Arab Eyes (Poem)


Those piercing Arab eyes
I knew once upon a time
Passionately gazed at me
When I was twenty-nine
Thousands or millions of lifetimes passed
But my heart still knows it’s you
My cup of love just overflows
      With the love I saved for you.       

We didn’t know our souls would meet
In such a curious way
It’s beyond belief but we were led
To the karmic love we shall pay
My careless lips have told you
We were lovers lifetimes ago
But as time passes the knowing gets stronger
I know I'll always love you so.

-          Anthea C. 

Arranged Marriages (Dream)

Me: Hi Lawrence I had a really weird dream last night; it was long but I only remember the last parts. Inside our house, my relatives from both my parents’ sides were there. And there was sadness or something, because an unseen force put people in arranged marriages. One of them said that it was Saturn – but Saturn seemed to evade me, which I thought was good. I was happy that he didn’t bother me. However, the looks on my cousins’ faces became grimmer and grimmer, because it looked like my deceased grandmother who was alive in my dream was wickedly arranging everyone’s marriages, including my four-year-old nephew. I felt really bad for the child. As I saw my cousins getting paired with their men, I was secretly thankful that I didn’t have to go through the pain of being with a stranger as my husband for life. Then, I found myself alone in my room. A man entered and was talking to me in British accent. He said that I was supposed to marry him and he was sorry because of that. When I turned around, it was Gareth Gates! I was so happy that they arranged someone so talented and handsome for me. Then, we went to the jeepney where my family was, and my cousins were looking at me and Gareth. The two of us were just happy because we like each other.

Lawrence: This is easy.
It can mean that you may finally be introduced by a friend or a family member to someone you really like.
But it also means that you really want to pick your own man and not be assigned whom to marry.
It’s not a good or a bad dream. It also might mean that you are very picky on who you will date.
Which is good.

(This is true since hours before I had this dream, I rejected someone and I was sooo mean because that person still won’t give up his hope. And this person doesn’t really know what he wants, and seems to be more passive and feminine than me, which is a massive turn off.)

Infected Eye (Dream)

Me: Hello Lawrence, what do eyes in a dream mean? Earlier I dreamt that one of my eyes, I guess my left eye, was infected and red. I thought it was in real life but it was my dream because I saw my own eyes in front of me which is not possible in real life. I rubbed it in my dream and it got infected. And that was all that I could remember. What could this mean?

Lawrence: Hi Anthea, look in the mirror and you can see your own eyes ;)
The affected eye feel means you need to take better care of your health, eat proper things, and get enough sleep. It’s nothing serious at all.
That’s my vibes on it.
Short answer to the point, glad both eyes weren’t affected.
That’s all it is, nothing more.

I Had A Two-Year-Old Son (Dream)

Lee Si An "Daebak". My son in my dream looks and acts just like him ;)

Me: I dreamt that I had a son who is about two years old, and I was always happy to come home to see him. I don’t know how I had him, perhaps accidentally, because I didn’t know that I had a son. He is so docile, sweet, and I always carry him. And I always say to people, “This is my son!” I was really happy with that child.

Then something happened that I couldn’t remember much about. I guess I was late while doing my makeup, so my family or the people around me went ahead, including my son. I was left with my father. When both of us tried to find the way in a dark hallway, I passed by my godfather who looked aged. When my father and I reached the destination, there were no people there. And it was so dark. So we tried to go back and then I woke up.

What could this mean Lawrence? I especially want to know the part where I have a son. I really love him, he is so comfortable with me, and he loves me too.

Lawrence: Hi Anthea
It’s interesting that you didn’t have the father of your child in your dream; almost like he had no other purpose other than getting you pregnant and moving on.
It can mean you want to be loved by someone where there’s mutual attraction on a deep level, and another part of you loves your freedom.
Also, your father is trying to lead you on the right path of your life and he has strong emotions for you as a father. You may want to lead yourself in the future instead of him trying to lead you. You don’t want to follow the path that he wants for you.
That’s the vibes I picked up from your dreams.
Let me know if I helped.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse (Quotes)

I don’t regret buying and reading this book for it has made me understand deeper what Buddhism is all about. What I have discovered about it after I have read this novel is that it is a journey of self-discovery, and not really about doctrines or rules.  Buddhism is the quest to attain internal peace. It is not a religion but a philosophy. And like many other religions or spiritual practices, it is just one of the different ways of experiencing spirituality. This is a novel about Siddhartha, a man who is skeptical of all spiritual teachings, but finally attains peace during the time of Gautama Buddha. I have listed some quotes in the book that I find very beautiful:

“The Brahmins and their holy books knew everything, everything; they had gone into everything – the creation of the world, the origin of speech, food, inhalation, exhalation, the arrangement of the senses, the acts of the gods. They knew a tremendous number of things – but was it worth while knowing all these things if they did not know one important thing, the only important thing?”

