Chasing the Light, Stories, Thoughts About Life

The Songs of Birds


God gave the sweetest melody to the smallest of birds. A cluster of goldcrests fly from branch to branch. Their little tails shake with anticipation, while their beaks are picking at the sweet flowers. Ah and the tree, a magnificent giant covered in ivy! I can’t even see its trunk or begin to decide what family of trees it belongs to. It stands there, with its crooked branches pleading to the heavens. Covered in parasitic veins and leaves, it breathes heavily. The bark bleeds under the tight grip of the ivy, but it still finds love for the little creatures that play amongst its withered forms.

The tree reminds me of a man, whose once rich possessions have succumbed to decay and misfortune. His status, albeit stained by wretched gossip, strains to stay afloat. He sits on a chest in the middle of his once grand, now empty, ballroom. His eyes close with delight as the soft voices of songs once sung there caress his soul. ‘I have lost my worldly glory.’ he whispers. ‘I have seen the cruelty of man at its peak and have tasted the bitterness of poisonous lips!’

‘Alas’, he sighs, ‘But I cannot forget the beauty of man’s soul when he loves. And when one loves, one sings! I shall have one last ball here, with the last of my earthly possessions. Let the grandest singers and musicians come and share their tunes! And after everyone has heard their songs and got their fill of gladness, I shall go into the world happy. Poor in my attire, but rich in my heart.’

Such is this tree as it listens to the goldcrests and black birds nesting in its wounds. For this tree is wiser than me. It bears its pain with patience, listening for what rings true and lets it rest on its shoulders. It does not shake the winged messengers away, but rejoices in their gifts. The tree knows that its roots are deep inside the earth and that the ivy is tight around its neck. It also knows that the songs of birds speak of a world it cannot yet see, but whose beauty and truth bring a promise of freedom.

Chasing the Light, Thoughts About Life

Pebbles in the Storm

‘Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them! For the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’ (Christ)


Girls in front of a mosque in Mumbai.

This week has been heartwrenching, but also eye-opening and fun. It started with a three day training led by Ash Perrin from the Flying Seagull Project. It ended with a masterpiece film, Capernaum, directed by Nadine Labaki and starring syrian refugee Zain Al Rafeea. The voices that echoed throughout the week, however, were the voices of children.

Children in refugee camps. Children running away from authority. Children making their own justice. Angry, sad, hungry, tired, alone children, who have lost so much and yet still find the strength to take care of each other. Like Zain (Capernaum) helping his sister hide her period from her mother, since the blood stain meant she was ready for marriage, at eleven. Or how Zain took care of an infant whose mother had been arrested due to illegal immigration.

Oh, child of the past, where are thou now? What deserts are you wandering through? Who feeds you and gives you drink? Who tells you bedtime stories and gives you shelter? For I have sheltered you in the depths of my heart and people have told me to leave you there. I added more and more layers of wood and brick and your voice became like a distant whisper.

‘Be more mature.’, ‘You have to drop the silliness.’, ‘You’d be so pretty with some makeup on.’, ‘It’s time you got a real job.’, ‘You’ve been in school long enough.’, ‘Stop running after princes and fairy tales.’, they said, sometimes even my family, although I know they meant well. But this week something changed. I was allowed to play. Actually I was told to be sillier, goofier, wilder! Improv for me is usually a place to play and be free, but the Flying Seagull Project (FSP) training was much more than that.

FSP have brought smiles to thousands of refugee and underprivileged children. Dressed up as figments of our imagination, Ash and his crew believe that childhood is a right that everyone should have. They bring games, songs and magic to children all around the world to help them play again. After training with FPS I believe that us grown ups can also learn a thing or two about the joy of being daft.  

Oh, how the tables have turned! Grown ups teaching children to play and children teaching grown ups to raise their young. But we need this, because in order to clean and bandage the wounds of our Earth, we need grown ups to be childlike and humble, while children need to be heard and taken seriously.

So if you have reached the end of this article, take a moment to think. How can you be a pebble in this stormy sea we live in today? Your ripples might seem swallowed by the waves, but they are never lost. The Flying Seagull Project (and I :D) will bring hope, courage and smiles to children. Capernaum and other similar films will help fight child neglect. How can your gifts be used to bring a voice to children…and not only the ones out there, but also the one inside your soul?    

