My Declaration, Purpose and Intention - Found on the Road, With Pears and Whales

I walk down

 a sandy road, straight

into childhood

The question is, as usual, what is the best thing to do. Do I write this or that, go here or there, dig and plant in the garden, or write on my laptop all day, go swimming alone, or to lunch with poets, take that collect call or not... The question is, how am I to be sure that what I do is the best for me, and the best for everyone, and the best for the whole planet?

so many stars

in squares and clusters -

arriving home

I read recently and heard from my enlightened poet friend Susan Rogers that the best things are those that you feel joy inside when doing. So if I feel like getting that spade and shears, and go fight with that old root and trunk of the apricot tree that gave me two apricots in its entire career, before giving up on living - yes, that's what I should do.  And if it is time to go swimming, and looking at sunlight that scatters diamonds on the blue surface of water of the pool, while listening to children's laughter scattering in the air, yes, it is time to do that, too. And, if it is time to write in the evening or on my day off, that's the best use of my time. Actually, writing is the best use of my time, period. But to do it and sit sill on my patio chair, with a teacup nearby, I have to exercise my spine and muscles, i.e., have working spine and muscles. Hence the planting and digging and swimming and walking... 

overabundance

is the name of the game

for pear trees

But to write, you have to read, so I read sometimes things on the internet, some very strange things, sometimes order books over from used books on Amazon (at one cent plus $3.99 for delivery the price cannot be beat, unless you go to the bookstore at the local library, but then would they even have these strange kinds of books?). And some of the things are find are inspirational, some silly, some annoying, so I pick and chose between ideas, like picking the best pear from those that fell off the tree in an orchard. It will taste as if it were baked by sunlight, absolutely the best fruit you can have. But watch for those with rotting spots, you'll be sorry the next day. As always, the virtue of prudence is essential. And moderation. And the wisdom to choose what's best to do. Eat or not eat, this is the question. 

I pick a pear

from a happy orchard

of sun-baked fruit

So then, once full of pears, you can write what's on your mind. Actually I wrote my declaration while driving down to San Diego. It is "My" because I made it up, a "Declaration" because it is a formal statement of belief and purpose, and it has only 12 lines because that's the maximum I can remember, without writing down until I come down to a spot where I can stop and write down what's been formulating in my mind. On the way back, I read and recite to myself, line after line, and write down the final version upon arrival. So much fun! I call this genre the "Freeway Poetry" - you should try it, sometime. Beats road rage any time! 

happy hills

sing a happy song

in a happy valley

My Declaration 

I am a sovereign citizen​ of the galaxy

My heart goes out​ to the mountains​.​

My feet grow roots​ in the light​.​

My eyes touch​ the heaven of stars​.​

I breathe the gold air​ of goodness​.​

I drink the clear​ water of joy​.​

​Nourished by divine affection, 
I thrive, ​l​inked ​to all living beings​ -​

​snow crystals, seeds, ​trees and sunlight​.​

​In ​harmony,​ we sing the chorale​ of dawn​.​

I choose to love all,​ live in love​.​

I thank light for its warm brightness.
I thank trees for their oxygen-rich leaves 
graceful dance in the wind, and the flavors
of a fruit rainbow. I thank water for its lucid 
beauty, strength and patience —filling
streams, rivers, lakes, and oceans—
sparkling and sustaining  me, a parched 
droplet of stardust. I thank air 
flowing in my lungs and whispering 
in the treetops. I thank the Universe 
and stars that exploded eons ago 
into the miraculous gift of my body. 
I am grateful to you all.

I am a sovereign citizen​ of the galaxy​.​

My life is a song of gratitude.


I sing, I love, I sing.

A selfie in Julian, CA

Before getting to that point, I had to do some spiritual exercise and think through what I have been doing on this planet and what's my job to do for the rest of my time on this planet.  This was an interesting exercise and got me into a corner for a while, because I absolutely did not know where to start? Then, I had a revelation while swimming as I often does, the rhythmic motion is excellent for letting the mind wander and find things and ideas that are simply wonderful.  Why don't I start from what I do each day, each week, each month? Maybe I'm already fulfilling my purpose and doing what I intend to do? 

