Živeći u Bad
Antogastu, selu na početku šume, svaka prilika da upijem malo šireg svijeta je
dobrodošla. Čini mi se da je svaki i najmanji izlazak iz svakodnevnice za mene
kao kakvo istraživanje nepoznatih svijetova. Čini mi se da se tamo vani ništa
ne ponavlja, čak i kada je isto.

Putujem u Berlin
nekim vlakovima, spavam, pričam, gledam kroz prozor. Volim putovati sama. Što
ne govori da su mi suputnice bile naporne ili nezanimljive, dapače! No, ipak je
nekako drugačije sjediti u društvu ili sjediti sam.

Nevjerovatno kako
sam se naučila samoći. Prije me tako bilo strah ostati sama. Island me odgojio
tišini, i Guru. Prikladno baš svira islandski bend Ásgeir (=islandsko osobno
ime, znači božja strijela), svojim
mekanim, samotno-tužnjikavim glasom preplavljuje mi mozak.

Nevjerovatno
koliko mi zna biti zabavno samoj. Pričam si priče, slušam priče, pišem  pjesme, skladam rimice, razmišljam o životu,
o ljudima, o znanju.

Volim i ljude,
ljudi su kao nepresušni izvor televizijskih kanala. U Berlinu organiziramo
konferenciju, pa smo tu u general-štabu, imamo ured, prostor za meditaciju i
zajedničku sobu. Po danu radimo, netko kuha, a navečer šetamo, brijemo. Lijepo
je raditi u timu. Lijepo je i raditi sam.

Hm. Ne mogu se
više ni odlučiti što je bolje. Stvarno obožavam ljude i njihove čudnjikave
navike i poglede na život koje ne razumijem, pa kao medo buljim, ne pomičući
se, upijam promatrajući. I stvarno obožavam biti sama, fotkati, svirati, pjevati,
pisati, meditirati, baviti se Thetom. Voziti bicikl! Želim voziti bicikl!

Ovako se
manifestira moj mozak kada je cijeli dan fokusiran na obavljanje zadataka, i
onda se opusti, pa ide gdje hoće.

Nego, avanturice
u Berlinu: Sama sam se tako šetala, i prva stvar koju sam ugledala bio je
ogromni natpis: Dalmacija-Grill. 

Nisam ušla, nije mi se dalo, ionako ne jedem ništa od hrane koju poslužuju.
Zatim sam naišla na lijepi park, odmeditirala na obali jezerca, zatim došetala
do restorana («Vaipiano») u kojem sam zapravo već bila 2011. g. (za vrijeme
proslave 30 godina Art of livinga na jednom ogromnom stadionu); pojela sam pizzu
samo zato što imaju ogromne količine bosiljka kojeg možeš čupkati iz teglice dok
ti ne pozlije, i neograničene količine fakat dobrog maslinovog ulja, i vrlo svježi
bejbi špinat.

Zatim sam vidjela
da se nešto crveni u daljini, kad ono neonski natpis H&M. Nisam imala izbora, pa sam se ležerno, bez očekivanja,
prošetala tom smjeru. Dok ne nađeš prvu stvar koju ćeš kupiti, nekako sve
izgleda uzalud i bezveze. Ali kad prva odluka o kupovini padne, onda poslije
nekako ide glatko. Kartica se sama pegla, vrećice se pune.

Kupila sam sve
kao i obično na sniženju. Blagodati artikala na sniženju su stavljene na
uživanje malim i velikim ljudima. Uvijek ostanu samo najveći i najsitniji
komadi robe koje nitko ne može obući. Osim onih čije su to zapravo veličine –
kao npr. za mene. Kup’la sam lijepu ‘aljinu, i za isto para šal koji se dobro
uklopio na cijelu crveno-crnu kombinaciju. Look
ću obznaniti slijedeći tjedan, nakon konferencije. U dućanu sam, na kasi,
upoznala radnika, Bosanca, magistra engleskog jezika koji je na tom radnom
mjestu dvije godine. Bjež’mo narode iz zemlje domovine, u bijeli svijet, gdje
je život kvalitetniji (FIGU FRIŠKU!). Balkanac ostaje Balkanac.

Usput budi
rečeno, naišla sam na feta sir, dućanske marke tipa Konzum, koji se zove Balkan-Käse. Što je zapravo uvredljivo,
zar ne? Kao kad Rome nazivamo Ciganima; oni se smiju međusobno zvati kako hoće,
ali mi nemamo to pravo, u našim ustima riječ postaje uvredljiva. Balkan zapravo
uopće ni ne postoji kao zemljopisni pojam. Mi smo jugo-istočna Europa za
zapadne Europljane, nikakav, da ne opsujem, Balkan. Bože sveti, gdje vas
odvodim s ovim svojim blesavim umornim umom? U njegove kutke i zakutke, zbilja.