“One must find the source within one’s own Self, one must possess it. Everything else was seeking – a detour, error.”

“Siddhartha gave his clothes to a poor Brahmin on the road and only retained his loincloth and earth-colored unstitched cloak. He only ate once a day and never cooked food. He fasted fourteen days. He fast twenty-eight days. The flesh disappeared from his legs and cheeks. Strange dreams were reflected in his enlarged eyes. The nails grew long on his thin fingers and a dry, bristly beard appeared on his chin. His glance became icy when he encountered women; his lips curled with contempt when he passed through a town of well-dressed people. He saw businessmen trading, princes going to the hunt, mourners weeping over their dead, prostitutes offering themselves, doctors attending the sick, priests deciding the day for sowing, lovers making love, mothers soothing their children – and all were not worth a passing glance, everything lied, stank of lies; they were all illusions of sense, happiness and beauty. All were doomed to decay. The world tasted bitter. Life was pain.”

“What is meditation? What is abandonment of the body? What is fasting? What is the holding of breath? It is a flight from the Self, it is a temporary escape from the torment of Self. It is a temporary palliative against the pain and folly of life. The driver of oxen makes this same flight, takes this temporary drug when he drinks a few bowls of rice wine or coconut milk in the inn. He then no longer feels his Self, no longer feels the pain of life; he then experiences temporary escape. Falling asleep over his bowl of rice wine, he finds what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape from their bodies by long exercises and dwell in the non-Self.”

“The Buddha went quietly on his way, lost in thought. His peaceful countenance was neither happy nor sad. He seemed to be smiling gently inwardly. With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child, he walked along, peacefully, quietly. He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace.”

“But he looked attentively at Gotama’s head, at his shoulders, at his feet, at his still, downward-hanging hand, and it seemed to him that in every joint of his finger of his hand there was knowledge; they spoke, breathed, radiated truth. This man, this Buddha, was truly a holy man to his fingertips.”

“The Buddha has robbed me, thought Siddhartha. He has robbed me, yet he has given me something of greater value. He has robbed me of my friend, who believed in me and who now believes in him; he was my shadow and is now Gotama’s shadow. But he has given to me Siddhartha, myself.”

“Siddhartha reflected deeply as he went on his way. He realized that he was no longer a youth; he was now a man. He realized that something had left him, like the old skin that a snake sheds. Something was no longer in him, something that had accompanied him right through his youth and was part of him: this was the desire to have teachers and to listen to their teachings. He had left the last teacher he had met, even he, the greatest and wisest teacher, the holiest, the Buddha. He had to leave him; he could not accept his teachings.”

“Slowly the thinker went on his way and asked himself: What is it that you wanted to learn from teachings and teachers, and although they taught you much, what was it they could not teach you? And he thought: It was the Self, the character and nature of which I wished to learn. I wanted to rid myself of the Self, to conquer it, but I could not conquer it, I could only deceive it, could only fly from it, could only hide from it. Truly, nothing in the world has occupied my thoughts as much as the Self, this riddle, that I live, that I am one and am separated and different from everybody else, that I am Siddharta; and about nothing in the world do I know less than about myself, about Siddharta.”

“The reason why I do not know anything about myself, the reason why Siddhartha has remained alien and unknown to myself is due to one thing, to one single thing – I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing from myself. I was seeking Brahman, Atman, I wished to destroy myself, to get away from myself, in order to find in the unknown innermost, the nucleus of all things, Atman, Life, the Divine, the Absolute. But by doing so, I lost myself on the way.”

“I will learn from myself, be my own pupil.”

“Meaning and reality were not hidden somewhere behind things, they were in them, in all of them.”

“At that moment, when the world around him melted way, when he stood alone like a star in the heavens, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of icy despair, but he was more firmly himself than ever. That was the last shudder of his awakening, the last pains of birth. Immediately he moved on again and began to walk quickly and impatiently, no longer homewards, no longer to his father, no longer looking backwards.”