I was asked once by a friend: "What would you give to be twenty years younger?" He said, "I'd pay at least $100,000" - that's $5,000 per year, I thought, pretty cheap. But I answered: "Nothing, I already live a perfect life and I'd never want to re-live again those difficult years that I barely survived and now I'm thriving!" So, since I'm already doing what I'm supposed to be doing, here it is: 

My Purpose and Intentions

My purpose is to love and share, with joy and gratitude, the infinite, luminous beauty of the natural and human-enhanced world, as seen, heard, felt, sensed, and comprehended.

My first intention is to be always grateful and happy for being alive, on Earth, in sunlight: breathing, walking and swimming; feeling connected to all living beings, visible and invisible – from air and water to distant galaxies, all sharing in the infinite love and presence of the Divine.

My second intention is to grow in love and knowledge of the Divine Love and Light, through contemplation of sublime beauty of revealed wisdom and the communion with the Divine Presence in my heart.

My third intention is to be always loving and caring for “my people” in ever increasing circles of Love, from my children and family, to strangers – in kindness, compassion, and generosity of the gentle, loving heart.

My fourth intention is to observe and capture in words (poems) and images (photography) the richness of natural beauty, from rock formations through cloud patterns, and everything in-between: plants, trees and flowers; leaves and petals; the noises of bees or breeze in the trees; melodious patterns of birdsong; the calming rhythm of ocean waves; the sweet scent of orange blossom in the spring;and many surprising delights yet to be discovered.

My fifth intention is to care for my garden and environment: plant, trim, water, and admire all the plants that surround me and create a healing shelter for me and for all the living beings that make it their home, from bees and crickets, to songbirds. I intend to fill my environment at home and work with harmonious, uplifting beauty.

My sixth intention is to observe, capture and contribute to the inspired beauty of the arts and to document the details of what I see, hear, and admire in words (essays and poems); I intend to understand creative individuals, composers and artists, to study their biographies and ideas, and to convey this understanding to others.

My seventh intention is to bring harmony and balance to the Earth through being aware, witnessing, enjoying, caring for, and sharing its natural and human-enhanced beauty, from the mountain ridges on the horizon, to the balanced beauty of gardens, filled with refreshing scents and sights, and to the inspiring harmonies of music.

My eighth intention is to teach others to see, hear, feel and record the positive, harmonious, joyous, and serene aspects of their lives, so they enjoy the path of compassion and gratitude that is full of new blessings every day.

My ninth intention is to leave a legacy of my unique life on two continents, in three countries, two languages and cultures, so that my pathway leading to the discovery of the Divine Love and Presence everywhere, in everyone and everything, helps others in their search for the One Love, the One Source of All.

My tenth intention is the Victory of Light! This means the transformation of Earth into the true Garden of Eden, peaceful, harmonious, blossoming with an abundance of gifts for all living beings and creatures, a Paradise that it has been designed to be, and is meant to become!

~Maja Trochimczyk

The amazing philosopher-artist Scott Froschauer made some road=signs that express similar ideas in fewer words:

Artwork by Scott Froschauer

Artwork by Scott Froschauer

I added "My Declaration" to the "Into Light" book of inspirational poetry, that also gained a poem about whales and their song. Did you know that whales and dolphins are that amazing set of extra-terrestrial species that were placed on our planet to constantly patrol its waters, measure the level of love in our world, and increase it by their song, resonating from the deep, coast to coast? No? 

That would explain why Californians and bi-coastal peoples are so inspired, when compared with the rest of the country, I thought when I read this story. They are simply so much closer to the whales. Just kidding, what about the landlocked Tibetans? 

Then, it made me think of my "totem stone" I got once, years ago, while traveling through a Native American reservation in Canada. I kept it, though I did not like it one bit, initially. Why should I be as large and clumsy as a whale? We use this word as an insult for women... And, why a killer whale? 

Now, though, I'm far more positive about my animalistic "patron saint." I love water, swimming, freedom, singing, and the graceful, smart, and beautiful orcas that teach me to love it all, their way. So here's my poem about whales:

A Whale of a Song

They sing, as they ride the waves,

laughing.  They sing to the depths

of the ocean, reaching sand on the bottom,

submerged peaks and valleys. Their song

echoes through the crystalline expanse

of the sky, bounces off the translucent

rays of starlight.

They dance on the waves, weaving

the web of love from their song.

In the invisible rhythm of seven billion

heartbeats, they encircle the globe,

traversing all the oceans.

