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Pause! — Blog ’n‘ Stories

Today is the day, the day priorities will be set.
Not because I have to, but because I can.

Today is the day I say “THANK YOU” to those who have persecuted, criticized, loved and commented on my stories and poetry.

Thank you, dear readers who came here for this very reason: to read.
Thank you,  to my very best friends who have regularly supported me with their corrections, that helped me to improve.
Thank you, to all the lovely people who came here for me as a person: my family, friends, and colleagues.
Everyone who came here because they like me. Thank you!

There are two very big challenges coming up, and they need a lot of attention.

www.jjbuettner.com will be our platform today and in the future.
A place for painted and written art, from us, for you.
Furthermore, we will keep presenting new art-works on a regular basis.
As soon as our big projects reached a certain point, their “form”, new “blog ’n‘ stories will surely follow as well.
Remember, you can still find us on Instagram: @jj_buettner

For right now, there are just a few things left to say:
We move on, and it would be just wonderful if YOU would move with us.

See you soon on jjbuettner.com,

Your Jenny

My center

I am my center, my priority, and my anchor.
I say it loud because that’s what counts.
Spend with me every day, there is no break.

I see my face the mirror and have no choice. Everything
I’ll ever find there, that’s right, that’s me.
I can replace the mirror, I can clean it.
No matter what I do, as soon as I look in again, I see only one thing: me.

Get up every morning, grateful for the day that I know well, is not granted. I am always myself. No matter where I go, who I talk to. May surround me with ugly souls or with beautiful ones. My soul, this one, belongs to me.

Every night, I close my eyes, whatever the day brought me,
do not spend too much time on what the night holds for me.
Isn’t it true that in this universe there are more things that I cannot influence than those that fit my desires?

My focus, that’s me.
I am an egoist, believe me, but I am a nice one, too.  In the first place, it has to be me, there is no other possibility.
I can work on who I want to be and how my own rating turns out.
Only then, because that’s really early enough, I reach out to help those I love. To love. To sacrifice myself for those who belong to me.
I’m able to decide that, now strong enough, my own anchor, that’s me.

Night

„Why are they all afraid of me, when misfortune happens during their working hours just as much, if not more?“ The night asked the day while they sat on a cloud for a sunrise.
„That’s just your own impression. How many times do we have to discuss this subject? “
The day replied annoyed and shifted in his seat. He had to get to work soon, the night knew that. However, in their infinite relationship, the day was more than aware: the night would not rest until the topic was discussed again.
That’s why he said quietly, with a smile on his face:
„Why do you not just get it out my darling, tell it from your soul.“

The night said, without hesitation:
„It’s especially the people who are afraid of me. I bring them so much good: wonderful sleep, rest, plants that grow and feed them. I also offer protection to them, in my darkness. Yet, they only see the danger that evil people have created. That’s so frustrating!
I could be upset about that for centuries. “

„That’s exactly what you are my love, you have been doing that for centuries and what has it brought us?“ The day asked and stroked the night gently over her shoulder, on which her black hair fell down in light waves.
„I know, I know. These people. They are all the same. It’s not worth to get off on that.
You have to go, my love, „she finished the conversation for now and kissed the day very gently. As her lips parted, the sun came up in the sky. The day had started for work.

The day passed and after their next farewell, the sunset, the time of work for the night had come. It was dark, surrounding everything, wrapped in a beautiful black coat. Black was exactly her style. The night smiled, pleased with her work. Suddenly the thoughts came back, those who said that no one liked her, everybody was just scared of her and she became sad.

„Good night, Luke“,
„Good night mom. I love you, „said the little one, who was well covered by his mother before she kissed his forehead and cheeks.
„Sweet dreams, baby“

The night was happy. She wanted to remember such scenes when she felt unloved: the good night kiss. Smiling, she made her way to the cloud to tell the day of her night and kiss him until sunrise because it’s the kisses that really count.

Nacht

„Warum fürchten sich alle vor mir, wo doch zu Deiner Arbeitszeit genauso, wenn nicht mehr, Unglück geschieht?“, fragte die Nacht den Tag, während sie einen Sonnenaufgang lang auf einer Wolke saßen.
„Das bildest Du Dir bloß ein. Wie oft müssen wir das Thema noch diskutieren?“, gab der Tag genervt zurück und rutschte auf seinem Platz hin und her. Er musste bald zur Arbeit, das wusste die Nacht genau. In ihrer unendlichen Beziehung war dem Tag jedoch mehr als bewusst: Die Nacht würde nicht ruhen, ehe das Thema ein weiteres Mal besprochen wurde.
Deshalb sagte er ruhig, mit einem Lächeln auf den Lippen:
„Na leg‘ schon los, mein Schatz, rede es Dir von der Seele.“