“Thank you, good man,” said Siddhartha, as he landed on the other side. “I am afraid I have no gift to give you, nor any payment. I am homeless, a Brahmin’s son and a Samana.”
“I could see that,” said the ferryman, “and I did not expect any payment or gift from you. You will give it to me some other time.”
“Do you think so?” said Siddhartha merrily.
“Certainly. I have learned that from the river too; everything comes back. You, too, Samana, will come back. Now farewell, may your friendship be my payment! May you think of me when you sacrifice to the gods!”

“Listen, Kamala, when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal. Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through the water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal. That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samanas. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast.”

“That seems to be the way of things. Everyone takes, everyone gives. Life is like that.”

“Writing is good, thinking is better. Cleverness is good, patience is better.”

“He, who was still a boy as regards love and was inclined to plunge into the depths of it blindly and insatiably, was taught by her that one cannot have pleasure without giving it, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every single part of the body has its secret which can give pleasure to one who can understand. She taught him that lovers should not separate from each other after making love without admiring each other, without being conquered as well as conquering, so that no feeling of satiation or desolation arises nor the horrid feeling of misusing or having been misused.”

“Do not scold, my dear friend. Nothing was ever achieved by scolding.”

“Although he found it so easy to speak to everyone, to live with everyone, to learn from everyone, he was very conscious of the fact that there was something which separated him from them – and this was due to the fact that he had been a Samana. He saw people living in a childish or animal-like way, which he both loved and despised. He saw them toiling, saw them suffer and grow gray about the things that to him did not seem worth the price – for money, small pleasures and trivial honors. He saw them scold and hurt each other; he saw them lament over pains at which the Samana laughs, and suffer at deprivations which a Samana does not feel.”

“Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf that drifts and turns in the air, flutters, and falls to the ground. But a few others are like stars which travel one defined path: no wind reaches them, they have within themselves their guide and path. Among all the wise men, of whom I knew many, there was one who was perfect in this respect. I can never forget him. He is Gotama, the Illustrious One, who preaches this gospel. Thousands of young men hear his teachings every day and follow his instructions every hour, but they are all falling leaves; they have not the wisdom and guide within themselves.”

“You cannot love either, otherwise how could you practice love as an art? Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can – that is their secret.”

“His face was still more clever and intellectual that other people’s, but he rarely laughed, and gradually his face assumed the expressions which are so often found among rich people – the expressions of discontent, of sickliness, of displeasure, of idleness, of lovelessness. Slowly the soul sickness of the rich crept over him.”

“Never had it been so strangely clear to Siddhartha how closely related passion was to death. Then he lay beside her and Kamala’s face was near to his, and under her eyes and near the corners of her mouth, he read clearly for the first time a sad sign – fine lines and wrinkles, a sign which gave a reminder of autumn and old age. Siddhartha himself, who was only in his forties, had noticed gray hairs here and there in his black hair. Weariness was written on Kamala’s beautiful face, weariness from continuing along a long path which had no joyous goal, weariness and incipient old age, and concealed and not yet mentioned, perhaps a not yet conscious fear – fear of the autumn of life, fear of old age, fear of death. Sighing, he took leave of her, his heart full of misery and secret fear.”

“I am not going anywhere. I am only on the way. I am making a pilgrimage.”

“Remember, my dear Govinda, the world of appearances is transitory, the style of our clothes and hair is extremely transitory. Our hair and our bodies themselves transitory. You have observed correctly. I am wearing the clothes of a rich man. I am wearing them because I have been a rich man, and I am wearing my hair like men of the world and fashion because I have been one of them.”

“And at that moment, in that splendid hour, after his wonderful sleep, permeated with Om, how could he help but love someone and something. That was the magic that had happened to him during his sleep and the Om in him – he loved everything, he was full of joyous love towards everything that he saw. And it seemed to him that was just why he was previously so ill – because he could love nothing and nobody.”

“Whither will my path yet lead me? This path is stupid, it goes in spirals, perhaps in circles, but whichever way it goes, I will follow it.”