Did you know

that whales and dolphins

are our cosmic guardians?

Did you know

that Orca the Whale

is my patron saint?

I have a totem stone to prove it, a gift

from a seer who once told me:

Do not forget to listen

to life-giving music.

Do not ever forget

the song of the whales. 

"The Rainy Bread: Poems from Exile" - Stories of Poles from Kresy - Deported to Siberia, Scattered Around the World

I'm going  to Poland in September - to welcome the youngest member of my family, the first grandson, and to attend the conference Kresy-Siberia "Generations Remember 2016" of families and survivors that lived in the Eastern borderlands of Poland, called Kresy (now Lithuania, Belarus and Ukraine), and were deported by Stalinist government to Siberia in 1940-43, survived with severe losses and trauma, and emigrated to the ends of the world. For my poetry reading at the conference, I put together a brand-new book. 

The Rainy Bread, Poems from Exile

by Maja Trochimczyk. Moonrise Press, August 2016

ISBN 9781945938009, paperback, 64 pages, $10.00
ISBN 9781945938016, eBook, $10.00

This volume includes 30 poems about forgotten stories of Poles living in the Eastern Borderlands of Kresy, who were killed, deported, imprisoned, or oppressed after the invasion of Poland by the Soviet Union on September 17, 1939.  Some of these brief portraits capture the trauma and resilience, ordeals and miraculous survival stories of the author’s immediate family. Her maternal family comes from Baranowicze and the surrounding area near Adam Mickiewicz’s Nowogródek and the mythical lake of Świteź in what is now Belarus. Their experiences of displacement, hunger, cold, and poverty during the war are typical of Polish civilian.

These fictionalized memories are coupled with depictions of survival of other Poles deported to Siberia, the Arctic Circle, or Kazakhstan; who left the Soviet Union with the Second Corps of the Polish Army under General Władysław Anders; were transported to refugee camps in India or Africa; and ended up in Argentina, Canada, Australia or the U.S. The book is a companion to “Slicing the Bread: Children’s Survival Manual in 25 Poems” (Finishing Line Press, 2014), with which it shares some poems, including vignettes from the author’s childhood in Warsaw, permeated by the strange rhetoric of the Polish People’s Republic, yet still overshadowed by the war. 

You can read the introduction on the Moonrise Press blog

≡ KOLYMA ≡

Who knows how many?
The pit was dark, still darker at the bottom,
deep as the gates of hell. Its demon’s mouth wide
open to devour row after row of bright young men.

Who knows their faces now?
The corn-blue eyes sparkling with tears and laughter.
The closely cropped soldier’s dark blond hair.

Down, down they went
to the bottomless pits of Kołyma
for Stalin’s diamonds, uranium for his bombs.

Down, down they went
to the boundless hell of Kołyma
for Stalin’s riches, his bombs, and his revenge.

They lost the fight for Poland’s sacred freedom
They knew how precious independence was, how rare.
They kept on fighting when enemies became allies.
Their lives sold on a global market of slaves.

Down, down they went
To the bottomless mines of Kołyma
For Stalin’s diamonds, uranium for his bombs.

≡  UNDER AFRICAN SKY ≡

                                       ≡   for Julian Stanczak ≡ 

—    amber and coral —
—    ruby and carnelian —

He looks at the brightness of the African sky.

The blazing sunset above the plains of Uganda

His eyes follow the pattern of light and shadow

on the savanna’s tall grass. Dark lines cut

into light on the flanks of a zebra —

he thinks of a donkey back home,

transformed by the extravagant, geometric

boldness of stripes, shining bright —

blinding his eyes, used to Siberian darkness

in dim interiors of musty prison huts —

he admires the play of gold and bronze inside

the tiger’s eye — a stone his teacher gave him

for protection and good luck. How it shifts

with each turn, different, yet the same —

lines upon lines of light.

The richness stays under his eyelids

as he twists and turns the tiger’s eye

in his one good hand, left — while the other,

a useless appendage, hangs limply

since the beating in a Soviet prison camp.

Shattered, like his dream of music,

the honey-rich tones of his cello.

He finds a different-flavored honey

in the richness of African sunsets,

the stripes of the tiger’s eye.  

He captures the undulating lines

and blazing hues on majestic canvas,

moving in the rhythm of wild planes

out of Africa, into fame.

