Saturday, 23 June 2018

Ibiza Vibes - check my new pictures here: 






Tuesday, 12 June 2018


Monday, 11 June 2018

Bridges that guide us


On the bridge, remaining the same, only made different by the sunlight or the dapping effect of the clouds, looking like it was dreamed into existence rather than constructed, soulless but solid and safe, trains sweep past each other, providences fly tired and divergent. 

You've met eyes of someone you liked but then looked away to not meet them again. 

I am thinking of conversations we had, which are life, craft, zen, books, destinies, causes and all the discrepancies that prevent one from breathing into other's chest, which seems to be accessible only in parallel worlds. I read books and people, bridges on the background, walk miles, U2 is in my headphones, erasing ballerinas on the asphalt,  drinking coffee in liters. You know, I walked this city through and through, found a favorite hidden vineyard in Pimlico, learned to accept people as they seem and any forthcoming circumstances. A couple of months ago it credulously seemed to me that I was not afraid of anything. I even expressed it aloud to you and immediately bit my tongue. Today I'm rather concerned about not causing affliction or hurt to others. I learned to speak and write, it seemed somewhat to save me from loneliness. Only indirectly though. It opened the gate of opportunity, taking small steps towards leniency. You as nobody know how demanding it is to merge with me, not every playfellow of mine has enough longanimity and vitality. The wind in the street, almost rocking me back on my heels, graffitis, June has not yet been spent, tenderness overboarding, but it is not intended for anyone. Useless tenderness of mine. Mayakovsky's poems come to mind. Old friends are farther away, but in the psyche they are part of my kindred, and in here - people with all our human dramas. It remains only to puzzle. How good and keen it is to feel. And it is healthy to not always get everything you want, but sometimes to get what you really need. Walked my miles! Digested the day I lived. 

"I suddenly smeared the weekday map splashing paint from a glass; on a plate of aspic I revealed the ocean's slanted cheek. On the scales of a tin fish I read the summons of new lips. And you, could you perform a nocturne on a drainpipe flute?"

© Elin Vidoff

Sunday, 10 June 2018

I surf, Thefore I Am


The sun shone on our glossy boards, reflected from the clear floor of the coves, and the water in them flashed green like a glacial bottle in which an old pirate kept hidden pearls.

Siesta reigned on the coast, beginning exactly when the first-morning bird fell silent, and the beam became steep from gently sloping. The leaves were still, the clouds on the horizon were immovable in the piercingly blue sky. You wanted to surrender to this sizzling "non-movement" and live like a ray, without a visible effort sliding along trunks and lush leaves.


Only the butterflies fluttered with rapture into the swealter and the pinkish wax frangipani flowers melted smoothly in the heat. We were slightly tired, like these dazed flowers under the sun.


But the ocean moved, rolled its transparent layers to the cliffs, with fragments of corals and mixed with the sand of our tracks...


We dropped exchanges without meaning but with laughter, without emotion, though in their expectation. It was hot. It was empty inside. Inside it was clean as if all the anguish swept away all the corners there with a swoosh broom, and our own words boomed in our heads as strangers, having sunk in this emptiness, reflecting not anything and melting.


When the ocean is restless, a series of waves pass through it by vast distances. Each wave - its blue plane, under the pressure of the wind rising a powerful fold in the light of the day. It seems that they are all similar and have no faces, doing the same work, laying out the moist power of the ocean along sandy and rocky shores. And this is so for anyone who leisurely glances along wired waters, but the surfer knows that each of the waves has its own face.


Wave, big or small, is yours, and you're on it alone. This co-event and co-being with the world.


You face the greatness of the ocean, and in the intercourse with it the depth opens in you, there is a union with what you were torn from, this is the way back to yourself. In the face of the ocean, you are left alone, there are no one's backs behind which you can hide - everything that seemed to appear significant becomes ephemeral. You here the depth of silence and letting the ocean to open your soul, and it returns it to you careless and clean, as it was once in your childhood.


 Surfing is a way of fighting for one's own soul, a higher tension and the way of entering a certain border state, when all the bother remains abroad and you are confronted with the pure existence of your "I". Your brain starts slowing down, leaving a space for numerous sensations. Soul and mind converge at one point, feelings are sharpened to the limit, and you literally feel the pulsation of life. Your heart beats in one rhythm with the waves. It's like the birth of spring, the state of flight and inspiration when the daily duel between you and the encircling world disappears because at this point you gain unity and Freedom. Though lasting only for a moment, but for a few deep breaths it's not just air, but life itself pours into your lungs.


To be a surfer means to contain many things, to combine sets, just as surf combines light, air bubbles, water, shine and twilight. Knowing your goals - that's what surfing is. It is something that blocks future and the past, but most importantly it seizes the moment and makes present complete. 


We get closer to nature and tune to its biological rhythms, we have our own clocks, that depend on moon phases and swell chart.


Each wave changes something in you, flushes something unnecessary and frees up space for the salient... and when you fly along this green wall, time seizes for you, and there is not a single thought, which means you can easily hear the voice of Universe. Perhaps that's why you go there again and again, conquering fears with each next wave, as you clearly know: you won and became a little stronger, a little better, a little purer and more connected to Universe ... 



Early wake-ups, licking the wounds, ignoring bruises, believing in yourself, focusing on your goals, moving to new challenges, never stopping to learn and grow and never, ever giving up. Because you know, it's the only way to reach the stars. Life truly begins at the end of your comfort zone. 


© Elin Vidoff

Friday, 8 June 2018

Caffeine Nemesis





Seven in the morning. The rustling of the cars and boats, the Thames waking up.  Summer is one week old. Coffee maker alarm clock - like flirting with yourself. Wake up at dawn to a smell of freshly brewed cup - someone took care of you. Mmm. You took care of yourself. It's damn agreeable!  Bitterness and caffeine - yesterdays drug of choice. I sip and analyze, my favorite activity by far. A murky surface. The first notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" by Rolling Stones playing in your head. "I've been around for a long, long year. Stole many a man's soul and faith... tell me, baby, can you guess my name... what's puzzling you, is the nature of my game..."

Vivid dreams last night with unambiguous characters - protagonists from a distant past, in whom I happened to have recognized myself. Drinking coffee and thinking about how amiable it is for me presently to believe in reincarnation of a kind. We do not repeat in this life the experience of another person, our behavior reflects the repetition of different situations associated with others. There is no program or predetermination, it overflows with symbolism, metaphors or even hyperboles. We, as the authors of our choices, ourselves change the scenarios, switch the realities, choose actualities.

Do you like the first snow or dig into my thoughts? Do you like overdrive or drive distortion, the smell of burning matches or icy hot temples? When someone switches off your mind or books, books, books? Imagine, I have no idea what you love! Maybe this is an unexacting desire to fill a two-dimensional life with elucidations and lurid colors? 

Another frantic day, in many complementing contrast conversations. We are chemical elements, time is ticking and so we transfigure. Every cell of your body is completely renewed in 7 years, and it takes only 16 days to renew by 72%. After not seeing someone for seven years, you meet an entirely different organism. But personality? Something lives in us, this something develops, evolves, reorients. When you do not see a dear one for 7 years, they keep moving and changing all this time... Though keep living in your memory as you have known...

Mix-ups arise mainly from fantasies. If you did not have speculation, you would accept life as it is. But then you would not have a romantic love, because the romantic love is when you found your dream embodied in someone who was far from matching it. “Fantasy love is much better than reality love. Never doing it is very exciting. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.”


Life in the style of hardcore. Sometimes you feel that you've been "hit by a train." Astonished and drown in an arduous alternating experience... Then we suddenly secretly hope that it will happen again... In substantial selfishness and incessantly denying banality. Time passes in the self-studies, and we realize that we are those "trains" for others too... You create this state around you, your energy, magnetism lead to consequences, to results that change what has been unchanged before you... 