“Siddhartha now also realized why he had struggled in vain with his Self when he was a Brahmin and an ascetic. Too much knowledge had hindered him; too many holy verses, too many sacrificial rites, too much mortification of the flesh, too much doing and striving. He had been full of arrogance; he had always been the cleverest, the most eager – always a step ahead of the others, always the learned and intellectual one, always the priest or the sage. His Self has crawled into priesthood, into his arrogance, into this intellectuality. It sat there tightly and grew, while he thought he was destroying it by fasting and penitence. Now he understood it and realized that the inward voice had been right, that no teacher could have brought him salvation. That was why he had to go into the world, to lose himself in power, women and money; that was why he had to be a merchant, a dice player, a drinker and a man of property, until the priest and Samana in him were dead. That was why he had to undergo those horrible years, suffer nausea, learn the lesson of the madness of an empty, futile life till the end, till he reached bitter despair, so that Siddhartha the pleasure-monger and Siddhartha the man of property could die. Siddhartha was transitory, all forms were transitory, but today he was young, he was a child – the new Siddhartha – and he was very happy.”

“But today he only saw one of the river’s secrets, one that gripped his soul. He saw that the water continually flowed and yet it was always there; it was always the same and yet every moment it was new. Who could understand, conceive this? He did not understand it; he was only aware of a dim suspicion, a faint memory, divine voices.”

“The river has taught me to listen; you will learn from it, too. The river knows everything; one can learn everything from it. You have already learned from the river that it is good to strive downwards, to sink, to seek the depths.”

“I am not a learned man; I do not know how to talk or think. I only know how to listen and be devout; otherwise I have learned nothing.”

“But he learned more from the river than Vasudeva could teach him. He learned from it continually. Above all, he learned from it how to listen, to listen with a still heart, with a waiting, open soul, without passion, without desire, without judgment, without opinions.”

“Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time?”

“The river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere, and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past, nor the shadow of the future.”

“Was then not all sorrow in time, all self-torment and fear in time? Were not all difficulties and evil in the world conquered as soon as one conquered time, as soon as one dispelled time?”

“Siddhartha began to realize that no happiness and peace had come to him with his son, only sorrow and trouble. But he loved him and preferred the sorrow and trouble of his love rather than happiness and pleasure without the boy.”

“I knew it. You are not strict with him, you do not punish him, you do not command him – because you know that gentleness is stronger than severity, that water is stronger than rock, that love is stronger than force. Very good, I praise you. But is it not perhaps a mistake on your part not to be strict with him, not to punish him? Do you not chain him with your love? Do you not shame him daily with your goodness and patience and make it still more difficult for him? Do you not compel this arrogant, spoilt boy to live in a hut with two old banana eaters, to whom even rice is a dainty, whose thoughts cannot be the same as his, whose hearts are old and quiet and beat differently from his? Is he not constrained and punished by all this?”

“Ask the river about it, my friend! Listen to it, laugh about it! Do you then really think that you have committed your follies in order to spare your son from them? Can you then protect your son from Samsara? How? Through instruction, through prayers, through exhortation? My dear friend, have you forgotten that instructive story about Siddhartha, the Brahmin’s son, which you once told me here? Who protected the Samana from Samsara, from sin, greed and folly? Could his father’s piety, his teacher’s exhortations, his own knowledge, his own seeking, protect him? Which father, which teacher, could prevent him from living his own life, from soiling himself with life, from loading himself with sin, from swallowing the bitter drink himself, from finding his own path? Perhaps your little son, because you would like to see him spared sorrow and pain and disillusionment? But if you were to die ten times for him, you would not alter his destiny in the slightest.”

“After he had stood for a long time at the gate to the garden, Siddhartha realized the desire that had driven him to this place was foolish, that he could not help his son, that he should not force himself on him. He felt a deep love for the runaway boy, like a wound, and yet felt at the same time that this wound was not intended to fester in him, but that it should heal.”

“He had learned this from the river: to wait, to have patience, to listen.”

“When he now took the usual kind of travellers across, businessmen, soldiers and women, they no longer seemed alien to him as they once did. He did not understand or share their thoughts and views, but he shared with them life’s urges and desires. Although he had reached a high stage of self-discipline and bore his last wound well, he now felt as if these ordinary people were his brothers. Their vanities, desires and trivialities no longer seemed absurd to him; they had become understandable, lovable and even worthy of respect. There was a blind love of a mother for her child, the blind foolish pride of a fond father for his only son, the blind eager starving of a young vain woman for ornament and the admiration of men. All these little simple, foolish, but tremendously strong, vital, passionate urges and desires no longer seemed trivial to Siddhartha. For their sake he saw people live and do great things, travel, conduct wars, suffer and endure immensely, and he loved them for it. He saw life, vitality, the indestructible and Brahman in all their desires and needs. These people were worthy of love and admiration in their blind loyalty, in their blind strength and tenacity. With the exception of one small thing, one tiny little thing, they lacked nothing that the sage and thinker had, and that was the consciousness of the unity of all life. And many a time Siddhartha even doubted whether this knowledge, this thought, was of such great value, whether it was also not perhaps only thinking children. The men of the world were equal to the thinkers in every other respect and were often superior to them, just as animals in their tenacious undeviating actions in cases of necessity may often seem superior to human beings.”