E i sad smo došli
na najaktualniju temu: izbjeglice. Cijela priča s izbjeglicama u Njemačkoj je
meni otvorila neke stare rane, i ujedno pipu iz koje teku suze
istraumatiziranog djeteta. Jedva da sam pročitala vijesti. Izbjeglicu ni jednu
nisam vidjela. Same priče o tome što se događa me izbacuju iz takta. Počelo je
s tim da su ljudi komentirali izbjeglice, kao da se radi o nekim tamo ljudima.

Za vrijeme
«domovinskog» rata, mi smo bili u Zadru, pa nas je mama prebacila u Split. Tamo
smo ranije živjeli, i imali baku, pa i nismo baš bili neke izbjeglice, ali
jesmo, u smislu da smo MORALI otići iz Zadra. To mi je najteža boljka za
prevladati. Taj Zadar. Odlazak iz istog. I taj rat. Da nije toga bilo, bila bih
dan danas imala baremko jedan malo jači korijen. Uglavnom, tada nisam vidjela
nijednu ranu, kap krvi, nitko nam u bližoj obitelji nije stradao, stanu nije
bilo ništa. Ja od rata, jedva «r» da sam vidjela, a trauma neviđena.

Rat je strah,
smrt i ubijanje. Eto što je rat. O ovom drugom i trećem sam čitala i čula, a
samo prvo doživjela. Nema ničeg intenzivnijeg od straha u ratu. Strah od tvoje
smrti, strah od smrti tvojih bližnjih, strah od fizičke povrede, strah od buke,
strah od nenormalnosti ljudi oko tebe, strah od tuge koja se može opipati u
zraku. Užas. Strah koji oduzima um i tijelo. Kada bi se oglasila uzbuna, ja bih
se nekada jednostavno zamrznula, pa bi me mama morala protresti da se saberem ,
kako bi mogli svi skupa otrčati u sklonište.

Ono što je jedino
super kada preživiš rat, je taj neki osjećaj: nije mi ništa, preživjela sam. I
to me sada drži kada napipam neke insinuacije da su među izbjeglicama teroristi
najkrvoločnije vrste – luđaci. Čak ih je Guruji proglasio ludima (inače vrlo
vrlo rijetko koristi bilo kakvu iole pogrdnu riječ za bilo koga) i da im se ne
može pomoći, te da jedino što možemo potruditi se da im se mladi ne pridružuju.
Preživjela sam, preživjet ću opet, čak i ako teroristi haraju ulicama, skriveni
pod krinkom ratnih izgnanika.

Kao i ovaj cijeli
tekst, tako misli u glavi, te i osjećaji u tijelu, poskakuju mi kao kakva gipka
plesačica, s jednog dijela scene na drugi. Nekada se osjećam kao najveći car, a
nekada kao zadnji kreten. Nekad sam neizmjerno ponosna na sebe, kako sam
aktivna, kreativna, sposobna, a nekad o sebi mislim sve najgore, osjećam se
totalno neiskorišteno, neobrazovano, neugledno.

Nemam ti pojma,
stari. Puklo me, puklo me najjače.

Od kada je
završilo ljeto, tj. opuštena ljetna atmosfera na poslu, postalo je toliko
intenzivno, kao da se želi izbalansirati. Dva puna tjedna sam samo radila, jela
i spavala, a nekada malo manje spavala, manje jela i više radila. Sve je to
rezultiralo totalno nezdravim ritmom jedenja i spavanja. Laganim
halucinacijama. Mozak mi se toliko zavrti, pregrije od rada, koji nije nešto
izvanredno mentalno zahtijevan, koliko sama koordinacija, hvatanje glave i repa
gomili sitnica. Onda sam si uzela tri dana mozga na pašu – totalno zasluženih.
Bojala sam se da neću moći otpustiti nagomilane informacije iz glave, ali
jesam! Koliko teži prosječni vrabac, toliko je bilo lako potpuno izolirati iz
glave svaku misao o poslu. Doduše, bilo je utoliko lakše što je u kadru sve te
dane bio visok i plav, a ne samo zgodan, nego i pametan, božemoj, čovjek, aha.

