Winter 2014/15


Frequently Asked Questions


Tonight in writers class I was pointed that there is no such thing as a gift to have. It is all about hard work, my tutor said; a young man who wrote his PhD on Poetry. A young man, who is able to negotiate literal thought, hello! 'Ah, I have heard this before, I am starting to think it might be the truth' comments Kaya, my colleague, one step away from established writer she is. A What? What have I missed here? Since when these gifted minds started to adopt statements alike? 'You can spend all your life searching for it and so never find' sadly adds Kaya; she quit her job recently to pursue ageing dream of becoming a writer (why would she do that then?) So life is too short, cut and dot? Oh, God.

'I don't want to hear this' I laugh, not a slightest chance I believe them. My tutor's child is sick, he looks at his phone continuously during the class time; he didn't sleep last night, he says. Kaya is experiencing an early stage of being unemployed, of course she doubts her choice. And that is the only things about them that I know. Some more greyness besides could be involved; many people associate this colour with worries, you know. But grey is a colour of conformity, it does not have a personality of its own. It adapts to any other colour, either- light or dark. So how do we subjoin our worries? And how profound we allow them to challenge our spiritual background?

We all been given a gift, I believe. Possibly, even few. But there is always one that you easy do best; where your precious curiosity lives and passion never stops burning. And if you stay with it, nurture in trust and hard work (of course) it will pay off in stars of contentment and joy not only for you, but for all who's around. Through the things that we enjoy most we spread acres of Love, because of trust, it goes infinite ways it savours... (And where is Love- golden coins also in spark, have you never noticed that?)

One wise friend of mine said once that ninety three percent in anything you'd seek will be hard work involved. But seven left is a talent (gift) of yours, and without that seven there never be hundred. But hundred is possible, if you'd decide to go all the way. I have, tell me how. In your work, you have to partner your mind with your Soul, he replied.


'Life is never ending' I hug Kaya for a peaceful night. 'You should give more credits to God' I wink to my tutor, he smiles. Before my bedtime I read aloud 'A Poem of Thanks' Universe, please, look after his child...


Alice: This is impossible.

The Mad Hatter: Only if you believe it is.



This talk awakens me to deepen my own life's philosophy grounds, so when I'll be studying it (which I will at some point) I'll have stronger story to hold perennial gifts from the God.  


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Too Much Never Enough


After Reiki session I think about too much and not enough. Looks like both entwining my road all the time. Sometimes I feel I do too much and not getting back enough. Sometimes because of not enough I come across sick tired of too much. Most often because of not feeling enough (I sense) I tend to take an extra mile towards impeccable enough and go too far too soon too quick and often too intense; to bump into what I am not ready to inhale. Too much never works. It just drops you back down to not enough- into pale awkward beige or nothing whatsoever at all. Because of not enough I fight too much. Because of too much I pull back to passive small. On and on this party goes on, I am exhausted.

I rarely find a balance in my head these days between that mad too much and doomed not enough. But once again, isn't this just a thought of something lacking or something overboard? And a thought, wise people say, can be trained to take different toll. Not yet thought, some day. For now I am busy marching the shops and eat buttered scones nonstop. I stand on a street smoking in red leather gloves and dare to refuse a date to see the smallest church in Ireland. I hysterically laugh at the world and myself (for starting to hoarder clothes) and can't stop swearing these days. I pass by an art exhibition and criticise the level of height that paintings are put on, cheeky fox! I go to a comedy club and pretend that my name is on a guest list, I know Tommy Tiernan here tonight will perform. They let me in, too cute of a blonde; with Tommy's autograph I walk home after satisfied to conquer enough.

'I feel mad like' I tell Madam.

'You have settled into Cork right' she comes back with a smile.


I am still on the run. All same old like :)



Nothing is lacking, sugar, it's just two programs running that overloads your processor. Delete the old one, leave the new and install for 'I wish to be made of more' antivirus, protecting your perfect screen view.

1. Don't believe everything you think.

2. Focus on progress on how far you've have come rather than on how far you have left to go.

3. Have no fear of perfection- you'll never reach it. (Salvador Dali)

4. The truth is- You Are Good Enough just the way you are.


Tomas Terekas, 2011

Tomas Terekas, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


Drop In


Madam cannot get over the palette of my childhood. She gets inspired by the paintings of mind, she says they so gorgeous and intimate. Besides, she is glad to greet me where she never met me before. Madam is my Psychology guru, the deeper I fall the bigger pleasure for her is to watch me stand up. 'Put your childhood on canvas' she encourages me, she knows sometimes I paint. 'I am not painting my childhood, I am sick of it' I laugh eating mango. But Madam cannot just leave something that provokes emotions level grand, she says it would be like canning a fault; and submits the idea to her colleagues to invite couples to share canvas by painting their emotional interiors through colours and shapes... Her colleagues find it too risky, and so am I, but Madam is full of arguments in defence of superb intimacy (her favourite word!). 'You do not share canvas, my darling, art is too personal, or too intimate, if you prefer' I express my belief. 'Is there such a thing as too intimate in couple's relationship to share a wee piece of art' she hums like a baby and makes me smile at that 'wee' which signatures her language, I like the sound of it too. When I used this word in one of my pieces ('...and I am here, on a bed which was someone else's just a wee episode ago') Cork writers started to giggle, they said this 'wee' can be interpret as 'pee' also, how cheerful is English language! Anyway. 'Sure, go on, try' I bless Madam 'I just hope there will be no fights or murky confusions after for the rest of their lives'. Not sure we had convinced her, but let's time to dictate our colours and divide spaces on canvas of life...