“Within Siddhartha there slowly grew and ripened the knowledge of what wisdom really was and the goal of his long seeking. It was nothing but a preparation of the soul, a capacity, a secret art of thinking, feeling and breathing thoughts of unity at every moment of life. The thought matured in him slowly, and it was reflected in Vasudeva’s old childlike face: harmony, knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world, and unity.”

“He saw his face reflected in the quiet moving water, and there was something in this reflection that reminded him of something he had forgotten and when he reflected on it, he remembered. His face resembled that of another person, whom he had once known and loved and even feared. It resembled the face of his father, the Brahmin. He remembered how once, as a youth, he had compelled his father to let him go and join the ascetics, how he had taken leave of him, how he had gone and never returned. Had not his father also suffered the same pain that he was now suffering for his son? Had not his father died long ago, alone, without having seen his son again? Did he not expect the same fare? Was it not a comedy, a strange and stupid thing, this repetition, this course of events in a fateful circle?”

“It was the goal of all of them, yearning, desiring, suffering; and the river’s voice was full of longing, full of smarting woe, full of insatiable desire. The river flowed on towards its goal.”

“Siddhartha listened. He was now listening intently, completely absorbed, quite empty, taking in everything. He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He had often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices – the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation and the groan of dying. They were all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways. And all the voices, all the goals, all the yearnings, all the sorrows, all the pleasures, all the good and evil, all of them together was the world. All of them together was the stream of events, the music of life. When Siddhartha listened attentively to this river, to this song of a thousand voices; when he did not listen to the sorrow or laughter, when he did not bind his soul to any one particular voice and absorb it in his Self, but heard them all, the whole, the unity; then the great song of a thousand voices consisted of one word: Om – perfection.”

“From that hour Siddhartha ceased to fight against his destiny. There shone in his face the serenity of knowledge, of one who is no longer confronted with conflict of desires, who has found salvation, who is in harmony with the stream of events, with the stream of life, full of sympathy and compassion, surrendering himself to the stream, belonging to the unity of all things.”

“When someone is seeking, it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. You, O worthy one, are perhaps indeed a seeker, for in striving towards your goal, you do not see many things that are under your nose.”

“Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish.”

“Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.”

“But perhaps it illustrates that I just love the stone and the river and all these things that we see and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda, and a tree or a piece of bark. These are things and one can love things. But one cannot love words. Therefore teachings are of no use to me; they have no hardness, so softness, nor colors, no corners, no smell, no taste – they have nothing but words. Perhaps that is what prevents you from finding peace, perhaps there are too many words, for even salvation and virtue. Samsara and Nirvana are only words, Govinda. Nirvana is not a thing; there is only the word Nirvana.”

“It seems to me, Govinda, that love is the most important thing in the world. It may be important to great thinkers to examine to world, to explain and despise it. But I think it is only important to love the world, not to despise it, not for us to hate each other, but to be able to regard the world and ourselves and all beings with love, admiration and respect.” 

The Clay Marble by Minfong Ho (Quotes)

This is a children’s novel set in war-torn Cambodia during the 1980s. Wars reveal the fact that humans are basically the same, despite having different nationalities or physical features, since the sufferings that we experience during difficult times like these make us forget the illusion of separation. In the end, we can only count on other human beings during times of desperation since wars force us to swallow our pride, forget superficial things, and value every individual’s life. Here are some good quotes that I have gotten out of the book:

“Over and over again we have been told by the Khmer Rouge soldiers that Cambodia was one big family, and that the Communist Party was our parent. And yet, in trying to create a new ‘family,’ the Communists destroyed my own family, ripping apart parent from child, brother from sister, husband from wife. It made no sense to me, since I could not understand how these shrill young soldiers could be my parents, but I did not dare ask.”