Die Nacht ließ sich das nicht zweimal sagen, und so begann sie:
„Es sind doch besonders die Menschen, die sich vor mir fürchten. Dabei bringe ich Ihnen so viel Gutes: Wunderbaren Schlaf, Ruhe, Pflanzen, die wachsen und sie ernähren. Ich biete ihnen auch Schutz in meiner Dunkelheit. Dennoch sehen sie nur die Gefahren, die böse Menschen erschaffen haben, die sie sich zunutze machen. Das ist so ärgerlich!
Ich könnte mich Jahrhunderte darüber aufregen.“

„Genau das, meine Liebe, tust Du doch schon seit Jahrhunderten, und was hat es uns gebracht?“, fragte der Tag und strich der Nacht sanft über die Schulter, auf die ihre schwarzen Haare in leichten Wellen hinabfielen.
„Ich weiß, ich weiß. Diese Menschen. Sie sind alle gleich. Es bringt doch einfach nichts.
Du musst los, mein Liebster“, beendete sie die Unterredung für den Moment und küsste den Tag ganz sanft. Als ihre Lippen sich entfernten, stand die Sonne am Himmel. Der Tag war zur Arbeit aufgebrochen.

Der Tag ging vorüber und nach ihrem nächsten Abschied, dem Sonnenuntergang, war die Zeit der Nacht angebrochen. Finster war sie, umgab alles, wie in einen wunderschönen schwarzen Mantel gehüllt. Schwarz war genau ihr Stil. Die Nacht lächelte, zufrieden mit ihrem Werk. Plötzlich kamen die Gedanken zurück, jene, die besagten, dass niemand sie gernhatte, alle sie fürchteten und sie wurde betrübt.

„Gute Nacht, Lukas.“
„Gute Nacht, Mama. Ich habe Dich lieb“, sagte der Kleine, der von seiner Mutter gut zugedeckt wurde, bevor sie ihn auf Stirn und Wangen küsste.
„Träum was Schönes, mein Schatz.“

Die Nacht war glücklich. An solche Szenen wollte sie sich erinnern, wenn sie sich ungeliebt fühlte: der GuteNacht-Kuss. Lächelnd machte sie sich auf den Weg zur Wolke, um dem Tag von ihrer Nacht zu berichten und ihn zu küssen, bis die Sonne hoch am Himmel stand.
Denn es sind doch die Küsse, die zählen.

Superhuman

Superhuman

Can you see him, this happy man?
Life surely did him well, achieved everything he ever dreamed of.
That’s what you think because you only see the obvious.

This person at the top, the big superstar,
you would be envious, if that was not so terribly ugly.
That’s what you believe, not knowing any better, yet.

Take a few steps closer to the picture that society created of him.
Look closely, pay attention to details, to facets.
Move closer to him, the man who has no worries, because which problem should there be?
You’re convinced, it cannot be that bad because you aren’t able to feel it.

Carefully, reach for his hand, the golden man’s hand,
the star, do you feel how cold it is?
He smiles, trying everything to just keep that image for you, for all of us.
There are always reasons. They are endless, the benefits of others, those who have expectations.

His hand stays cold and even if he reciprocates your affection, the smile enchanting yet does not make its way up to his eyes.
Do you see him, this happy man?
One, without worries.
One, who’s got it all.
You really think so?

Überflieger

Siehst Du ihn, diesen glücklichen Menschen?
Hat es gut getroffen, alles erreicht, was er sich jemals erträumt hat.
– Denkst Du, weil Du nur das Offensichtliche siehst.

Diese Person an der Spitze, jener Überflieger,
auf den man sicher neidisch wäre, wenn Neid nicht so furchtbar hässlich wäre.
– Glaubst Du, weil Du es noch nicht besser weißt.

Geh ein paar Schritte näher heran, an das Bild, dass die Gesellschaft von ihm erschuf.
Sieh genau hin, achte auf Details, auf Facetten.
Betrachte ihn näher, den Menschen, der keine Sorgen hat. Welche sollten das nämlich sein?
Du bist überzeugt, so schlimm kann es nicht sein, weil Du es nicht fühlen kannst.

Greife vorsichtig nach seiner Hand, die Hand des goldenen Menschen,
des Stars. Spürst Du, wie kalt sie ist?
Er lächelt, versucht alles, eben jenes Bild für Dich aufrechtzuerhalten, für uns alle.
Gründe gibt es immer. Sie sind endlos, die Vorteile der anderen. Derjenigen, die Erwartungen haben.

Seine Hand bleibt kühl, und auch wenn er Deine Zuneigung erwidert, das Lächeln, bezaubernd, schafft dennoch nicht den Weg zu seinen Augen.
Siehst Du ihn, diesen glücklichen Menschen?
Einen, ohne Sorgen.
Einen, der alles hat.
Meinst Du?

Love is that easy

Someone once told me, „Real love can be so easy“ and I thought ‘ if it’s easy, it’s not real’.
I did not understand what he meant when he said:
„True love is what’s  worth fighting for“,
but why to fight, if it’s so easy?

No matter how I turned it and turned it, it did not seem to fit together.
The dramatic love story, going to be easy?
A fight for something, that is so down-to-earth?
There was probably a difference between „true“ and „real” love, I thought.