Shhh, don't mention to Madam, but no threesome for me at any time, hehehe


Art can save us from ourselves it is believed. Especially the one you express yourself. Once you allow your thought free on canvas (word or note) it comes out to a day light. And once it is out in a day light, it changes its colours; it will never look to feel the same way again. And it will never be able to hide once it's found.


 Art is

          The brightest legacy of a dark day

          Stroke of brilliance which guards a chance to grow

          Delicacy to dress, courage to support

          Reflect, regenerate and hold.

(Besides good coffee, hot water bottle, Garden Peeea candle and some other shooting means, of course)


Makes sense or not?


The Soul cannot thrive in the absence of art.

 -Henry Moore


i think everything in life is art. what you do. how you dress. the way you love someone, and how you talk. your smile and your personality. what you believe in, and all your dreams. the way you drink your tea. how you decorate your home. or party. your grocery list. the food you make. how your writing looks. and the way you feel. 

life is art.

 -Meg Biram


          When in doubt, add glitter!


Briga Saulė, 2014

Briga Saulė, 2014

by Brigita Stasun


W I L D 


Oh my God. What the hell are you doing? What  the  hell??


Smash flower between you palms and inhale the adventure that you have kept preserved in a bottle for years, without even being conscious of it. Cuddle yourself in a smile of the morning sun so when the moon blister, you will not be afraid.

Horizon blurs and wilderness thickens. The wholeness gets brighter, tattoo of the Star on your back starts to shine...

Will you take me as I am? With whistles in my head will you find a reason to love me? Will you?

With courage to walk Canada's wilderness completely sucked in nonsenses, absorbed in detailed matter, delving snow through the dreams you walk yourself to the woman you want to be 

Through the tears in someone else's eyes you see beginning of your own life; embarking onto journey to shape the clouds left behind

Curiosity snowboards through the centre of pacific north...


You sleep memories cry childhood at night guessing how long this trekking will last; scream away loss and that desperate F**k you, let's go! you address to the Self, and well done to you, girl. (One thing I could teach you- find your best song)Touch the sign if you want to survive, buy new shoes that perfectly fit and few peaches always pack in your bag - may it be second advice


High on mountain twilight whispers you things it is time to hear:

There is sunrise and sunset every day, dear, and you can choose to be there


No more chases, no more pain, no more dark fairy trails; head spins like a doll in musical box

Please, drive me through just because (what a thought) Refresh me with water in the middle of red desert, remind me the ritual of smelling plant unknown... (Surreal moments always involved)

A promise to give yourself a smile every time before bed, good...


Here comes Jesus and invites you to a musical. He puts your name on a guest list and says: Call me when you finish the line, we'll go for a drive, on floral sheets we dance break! She'll write his name on the sand of every beach on her way afterwards, and exchange pearl of wisdom for a promise of an early spring rain...


Morning tea from red mug, yellow poetry lines, angel tears- night vision scanned tragedy cremated in previous life... 

What leads to why? What causes you to change the course? You ask questions after waking up covered in frogs

(Sing the song that I teach you)


Eventually grief finds its way out of the woods. And so do you, refreshed and new, with golden nuggets that pockets full. And that is just one of the biggest few: 

Your life is so very present

So precious song belonging to you.




(...this movie reminded me that no matter what weather your night have been, you wake up in the morning, pack your tent and keep walking NEW day.)

The rest of weekend I spend doing nothing but swirling in a chair listening to strange musical textures daydreaming sailing and watching white sparkling bird on my blinds. I have to say- it is a pleasure to walk self-accepting lines once again...

Life is a constant struggle between the intellect and the Soul. The Soul strives to remind us that we are perfect just the way we are and guides us on the path of Love. On the other hand, the intellect constantly strives to control us through fear. It carries the negative voice that whispers, 'You are not good enough, not capable...' It keeps us preoccupied with false concerns and in the process, keeps us from discovering our true nature. In order to heal this issue, you must acknowledge your feelings and embrace all that you are. < ... > In order to heal your relationship with another, you must first heal the relationship you have with yourself.

 -Toni Carmine Salerno


Marga, 2011

Marga, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


White butterfly you are, you precious girl. Born from a starry night into the light of extraordinary day of your achieved success, you'll trip in everlasting joy. Where deserved fairy tale lives real, paradise you are almost to enter. Enjoy silk kindness of sleep for now, you brightest angel; enjoy the starry night until its lonely magic still goes on, but know- you coming closer to a day when wings will grow to open your cocoon will elevate into delight of bloom. And Love in bright that all surrounds. Prepare to colour peace of mind...


Return to silence for a while

                               Freedom is to come


Flowing silence is Love

Sheared silence is friendship

Silence seen is infinity

Vibrating silence is creation

Expressed silence is beauty

Maintained silence is strength

Allowed silence is rest

Received silence is joy

Perceived silence is knowledge

Silence alone- is being...


-Vargo, Silence


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


Progress on Duty


Storm always comes into calm. Soon after you start summarising what just had happened and what it all means. You start weighting your guesses and wait for the clear answer to come through.

Yes, I did have pretty tough childhood. 'But who didn't' tells me a friend. 'We all have our own crosses to carry' he adds. I do not like this expression. I am not here crosses to carry, I am here to transform them into butterfly wings, I believe. For each its own hardship (sounds more appropriate to me) I agree. Just that neglect believed to be most difficult to work through, that's all. In the end, I am not to compare that hardship of ours. I just want to talk my own; to save my Soul and to guide you a little through possible overcomes. I hope you'll allow me to do so. 


No, it wasn't about forgiveness as you might have guessed. I have forgiven my mother. Actually, a good while ago. It is about a little that above. Responsibility my Ego fights hard by throwing ace tantrums, hoping to keep swimming happy in emotional jacuzzi for another few millenniums.   

It sits in front of me impressively dressed (look at me!) smoking cigar drinking martini accelerates:

'You are mad! Your mother rejected you since day one you came to this world, she never cared emotionally for you, abused you in every way possible and in the end- abandoned you! Have you forgotten those seven years of her disappearance? And hey, tell me, when was the last time she talked to you? Third year you say it goes? Let's add them to those seven and that one more and twice by two... How old are you?'

'I know...' I sod and take silk napkin from my fellow Ego which continues with no mercy at all:

'So, what is your plan you say? You are going to take responsibility and support her? You must be out of your mind!' it takes few moments to laugh out loud, then leans closer and whispers:

'Isn't that what your mother told you to do? You still listen to her commands? You still afraid to fight? You still afraid of her, hahaha! You such a chicken, s u g a r rrr...' it keeps kneading my pain.

'Don't you get it? She dreams responsibility she never takes towards you! You cannot reap what you didn't sow, right? Now stop annoying me, sweetheart' it lights a minty fills martini glass and pushes towards me together with tiny purple velvet box; Swarovski diamond invitingly sparkles inside- Happy Valentine's!

'Do you recall how your mother threw all your jewellery into a fire?' it reminds...


'But she will die alone...' I feel.

'She deserve it though'

'No one deserves to die alone!' now my decent human pride starts to shout.

'Jeeesus! I had enough, I can not do this no more' I stand up.

'When someone slaps you on the cheek, turn to them the other also? Jeeesus alright' these days Ego barely shuts up.


I slam the door. I go to the park. I greet snowdrops. I listen to a river moving on.

I walk my way into the spring with decent human pride...


I'll do it, just give me some time.


You may believe that you are responsible for what you do, but not for what you think. The truth is that you are responsible for what you think, because only at this level that you can exercise choice. What you do comes from what you think.

 -Marrianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of 'A Course in Miracles'


To say you have no choice is to relieve yourself of responsibility.

-Patrick Ness


This I choose to do. If there is a price, this I choose to pay.

It it is my death, then I choose to die. Where this takes me, there I choose to go.

I choose. This I choose to do. 

-Terry Prachett, Wintersmith


Colm Mullen, 2011

Colm Mullen, 2011

by Brigita Stasun


(material that electrify)


If I'd to paint my childhood I'd start scooping colour black, to represent huge fear that I lived, inside and out. Brightest red on top I'd add, which sharply burns in anger; red deeper one- for drops of blood I'd splash... all over bathroom floor of summer 1984...

Helplessness I'd cape in peaceful light of silver blue, minded by watercolour, purest pure. I adopted helplessness, I didn't fight. It did transform to something sacred after while, just like the pain, which I'd dress in regal purple note, this colour kept me alert for the years to come...

If I'd to paint my childhood I'd layer veils of white as dull uncertainty of time, which sheerness grew old through the vision of child's eye.

Awareness I'd paint in orange not so bright, to humbly warm my trust in sunrise of a day when all of this will end, I'd shred metallic overdose of sadness that surround...

If I'd to paint the strength it would be grey. The sign of absolution mine, eternal mix between black and white.

If I'd to paint my childhood I'd go for dusty pink dot dot. Snowflakes of loneliness that on a window and lie heavy from a doorstep; that on the stairs of cubical I lived on Prospectus of the North (!) Murky mustard carpets of rejection here I happened to walk...

