ISTA (International School of Temple Arts) Songbook Gathering – Portugal 2025
iz ličnog ugla (for the English version, please scrool down…)
Wohoo… sletela sam, bolje reći aterirala…sa žestokim potresom. Putujem već neko vreme tako uzduž i popreko Portugala, i razmišljam… šta mi je sve ovo trebalo???
Sve je počelo početkom avgusta kao lagani boravak u JuicyLand-u, ISTA ekipa, druženje, dragi ljudi, pleme moje. Soft landing. Mada… već je početak tog ‘laganog’ boravka nagoveštavao da neće biti baš tako lagano. Dogovor je bio da kuvam za ISTA Songbook event – gathering. Umesto planiranih 25-30 ljudi max, sa sve ukućanima, dođosmo do cifre od 50+ učesnika.
OK, mogu ja to, ChatGPT mi je izračunao sve količine, nije problem… Mogu, kako da ne, počinje da me odvaljuje trema. Ono, kao pred ispit.. I pitanje, kako sam se opet uvalila u nešto što prevazilazi uživanje u procesu i postaje domaći zadatak i krajnje ocenjivanje? Toooliko sam se trudila u životu i konačno manje-više ostvarila da nema ko i zašto da me ocenjuje, i opet, PAFF!!?? A šta ako bio – vegan – gluten free učesnici ne budu imali šta da jedu? Kako da skuvam 50 kg bilo čega, a da se ne prekuva ili nedovoljno skuva ?? Kuvam se ja tako i dinstam na laganoj vatri, uz buđenje u talasima toplote u sred noći i lupanjem srca – pripisujući to valunzima, od kojih realno ne patim. Hmm…odakle ova toplota? VATRA jbt, odmah tu iza brda, vide se plamičci. Pa nestanu. Kao, dobro je, kontrolna vatra, znaju vatrogasci šta rade, neće do nas. Počeli gosti da pristižu, veče pre zvaničnoh početka druženja, u stanju pripravnosti smo, sve je pod kontrolom, nema brige, Songbook se odžava, biće sjajno, pevaćemo i plesati cele noći, uprkos vatri. Utešena i umirena odoh na spavanje, kao beba. Sve je kako treba, humus spremljen, baba ganoush spremljen, dressing za salatu, premaz od crvenog sočiva, gomashio… sve to na desetine litara..
Spavam ja tako, meškoljim se, svanulo, čujem blago komešanje, sve OK, radi se jutarnja joga. Mada, čujem i neke glasove koji nisu baš mantre.. Kuc kuc, ulazi Uri u sobu i kaže: “Spirit draga, samo lagano, ne paniči, ali budi spremna za 5 minuta, evakuišemo se. Vratićemo se, ponesi samo neophodne stvari” !???!! Kaže mi to ex vojnik u Izraelskoj vojsci. Treba mu verovati, bezrezervno.
Aaaaaaaa, dobro, ne paničim, ali samo neophodno?? Šta je neophodno? Laptop? Nešto toplo da ne ozebem, šminka, krema za lice I telo. I humus??? Propašće mi onoliki trud!! Natovarim se zapravo kao magarac i hajde polako uz brdo. Nagib 80 stepeni. Dakle vučem se još malo na sve četiri i psujem i humus i vatru i što jednom ne odem u Grčku u Hanioti ili već Sitoniju na 7 dana godišnjeg odmora ??? Ko sav normalan svet? I još nisam ponela svoj predivni tirkizni prsluk i ništa od mog Temple outfit-a, šta ako izgori??? Jaoooo… Ljudska glupost vrlo često prevazilazi okvire poimanja zdravog razuma. Naročito svoja glupost. Upravo sam se spasila vartre koja će u naredna 24 sata pojesti celo brdo…ma neee.. dva-tri okolna brda, spaliti sve pred sobom. A ja razmišljam o šljokicastim krpicama, koje su nenadoknadive?
A možda i bolje tako??
(O okuplanju u selu Coja, nakon evakuacije, sam već pisala, preskačem taj deo).
Idemo put Porta, malo se kao ućutali, nije baš prijatna situacija… Setim se uz put druga Marka, sa kojim sam pre 4-5 godina izgubila kontakt, prekinuli smo naše druženje, tek tako, pauza. Neko mi je od zajedničkih prijatelja nedavno pomenuo da je Marko u Koimbri. Napišem samo poruku: “Marko, evakuisani smo zbog požara, ima li neki slobodan krevet?” Stiže odgovor: “Naravno, samo dođi.” I dođem. Kao da nije bilo tog vremenskog procepa između.
Jedna divna stvar koju mi je vatra donela.
