Winter 2015/16


'I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.'

-Dodie Smith


There are several clocks recording my life. The first two tick by security of truth and richness of freedom. Virtual tides, the third one bleeds. General acceptance and beautiful words counts the fourth. The oldest is set for instinctive knowledge and links to the past. All clocks are made of strange circumstances and the accomplished structure of what is yet to come. 

The big golden one tallies splashes of my creative fire and moments of commitment to my own identity, which often wanders in the celestial sphere. Another records hallucinated trust, and times when I just feel too-cool-for-school. Dreams in one tense are captured by the one coloured blue funk. That which I least like weights my habits, and itches, and soon-to-be-scrapped plans. Industrial conditioning is replicated by the one on my wrist, shiny pink and black. One clock counts cherries I stole from the cakes. One records blueprints of the best songs. There is one which alarms to finish last night's sentence, as well. And one which indicates time to visit Home. And one aloof, standing still, afraid to start and lose the count...

I circle like a moon around these timely planets which measure formation of me as mature well written poetry, on the most expensive paper, under wet light. When time moves beyond all these clocks, the principle of peaceful simplicity proceeds, calculating my terrific voyage. And so I set an emergency alarm by this one: to raise me up a level higher if the storm comes.


I have several more illustrating my Soul:

Happy times because of Android out of reach

Organic lavender fields and her majesty the Sea

Summer's heat that boils tea

Peripheral mist stranding me

Empathy traps

Silent steps down and loud ones, up

Butterflies below waist

Fairytales from the clouds

Honey syllables and non profit times,

the sounds of Venice Carnival...


all clocks gives sense to






Happy Springtime!


There was nowhere to go but everywhere, 

so just keep on rolling under the stars.

-Jack Kerouac, 'On the Road'



Ode to Habit


'Try', whispered the Dream.

'What? Again?', retorted the Experience.

'It's all because of me', smiled the Cause.

'Not a chance! It's all about me!', insisted the Ego.

'Maybe there is no need for this at all?', murmured the Precaution.

'And so here I am!', declared the Resolution.

'Will you go without me?', queried the Intoxication.

'Without you - nowhere', replied the Peace.

'Maybe tomorrow?', speculated the Doubt.

'Now or never!', demanded the Determination.

'As long as it's not the same way as yesterday', insisted the Common Sense.

'It's not possible!', warned the Foolishness.

'It's all going to be different this time', promised the Intuition.

But nothing happened.

'Something seems very familiar here', reflected the Memory.


The Dream stood up and left...


p.s. Where was the Wisdom?



(translated and slightly modified by me (how dare!) from the unknown Lithuanian author)

On the same note:



'What is out there, on the horizon?'

'Possibilities, taking off'

'Wow, very nice...'



'I REFUSE TO GIVE UP' doodle drawing I stick on a mirror frame




'Educate that you may be free.'

-Thomas Davis


'Never complain, never explain, just stick to the facts'*, tells me my Council of Trust.

'It's just this tired feeling of rowing against the stream. Not a complaint, just the Fact of rain and smoking again.'


Before I leave, they give me a candy - a piece from 1909, written by the Lord Mayor of Cork, who was the grandfather of Someone in my Council of Trust:

'The problem of unemployment includes all other problems which arise from, and grow out of, poverty, individual and national. The real test of a nation is the degree to which its people have opportunity of maintaining themselves in such decency and comfort as to live their lives above the plane of mere struggle for existence.' < ... >

They know exactly what they are doing, those wisest ones - I am a visionary to the brim; I get charged on big words. People at the Department of Social Protection believe in me too, they say they have no doubt my mission is to educate. And so I enter the classroom again. On 'Training and Development' course I am about to embark, a huge Thanks to them. And when it's done, they'll be expecting me back, so they smile - to deliver a motivational speech for people who'll be unemployed at that time. 

We shake hands.

I sign.


(This happens just a day after I watched twenty hours live seminar online, about how to make a career in teaching Higher Performance...)



*A very helpful tip, I must admit. I'll tell you what it offers:

It gives you your Power back - the sense of your own Value, which grows Self-Confidence. Your Trust gets stronger. And Goodness around you doubles. Clarity steps out from deep within - you understand your next right move. And so you quickly shift into a different mode, higher vibes. Try! You'll find out that to complain - it means to waste your precious time.

