"After the leaves have fallen, we return
To a plain sense of things." — Wallace Stevens
Tihna is one of the Romanian words I love best.
Humbleness - smerenie, silence, peacefulness, and bliss are words embedded in tihna.
When you feel tihna, the soul is at rest. And at peace.
There's calm. And serenity.
A sense of alignment is all around.
Though there may not be a 100% sense of alignment, to a certain degree, there is alignment.
In my case, though, it is a 100% threshold of alignment.
And given the circumstances of my life, my father and sister’s chronic diseases, as of December 1995, the previously engulfing narcissistic mother — miraculously, Madame Julieta is being extremely funny, even sweet, nowadays, in truth and in the miracle;
Cheers to the Heavens!
Cheers to the endless miracles of life!
moreover, my being wanted by too many gentlemen to the point of affecting my income (...), so many control freaks everywhere, reaching this threshold of tihna hasn't been easy.
Not at all.
And pausing is good.
I can't lie to you. It's all I have needed...
Who knows what bullets I have dodged, this time, by the Grace of the Rainbowish Light launched through, by Angels and Archangels?
In a nutshell, the previously too wide pool of demands and no return on and from demands was called my life.
And once again, I have chosen myself.
I stopped everything, everything, and for once in my life, I have focused, almost exclusively, on myself. That has given away the 100% alignment of my being, translated into 100% alignment of my life. A story I shall care to recount, right over here, some other time.
For now, this sense of blissful alignment is part of tihna.
Nothing can stand in the way of this sense of tihna I am feeling.
Not even a bench turned upside down.
Not even mother's complaining.
Not now, not today.
Today is the perfect day.
Alas. Upcoming November, it will have taken me 11 years to reach this threshold of tihna and alignment.
11 heavy, chaotic, bloody, successful years, spiced up, every here and there, with failure, traumatic events, and having to deal with a great number of Sapiens from varied dimensions: cultures, time zones, and hemispheres.
Oh, boy! That's how I've learned the dialect of storytelling, mixing and remixing the story dough in the cauldron called Life.
And now? What now, my dearest?
It's tihna, baby! T-I-H-N-A!
Yes. Yes, my dearest, I believe the opposite of tihna is chaos. And that is a chapter lost in the mists of other dimensions of space and time.
Swallowed in the cave of time.
Such a wonderful feeling, tihna, in lovely Bucharest.
From the flutter of the leaves to the singing of the birds, the display of nature, of the avenues as they are… it feels perfectly peaceful. No more ado.
And to my belief, tihna includes a sense of happiness, too.
And last Sunday was one of the most magical days I have lived, during Bucharest’s exquisite autumn season.
For — there is something very peculiar to Bucharest, in autumn.
And there is a sense of sparkling magic springing out of the Universe can, with an effervescence exceeding that of the Stevia Coke.
I am thinking to myself: it’s as if I were in wonderland.
There’s a sense of… magic in the air, indescribable in words. It's almost as if Christmas is here, already.
Shall I try in feeling, instead?
"The only falling during the fall,
is falling in love,
with life, with love,
with the leaves of everything. Everything!"
“October is a symphony of permanence and change.” — Bonaro W. Overstreet
Mind you, tihna îs a state of feeling.
Tihna is definitely a state of the soul, a sort of a rose of sentiment the heart feels.
And Roses are. Everywhere.
And roses whirl and twirl their skirty flirty petals in the wind.
I mean — what were the odds for me to stumble into roses descending from a tree, swinging their joy of life, their petals of joie de vivre in the wind?
A bouquet of passion for life, red roses.
And I see life in red and fuchsia, as a hybrid color painting.
How do you choose to see life, today?
What colors would you have in and for the painting of your life?
And I am.
I am a hybrid girl from Damascus sipping in the tihna, amidst the leaves of jewel-like beautiful Bucharest.
“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp
in the fall.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald