One woman's quest for the steps of Bulgarian mountain shepherds – the Marginalian

I will hear you, the invisible shepherd sings across Gear, his song fills the lies of the years, and his Father, the generations of his Father, and other his life.

Bulgaria was raised in it was the poorest country in Europe and the most meaningful area of ​​the square miles. I have spent my time in childhood in its far remote mountains, where my grandparents work as a high-quality teacher in the uneducated village. Gogo, now ninety, grown in those mountains, sharing one bed of grass, three family and three rooms and a Trigenerational family. It was always the surrounding animals – pigs and poultry and poultry and cows and cattle and too many cows – their needs, their feelings meet. I feel their absence today and in this reminder that the world we live – the Skeyscrapers and the Seed of Nonuman – Non-Natural, has no loneliness.

After coming for years in New Zealand and lives in Scotland, the poet and Novelst Kapalova returned to Bulgaria, where the November's Novarachan shepherds in the village was returned to a little recovery of the smaller. The modest health of physical activity and independence restore the new understanding of honest explanations, liver, and love, as long as we strive like the world more easily, unaffected. Poured from pages of Anima: The cleroon of the field (library) – One of those books that leave you from breathing – is an elixir lifting the spelling that we have to comply with the solid models with more models. It is a love book to Karakachan how to – the life-giving shepherds of the life of the united animals, and their dogs underesting the Voldy Bear, their volls bloom and know; It is a love book for your own life, in the soul of the world that you read about, soul under person.

Kassabova writes:

This work needs three things: love your company, love for animals and love without, and not being unconcilitated.

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We have forgotten that this also we can do … go with animals, live animals, take care of animals and care for the animals. Until I live about it. Today, it is difficult to make a living from injuries to the base as it happens to make art of art, music or literature. You must improve with the dedication that can reduce the rain or burn with fire.

Those who are determined to live such a life are rewarded in the sense of purpose, more than teleology – the kind of revenge in the family of the things,

It was an exciting monastic, balm of anxious souls, knowing your purpose, followed your trip, followed a necklace and brought together the group, tired after another day to achieve your work. The days were in Rosary beads passed by your fingers and heard their texture and formions. The same, but different.

Morning prayer: Milk Sheep and take a grazing herd. Londay Prayer: Pladnina. Verers tonight: Bring a herd home, feeding dogs. Have a humble evening meal, sleeping in your hard bed, and wake up early and the morning of the morning.

Drink your coffee, pour your shoes, strap on your rucksack, take your stick with sickness and health, rain and sunshine, go. Dogs wait. The flock waits. The hills are waiting. Is required.

He comes in contact with water life in a dark river and the highest stone comfort. Therefore, we have the love of longing for the lost pieces – those our parties that have oppressed them or rejected another young shepherds, only to find beside his wonderful personality. He wandered in the Balkan indigenous forests, bringing his soul into such a river blue and cleansing as “the beginning of the old, a hundred years old, but there are no 100 years old. “

All of this time, the life of the mountain whisper its conviction. In the open story of the French Surrealist poelist, the philosopher, and Alpine Karené Daimalal's and the meaning of life, he writes:

You go up, every top. There is something high, bright, full of color, more complete in form, different from yesterday, although in the same mountain every day. Dogs are in your side, and they are amazed at this moving picture and sometimes when you go, feeling simple that your feet touch the world, and you see that these are some of the most exciting days in your life.

One of the most difficult learning for this life – in this war, in this civilization – that all real happiness is a commitment, the nature of the mountain. Two centuries after Porgaret Fuller's experienced Hilltop, Kassabova relates a moment of pure pure Involve images – Latin's root of “Animal,” meaning “Soul,” that the Karakachan believes to be ventilated, the spirit of life:

I don't have a face or body if I sleep like this I am in the unlimited bed of hills, I have nothing. I am the indigester than the world's spirit.

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The wind is a mess from far away and trying to hold a message. Like a name that is not a name, the continued grass and light, animal and sun cycle. The spirit is alive as a person. The spirit is the soul of the earth that passes through me and is their message, the soul of the world. Anima.

It passes through the sleeping animals. It also affects us and moves on. I don't know where it goes but one day, I'll go with it and I'm not up.

Such is not born in an ancestral legal fulfillment of the skin and the subject that we call the renewal stimulates from the deception we live. There are many unlimited peephones in what is the original pedester, the smallest flower like the largest telescope, beautiful hare as a hummitbird. Kassabova shows in Hers:

Compliance with the necessary goats and dedication commitments, at least themselves in today's sense, you personally want to be in the center of non-other animals. But maybe you looked like that it didn't quite see. Maybe its understanding of the center and a peripheryy is a deception. Perhaps it would not be hard to offer. It can be a relief.

You get this unselfish thing that it has been a realistic respect – on the mountain, until its time and time:

When traveling up, severe physical survival was, and the sound of everything. Personas disappear and are still true. There is only one idea in every life. Anima.

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All our lives, we try to get somewhere. Where are my wishes now? I can't find them. They had never real. How much of my time is the most common time when the only real mountain is a mountain? I will not be able to do. Pirin was named after the oldest objections of thunder, perun, covered in a dragon scale. I see why people pray the mountains where they wander in nine mountains and their flocks. Thunder Peak is the first week. When Notre Dame Burns, Thunder Peak is here every morning.

Finally, you find what we all do if we live long enough and deep – that that is not what we get, what we get, from danger on our side, that's very social. And that explanation remains unresolved, something glorious in the abyss between one understanding and another, something from which language can shine.

I open my laptop and my fingers striving to type. They are too big and almost forget their way around the keyboard. Should I minimize my experience in such a small space when it is too big? Great and set as a mountain. I look like the same and forever, but I feel good. Something grown. I don't know how to explain this. In the middle of the lower world and highlands than the language problem.

And all the time, the world tries to communicate.

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Milk, blood, rain. All our lives are doing works while waiting for something to click on the area. For elsewhere to put our love.

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Now … I understand what it is like to see something true and good, you want everyone to be affected by it. He was saved, or.