Chasing the Light, Stories, Thoughts About Life, Traveling

Lost in the Forest of Dean

Silence never felt so deep and yet, I was not alone. I looked up at the haunting sway of trees, their branches both sheltering and menacing me. A gun was shot in the heart of the forest. My heart stopped for a moment. My flee from the Dean’s castle had not gone unnoticed. But I could not marry this shadow of a man. He who had lurked in darkness, watching his own men die on the battlefield.


I knew a place where I would be safe, The Speech House. The lady of the house would surely host me and send my pursuers away. I stepped over the moss covered branches, pressing them deeper into the mud. My feet were cold and wet, but eager to make haste. The sky was on the brink of sunset and I seemed to have lost my way.

A crow hissed a warning as I got closer to its nest. I took that as an omen to turn away. How long had I been running for? Hours, perhaps, but they weighed on me like days. At last I could see the welcoming lights of the manor house on top of a hill. The statue of a stag watched over me as I squelched my way up the hill. I could hear hushed voices amongst the trees.

My dress got hooked by a thorny branch. I turned to untangle it. My eyes filled with fright at the sight of four men with their hunting dogs on thick leather leads. As I forced myself free I could hear the sound of the leads being set loose. With the last bit of breath I flung myself over the massive oak doors of the Speech House. They were locked! ‘Let me in!’ I cried. The dogs were almost at my feet, their growls drew nearer with every pound on the door. I covered my face in anticipation of a fierce encounter.


The doors of the bus open. I have been waiting in the snow covered night for half an hour in front of The Speech House, in the Forest of Dean. ‘Are you going to Coleford and then Gloucester?’ I ask the driver, a young man, not more than twenty two. ‘Yes, there are no other buses coming this way.’ ‘You saved me!’ I say. ‘I would have been stuck here for the night if it wasn’t for you.’ I get in, shivering from head to toe. At least I can get home now. What an adventure it was!



Thoughts About Life


It’s 1:19 AM and my ears are still pounding with throwback music from Moles. Believe it or not, this is the first time I went there in my 3 years of living in Bath. The music was not bad, it was nice to hear some oldies but goldies from the 90s and 80s. I love dancing, I love telling a story with my arms, while my feet tap the rhythm. I like to dance like no one’s watching, which might upset a few people who need their personal space and make one or two hen party girls jealous.

Dancing is a form of acceptance to a group. I got accepted in a couple of them, with smiles and encouragements from strangers. But I would always sneak away to some other corner of the room. It’s almost like I didn’t feel I belonged to any group as I prefer dancing on my own. Isn’t that a metaphor for life? A couple of Las Vegas looking lovers kiss after a mad dancing routine. Haha, they thought they were the best dancers here…but then I came along 🙂 Enough not so humble bragging, let’s get to the point.

Dancing is not just a form of socializing, being accepted in a group or showing off your calves. It is a form of expression. What can you express? Who you are, how you connect to people, what you feel. Music is the paint, you are the painter. If the paints you are given cripple and fragment before your very eyes with repetitive beats, that don’t mean anything, how are you to paint your masterpiece? DJs, give young people good music to dance to, so that they can feel what a person lived through their song and reflect it with their own expression and experience. Does that make sense?

There was only one song when I felt truly alive. I can’t remember its name, I just remember what I saw as my feet drummed the floor with the patterns of a raindance. I saw the deep rainforest and a leopard’s deep, dark eyes staring back at me. It was telling me I need to live. In order for one to live, one needs to cling on to what is worth living for, friendship, love, adventure, true, meaningful connections, their Creator and really good music.

Thoughts About Life

Thoughts about growing

Easter is coming and my heart yearns more and more to find its path. I discovered a freelancing course called The No Pants Project, which sounds ideal for me :)) I get to rediscover my gifts, what I enjoy doing and how I would like to serve others.

anita_gifAlso, I am amazed at how many self-improvement coaches are out there. From superstar Tony Robbins to philosophical Jordan Peterson. My mind listens, my heart smiles, but my soul asks: ‘How is all this related to Christ?’ Some things are, which encourage me to grow, some things aren’t and are best left aside.

‘Life happens for you, not to you.’ (Tony Robbins)

Thoughts About Life

Welcome to Anamation

…which is what one of my favorite Animation professors wrote on my review sheet one day, instead of the actual word. He made a tiny mistake, I thought it would make a brilliant name for an animation studio or a hacker-space, or a blog…who knows 🙂 My name is Anamaria Ciucanu, by the way and I come from the lovely town of Piatra-Neamt, Romania. See the About section form more technical details 😉



Teddy’s Dream – Created in Maya, year 2012