Sada taj Berlin,
koji je jednako ludo intenzivan poslom, ali proći će. Onda kratko zatišje, što
znači raditi samo 8-9 sati dnevno, pa ondak još jedna konferencija u 11.
mjesecu. U prosincu/siječnju bih mogla na mali odmorko, čini mi se. A onda nas
tek svih čeka potpuno luđaštvo zaposlenosti – 35 godina Art of livinga,
proslava koja će se održati u Delhiju, na kojoj se očekuje barem duplo, ako ne
i više ljudi, od 2,5 milijuna koji su bili na slavlju srebrnog jubileja
(25-godišnjici postojanja fondacije).

Vaš Car/Kreten ide
na hrkanjac. Još samo jedan mali komentar, ne mogu se ne pohvaliti, da sam
uslijed boli djedovskog stila u donjem dijelu leđa (u križima, da, da),
pribjegla spavanju na ravnijoj površini od mekanog spužva-madraca, na podu
(tepih plus karimat plus posteljina). Moja leđa i vrat vole ništa manje doli
spavanja na površini prosječne tvrdoće mramora. To sam otkrila u Indiji, gdje
se podovi peru svaki dan, i gdje je su temperature zimi oko 20 stupnjeva.
Nažalost u južnoj Njemačkoj je malčice hladnije nego u Mumbaiju usred ljeta, i
ipak moram nešto staviti na pod, jer tko će ga prati svaki dan ako nemaš čistu (čistačicu), ni trunke slobodnog
vremena?

Što ti misliš o
čistačicama? Općenito, a i imati čistačicu? Za stan ili kuću.

Za čišćenje misli
i emocija pozovi moj broj, radim po mjeri tvojoj kroj.

P.S. Samo za
zabavu: http://neugoga.tumblr.com

__________________________ENGLISH________________________________ 

Living in Bad
Antogast, the village at the beginning of the forest, every chance of soaking
in a bit of the wide world is welcome. It seems to me that even the smallest
trip out of the  daily schedule seems
like an exploration of unknown worlds. It seems to me that out there nothing is
repeated, even when it is exactly the same.

I am travelling
to  Berlin on trains, sleeping, looking
out the window. I love to travel on my own. That does not say my fellow
travellers are not interesting, the very opposite indeed! Nevertheless, it is
different to be in company or to be sitting alone.

It is
unbelievable how i learned to be alone. I used to be so scared to be on my own.
Iceland taught me silence, and Guru as well did. It is convenient that an
Icelandic band is right now playing, Ásgeir (=an icelandic first name, meaning god’s arrow), with its gentle, lonely,
sadenning voice flooding my brain.

It is truly
incredible how much fun I can have on my own. I tell myself stories, I listen
to stories, I write songs, compose little rhymes, think about life, people,
knowledge.

I love people
too, they are like a neverending source of television channels. In Berlin we
are organising a conference, so we are all in our central office, with a
meditation hall and a living room. During the day we work, one of us cooks, in
the evenings we go for walks, we roam. It is nice to work on a team. It is also
nice to work on my own.

Hm. I cannot
decide anymore what seems better. I really adore people and their strange
habits and life views I do not quite understand, so I keep staring at them like
a teddy bear would, unmoving, soaking it in by observing. Yet I looove to be
alone, to take photos, play, sing, write, meditate, do Theta. Ride a bike! I
want to ride a bike!

This is how my
brains manifest after being focused the entire day on finishing tasks and then
relaxes and goes wherever it wants.

Let us go back to
Berlin adventures: I was walking on my own, and the first thing I bumped into
was an great sign saying: Dalmacija-Grill
(Dalmacija= south of Croatia). I did not go inside, I did not feel like it, I
would anyway not eat anything they serve. Then I ended up in a nice park,
meditated by the lake.

Then ended up in a restaurant («Vaipiano») where I was
already in 2011 (during the 30-year-anniversary of Art of Living at a grand
stadium); I had pizza because they have basil you can take directly from the
growing pot, until you are sick with it, and unlimited amounts of really good
olive oil, and a very fresh baby spinach.

Then I saw
something red in the distance, and it was, guess what?, an H&M sign. I had no choice, so I went there not expecting
anything, just strolling. Until you find the first thing to buy, it all seems in
vain and useless. But once the first decision to buy comes to pass, it just
kind of flows from there. The card is just sliding on its own, and the bags are
getting fuller.

Everything  I bought was discounted, as usual. The great
thing of discounted things is that they are made only for tiny and large
people. The biggest and the smallest sizes are the ones that usually none else
can wear. Except those whose size it really is, like me. I bought a nice dress,
and purchased a shawl that goes with for the same price as the dress – it goes
well, the whole red and black combination. I will exhibit the look next week, after the conference. I
met the cashier, who is Bosnian, and holds a master’s in English, but works
there for two years. Let us get out of our homeland, into the big white world,
where the life is of better quality (MY ASS). A Balkan person stays Balkan,
wherever we are.