— amber and topaz —

—    gold, bronze, and light —

—    so much light  —

Hot Summer by Julian Stanczak (1956)

≡ LIST OF POEMS ≡

≡ PART I ≡ DESTINATIONS ≡ 1

1.           What to Carry ≡ 2
2.              Starlight ≡ 3
3.           Charlie, Who Did  Not Cross ≡ 4
4.              Five Countries in Venice ≡ 6
5.              Eyes on the Road ≡ 8
6.              The Baton ≡ 9
7.              Diamonds ≡ 10

≡ ≡ PART II ≡ THERE AND NOWHERE ≡ 11

1.              The Odds ≡ 12
2.               Wołyń ≡ 13
3.               Kołyma ≡ 15
4.               Amu Darya ≡ 16
5.               Shambhala ≡ 18
6.               Reflection ≡ 20
7.               A Piece of Good Advice to Stuff in the Hole  in the Wall ≡ 21
8.               A Pilot in Pakistan ≡ 22
9.               Under African Sky ≡ 23

≡ ≡ ≡ PART III ≡ THE HUNGER DAYS ≡ 25

1.             Kasha ≡ 26
2.            The Trap Door ≡ 27
3.             Slicing the Bread ≡ 29
4.              Peeling the Potatoes ≡ 30

 ≡ ≡ ≡ ≡ PART IV ≡ THERE AND BACK ≡ 33

1.          Of Trains and Tea ≡ 34
2.           Once Upon a Time in Baranowicze ≡ 35
3.                     Ciocia Tonia ≡ 37
4.           Asters ≡ 39
5.           No Chicken ≡ 41
6.           The Coat ≡ 43
7.           Short Legs ≡ 44
8.                     Standing Guard ≡ 46
9.           Losing Irena ≡ 47
10.           Language ≡ 48

≡ ABOUT THIS BOOK ≡

Unwavering in its honesty, The Rainy Bread is a thought-provoking look at a brutal chapter in history: the Soviet occupation of Poland during World War II and the deportations and repressions that took place in the country's Easter Borderlands, known as Kresy. Trochimczyk gives a public face to this history but also reveals the private heart of a family that endures despite horrific loss.  With simple language and stark imagery, these poems create a powerful testimony and bear witness to the hate that destroys, to the truth that restores, and to the poetic vision that honors our common humanity.

≡ Linda Nemec Foster, author of Amber Necklace from Gdańsk (LSU Press), 

winner of the Creative Arts Award from the Polish American Historical Association

Maja Trochimczyk’s poems draw you into a bestial, almost inconceivable history.  Using objects—bread, potatoes, trapdoors, high heels—she guides you through an experience with the madness of World War II and its aftermath when a dictator is judged worse or better by how many fewer millions he has slaughtered. This book needed to be written.  This is a fascinating, tragic, and instructive time in history which should not me neglected. Trochimczyk doesn’t lecture; you are riveted by the power of her poems; their narratives flow from her hands as if a Babcia were still guiding them. And maybe she was. You will remember the taste of this book.

≡ Sharon Chmielarz, author of Love from the Yellowstone Trail

Maja Trochimczyk, Portrait by Susan Rogers, 2013

On Clear Skies, Summer Sounds, and the Secret Weight of Words

once upon a time

pink trees flowered under the azure 

of deep, clear expanse

It is almost the end of July, a strange summer of chemtrails, clear skies, heat waves, and wildfires... In recent weeks, I was delighted to again see beautiful blue, clear skies above my head, after months and months of criss-crossing chemtrails.  It was a "Victory of Light" in the hidden war above our heads, a short respite from the chaotic graffiti in the sky. I call these failed artwork "graffiti" -gang signs marking territory where gang enforces its rules - in my photo albums, documenting the shifting patterns, and colors of my California sky. That's how I noticed them, by taking pictures of no-longer azure skies...

no, no, I do not

allow these strange graffiti
to taint my sky

the white haze -

iridescent like fish-scales

in polluted ocean

how deep is the blue?

only the sunrays will know

after piercing the sky

The summer sounds... I was raised with the clacking of the storks and the noise of their wings. Both sets of my grandparents in their villages in different parts of Poland had stork nests on their property: one on the barn roof (a wheel off an old wagon, on which storks piled up branches), and one on the top of a pine that had been struck by lightning and had a bent branch up there... I remember coming out at 6 a.m., sleepy and disoriented after being woken up by the wild ruckus up the tree not far from my window. The wooden porch was sunny and warm, and the world was waking up to yet another day of peaceful summer.