I even set 'No Complaints' as a personal challenge for myself this month. It is said it takes 28 days to fully develop a new thinking pattern - a new habit. If you stick with new attitude for a month, you'll be on the way to more significant change.


Use what talent you possess. The woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best.




- Energy of thought, inspired by the heart.

(Stewart Pearce)


Thoughts and Feelings from the Ceiling

(to Madam)


Each morning starts with a challenge - I must decide the length of my dress

Nowadays anger becomes passive-aggressive, very unpleasant. If I'd to give it a colour, it would be a charcoal black pencil on paper

My mind is full of transparent thoughts struggling to find their way into colour

I keep going, photographing green, orange and white, hanging wet feelings in the sun to dry


Time from time, you have to clean everything inside and out. When you done, do not forget to rest from the cleaning

'Our role is to tell people how to go to heaven, not to tell how the heavens go'

(from the Astronomy lecture)

Sleep is unconscious meditation. Meditation is conscious sleep.      

With the sound of each lazy raindrop, a tiny white flower comes into bloom on my body, wow

Sometimes it is better to wait. Because at some point, you might open up your eyes and realise that all it was - just a dream...


I was always to know absolute. Disproportional absolute.

I'll ring you, after I wash the dishes


It's always Tea Time

-Carroll Lewis, Alice in Wonderland





'Because we are the majority in the world, that's why' - my Catholic friend suggests the answer to my question ''Why should I be faithful to 'our' religion'', as he calls Christianity.

'I am not from the majority' I tell him.

 And so here it starts:

'You always choose to be an outsider, not like everybody else. You are constantly searching for something, blindly. Have you found what you're looking for? No? You are lost, don't you understand?' - he makes a powerful statement which pierces my heart.

'Jesus is the truth! Jesus is the answer! I thought you've grown up enough to understand that' - he twiddles a knife in my heart to the left, to the right, left, right

I feel helpless; I don't know how to defend myself. Yes, in a bigger picture I do feel lost sometimes. I search and I can't find. Yes, I often struggle and I feel no belonging. But one I know for sure - Jesus is not the answer for me, and so I tell this to my friend. But he keeps going on the same note - dishonours me for being not from the 'majority', insults my faith. He puts his hand on my shoulder, pulls me closer, leans his face to mine, and starts baby-talk me:

'Ah, you poor girl, aren't you? Aren't you?'

He clearly enjoys what he's doing.

I can't even lift my hand to push him away. I start to cry. How could he be so mean? Why??


We split for an hour. He goes to mass; I go home to have a long shower.

I calm down, fix us coffee and a fruit salad. And I wait for him, with all my good heart.

He comes back with his head low. Cleansed, I can sense.

We drink coffee in silence.


'Do you understand your behaviour?', I kindly ask after a while.

'I am sorry I have upset you' he says.

'Please answer my question'

'I am sinful' - he drops the first card without looking at me.

'You know I don't believe in sin. But I do feel you are mean. Do you know WHY?' I ask.

'I'll pray and I'll ask for forgiveness', he makes a promise impossible to brake.

'But you are not going to ask yourself why do you behave the way you do, am I right?'

'You make me shiver' he says.

'I believe I scare your Ego a little. Please promise me you'll think about what I just said. And I'll think why I reacted to this situation the way I had.'

'I just wanted to invite you to join our boat', now he weeps.

'You do this every time. Even that every time I ask you not to. You do not listen? Or you don't respect my choice, darling?' 

Everything shivers by now: coffee in cups, my heart, his lips, religion, whole Universe...

- one of the most unpleasant moments of my life



'I wouldn't have patience for that', my other friend comments on this incident later on. 'He is not your friend' she adds.

No, he is not. My friends do not humiliate me. He is my family. Which still thinks it is okay to do things like that

(Microsoft Word suggests finishing with a question mark)



Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.

-Carl Jung



Push the Boat Out


The amount of choices


the elements of the Periodic Table

No wonder confusion is present -

quiet sharpness of my own private night

Chain of events resists interpretation

Soaking in alkaline water

I employ plain metaphors for life


Faith is not something to grasp, it is a state to grow into.





It would be so nice if something would make sense for a change.


-Lewis Carroll 'Alice in Wonderland'


Smiling Sideways


'How is your health?' he asks.

'Exceptional' - I look him in the eyes.

He smiles.

'Any allergies? To latex, by any chance?'

'No. I'm use to gloves.'

'How is your memory?' he goes on.

'Trained. I listen to what's being said.'