“I looked around in wonder. Even though many people seemed to be only fragments of a family – a frail grandmother with several young toddlers, a group of young boys clustered around a few old men – they were a family just the same. Like a patchwork blanket, I thought, the people here were survivors of families who had been ripped apart and then joined again.”

“I flushed. I had never thought of myself as pretty, but nobody had come this close to telling me I was actually ugly, either. I knew my sarong was muddy, and my hair uncombed, but another few buckets of well water would change all that.”

“Don’t you know about the story about the family of deaf men? Four deaf brothers, she said, were living together quite happily until a crocodile wandered into their house. The oldest deaf brother shouted out a warning, pointing to the crocodile. The second deaf brother, seeing his elder brother with the crocodile, thought they were going to attack him, and grabbed a stick to defend himself. The third deaf brother thought the other two were planning to kill him, snatched up a knife, and brandished it around. When the fourth deaf brothers saw his brothers waving their weapons at the crocodile, he threw a rock at it. The rock bounced off the crocodile’s hide and hit one of the brothers. Within seconds, all four deaf brothers were screaming and fighting each other as the crocodile slipped out the door. You see? The leaders of Cambodia are just like those four deaf brothers, fighting among themselves because they cannot hear one another.”

“You try to hang on to older people – parents, uncles, grandmothers – and they disappear. You make friends, and they go off in different directions, never to be seen again. Everything crumbles, so easily.”

“Things that can break are not worth taking. It’s only what you can bring inside of you that really matters. How do you think I was able to say goodbye to my mother and father? When they died, I stored it up – everything I remembered about them, loved about them. That’s what I bring inside with me. They’re inside me now. Part of me.”

“Now it was gone. I thought of the small world of our clay dolls, and sighed. How senseless it was, to have cared about something so unreal.”

“So that was what it meant to be a refugee. We were farmers who had been displaced from our old land and yet prevented from settling on any new land. Would we always be on the move, people who only didn’t have a home but weren’t allowed to build a new home anywhere?”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I looked at it, and for the first time I saw it for what it was: a lump of clay. There was no magic in it, I realized. Not in the one Jantu made, nor the one I made. And then I finally understood what Jantu had meant when she said the magic is in the making of the marble.”

“I tossed my head back and laughed out loud, in sheer joy. I’m going home, I thought, and I don’t need magic marbles anymore. After all, the magic isn’t in the marble. It’s in me!”

Am I Being Played With?

Since I already know the specific traits of the person that I need to have in a life commitment, I get excited when I find people who seem to fit my standards. I found someone who is so smart, a mentor type, definitely responsible than boys my age since he is ten years older than me, hardworking, very spiritual, handsome, and helps me out by tirelessly giving advice. He is so perfect, at least when I look at my checklist, but one problem that I have is that he is a Sagittarius. We all know that Sagittarius men can commit, but they are not the commitment type of men since they love their freedom more than anything else. It conflicts with my values when it comes to approaching relationships, since my Libra Sun is all about partnerships and idealizing love and my Venus in Scorpio is very possessive, all or nothing, clingy and insecure, and wants their partner to bleed for them. He made me his girlfriend, an online girlfriend for now, but sometimes I get the feeling that he doesn’t care for me as much as I care for him. I have three personal planets in Scorpio so I am a bit more Plutonian than Venusian; and for a little while when a sudden intuitive information hit me, I sunk into paranoia that I didn’t know what to listen to since I am confused whether the paranoia came from my mind or my heart. I sometimes hate myself because I can be a little gullible and stupid when it comes to romance.

I didn't like it the first time that we were not communicating for a long time. Knowing myself, I get really suspicious and insecure when there is no commitment, engagement, marriage, or public announcement of a relationship. I asked another British friend (a wise 40-year-old Virgo) about some signs to look out for to check if I am being played with, and he advised me to listen to my intuition. He told me that intuition is very gentle and comes from the heart and/or the body, while paranoia is relentless and comes from the mind. I thanked him, but I was still left confused because what I felt seemed like an intuitive paranoia. Therefore, I e-mailed my male psychic friend about what he thinks about this since he already knows my psychology anyway. This is the short conversation that happened between us:
Me: I’m sorry but I want to ask you a question…but this is not a reading. Since you are a man, can you give me some signs that a man is just playing with my feelings? You said that I will meet the right person when I am 24 so I wanted to be single until then. But I still fall in love very easily (not with everyone that crosses my path of course), and I just don’t learn from my lessons. I don’t know if I am being smooth-talked because I tend to idealize a person and cannot see him for who he really is until it’s too late. How can I check if I am just being played with?
Lawrence: Hi. Men take advantage of you by telling you they like you (and you like the attention), and later you find out that they just wanted a physical relationship. The best way to learn your lesson is to have PATIENCE in finding the right person. Why get involved and then keep breaking up. Just have friends for a while and not intimate partners until you know someone wants to be with you for you and not your body.