Wondrous conversations. We talk about lost love and voyages, less about books, more about ideas. We build plans that we learn to implement immediately. If left for later, the expiration date will expire. We learn to build fences, year after year, all the better, traps, evaluations, probes. All this shunning from our vulnerability, apprehensions and previous disappointments. We are like hunters on our territory. Hunters after ourselves. We guard what is left in the soul, by a mix of habit and instinct, not being a function, an instrument, a spare part or a mechanism. But a unique substance consisting of the atoms of stars that exploded millions of years ago, and which somehow miraculously received the ability to recognize themselves. Joined by covalent bonds that force particles to hold together, when atoms of a molecule share galvanizing electrons.


And the coffee on the windowsill is cooling at the speed of light. 


© Elin Vidoff

Thursday, 7 June 2018


The child-like, gum-chewing naïveté, the glamour rooted in despair, the self-admiring carelessness, the perfected otherness, the wispiness, the shadowy, voyeuristic, vaguely sinister aura, the pale, soft-spoken magical presence, the skin and bones… (Andy Warhol)

Monday, 4 June 2018



I don’t know, there’s something about you. Say there’s an hourglass: the sand’s about to run out. Someone like you can always be counted on to turn the thing over (Haruki Murakami).

Sunday, 3 June 2018

The Seabed



Pre-dawn wake ups. This morning was electrified. The blue sky blazed the azure lagoon, closing up with white sparks in its contiguity. The current was also flowing through us. Its positive charge entered the reaction with water when we kissed its electrified surface, and it pierced us through the thin skin of our lips. We rode the waves, gliding among these energies, like electrons and we talked about the rays, whose own currents lay, probably, somewhere under us - in front of us mantas several times jumped into the sky.

The ocean is somewhat like a long-distance train compartment, where, on the spur of the moment, a soul box is unlocking in front of a random fellow voyager. Often, lying on the board waiting for the next wave, you suddenly begin to start talking about something. Maybe it instantaneously becomes that far-reaching that you impulse to share, or perhaps, on the contrary, it's skin-deep, and now you want to fill it up with water around to add some depth.

When the glare dances on the thick sea, this gambol of light and water seems spectral. On the surface it's scintillating and rapid, skipping in unison to unknown rhythms, dropping into the blue stratum, the wind is buzzing, the surf rumbles, the foam is hissing. 

We streamed through this light, it fell from above, it beat from below with a solid luminescence, as it was reflected by the dense water, causing scarlet streaks to incise the deep blue; we rowed through the spray while it was laughing in our faces - a mixture of colorless and cerulean, mocking and muscular. And finally, letting go the tension, the flow of blood and air inside moving with strain through our pumped hearts and engulfed lungs, the abyss finally began to open before us, and boards finally slid into it. We had waves to ride and they were also in us. Splashes, heart's palpitations, salt on our lips, rhapsody and velocity mixed in us.

Longing to melt away into the ocean and to become a mermaid - these infantile urges probably don't fully expire. If only you could edge into the sea and swim away with playing dolphins, you know you'd never return.

When the noise is full-throated, nothing distinguishes it from silence, the roaring and pounding obliterate all. Individual voices of the world are also indistinct in it. Perhaps, the universal chaos was full with roar before pouring into the Order of the Universe.

Because the water flowed, not sharing with us the purpose of its current, the reef felt uncomfortable. And the bottom, seeming close because of the incredible purity of the water, was fluid and unsteady, because dense glare ran along it without visible order.

The wave that fell on us was not that sizeable or menacing, but the waves are measured not in meters - they are measured by fright.

With the approaching of the wave, I ducked under the ridge and got covered with the bleak ash of foam.

The ocean lifted me with a ruthless blue palm and dipped into the very core of its turquoise body. And did not let go.

In such troubles, often flowing one from another, one should only blame yourself. After all, it's you who climbed into waves that you can not cope with; you did not recognize them, that's why you were knocked down, twisted and banged against the bottom, from which you buoyantly - because now you understand where is the surface - reflected and resurfaced.

I squeezed in one rapid breath and rattled from side to side, as if wanted to mix with water. Indifferent was the flaming impartial sun validating everything happening. The raw tempestuous wall did not release, and the sky and the sun did not mind.

My body lived separately from the mind that dragged the body to this triple accursed surfing, and just longed to live on.