'What was the first question I asked you?'

Ha, how smart.

'Where is my accent from?'

'Very well', he looks pleased. And so he 'puts the cards' on a table.

'You decide, you like them or not', he winks. A dentist. Who made his business thrive.

'We work rotating shifts here. One week you'll start at 9, next week - 9:30, week after - 10am. You'll finish accordingly - 6, 6:30 and 7pm. There might not be very exact finish times - I warn you. You'll be expected to stay till the client is here (this Dental Practice is open until 7:30pm). That also applies to the lunch time breaks. You might work some Saturdays as well, and I won't pay for the overtime. Those hours will go towards extra holiday time'.

'Will I be able to take holiday whenever I wish?' I ask.

'Not always. But I'll try to do my very best to accommodate your request.'

I nod in understanding what's the 'deal' here.

'And, I would appreciate if you do not watch the clock when at work' he adds.

'May I ask you how much do you value this kind of commitment?' (at this point - I have nothing to lose)

'11 euro an hour', he strikes a serious face.

'Leave it with me', I shake his hand smiling wide.

I walk home after this offer thinking - someone would love to steal my life...




Yes, I do feel a little upset, sad and annoyed having to turn a job offer down. But. At the same time, I feel proud and empowered. For not allowing this guy to supervise MY life. Because, I believe, if you let someone do that, they will. Then it'll be only yourself to blame. Keep this in mind.


The same night, half asleep, I channel:

'I will get there. No matter where that 'there' is. I get my heart open up to a level that no one will be in power not to give me a job that I'd like. I will get to a place where each cell of my heart vibrate in the same frequency of Truth, Freedom and Joy.'


On the next day, I get invited to attend an Aptitude Test for a Clerical position in General Post Office of Cork - my dream job, for today. Wish me luck.


Don't let yourself to be controlled by three things: people, money, or past experiences. 

-Power of Positivity



Palace of Endurance


In Cork Coffee Roasters Cafe today, strangely enough, 'Lady, I just feel like I won't get you Out of my mind I feel loved For the first time...' song is streaming, making me to think again when was the last time I fell in love with a man. This is not exactly something I like to think about very much. It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. Too long. Maybe 'falling in love' thing is gone with the last blast of naive curiosity, intimate knowledge of a man, or the rhythm of biological clock which has stopped ticking. Maybe it is gone because 'all good men are taken' or, maybe, because it's just too many clouds over Ireland altogether. I don't know. But it's gone. And even that my girlfriends keep sharing with me their beautiful fairy tales (in which I have no reason not to believe - I see them) my heart felt nothing like that for ages. I am just happy for my girlfriends who found Love, eventually. Those amazing women struggled for years on their own, and so they deserved the great men. They came into their lives and sorted their struggles out, even the material ones. Am I jealous? Theoretically - yes, a little bit. Not practically though, as I don't know how it feels to share a struggle, especially the material one. Nobody ever sorted me out. No one. Isn't this strange, in a way? I never had a man who had more than I did. And what do I have, like? A mortgage of eighty two grand? Hehehe. All my men were just like one: good looking, attractive, intelligent, 'up on the go'. On the other hand - pretty insecure, with responsibility issues, and some sort of addicts - just like I was. We played one piano well, for a few years. They all drove my car. They let me to stay away from the kitchen pots, I was glad. So I took charge in the bedroom, striking up performances hard to forget. I loved and I mothered them all, they liked that. But at some point, I got bored - to adjust the driver's seat in the car. We parted with a promise to never miss the past. And so we did. I never mourned for too long. I knew another one is going to come along. And he'll be better than the one before. Sure. Seventh year I'm on my own.

I changed.


I went through the times when I longed for a man. I prayed and I asked the Universe to send me MY man. I wrote on a page what kind of man I would like, and I even wrote a few love letters to him - I worked on attracting him. Some men came along. Some - well known 'attractive-intelligent-up on the go', some - too little, another's - too much. I felt nothing. 'I love you, but you are strange' - I giggled with my girlfriends into a total abstinence of faith...

I do not wait for him no more. After a while, you just accept the cards which say 'I see no man for you'. No matter how beautiful my eyes are or how tight my ass has become? No man to lift me higher? No chance to write a love story? I find this hard to believe. But that is just the way it goes, I guess. For some people. Sometimes. 

I wonder and I praise myself at the same time. For being pretty sane (?) all these years living without the balancing force besides. I have to love myself twice as much - not easy, you know. 


