Wednesday, June 19, 2002

Taro and I have not seen each other in four years. Four years since Ieft him on the shores of an ocean I can no longer see in my memory. The air stayed sweet on my lips for years, but now time is my enemy and my memory fails me. The only things I remember is the love. The love of touching skins, the love of silence, of hearts speaking to one another without words. In truth, he doesn't know how I look now though he writes me that he has not changed. But I have changed. I am not the girl that I was back then, lost, bitter. I grew into myself since we parted ways. Two gypsies who refused to succomb to love so fast and left each other for a greats unknown. Young pride is the clumsy weapon of fearful lovers. It will break your heart without you realizing it. Four years have gone by and I love him as I did that day, when the pillows of his lips last danced on mine.
Tell me, friends in the great space of strangers, should I go to him now?
I know where he is. Is it time for us to see of life will no longer keep our hearts apart? Or is it better do as a good gypsy should and live with no history?
What is worth more, love or freedom?
You can write me.
Like any gypsy, I spend my days, months, years, moving from place to place- always with my eye on the horizon.
I have traveled all over the world, from Paris to Moscow, Tokyo to Istanbul, Zanzibar to Amsterdam, Beijing to Llasa. I have walked the sands of the Holy Land, I have kissed the dirt at the foot of the great pyramids of Giza. I have bathed in the Red Sea, the Dead Sea, and the Caspian Sea. I've slept under the moon in the jungles of Central America, in the Andes Mountains, at the edge of the cliffs of the Adriatic and Mediterranean. I've rested my bones on the Acropolis, I've kissed strangers on bridges in New York, London, Florence, Kyoto, and San Juan.
This is the life of the gypsy. Under one sky, listening to one silence and one song while the lips of my lovers change and the heart I carry in the depths of my breast breathes heavily- waiting for the one stranger I can not seem to find.....
"Of all the words I've spoken, and lies that I've told. Of all the hearts left broken, begged for, bought and sold. Lord, I'm feeling lonely. I feel like I can't go on. The streets have all grown cold out. The mystery's all gone..."
If you want to send me your words, write me at
We are all strangers, sometimes pushing closer, deceiving ourselves into believing we are family. Touching skins is the union of two solitary hearts, but what happens when one set of eyes shuts on the other?
We are as invisible as flowers are in the night. Love is the great deception, the only thing tanglible in an intangible world where evidence is imperative to every lonely skeptic.
Don't be a skeptic. The faith of a gypsy is blind. Believe in what you can not see, that which you can not readily touch. Hold the hand of darkness and it will always lead to you the light of the morning.
Worship love.
What is a gypsy in the face of a technological civilization in which all living poetry is lost?
The only essence I have left is that of my heart-
The Heart of a Gypsy.
Forever wandering, forever searching yet with no nostalgia for the past or hungry ambition for the future.
The only luxury is that of the present, the beauty of now, the eyes of the people around me, with who I share the sweet air, with whom I sleep under the cool breath of the woman moon.
This is the passion of a modern gypsy.
If you like what you see, stay with me.