He has a point! We must have friendship first before diving into a deep connection. But I really really like this guy, you know. He is a gem. Not everybody is spiritually connected, or thinking about their life purpose, or understanding things more deeply – so I am still on the fence whether he would play with my feelings or not. I should know anyway, eventually, since he is a blunt person. Because I am still in school, and we are continents away, he told me to be patient. And he also told me that we wouldn’t know if we are really for each other yet since it’s still very early. And I was a bit ashamed that a man told me not to rush because women usually control the pacing of relationships lol. At least he already knows that things between us might just be transitory. I actually think it’s a sign of maturity, not of being an asshole.

Anyway, I’ve had my worries again during the New Year because I didn’t get the attention that I wanted. I e-mailed my psychic again so I could have answers. I have Uranus in the 5th house, so I am actually the type of person that wants to get out of something bad as fast as I got involved in it. I did it with some of my ex-boyfriends who definitely did not deserve my love. After two days, my psychic friend responded and of course, I did not like what I have read:
Me: Hi Lawrence, happy New Year! I am so excited to ask my next question. I have attached my picture and the picture of the man in question. My question is, do I have a future with this man? Because I want to end things right now if it doesn’t have a future. Thanks in advance!:)
Lawrence: Hi Anthea happy New Year, I checked him out. No future at all. I see him with other women, not a commitment type of guy. I wouldn’t pursue him, but it’s up to you of course ‘cause I can be wrong. See you again with another dream soon:) Best x

I got confused when he contradicted himself by saying that it was up to me because he could be wrong. Had he only said what he found out with conviction, I would have made up my mind right now. I didn’t like it when he said that he sees him with other women. I am very jealous when it comes to relationships, and it would be a very big problem if he doesn’t like jealous types while enjoying infidelity. However I really like him, in fact I think I can love him forever if there is no betrayal involved. At least now I know that the right answer to this question is to not care whether he can commit to me or not, because it is more important for me to focus on my studies and be someone someday, and be financially and physically independent from my family.

I would also like to add that the night before I received this reply from my psychic, my spirit guides or guardian angels or my higher self have already answered my question through my dream. I dreamt that I was asking that question and I received a reply through e-mail. That e-mail said that of course I can have a future with him, but I just have to be happy with who I am, be optimistic as much as possible, and mind my own business. All of them are right. Guess what I will do?

I will see where this goes. The centaur will pursue if he wants to. And I will probably stop after I have already bled too much. You know how stubborn I am. ;)

Finish Your School Stuff! (Dream)

Me: I dreamt that I was with other people, probably grade school and high school classmates. They were reciting their science projects so the teachers can pick the best one among them. I was there; and I was probably just a decoration since science bores me and I don’t have anything to show anyway. In the end the teachers forgot to call my name.

When it ended, I found myself walking alone at night. Then I was with two other girls whom I am not close with. We were with each other just for company. We walked to our destination, but the ground was really muddy and hard to walk on. Then there was a really creepy man whom we felt was just pretending to be going to the same destination as we were, until he was so close to us. We were already running in spite of the ground being hard to walk on, but he still managed to catch up and there were many times in the dream where he tried to touch me. Eeewwww. The girls with me also perceived that he was a pervert who wanted to sexually harass us.

I don’t know how we got rid of him but we found ourselves in a cake store, where everyone was eating in groups. I was alone, since the two girls were not close to me anyway. I tried picking a chocolate cake, but a slice was very expensive. The other cakes had colorful appearance, but also expensive. That is all.

Lawrence: You are walking away from school projects, and the creepy man is YOUR SCHOOL TEACHER. School projects are boring. School itself is boring. You left school without doing your project. You might not like your teacher, period – and that’s the creep following you. Not sure about the sexual part though, didn’t get a vibe on that. When you’re out of school you will be happier. Best x
Powered by Blogger.