'Sweetheart, you must make up your mind', my aunty told me the other day.

'What do you mean?' I asked to clarify.

'You must decide do you want to have a family, or do you choose to stay on your own', she explained this crucial 'choice'. Basically, she said that the next man I'll meet - it I focus - could do.

I said nothing. We have different truth.


Nowadays, I see couples kissing and I think - 'Ah, that's nice'. Instead of putting their feeling on my lips for 'mmm...', as I use to do. Ah, well. I got a gift today - a lovely new dress. Now, that 'will do' :)


May all that has been reduced to noise in you, become music again.


Agnė Jagelavičiūtė, 2015

Agnė Jagelavičiūtė, 2015


Uncontrollable Rotation


You can put a lock on your fantasy in order to protect it, but at some point, reality will trip over it and spoil your vision. It will turn the road sign around - away from the planned straightforward road to destination. You'll encounter unexpected turn ahead. Change of altitude. Back to internal roundabouts. 

I talk to myself - ''Well. At least I am driving'. 

To grace this little tragedy, I put red leather gloves on, grab tight the steering wheel, and I press on accelerator - I'll get through this roundabout even faster this time.

Now and then, I happen to repeat the same old lesson - the feeling of 'being rejected' by someone. Unimportant and so deliberately denied - oi!

I assign to this experience a different meaning today, and I give it a different name. I baptise this learned lesson to 'how deep you respect choices of others'. 'Choices', to simplify. Because if you think about it, you'll understand that other people's choices has nothing to do with you, or anyone else. 'Each of us is dreaming our own dreams' - says my Council of Trust, as I call my wise friends. So don't take it personally. 'Rejection' - is the meaning you give to it. Each of us have an idea about how we want our life to be, and so we take charge in creating the reality according to those visions. By having this awareness, we are taking a big step towards genuinely respecting each other, and so healing the mind. The paradox - all choices lead us to what we 'need'. 

''And don't stress the 'could' haves, either. If it should have, it would have'', the same wisest add.


So we didn't make the nights glow, me and him. But we made a step closer to the bitter-sweet Freedom from the pattern, which is a 'great intoxication, also' - he said.

'Aye. I'm going to die wondering, though', I joked in return.



a beautiful servant

a dangerous master



Born from the Wave


He slips under my skin.

Now fever runs down my spine. Activates every energy centre, burns there. Scares and pleasantly surprises at the same time. 

Desire evaporates within me. My body doesn't obey me. It separates from the mind and floats in a bliss.

Discovered sensations intrigue me. Delight me. Exhaust me.

Not sure - expand or shrink me...


He goes to chant - to calm his desire

I step on a yoga mat - to tighten my ass


Sexuality is very symbolic of our existence and worth exploring.





She's a mess of gorgeous chaos, and you can see it in her eyes.




The Sealed Letter


A New Year's late night. We climb the hill to watch the city lights and the snow on the mountains. We pass by a house where the record player spins tender Asian songs, and dozens of Christmas trees' lights flicker, inviting this dim night for a dance. We walk and talk about everything - the ends and beginnings, faith and temporary eclipse of light, chances, happenstances, and miracles that occurred this year, not to go unrecorded. We think similar thoughts and throw good lines, we laugh at our present and the past. We laugh at the worst and the teachings of church. Crunchy wind lifts the horizon, and lowers the thoughts of lust and a feeling of temptation into their original monastery...


I invite him for tea and a fortune cookie. 


We come inside and sit down on a rug. He takes my hands. He blows his warm breath into my cold palms. He starts kissing them. My spiritual monologue starts: 'You are not here to open the door into the rose garden reconciled among the stars. You are here to disturb the sand on the bottom of the glass full of water'. I like this expression, he is a wise man. 

I close my eyes... Those kisses feel like a caramel being dropped into my blood and it starts melting there, possessing my stable mental heaven. I weep like a bird in a willow: 'Darling please, don't...'

'You only call me darling when you tell me where not to touch', he smiles...


He follows me into the kitchen where I put the kettle on and take an apple, ready to peel. I feel his hand on my back, and suddenly everything stops. His hand moves down my spine slowly, like it would on a piano, operating the scale like a toy of sound. I freeze. The apple drops down...

He turns me around and our eyes meet. 'I'll give you a thousand most beautiful names' he says 'you may start counting them, Sunshine'. What a talented loneliness is - a thought crosses my mind...