Iz Porta nazad za Koimbru, što realno nema mnogo smisla ali je bio nemoguće odupreti se neizdržu koji me napao. Što zbog vatre, što zbog neizdrža. Provedem noć u Koimbri. Dobijem ujutru preintenzivni FOMO napad…pa jaaaooo…toliko sam se spremala, i uložila, i nadala… Songbook ISTA Gathering se ipak dešava negde, a ja nisam imala ‘petlje’ da se spakujem na put i pridružim? Da ne idem previse u objašnjavanje, ali sam to realno mogla odmah, dok je još gorelo, ali me uhvatio “jadna ja” sindrom, kako ću, šta ću… Svašta čovek zapravo može da nauči o sebi u ovakvim (iz)vanrednim situacijama.
Naravno da sam se posle nekih 6-7 sati putovanja i menjanja prevoznih sredstava našla u Sintri, u nekoj novoj Quinta da – nešto, koja nije izgorela. Songbook gathering, igranje i pevanje. Al nemam svoj pažljivo odabrani Temple-festivalski outfit!?! Ponela vuneni pončo da ne ozebem!! Svi doterani, presvlače se svako malo, ja – nula bodova!?! Opet pomenem u sebi i vatru i očekivanja i kuvanje i Portugal i ko-me-natera… Vidim kako se polako smanjujem, vrišti iz mene moje “unutrašnje dete”, ružnjikavo i nedopadljivo bez svog perja… fck.. Podigni se sad Fenikse iz pepela, aj sad da te vidim, kad nemaš perje da se okitiš?
Songbook je iznedrio jednu predivnu pesmicu, omaž svemu što se desilo, od crne mačke zaštitnika kuće, preko pepela Dragona do Feniksa (ko razume – shvatiće).
“Even if the whole world is burning down…
We can hold each other’s hands…
And we know it’s not The End..
We shall rise, like the Fenix from the ashes…”
Pitanje za mene: Da li je trebalo da se TOLIKO cimam i da li sam nešto naučila i da li ću ikada izaći na kraj sa tim famoznim FOMO-m??
Dan četvrti od požara. Oću vamo, oću tamo, vuče me da se vratim u Juicyland, na početak kruga. I vratim se. Setih se romana “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer,” kako je opisan miris smrada u Parizu u to vreme… Mislim da nemam dovoljno spisateljske veštine da opišem taj misris gareži… Fotografije svedoče donekle, ali je miris taj koji se uvlači duboko, u svaku poru, miris paljevine, gareži, smrti biljnog i životinjskog sveta…miris ništavila. Miris koji izaziva mučninu i nemoć i gađenje a opet tugu, pa onda opet nadu da će priroda sve to preboleti…
Kao, pravimo se da nije ništa, živi smo, zdravi smo, kuća je OK, jedna je spaljena (Dragon House, u kojoj je trebalo biti održan Songbook gathering), ali napraviće se bolja i lepša na njenim temeljima.. Ali miris ne popušta, ne dopušta da se zagledaš u ono malo zelenila koje je ostalo i da zaboraviš. Tu je.
Sve ovo što se dogodilo otvara tako puno pitanja, na globalnom a bogami i na ličnom nivou. A da se nismo svi zaleteli, zavrteli sa svojim planovima, bez da zastanemo i oslušnemo? Da li je priroda rekla woooohooo…stani malo.. gde si krenuo, gde si pošao? Ajmo malo da iskuliramo, smirimo se, ponegujemo sebe i prirodu… Od nule.
Hvala svima koji su učestvovali u ovoj priči. Podržali smo se, zbližili, zavoleli. Nije bilo lako, ali je bilo all inclusive. Čitav spektar emocija.
Privilegija je sve to iskusiti i ostati OK.
Valjda 😊
ISTA (International School of Temple Arts) Songbook Gathering – Portugal 2025
from a personal perspective
Wohoo… I landed, or better said, crash-landed, with quite a shake-up.
I’ve been zigzagging across Portugal for a while now, and I keep asking myself… why on earth did I get myself into all this???
It all started at beginning of August, as a sweet, ‘light’ stay in JuicyLand, with ISTA crew, my tribe, my people, good vibes. A soft landing. Although… from the very beginning that “light” stay was hinting it might not be so soft after all.
The plan was simple: I’d cook for the ISTA (International School of Temple Arts) Songbook gathering. For about 25–30 people max, including the housemates. But somehow, we ended up with 50+ participants…
OK, fine, I can handle that. ChatGPT calculated all the quantities for me, no biggie. Of course I can… and yet, stage fright started creeping in. Like before an exam. And that old question again: how do I always end up turning something that should be pure joy into homework, with grades at the end?! I’ve worked sooo hard in life to finally reach a point where no one is grading me anymore, and yet, PAFF!! Here it comes again.
What if the gluten-free-vegans-etc. complain and have nothing to eat? How do I cook 50 kilos of anything without overcooking or undercooking it??
