soaked in tea, and I like to suss out the Irish.



'I was one of the commanding officers in the Irish Army' begins the story my friend. 'We were fighting a war in Lebanon. On that particular day the shots were fired up since the sunrise. The enemy was coming towards our camp. We, a bunch of leading guys, had to come up with the plan for action, and fast. The lads in the front line were getting edgy, so to say, as everyone was aware by now that this day might not end well. Bang bang - the shots were getting louder, the pressure was building up. Guess what happened next! ''Let's have tea'' suggested the chief commander. Right. That's not a great way to solve the problem, but ... put on the kettle anyway. Bang bang. Bang bang. The enemy was coming closer. Obviously, not for tea, it was coming to kill us. Feckin war was going on, girl! And we were, like ''Do you want one sugar or two?'' You know what I mean? Jesus Christ...'


I can't stop laughing. My friend says I'm very much like a Paddy.


P. S. No one got killed in that story, not to worry. 


To cultivate joy, pay attention to what you like.

-Annie Kagan, The Afterlife of Billy Fingers


author unknown

author unknown




Then I lifted the hook and flug the window open. Spring came in.


-Felipe Alfau