If I'd to paint confusion it would be dirty green. The only episode of something close to happy that I can think of. It is the only time I can recall you being happy. That time you hold me for a second close to your own heart, or to be more precise, you hugged me from aside; pity, I was too scared in state of spooky unfamiliar to look into your eyes...

If I'd to paint my childhood I'd let the hues of blue run wild until they'll blend to starry sky with lighthouse of the Moon towards I can walk, dream and sing lullabies to yellow teddy elephant, all wet from crystal tears, ah. The only true companion I had; my aunty gave him to me, she said it'll bring me luck. You threw him later to the bin, you said it smelled. The witness in your mind you couldn't bear, I understand.

Violence I'd paint in cheesy brown...

If I'd to paint the faith it would be gold. A stage to my beloved sky, which held protection over all, established by surreal optical illusion; I gave birth to odium and a thought- Wait till I grow up, you reversed Queen of Wands! Since my seventh year on the Earth I have nurtured this thought, sugar little gangster. OH MY GOD


So here you go, I have it all. Do you know what colour happens when you mix them all? Dark brown. No, it's no joke. The colour that you adore, I- most despise.


I would not paint my childhood though.

It was only a sketch, draft, heavy ghost recalled.

I'd never paint it. 

I'll take a rubber and erase it.



(... I am back to the very start once again. I am a child. And I hate ALL. I hate you. And I hate myself for that.

This play of frankenstein I choose to stop.)

Your scars are symbols of your strength. Don't ever be ashamed of the scars life has left you with. A scar means the hurt is over and the wound is closed. It means you conquered the pain, learned a lesson, grew stronger, and moved forward. A scar is the tattoo of a triumph. So don't allow your scars to hold you hostage. Don't allow them to make you live your life in fear. You can't make the scars in your life disappear, but you can change the way you see them. You can start seeing your scars as a sign of strength and not pain.


What we call our destiny is truly our character and that character can be altered. The knowledge that we are responsible for our actions and attitudes does not need to be discouraging, because it also means that we are free to change this destiny. One is not in bondage to the past which has shaped our feelings, to race, inheritance, background. And this can be altered if we have the courage to examine how it formed us. We can alter the chemistry provided if we have the courage to dissect the elements. 

 -Anais Nin, The Diary of Anais Nin, Vol 1: 1931-1934


Exposed . Marius Puodžiūnas, 2014

Exposed. Marius Puodžiūnas, 2014

by Brigita Stasun


'It is growing dark in my life.'

 -Frida Kahlo, 1954


Sometimes thinking of you makes me physically sick. It makes me over eat and smoke. It misbalances me to a level that I want to bang my head to the wall or cut my wrists to release the guilt that you assign to me to carry. The guilt that comes sandwiched with shame and the stamp of being not good enough for your liking. Being not what you want me to be. Punished for this, by being rejected. Over and over again, many years pass. No matter how hard I try to win your acceptance, no matter how desperately I seek to proof that I might be worthy- no, not encouragement, compassion or, God forgive me, smallest praise- a slice of... attention?

You imprisoned me in your darkest prison. You have locked me in chains which pull foot left close to the beam of light that in small window, I never reach. So I go in circles in that dark prison of yours, which becomes apparently mine. I cannot escape. Cannot reach the light or get inch closer to warm your frozen heart. So I freeze mine... I run away from you all my life. I moved to different country, I distanced myself from the past in many ways. But you find me everywhere; I know that by now. Like marionette you play me, sometimes loosening your grip, more often tightening those chains up. And you demand. You insist. You threaten. You manipulate. In every way you can think of. Inventive woman you are. Every way I can't predict. Or figure it out. 

So what on earth do you want? What else can I do? I wonder do you know what you want. Sometimes I think bravely that I do. And I would give it to you. Are you able to accept it though? Think about! Because this could be the start of game that we both could enjoy to play. Or is it just me, once again, keep trying hard, on and on? This is exactly what makes me physically sick. I am tired of this bond. On which you call for the sake of your own. What is a purpose of it I wonder all the time. Do YOU know? Will it ever stop, please, tell me. Will you ever cut those chains? I promise I will not run away. Will you ever see me? Will you forgive me of not filling your dreams? Will you accept me? Let me go? You say you love me?? Then do so!



(... crying out hate, curse, eternal absence of roots. This winter gives me shivers all around.)

To move into changed future you have to understand your past.



Scared is what you feeling. Brave is what you doing.

 -Emma Donohue 'Room'


by Brigita Stasun


                   Gothic'a of Deep South


You know this feeling when there is no air to breathe?