„Love is easy, hate is hard,“ I read somewhere.
Truly, hate was exhausting and wild.
Not desirable. Simple love, on the other hand, or just love, was, what everyone wants.
I knew one thing for sure: I could not find it.
It had to find me for sure.

For a brief moment, I thought I was found. „Simple Love“, it was pleasant, like a cool
breeze, on a hot summer day. I wanted to keep it close.
Until I did not want it anymore, the friendship that was not Love at all.

On our day, the day of „true, real and simple love“,
I did not know what was waiting for me. Didn’t look for it.
My instincts, far from acceptable. I was unable to find anything, for sure.

But there he stood, my love. The truth.
The love worth fighting for.
Easy, because loving him, is easy as breathing.
A fight, so much bigger than myself, than us.
The certainty, that our love will always be greater.
A force. Simple, easy as breathing. Worth fighting.

Last word

„I have the last word“,
„Do not always talk back to me“,
„Who laughs last, laughs best“.

The damn last word,
incomprehensible, which is why it is so special.
Nevertheless, I would like to have it. My statement counts, everything that comes afterward
is just sound and smoke. The last, very last word.
Mine.

Talking back, not only an issue with kids.
At least they are still very unvarnished, honest.
When we grow older, it comes less like “out of a gun”, but
more „behind the back of the other, as soon as he left the room, we get our knife ready“.
No objection! Absolutely none at all!

The last laugh, this best, most beautiful laugh.
Beaming with joy, looking for revenge. Is this
but clearly the reason for our laughter: the one who fooled us first,
is the one being fooled in the end. So much fun! Simply the very best, last laugh.

How about first words then?
The first step in every conversation.
Not important, because it is the first and not the last word?

What to do if the talking back is: „but of course, I love you!“
The assurance to our beloved, that our feelings have not changed.
They are not going to change. No matter the crazy thoughts our partner has for a second.

How good would be the first and last laugh, if no one laughs about on another or that successful revenge? Wouldn’t that be a reason to laugh first, last and in between?

Acrylic on paper, 45×60 cms,©JJBUETTNER

 

Letztes Wort

„Ich habe das letzte Wort“,
„Gib nicht immer Widerwort!“,
„Wer zuletzt lacht, lacht am besten“.

Das verdammte letzte Wort,
unverständlich, weshalb es so besonders ist.
Dennoch möchte ich es gerne haben.
Meine Aussage zählt, alles was danach kommt,
ist Schall und Rauch. Das letzte, allerletzte Wort.
Meines.

Widerwort, nicht nur aus Kindermund.
Zumindest, aber hier noch sehr ungeschönt ehrlich.
Kommt es, wenn wir groß sind, weniger wie „aus der Pistole geschossen“,
mehr „hinter dem Rücken des anderen, sobald er den Raum verlassen hat, zücken wir das Messer“. Kein Widerwort! Absolut überhaupt keines!

Das letzte Lachen, dieses beste, schönste Lachen.
Freudestrahlend, suchend nach Rache. Ist das
doch ganz klar der Grund für unser Lachen: Derjenige, der uns zuerst zum Narren hielt,
den Lachen wir nun aus. Ein riesen Spaß! Ganz einfach das allerbeste, letzte Lachen.

Wohin dann aber mit dem ersten Wort?
Der erste Schritt in jeder Unterhaltung.
Unwichtig, weil es das erste und nicht das letzte Wort ist?

Was tun, wenn das Widerwort lautet „aber natürlich, ich liebe Dich!“
Die Versicherung an unseren Geliebten, dass sich unsere Gefühle nicht geändert haben.
Sie sich nicht ändern werden. Egal, wie verrückt unser Partner gerade spielt.

Wie gut wäre das erste und letzte Lachen, wenn niemand den anderen auslacht und gelungene Rache kein Grund wäre, sich zu freuen?

Acryl auf Papier, 45×60 cm,©JJBUETTNER

Human pain

They die, the birds, after their last trip to the south.
Some cannot make it. Too hard the flight.
The wind takes them with it. Where are they going, they already know the sky, so do they know heaven?

They fall, the leaves. Their lifetime so short, the blooming
vanished. They die, the leaves. The tree lets go off them.
The earth they fall upon is what will remain of them.

They don’t want to let go of people, these humans. You know, they will have no choice.
The thought of one’s own death, the healthy, the sick, all are tormented by that the same.
This last path, the young, the old, the rich and the poor, is what they are all concerned about.

They hope for a life after death, pray that this right here wasn’t all they can expect.
For sure, they don’t want to be done with life. Their existence becomes a nightmare, scourging themselves with the only question: “When?”

They complain when it hits their loved ones, they scream and rage. Almost never is there enough time. How could it be enough, as they want to love, be loved, even more? The human suffering, the end of their life, unimaginable and incomprehensible.
While they should not fill their lives with this, how can they do anything other than being scared of the one thing, they can never control?
They just have so much to lose. All while being so aware of exactly that.