When you load a vessel of your soul with cobblestones of artificialities, there is no much space left inside anymore and, according to Archimedes' principle, is superseded. Although not fully, of course.

Covered with condensation inside, you are misted, muddy and full of burdensome rocks. And you can not fly with them, you can not swim with them.

When you to match the body with a wave, you become identical to it with your spirit.  Knowing that you merge with the wave not to become better than others, but to overcome your old self.

The seabed was necessary! It was necessary to gain this sensation of the ground underfoot. There was no up or down, left or right.

Swimming out on the board in the ocean - it's like going out into the open space. As if in the ocean you are somewhere in another Universe, where time and space are different, and not on your home planet Earth, you do not need there this notorious "ground under your feet", because the board is a sufficient support for your legs, for your confidence, no worse than the shore and certainly boats.

And what's the difference, are you standing with square feet of your feet on the ground or on a board.

But in order to understand all this, you had to trust yourself.

“The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there's no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness.” 

I've experienced this state - a controlled understanding that it was time to move down. Found the deepest well and descended into it to give myself the opportunity to reach the bottom and feel the firm secure ground under my feet. Pouring your every drop of self-worth into its bottomless pit. Until that moment, I was sometimes haunted by the desire to lie and lie down on the ground, sheltered safely in embryo pose. Now, this feeling is in the past. It's unnerving to sink to the bottom, as well as to climb up. To achieve anything can generally be distressingly blood-curdling. But it is needful.

Guardedly, slowly, I inescapably paddled back out to the frontline, and the wave braced me back in its hands.


 © Elin Vidoff

Saturday, 2 June 2018

Nothingness turns to nothing

- Martin Heidegger


Friday, 1 June 2018

Saltwater Nirvana

Me in Bali

Elapsing into pale blue silk, the sun drizzled drops of its rays, and they spread out in incredible stains. The wind subsided, round boat, as brown as a basket, lay on the sand, the flowers of trees from the hill smelled. Their scent always held back till the evening and only at dusk emerged on its short intoxicated promenade.

The tide began to calm down. Rolling smoother waves, reflecting sloping long rays, making the water gleaming. Finally, the surf became so calm that some waves managed to carry the foam mane on the top without losing it all the way to the shore. We wanted to be among them.

We did not talk. We walked along the embankment, and the giant was silent beside us. Dark and cold. Only sometimes its broad round like a stingray wing slightly moved, and then the sand rustled, and the grains of our souls rose and fell with it. Or our souls were these drops, and we stirred in our inner oceans pebbles of possibilities and sand of junctures.

As soon as we enter the water with the board, under the endless desperately blue flowing sky, we have surfing and experience the range of sensations that can gift only the ocean and dynamic colloquy with it. Now it flows in our blood vessels, flows through our hearts. To the blood density of red it mixes the blue, and our thoughts no longer tolerate a conditional, trivial framework.

When I got up on my first wave and felt that was flying over the water, over a vast ocean, that it allowed me this glissade after a long struggle, it was a minuscule moment of light-heartedness. The euphoria that I live. In a mundane life, there are too many routine thoughts, vain emotions and low noise hindrances. When I get up on the board, I do not think about anything. Switching off inner dialogue. Only I feel myself "as I am". Only I and the ocean.  Inside you, Freedom pulsates, you are absolutely Free.

Free to choose a new dream or, without looking back, to strive to achieve the already existing one. It's a blessing to learn to live without going away in your dreams any further than tomorrow. It is wise to live in the process, not the outcome.

Seizing the moment. The rhythm of the waves is becoming the markers of time. Dreaming with my eyes wide open, riding the waves of my life. A mixture of philosophy and meditation, despite the dynamics of movement - to catch the wave, to stand quickly and firmly, but without fuss and with relaxed concentration.  This unity with the ocean, when thoughts and habitual perception of the world go far away, nothing matters and everything is important at the same time, overcoming your abilities and dissolving the fears, one by one. 

Watching the lace skirts of the waves crumble, revealing for me the sweet secret of the unadulterated momentum. Savoring the salty air, this is my place, my time. 

 © Elin Vidoff