And the greatest despair bursts over the Milky Way

Scattering healthy consciousness within the stars


'Just too much of too many too often' cries its way towards overdose of Hennessy,

which complements your constant want of can't have

No matter how high is a chair you only reach as far as 'if'


Light comes in flashes

You fall places that in between


Eccentric red gown, air wet from Ave Maria's

Lament of white lilies, no absolute feeling


'You can run but you cannot hide' frustration tears you apart

Broken glass on the floor, golden liquid painting stays on a wall


                     When You enter

                   Craziness thickens

                              I fall


'How peculiar' says Madam and tells me continuing story about the sheep Silly, which I happen to hold on their farm few years ago. Silly (I named her) had no mother, so I fed her from a bottle also wondering will she survive. 'If she'll take a chance, we won't eat her for Christmas dinner' laughing promised me Madam's man. Few days ago Silly had two baby lambs, whose she refused to accept. They are fed from a bottle by children while Silly wanders fields all alone, Madam thought I should know. How close we are to the animal world, today we contemplate; inheritance not that easy outgrown. 

'I could be the perfect muse for someone writing the theses on Psychoanalysis of Sigmund Freud' I share my feeling with Madam. 'I certainly agree' she winks 'You and your sheep Silly!' We burst into laughter, for God's sake, Silly is cherry on a piece of this cake!



(... if you ever find yourself going through the patches of deeper analysis, always remember that infuse of humour is ESSENTIAL!)

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

 - Buddha


John Kindness, image from&nbsp;'Odysseus'.&nbsp;Briga Saulė, 2014

John Kindness, image from 'Odysseus'. Briga Saulė, 2014

by Brigita Stasun


Unwanted Clashes


Electrical impulses play my brain while I drink da best2 coffee in town listing through the speeches of Nelson Mandela, subjective truth of Holy Bible and some minor poetry from the edge of melting ice. My hands sweat by the sound of Stevie Wonder and my heart starts releasing that short wonderful blur that I found on my journey in slightly unusual context of Thursdays, decorated in origami's and chairs, which hang in the air. On the other side (is there always other side?) light cherry excitement enforced to speak out long minded pain, even if the voice shakes... Smell of old books on the shelves from raw wood and nervous candlelight puzzle my thought between ancient permanent and constant temporary; and the Barrack Street lights support those two miles where I juggle the question What takes over my life- certainty or uncertainty? Hmmm...


Back home. No peace in the post. I keep hanging dry... running out of time



           Longer like you stay

         Over protection will deny an attention

        Verged on affection of

       Equally important colours



Show yourself willing to speak like Mandela, hehe



(... going back to my own emotional history.)

Žalias, 2011

Žalias, 2011

by Brigita Stasun




Airy and graceful here she comes

Confusing me in guided temptations

Parking experience close to vendetta, suspending

Elevating the senses into maxi potential

Feeds brain in my sleep

by airy and graceful


Dance with me before

I'll edit my statements...



Open up for the back door beauty!

                  There was, in the dusky night,

                  One yellowed  steeple

                  The Moon

                  Like the dot of an i.

                   - Alfred de Musset                                                                              



                                                                                         One midnight, with the Moon I was going towards a road,

                                                                                         asking her kindness, close to the garden of flowers, I become.

                                                                                           - Rumi 'Hand in Hand with the Moon'


Artūras Andriko, 2010

Artūras Andriko, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


            High Noon


Your super sensitive heights

really annoy me sometimes

Your boundless imprisoned fear

teases my patience transparent

          by tickling it with a feather

which I want to grab it

and throw it in a bin

Narrowing eyes, pointing the finger

at your existing downfalls

and my present clichéd concerns


Probing into spiritual crisis of profound proportions

Receiving the clues

to feel your consciousness

and to study my own motivations

Not to become totally encompassed

at coherent narrative flow

          of our creations...



'Your mother is hanging around' senses Madam. I sadly wheeze out 'Yes, I know...' 

Patience is the skill of understanding and respecting your own rhythms and those of others.


If you put your feet into the middle of other people's lives, you'll get your toes trodden on, and you'll deserve it. 


by Brigita Stasun


Memory of You


A girl stepped through my doorway today, the age just twenty three; she came to Ireland to bury her mother. I secretly stare at her from a distance and see Death written all over her eyes. Her mum died in a hospital on Saturday morning, she explains; and was cremated last night. Today this young girl owns a travel bag in one hand and her mother's ashes in the other. Her lonely big world is dropped into the most delicate hole...

'She was my best friend' this child begs. I give her a hand and my whole heart for today.

'She didn't leave you, sweetest angel. She just changed the form...' I talk to her heart which is slightly delirious, wandering through labyrinth of this hole the darkest in search for some anchored silence which stills all around, by warm human touch lullabies nothingness into sensible light; stay with me, please, little girl...

'Have you ever lost someone close?' she suddenly asks.

'I have. I have lost my Granny's and so her telephone number' I tell. 'I cannot call my Granny no more. That is how we got even closer together, now we walk places further than words'. Her heart nods without doubt, I can feel it. 'Remember, we only change forms...'

This very moment she is back to our precious human world, she leans her golden hair closer to my shoulder and fetches deep sigh of release. I press cashmere scarf against my chest to absorb the sweat drops...

'She was so happy, all the time she smiled' the life is settling in her eyes and I inhale the sweetness of delight. 'She was so brave, you know...'

'I know, I see it in your eyes' I tip her little nose. 'This courage you will carry on...'

Then she gets livelier and tells me more about her mum; about the choices that she made in life, about the paintings that she created using bags of tea. Each bag of tea has different colour, she says; wow, of course! (This point broadens my artistic thought) Her mum was writing plays which were performed; she was growing flowers in the West of Cork...

I can smell those floral notes. And I can see her ginger cats.......... maybe we met before.......... again, who knows.

'But she was only fifty three, she was so young...' transparent veil of moonlight shadow falls on tiny shoulders once again. 'Why did she go?' the girl presses hard my hand and waits for an answer looking straight into my Soul.

'I do not know, sweetest angel. You'll have to ask your mum yourself' I gently whisper to her ear and land myself a silent thought 'Maybe the pain it is a reason why we grow...'

'I will set her fly over sheer sea of Brittany, and in the forest of Brazil exotic bloom we walked together two years ago...' now near future little girl daydreams and I exhale gratitude for all.

'You will come back home, you'll close your eyes at night and read the Story Still Goes On...' I make a promise to the girl.


I touch her cheek

I lit the Faith

I let her hand go...


If you can bring relief and well-being to just one other person's life, this is a victory worth having; a silent, humble response to the suffering and pain on this planet. Your small kindness are not only capable of saving humanity, they are already saving it.

 -Sister Stan


by Brigita Stasun


Silver Bear


He has nice hands

Cork accent humour

Dress code that I like

Secure intellect

Appealing eye

Cute fizz of child

Diary, exact like mine

and a wedding ring on his finger.



Dipping into chocolate illusions just for tonight, mmm...

          ... fishing out an inspiration

Wait till you see me in springtime, hehe

Take away love and our earth is a tomb.

 - Robert Browning


Rimantas Grašys, 2010

Rimantas Grašys, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


Photos of What Ever


Undone by the heat

Personal slide

Wet pale skin

Outrage or delight you couldn't tell


Despising the word 'everybody'

Pattern had developed

Marble fountain stocked with fish

In recommended landscape


Feeling like a cat

Little self obsessed, but nice, precisely


Deserted pool, drown insects

Sound of Vespa, small cries at night

Facing away

Canopy of flowers


Lurching stomach

Compressed time

Still moment

Carrying life



(... collage from Daniele McLaughlin.) 

The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter- 'tis the difference between the lightning-bug and the lightning.

 - Mark Twain


Colm Mullen, 2010

Colm Mullen, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


Relax Translated


Foundations are missing

On the map of your mind

Life is stripped to the absolute basics

You chance to dance closer

To the rhythms that you like


Character changes quickly

From fractured accounts of events

Into seamless journey of psyche

Which saturates the sense

Of deeply significant moments


You watch silver planes...


Like everyone else, you have moments in your life when you are called to stand at the edge, where the possibilities before you are immense and the challenges mighty. These moments call for creativity, courage and hope. At the times like this, put your hand in the hand of Creator and move into the future, knowing that you will not be tried beyond your strength and the spirit who call you will give you the gifts you need.

 - Sister Stan


Marga, 2010

Marga, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


At times, when every single word screams 'boring' and runs away from you showing its middle finger, you have no choice just to find a new strategy to trick it to come back. So I take random line from a book and let my thoughts out, without focusing on the outcome. Words come in play colourful ways...


I had learned that since the beginning of the seventeenth century. Great opening line for a possible book of memoirs, Sunshine! About that possible impossible you just read an article on, ha! Keep playing new games and 'that is how I spend my winters since eighteen century' you'll say. Imagine you could live constantly in adventures like those! It's not that you can't, it's just like it requires a lot of effort (for a start anyway). And me, like most human beings, would prefer to experience all adventures without too much effort. No effort would be ideal! Why goodness can't just drop out from the sky if God loves me so much, some years ago I asked. Many people ask that. I hear a lot of stuff of the similar nature these days. Very interesting I find to talk to people who have no clue about our own power. Looks like there are those people still around, even that I keep arguing with Madam that nowadays can't be anyone left who did not hear a single word of spiritual context. But looks like she is right, they are.

I believe you can heal yourself if you choose to. What are you talking about, asks me a girl I opened this conversation with. So I repeat my statement and try to explain what I mean by it in five sentences (professionalism I learn). But she does not have patience (or curiosity) to listen to them. Do you think people would not want to heal a cancer if they could, she asks. It depends. Often they consciously (or unconsciously) decide not to. Other times, it is simply not their destiny, I would think. She laughs at me admiring the power (no power?) of pharmaceuticals, so I let her be. I could go into more specific examples from our own lives, I guess. The thing is, I do not waist my energy any more if I feel that the chance of positive outcome is less than 50/50. Not because I have no time for her. Because she has no space for a new knowledge this very moment, and I respect that. So I let Big Pharma keep thriving, hehe. While it thrives. 

