Casa Robino

I've never met Aris, but I feel her residue in the walls. I sense her presence in the ether. She's made a mark on this house, which is so molded by those who participate here. She was so beneficial in the growth of people around her, and so elevating for those who come after. I am one of those who came after her, and I've felt the energy she left in her wake, so I wanted to leave my perspective with you.

I've never met Aris, but I knew the sea intimately, and have myself plans to cross the Mediterranean Sea in a sailing boat. I'm at a high risk of being discouraged by the loss of such a vibrant person, and cannot ignore the fact that "this could happen to me". Yet somehow I am not discouraged. Instead, I am inspired by Aris; I find my wanderlust infused, my compassion justified, and my determination tempered.

Though the sea is vast and powerful, we must not let any fear of oceans decide our voyages; though there are risks, we must raise our sails to the wind, and live life as fully as we can. We owe it to Aris, we owe it to each other, and we owe it to ourselves.

* * *

We journeyed to the sea today, to send her a message.

It was written on a postcard, the one from the Casa that chose itself the day we heard the news. It was addressed to her next destination with warm wishes and love.

It was sealed in a bottle of pear juice that we drank at the Casa, and carried softly on a cycle rack, until the North Sea yawned open before us at IJmuiden.

Beneath the lighthouse there, at the furthest tip of the breakwater, surrounded by water, we climbed down onto the rocks and sent it on its way. It was a ceremony of spirit, laden with sentimental silence, soft, candid words, and a distance-in-the-eyes, settling sense of peace. And of course there were hugs.

And as we watched the bottle drift out to sea, a gentle rain began to fall.

Her passion still endures.

Thank you Aris. I won't let you down!

Hugs! OOO

Pequeña Aris:
Ser de luz que entretenía las horas tejiendo bufandas kilométricas. Ser calmo de aire inteligente que apareció así como solamente aparecen los ángeles para crear un huequecito en la monotonía estresante de la universidad.
Mujer de viento antiguo.
Dama silente y atenta.
Madre de los nonatos.
Nieta de la alegría.

No me lo puedo creer... Beatiful Aris. Where are you now? Espero que andes abrigando estrellas y anémonas.

Qué ingrata es la vida cuando te aplasta la muerte.

Gracias por haberte cruzado conmigo, amiga de las needles.
Impotencia
Rabia
Lágrimas

Trajiste la felicidad en las comisuras de tus labios. La sapiencia aferrada a los nudillos y destellos en cada mirada lejana y profunda.

Mierda. Shit.

I'll always love you, querida muchacha de cristal irrompible.
Siempre con nosotros, siempre contigo.

your name, nor your picture rang a bell with me. but Robino insisted that I'd met you. then I mentioned I met this girl who made awesome pancakes one day in the Casa. I cannot describe how good those were! and... Robino told me you are the girl who made those... I guess I was very pre-occupied with the pancakes :)
you have been remembered for a great many things already, but I will remember you as my pancake-girl.

hugs, Jaap

I missed Aris' second visit at the casa. And then one day some weeks later we received not one but two very tired Slovenian girls. I remember Aris recounting their story of non-stop 2-day hitch, where whatever else happens, you'd better keep that smile on your face to catch the next ride onwards (and I'm sure she did!). I just remember thinking "what a fearless girl!".

Then, stories shared in the zula and on the balcony, of distant tribes calling her for a visit and shared dreams, inspirations on how to make a better world. Lost notebooks magical pens, squatted jackets, bicycle wanderings, late departures with extended hugs and all that. When Urshka's return got a bit complex, I can never forget the care Aris took of her friend, we all can only hope to have friends like this.

No excuse left for being afraid of life. Thank you Aris.

very recently the tide shifts here
and the winds change
storms arise
to kill our bodies
but not our spirits

how strange,
(we tell ourselves)
how strange:
how many people whose bodies live
but whose spirits have already died

and in this manner,
the currents change, and yet again

we are reborn
into new worlds
where
we live to create
all that we can, and
we love because
we are not afraid to

this is also the reason
why we live
in the ways that we do --
because we are life,
and we are not afraid
to be who we are.

A wonderful & unique person whom I shared many hours and experiences with.

I'll miss you aris and I'm sure i'm not the only one, so long and thanks for all the dimensions

Part of my job, if finding gifted young people and offering them tools. Aris was an easy find at even at Casa Robino. Amongst all the charming and attractive people who storm thru this adventure in radical hospitality, she stood out. We spoke on the back porch for some hours, about skillsurfers about what she wanted to do with this group and these people. This eloquent, multilingual 19 year old spoke of land in Slovenia that she controlled that she wanted to do collective things with. We spoke of hitching and of how she transended her fear.

Aris has passed. A boat capsized in a storm and took her from us. Were there ever anyone i would like on a rough journey, it would be fearless Aris. My eyes bleed for this loss.