(no subject)
Mar. 4th, 2006 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonflower77i met ausra today. four years ago, she had gone to france to study for her phd and we hadn't exchanged letters on a regular basis or seen each other for close to four years. now that we met, i could swear we had only parted yesterday - she just didn't seem to have changed in the slightest, as if none of that time had passed. she, for her part, said my looks weren't changed either, but that my personality was, and for the better. we discussed a myriad of things; i told her about romania, she told me about her studies in france. not everything had gone as planned, and at one point the situation became so poor, financially and otherwise, that she returned to lithuania to her parents' home and, in her own words, "crawled behind the wood stove and bawled". later, she returned to france to resume her attempts to receive the degree. all in all, though, we were both in a joyful mood and swapped jokes all the time.
we met inside the catholic cathedral. ausra was to sing there during evening mass and invited me to come and listen. after mass, i met ausra in the main hall; she bowed in the direction of the altar, where the holy chalice was, embraced me, laughing happily, took me by the hand as if i were a young child and ran with me up the stairs to the small room where the choir changed clothes. "ever been to the top floor of the cathedral, no?“ she asked along the way, and i had to admit that no, i hadn't been. when she got dressed, we went to "būsi trečias" and chatted for a couple of hours. i was drinking my usual red cherry beer and eating plain potato pancakes with sour cream. i offered to buy something for ausra, but she declined and only drank green tea, which made me a bit uncomfortable (i think the great lent had begun that week for the catholics, but was not to start until next week for us orthodox). gave her one of my immature paintings ("the power of the storm"), more as a symbolic gift to remember me by than anything else, along with some sugar-coated ginger (which she loves) and a natural beeswax candle shaped like a large easter egg with an engraved floral ornament, which i had bought on my way to the cathedral at the annual fair. the egg delighted ausra, and that, in turn, delighted me.
late in the evening, we walked to the bus stop together.
from our conversation:
ausra: one of my feet feels cold for whatever reason. but it's just one, not both. i wonder why that might be? (we were passing a land rover whose window was open and she waved into it mischievously with the peacock‘s feather she had bought at the fair and was holding in her hand) awwww, that man, sitting like that with the window open, isn‘t he cold?
me: perhaps one of your boots is begging for porridge? (a russian expression which means your footwear is so old the sole has separated from the top) that happens to me, you know.
ausra: no, my boot is brand-new. it hasn't had the time to grow hungry. it‘s only just hatched from its egg.
ausra (about transylvania): nem tudom – i to s trudom. (those who understand russian and hungarian will get this)
ausra: i'm glad to see you like this. i'd been really concerned about you. of course, i can't tell for certain what you feel like, but when we first met, i felt you were fragile and intense on the inside. now you seem to have gained that much strength and are like... (she clenched her fist and smiled in that cheerful and playful manner of hers) and that's good. i can sense some of that fluttering heart still left in there, but you are much stronger. i'm aware of the cult of youth in our western culture - you know, 20 is too old and everything may well be finished by the time you‘re 25, but to be honest, i think we only get better with age. we stop turning minor issues into a tragedy because we get less self-centred and we become free to enjoy life more. so the years come to our own benefit.
me: and we begin to appreciate things more.
ausra: exactly. perhaps you had experienced a lot and been through some suffering, but it's suffering that allows us to be born into joy, and that becomes more obvious over the years. i can see that in you.
ausra: (points towards the ceiling and smiles) he is the greatest healer, you know.
me: the knowledge that god is always with me - that's so comforting.
ausra: i'm glad you do have this knowledge at all. many don't.
me: it's like - to some, god is this severe individual who sits on a throne up there and punishes them. i don't think god punishes anyone; he only gives gifts. god is - well, you know, when you wake in the morning, the sun is shining into your window and you think, thank you, lord, that i *am*, and that the sun is shining - now, that is god.
ausra: the older you are, the wiser you get.
me: i don't know about that. but it feels much better.
we met inside the catholic cathedral. ausra was to sing there during evening mass and invited me to come and listen. after mass, i met ausra in the main hall; she bowed in the direction of the altar, where the holy chalice was, embraced me, laughing happily, took me by the hand as if i were a young child and ran with me up the stairs to the small room where the choir changed clothes. "ever been to the top floor of the cathedral, no?“ she asked along the way, and i had to admit that no, i hadn't been. when she got dressed, we went to "būsi trečias" and chatted for a couple of hours. i was drinking my usual red cherry beer and eating plain potato pancakes with sour cream. i offered to buy something for ausra, but she declined and only drank green tea, which made me a bit uncomfortable (i think the great lent had begun that week for the catholics, but was not to start until next week for us orthodox). gave her one of my immature paintings ("the power of the storm"), more as a symbolic gift to remember me by than anything else, along with some sugar-coated ginger (which she loves) and a natural beeswax candle shaped like a large easter egg with an engraved floral ornament, which i had bought on my way to the cathedral at the annual fair. the egg delighted ausra, and that, in turn, delighted me.
late in the evening, we walked to the bus stop together.
from our conversation:
ausra: one of my feet feels cold for whatever reason. but it's just one, not both. i wonder why that might be? (we were passing a land rover whose window was open and she waved into it mischievously with the peacock‘s feather she had bought at the fair and was holding in her hand) awwww, that man, sitting like that with the window open, isn‘t he cold?
me: perhaps one of your boots is begging for porridge? (a russian expression which means your footwear is so old the sole has separated from the top) that happens to me, you know.
ausra: no, my boot is brand-new. it hasn't had the time to grow hungry. it‘s only just hatched from its egg.
ausra (about transylvania): nem tudom – i to s trudom. (those who understand russian and hungarian will get this)
ausra: i'm glad to see you like this. i'd been really concerned about you. of course, i can't tell for certain what you feel like, but when we first met, i felt you were fragile and intense on the inside. now you seem to have gained that much strength and are like... (she clenched her fist and smiled in that cheerful and playful manner of hers) and that's good. i can sense some of that fluttering heart still left in there, but you are much stronger. i'm aware of the cult of youth in our western culture - you know, 20 is too old and everything may well be finished by the time you‘re 25, but to be honest, i think we only get better with age. we stop turning minor issues into a tragedy because we get less self-centred and we become free to enjoy life more. so the years come to our own benefit.
me: and we begin to appreciate things more.
ausra: exactly. perhaps you had experienced a lot and been through some suffering, but it's suffering that allows us to be born into joy, and that becomes more obvious over the years. i can see that in you.
ausra: (points towards the ceiling and smiles) he is the greatest healer, you know.
me: the knowledge that god is always with me - that's so comforting.
ausra: i'm glad you do have this knowledge at all. many don't.
me: it's like - to some, god is this severe individual who sits on a throne up there and punishes them. i don't think god punishes anyone; he only gives gifts. god is - well, you know, when you wake in the morning, the sun is shining into your window and you think, thank you, lord, that i *am*, and that the sun is shining - now, that is god.
ausra: the older you are, the wiser you get.
me: i don't know about that. but it feels much better.