Anyway, lets go back to the power of ours. Let's take me as an example, shall we? Because of all those big changes in my life, my health went off the rails. I left behind my daily yoga mat and my vegetable juicing routine, because my juicer broke down. Well, it didn't broke down exactly, but it was ABOUT to brake down. So I helped it, I thrown it away and declared to myself that I will take a break from juicing, because I have no spare money nor a space in my boxes for transportation of this huge thing into the new episode of mine. I had it pretty tough that time: I cried good bit, I thought intense, I worried way too much. I struggled back and forward till I got panic attacks. I agreed with Madam, I knew it was time to stop this from happening somehow, or at least to reduce a little, otherwise... well, there was no otherwise. But instead of practising solitude in some healthy spiritual techniques to balance my nervous system, I had a glass of vine and a joint to take the edge, to be easy on myself advise I took. It took the edge on one hand I have to say, but on the other one it stimulated even more extreme emotions, so I slide a rollercoaster- good fun; with added French fries and Pizza for my dinner, great times! In a different city I woke up one day. With possibilities and opportunities around, but without any firm shape or structure whatsoever in my life. Discoveries and waiting intensified my days and that was okay, until waiting was over one day. I got more stability and a chance to form a routine. But I decided to hold on to bags of crisps and chocolate cookies for another while, with uncontrollable passion for my long lived green friend and a ghost of nicotine (they haunt me time from time). But my body decided not to compromise any longer. Every action has a reaction, like our elderly would say. Every morning I woke up tired. I was constantly cold. My stomach bloated. My teeth got sensitive (which indicates for extremely week immune system, now you know). Do I have to tell you how it affected my mood? Oh, you know...

So here I am today, with clear understanding that I stand on the edge of abyss and I have to pull myself away from it; that the time for healing is now and NO otherwise. And that is shocking news for sure, because I know how much effort it will involve, I've been there before. But I know as well that if I won't help myself I will get worse. Am I expecting pharmaceuticals to give me a hand? Hahaha, sugar, you can't even afford them! I could go on like this, of course, I can GET USE to live feeling this way, taking vitamin C chewable tablet now and then and buy Sensodyne toothpaste to brush my teeth (I wonder what is that magic in them which keeps your 'natural' sensitivity levels down). Unfortunately, it makes no sense these things. I wish sometimes it would, trust me. But I cannot convince myself on this one no more. So crawling on my knees I go and buy (again) a juicer and drastically reduce my intake of sugar. I go fasting one day a week to allow my organism to catch up on 'healing cleaning' (Reiki session and meditation A must these days). I climb St Patrick's hill as often as I can and sitting on a bench facing Cork dream under my feet I breathe breathe deep, and I pray pray pray hard for the strength to keep this routine. To release the blockages that in my body and my mind that I could proceed further, towards yoga mat. I come back home afterwards and have a cigarette, ouch! Are you laughing right now? Good, so am I! Hey, I'm no saint, but I try to stick to the ideas that above. And yes, it's tough. You know yourself, I'm sure, how hard it is to change your ways, those thinking habits that root deep inside. Because all habits are only our thinking habits. I believe serious illnesses (yes, like cancer) is a product of our life thought away (in many cases). I believe psychological issues, negativity that drives; ignored will manifest into the physical illness eventually. Slowly slowly... after your mind stops reasoning... your body loses its defence... immune system gets week... more and more nervous system swings out of balance... more and more physical un-comfort arise... you start focusing your already week power to fight the consequence... but it doesn't work... Unless... you change your ways. Do you know what that means? That means everything. Not just 'a lot' or 'big'. That means ALL. And that is very scary. That is why many people choose to leave before time. I think in this case, we have to decide on our priorities in life. We have to weight and make a decision on which side of a scale we are going to pray and to cry...


It is a lot of different literature about how our mind can heal our body. But if you'd ask me just about one, I would recommend the book of Louise L. Hay 'You Can Heal Your Life' to start with (she healed herself from cancer). It became my bible throughout these years; it explains possible causes of physical illness in very intriguing way. Try, if you curious, if you eager to challenge your mind, if you want to know the possible cause of back pain, skin problems or attacks of migraine.

Very into morals came back my words, and fair play to them! Today I mark two months free from alcohol and go back listening to hypnosis on how to stop smoking each night. Madam holds with her mantra 'you are too hard on yourself' for the first time,

January keeps playing its usual tunes all along our circles of life...


God thinks about you, but he does not think for you.


The task ahead of you is never greater than the strength within you.


Marga, 2010

Marga, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


Some reflection on Memories from my colleague Conor O'Leary!



The glassy eyed goldfish, in its glassy bowl, used to communicate telepathically with my doctor, so he knew everything I was up to. I didn't like how this was, so I covered the fishbowl with tinfoil and whispered 'normal' thoughts into the bowl in order to convince my doctor that everything was okay in my head.

But things were not okay in there, things were rarely okay whenever a memory had been kidnapped. 

One of my memories has been kidnapped (I just said that). It is my memory of how my father behaved on the night of my 7th birthday. I remember the gift, I remember the cake but I don't really remember how my father behaved that night. That memory, my doctor said, is key to understanding where I am today.