So, I’m simmering away, tossing and stirring, waking up at night in waves of heat and heart pounding… blaming it on hot flashes (which, honestly, I don’t even suffer from). Hmm… so where is all this heat coming from? FIRE, damn it, right behind the hill, I could see the flames. Then they’d vanish. Supposedly controlled fire, the firefighters know what they’re doing, it won’t reach us. Some guests were already arriving, the evening before the gathering officially started. We stayed alert, but everything seemed under control. Songbook would happen, we’d sing and dance all night, despite the fire. Comforted, I went to bed, like a baby. Everything ready: hummus, Baba ganoush, salad dressing, lentil spread, Gomashio… all by the bucket-loads.
“Morning came, I was half-asleep, stretching, I heard some movement. Fine, morning yoga session. But… some of the voices didn’t sound very mantra-like. Knock-knock, Uri walked in:
‘Spirit, darling, stay calm, don’t panic, but be ready in 5 minutes, we’re evacuating. We’ll be back. Just grab the essentials.’!?!! Spoken by an ex-Israeli soldier. Which meant – believe him.”
Aaaa… fine, I won’t panic. But essentials?? What’s that even supposed to mean? Laptop? Something warm to wear? Makeup, body cream… and hummus??? All that work will go to waste!! So of course, I piled up like a donkey and start climbing uphill. Steep as hell, 80 degrees. Crawling on all fours, cursing the hummus, cursing the fire, and cursing the fact that I didn’t just book myself a simple vacation in Hanioti or Sithonia, like any ‘normal’ person??? And on top of it all, I didn’t even bring my gorgeous turquoise vest, nothing of my Temple outfits… what if it all burns?? Ughhh… human stupidity has no limits. Especially my own. I literally just escaped a wildfire that would devour not one, but three hills in the next 24 hours, burning everything in its way… and I’m thinking about sparkly outfits??
Maybe that’s for the better?
(I already wrote about the evacuation and our gathering in the village of Coja – so I’ll skip that part).
Off we go towards Porto. Everyone’s a bit quiet, not exactly a fun road trip mood. Somewhere on the way my thoughts brought me to my old friend Marko… We lost touch 4–5 years ago, friendship just…paused. A mutual friend recently mentioned he’s in Coimbra. I texted him:
“Marko, we got evacuated because of the fire. Any chance you have a bed?”
His reply: “Of course, just come.” And I came. As if no years had passed.
One beautiful gift the fire brought me.
From Porto back to Coimbra (which made no real sense, but I just couldn’t resist). One night there, hosted by Marko). Next morning, full-on FOMO attack. Damn… I prepared so much, invested so much, hoped so much… and the Songbook is happening somewhere, without me?? And I didn’t have the guts to just pack and go? Honestly, I could’ve joined right away, even though it was still burning. But I got stuck in that “poor me” syndrome: how, when, what if… Ohhh, you really learn a lot about yourself in situations like these.
Of course, after 6–7 hours of buses, trains, and random rides, I found myself in Sintra, at some new Quinta-da-something-that-didn’t-burn. Songbook gathering, music, dancing, celebrating, temple nights.. Except, I had no carefully chosen temple-festival outfit. Just my wool poncho, to keep me warm! Everyone else kept changing into gorgeous clothes, looking fabulous… me? Zero points. Again, I curse the fire, the expectations, the cooking, Portugal, and myself, who pushed me into all this??
I shrink inwards, my “inner child” wailing, ugly, awkward, without feathers to shine in. Fck.
Alright then, rise now, Phoenix, naked, without feathers. Let’s see you DOI it.
The Songbook gave birth to a beautiful little song, the homage to it all: from the black cat guardian of the house, through the ashes of the Dragon, to the Phoenix (those who know, will know).
“Even if the whole world is burning down…
We can hold each other’s hands…
And we know it’s not The End..
We shall rise, like the Phoenix, from the ashes…”
Big question for me: Did I really need to go through ALL that? Did I learn anything? And will I ever manage to tame that notorious FOMO of mine??
Day four after the fire. Back and forth, torn inside. Finally, I return to JuicyLand, to where the circle began. The smell hit me first. It reminded me of Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, the way he described the stench of Paris back then. I don’t think I have enough writer’s skill to capture it. Photos tell part of the story, but it’s the smell that goes into every pore: smoke, ashes, burnt life, plants, animals. The smell of nothingness. A smell that makes you sick, powerless, disgusted, and yet… sad. And then, hopeful again, knowing that nature would find its way to heal.
We try to act as if nothing happened. We’re alive, safe, the house is still standing. Only one house burned down (the Dragon House, where Songbook should have been held), but it will be rebuilt, better, stronger. Still… the smell lingers. It won’t let you forget.
All this what happened raises so many questions, globally, and on a very personal level. Maybe we all spin too fast with our plans, without pausing to listen. Maybe nature said: woooohooo… stop for a moment. Where are you rushing? Let’s slow down. Nurture ourselves. Nurture nature. Start from zero.
Thank you to everyone who was part of this story. We supported each other, grew closer, loved more deeply. It wasn’t easy, but it was truly all-inclusive. A full spectrum of emotions.
It was a privilege to live through it and come out okay.
Hopefully 😊