By the way, I found
a feta cheese, the shop’s brand, called Balkan-Käse.
That is actually insulting, right? It is the same as calling the Roma people
Tziganes; they can call themselves as they wish, the same word in our mouth
becomes insulting.

The Balkans does
not even exist as an official geographical term. We are south-eastern Europe
for western Europeans, not in any case, the Balkans. My dear lord, where is it
you are being taken by my silly tired mind? In its nook and crannies, really.

So, coming to a
current topic: refugees. The whole story with the refugees i Germany opened
some old wounds for me, and the tap shedding tears of a traumatised child. I
hardly have read the news. I have not seen even one refugee. Only by hearing
the stories of them totally dismantles me. It started with people commenting
them, as if they were some people over there.

During the
ex-yugoslavian war, we were in Zadar, and then my mom took us to Split. Split
is where we used to live, before moving, and our grandmother was there, so we
were not really refugees, as we were going from one home to another, but we
also were refugees, as we were FORCED to leave Zadar. That is my most hardest
thing to have coped with. Zadar. And leaving Zadar. And the war. If there were
no war, today I would have had at least that one place I was rooted to a bit
more. Anyhow, I have at the time not seen one wound, a drop of blood, none of
our closest family was hurt, the appartment was intact. I have barely seen any
of the war, but was left with quite a trauma to bare.

War is fear,
death and killing. That is what war is. The second and third meaning I am
mentioning, I just heard of, and only have really lived through the first.
There is nothing more intense than the fear in war. Fear of you dying, fear of
the ones closest to you dying, fear of physically getting hurt, fear of noise,
fear of the abnormal state the ones around you are, fear of the thick layer of
sadness. Horror. Fear that disables the mind and the body. When the sirenes
would go off, I would just become stiff, my mom had to shake me up to get me to
run to the shelters.

What is the only
thing that is great when you have lived through war is a certain feeling that:
I am safe, I survived. That is what keeps me going when I get news of
insinuations of terrorists of the worst kind being amongst the refugees –
madmen. Even Guruji called them crazy (normally he would never use such a
terminology to describe anyone) and beyond repair, and how the only thing we
can do is to stop youth from joining them. I survived, I will survive again,
even if terrorists are roaming the streets, hidden under the false pretence of
being war exiles.

As this entire
text is written, my thoughts, my feelings jump about like an agile dancer, from
one part of the stage to the other. I sometimes feel emperor-like, sometimes
like a court jester. Sometimes I am so proud of myself, how active, creative,
competent I am, and at others I think all the worst of me, completely unused,
uneducated, unsightly.

I have no idea,
pal, I am quite high, the highest, yes.

Ever since summer
ended, or rather the relaxed summer atmosphere at work, it became so intense,
as if it wanted to come back to balance. Two full weeks I worked, ate and slept
– at times slept less, ate less and worked more. It all resulted in quite an
unhealthy rhythm of eating and sleeping, already on the verge of hallucinating.
My brains spins so fast, overheats from working, the work itself not being so
mentally demanding, as coordinating all the little things. Then I took three
days off for my brain to chill – completely deserved. I was afraid I would not
be able to release the accumulated information out of my mind, but i did! The
weight of an average sparrow, is how hard it was to completely isolate every
thought about work and keep it out. It was made easier by having a tall, blond,
not only good looking but also smart, oh-my, yes – man, for distraction.

And now this
Berlin, that is equally intense, but it will pass. Then a short period of
quietness, just 8-9 hours per day probably, then another conference in
November. In December/January  I could
rest a bit, it seems. And then the craziness will just starts – celebrating 35
years of the Art of Living, in Delhi, where at least double or more people are
expected to attend than the 2,5 million who were present on the Silver Jubilee
(of the Foundation’s existence).

Your Emperor/Jester
is going for a snore fest. Just a really short comment, I cannot not brag
about, how, amidst experiencing lower back pain, worthy of an average granddad,
I decided to sleep on a more firm surface from a sponge matress – being the
floor (a carpet plus a mat and linen). My back and neck like nothing less but
an average hardness of a marble floor. I discovered that in India, where floors
are being washed everyday, and the temperatures do not go below 20 degress.
Unfortunately in South Germany is a tiny bit colder than in Mumbai in the
middle of the summer, so I need to put something more on the floor – who will
wash it every day if you do not have a cleaning lady, nor a moment of spare
time?

What do you think
about cleaning ladies? Generally, and also to have one? For cleaning your
appartment or house.

For cleansing
thoughts and emotions, call my number, I do only tailor-made.

P.S. Just for
fun: http://neugoga.tumblr.com