But I don't understand that entirely. A memory is different to a fact. A memory could be true, but it could also be exaggerated like a tale or missing vital details like a rumour or joke without a punchline. I don't know if I should base my current self on a memory- is a memory not just a voice in my head? I'm supposed to avoid voices in my head.

So why should a memory take center stage in my recovery? It's a blurry vision. I think he was drunk but I was a kid and can't be relied on.

 But I know for certain my father of today and I know for a fact that he is dying. He looks at me like he's saying he's sorry but neither of us speak any words. So if I have a choice I will choose the certainty of today over the painful confusion of all those years ago. 

And I kill that fish, because it knows what I am really thinking.


The worst part of holding memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories needs to be shared.

 - Lois Lanry, The Giver


It was a thought within that withering mind 

  Some tuneless din                                       

          Told what might rule once done was Love  

   A cup of tea. And a biscuit tin.                     


(...answering to Roy Fisher.)  


Urtė, 2010

Urtė, 2010

by Brigita Stasun


In the meanwhile, something is happening to my memory...



                                        Divine Despair


I wish to sink myself into the lustrous memories which are no more

Just for tonight, to keep me warm at this wild night of Irish winter

Embrace myself in comfort of the sweetest recent past I wish

Only though it does not splash its goods, they lost somewhere

I cannot find

Gets cold my fingers, never mind


No purest water of the beaches, no cup of tea with other dear Soul

No candle light that at my home, no laughter of the innocence I can't recall

My dear God, where are they gone?


Only naked facts stare at me from the address book

And photos from my laptop, they look strange

Good strange, I guess, but still, why would they feel this way?


The sense of temporary overfills me 

It feels there is no permanent at all...


Is it because of that our memories go loose into infinity unconscious

Where they wander fluent like lost Souls

Happy in the Garden of Eden, sad besides dark waters that beyond

If it is any, I don't believe it, but sure, who knows...


And I am here; on a bed which was someone else's just a wee episode ago

With cup of soya milk and blossom honey on my tongue

Creating something unbelievable I hope

Not knowing will it ever stay or go...


In general, it's not so cold.


It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparison anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.

 - David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary


I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead.

 - Beryl Markham, West with the Night


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015

by Brigita Stasun


First There Were Voices, Then Faces


I found a treasure in my dream tonight.

The one I smuggled away and forgot in time.

It was so long ago I could not recall when it happened. All I could remember- it was money (which I hide aside for better times or worse, who knows) but forgot how much.

Turned out to be the truth. Money so it was.

Just way less then I was hoping for.

I was a little disappointed, sure.

But here came along my Soul, and shifted my awareness back to the point:

          'You found a treasure, girl, isn't that what counts most?'



These days I keep asking people around what they think about so called a New Year's Resolutions. Do they have any made? (I refer a New Year's Resolutions to 'keeping the tradition', which plays important role in creating the Culture, I am sure you'll agree with that.) Majority does, so I delightedly smile. Most of us hoping to improve ourselves: to eat healthier, to stay active and to think more positively; to contribute to community in some way, many add. One lady said that she is not going to focus this year on what she has to cut out, she is going to focus on what else she can do, I like that one too! Another girl told me that she is going to look for a way to overcome her fear of needles, because she has this rear type of blood in which hospitals are always in demand. She feels it is our duty to share a life with others, in every form we can. I listen and admire her courage, wow. It is the most inspiring idea I heard in a while! One friend of mine has made a decision to forgive his dad who left the family long time ago. Dad never found a peace, I'd guess; so took a chance and came back to beg for forgiveness, he was hoping to get to know his children, but found rejection bigger than the world... 'It was three years ago, but not a single day would pass without a memory of him, I can't move on...' Fair play to you, young man, I secretly clap my hands thinking I must ring my mum... (Believe it or not, Cork people share stories like this one.)

So here we go, we need those starts, and a New Year it's just a symbol which signals urge for different thought. Some people say there is no point in making resolutions, they say they never work. We tend to judge our present according to our past. But we were different back then, you know. So why don't you take a chance as well and try again? Might be surprised how divergent you have become! And if it's not going to work, that is too alright, you'll come back to it again, I'm sure, when the time is right ;)


I am writing this post drinking the first glass of fresh vegetable juice that I have made myself... mmm... proud soaked, hehe

Truthfully, if it doesn't challenge you, it won't change you. And change breeds growth. So when the goal seems big and a plan looks tough, just begin, push through it for a while, and soon the next thing you need to do will look possible. Step by step you can get through anything. This is the truth and you have to believe it. In the end you're going to succeed because you are crazy enough to think you can.


Write yourself a New Year full of peace and free of regret!


Peggy Guggenheim Museum in Venice . Carlo Zanelli, 2014

Peggy Guggenheim Museum in Venice. Carlo Zanelli, 2014

by Brigita Stasun