I was often asked to share my thoughts, feelings, experiences, my story. Supposedly they help. Supposedly through them people connect to their own power, their own light, their own love: they connect to themselves. I don’t know if that’s the case, but I’m glad if it is.
At the same time, it’s not something new or a surprise for me. A story of one is a story of the whole humanity. The deeper we go in our own heart; the more we give up our personality/mask; the more genuine, truthful, naked, vulnerable we are in relationship to ourselves – the more we arrive at a place in us where everything is connected and where everything is one.
Recently the idea for a blog came up. I don’t know if it’s a good one, but it felt right. The people that know me know also that I have never signed my work with my name. The signature was for me a kind of cowardice. I’ve always felt that the works in my hands give life to themselves. How could I “decorate” something that doesn’t belong to me with my name? I was lucky to bear witness to this birth, I was allowed to die a little bit in the process, that’s all. My role has ended. The receiver works on.
But here I am.
What will this become? Ich weiß nicht. I don’t know. Nie wiem. я не знаю. 我不知道.
It’s easier to say what it won’t be. There won’t be anything about Australia or Spain here. And it’s not cause I don’t find them fascinating, but because I’ve never experienced them. I’ve met people that told me they come from these countries – I can write about those people. But in a way, these countries don’t exist for me.
I’m not going to write about the moon, though it fascinates me – cause I’m not an astrophysicist. I can only talk about my feelings and the effect the moon has on me.
I’m really a “Doubting Thomas” – even God rises from the dead only under the touch of my finger. Hahaha
How will it be here then? It will be how I am. It will be honest, without compromise, without fear, manifold, discursive, fleshy, esoteric, spiritual. It will be Tomek-ish. Naked up to the heart, the soul, the bone marrow.
I’ve decided to write in German. It has become my second mother tongue. It’s not perfect, but I don’t seek perfection, the small sister of death. The incompleteness reminds me of life, of liveliness; it reminds me how small I am. Of course, if someone wants to translate the texts in other languages and spread them in that way, they are free to do so.
Let’s allow ourselves to get surprised…