Crazy Life Stories

Leela, Leela... The word sounds like a beautiful girl, dancing, almost out of reach, almost embracing you. But Leela is not a girl. Leela is a colourful though invisible spirit moving with the music. She makes you drunk, gently. She is medicine for broken hearts. She slips into the feelings and the pain becomes almost sweet. She dissolves it; it flows like water out of a broken vase and the roses are beautiful lying down on the carpet. I vote myself the right to be as corny as my inner critic is shouting I am. Maybe I am not. Maybe I am. And then? Leela is a Hindu name. It means "divine game". Hearts can't be broken but they can feel like they are. A separation has happened and maybe it's an illusion, but as we live in this illusion, for us the separation is real, and it hurts. There were, there could have been smiles and hugs, there could have been love making in so many ways, mixed voices resounding together, peals of laughter, presence, smells...  There...

I've just read Asia's blog post about writing a bucket list. Reading her is like drinking fruit juice in summer.  And now, will I write my bucket list? There are reasons why I didn't until now... If I wrote a list of desires without censoring myself, the first words would go like: Making love with.... But then...how could I describe the dream woman (or women) I would love to make love with before I die? If I tried, my bucket list would turn into a bucket book of poetry, a probably disturbing mix of irreconcilable styles. Maybe I should write it? Maybe not... Now, there is something I am sure of: to make love with such a magical creature, I have to be her dream as well. These things must go both ways, otherwise the magic is wasted. So, my bucket list, from the first words, has already become something like an heroic and absurd challenge: I have to become as great, as amazing, as perfect as the dream of an ideal woman or two. Body and soul. I can still entertain so...