He puts his cheek to mine and we look in different directions. I breathe in cold moral dilemma which manages to slip into this galaxy of gentle excitement. We drift for a while... Our hands caress each other's cheek, building a pressure which coils in my stomach.

He starts slowly pulling my scarf. In brief moments, pausing for a second or two after each pull. This moment my consciousness steps deeper into lust. The scarfs babble that on the end, gets stuck, because I am holding my head low. The last doubt allowed. The last stroke. The scarf falls. I mourn. 'Expose your neck' he says. Absolute body penetration by words. I do what I've been told...


If you deny an animal in you, you deny everything.




Find Yourself in Words...


There is a sparkle of madness in each of us. Mine - is indigo blue stone, imbedded into a polished crystal which twinkles on a Christmas tree for the twelve days of a year. Or, a mistletoe under which I walk all the time. Sometimes, it is a bird who sings an unusual song under your window in the middle of winter. Another time, it shows up as a white feather which floats in the air (this boring image from my 'classics'). But most often, it stays framed in the heart shaped pink frame and smiles at me, just like the people and the sea of West Ireland. Where the black cat Alfie rows a boat thinking collages of a promised land we all meet, under the shepherd's sky for a Christmas romance...


(...a blast from the recent past.)




Before I leave Galway, my friend asks: 'Is Cork your home?'

I realise I cannot answer this question straight away.

On a bus back, I keep thinking about it. I like Cork very much. I don't doubt my decision to move here. But is it my home? No, doesn't really feel like one, yet.

As the bus approaches the city, I feel glad i live here. Cork is lovely at night.

As I walk inside my cold studio, I understand I came back for more struggle...


It's been a while since I felt Home, ah


Let it go and flow, things will fall into the best piece of art.



Old Soul . Briga Saulė, 2015

Old Soul. Briga Saulė, 2015


I see that you've come so far, to be right where you are. How old is your Soul?


-Jason Mraz



- Absorbing light without reflecting. 


Crazy Breed


I step in through the door. I drop my bag on the floor. I kneel in front of my swirling chair - I put my head on it and choking on the present nightmare I start crying aloud. How did I manage to lose myself so profoundly? I ask myself this question over and over again.

How did I lose the vision of my life? How did I lose the sense of its meaning? How did I come to the point of having nothing to say??

I pull one tissue after another, I wipe my tears and nose secretly wishing I'd had the power to evaporate.

But the swirling chair quickly calms my storm. Now I weep like the women in historical movies - silently. I feel like I would be the one from whom something terrific starts (this is the sense I get when watching women of past), like I would be the one to start the world... Creating something totally anew, while watching it rain on the absolute... What a legacy.

I lie down on the floor and cover myself in a blanket fully, even my head. I don't want anyone (even me) see myself bleed desperate results of my will-power...

Under a dim light, Penelope curiously studies my palm. She lifts her eyebrows and tells : 'You have two life lines.'

'What does it mean?' I ask while licking icing from the carrot cake. 

'I don't know. I never seen this before' she says.

I say nothing. I like silent pauses between us. 

'Do the stars frighten you sometimes?' she asks after a while, watching me falling asleep in her raspberry pink shawl, in her favourite armchair.

'Not at all, darling. They keep me looking at the sky', I take her hand under this sophisticated colour scarf...


We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. 

-Anais Nin



Saints in my Rain


How wonderful is the feeling of pure compassion towards the Other. How so very special to understand that you are holding one's fragility on your palm. What a delicacy it is to nurture it by giving the simple attention to one's words, which cover the hurt lines one is protecting... What a marvellous feeling it is not to get entangled in judgement, desire to confront, or the need to control an outcome. How very precious it is to feel naked human soul vibrating, begging for a connection of some sort...

The moment of being completely open and soft...



This is the day when I see the light at the end of a tunnel. 

'Your luck will change' tells me a friend and I smile, thinking how wisely she paraphrased 'keep the faith' - the advice I have been protesting on hearing. 

I lived with no faith for a few days. ''How does 'no faith' feel like?'' asks Madam.

To me, it is an absence of feeling. Which is, obviously, my darkest place.


I kneel on the doorstep of the backdoor exit and let the rain wash all over me...


Do not think of your problems as a full stop, but merely as a comma. You can decide how the rest of the sentence will run.


Briga Saulė, 2015

Briga Saulė, 2015