Ambika Talwar, a poet-friend, commented: "This is eternal and true wherever you may be. Claim it! Hold it in your heart. Speak of it. Say it out loud. Awaken someone who needs this now. Sing it so the birds listen to you. Be your dancing self."

Photo from Poland Forever group on Facebook.

The  storks used to follow my uncle in the meadow, about two steps behind, when he was cutting down the grass with the scythe. This is one of my favorite images of Poland, not a photo since I did not have a camera yet: the two storks following my uncle and picking up frogs and what not to eat for breakfast... Peace, and communion with nature, that's what it was (except for the frogs).

Another delightful sound of my childhood was the noise of the bees, and I liked it even though I once had 21 stings in my head and was very sick with their venom.  Maybe, by now, I'm related to the bees... In my California garden the crape myrtle tree is flowering with beautiful purple blossoms that attract hundreds of bees, busily collecting the nectar and making the most heavenly sound I remember from my Polish childhood. When I went for summer vacations to my Grandma's house in the "colony" of Bielewicze (not even a village, but a scattering of houses in the fields by the forest, on the eastern Kresy of Poland), I admired the intensity and patterns of the buzzing of bees in the majestic linden tree in the middle of the courtyard. In Polish, this tree is called "Lipa" - hence the month of "Lipiec" when it flowers. In English: July. Here, under the azure and turquoise cupola of California's skies, there are no linden trees, but the bees sing their songs quite as happily: busy, busy, busy, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz...

The bees go to sleep in the evening. Their familiar and beloved sounds are replaced by another guest from the past, or a couple of guests: crickets that have moved inside the house, sit behind the bookshelf and play, play, play - to their heart's desire.  The Polish village tradition of having a cricket behind the chimney stemmed from the habit of these sonorous critters to seek shelter from cold autumn and winter days in the warmth of village house kitchens: hence the saying, "to be comfy as a cricket behind a chimney," or "swierszcz za kominem."

Here, in the middle of California summer, it is very hot outside, perhaps too hot, so maybe the bookshelf, right by my empty and cold fireplace, provides a shaded and safe shelter from the heat? No matter what reason, I love listening to these critters. They rub their legs to make this lively noise, they do work very hard. Imagine if I had to rub my legs to speak at such a speed! Amazing! What onomatopoeia should reflect the chirping of the crickets? chir-chir-chir is too slow, szuru-buru is too low, so let's leave this translation aside and enjoy.

Chinese scholars used to catch crickets, put them in little cages and make them sing by poking them with a stick. I saw a whole assortment of such cricket cages at the Pacific Asia Museum and was quite offended at the presumptuous human "jailers" who should have set their crickets free, to have them come and play at will, as guests, not prisoners.

A Cricket Sings

The intricate opening

carved into patterns

of ancient elegance

lets feeble light

into the ornate cage

the smooth brown cask

is a luxurious coffin

for insect freedom

How sad for the cricket!

Tickled to sing,

it awakens in a box

held by sweaty hands

of an imperial scribe

who listens to the memory

of distant farmlands

in his own gilded cage -

a tiny room hidden by

the splendor of ancient

palace walls

How sad for the cricket!

(c) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk

I'm sure that the songs of the captive crickets was not as happy as the one that I'm listening to right now. Alas, I cannot record it, as my house is filled with another, somewhat louder noise, that of the old. fridge. While I tried to come closer to record my evening music, the result was silence: the cricket realized it was not alone and stopped its night-time serenade altogether.  Thus, I learned that "the presence of the observer changes the phenomenon being observed" - a variation on the Heisenberg Principle, heard in my living room, on a summer evening! And my friend tells me that, had I been able to record the cricket and slow down the recording I would have heard singing, just like human voices: http://truthseekerdaily.com/2013/11/someone-recorded-crickets-then-slowed-down-the-track-and-it-sounds-like-humans-singing/.

As physicists have told us, the Uncertainty Principle, a characteristics of all waves, states that you can either know where something is, or how fast it is going, but not both at the same time. In other words: "the more precisely the position of some particle is determined, the less precisely its momentum can be known, and vice versa."  This explains the position of my keys, sunglasses, and stick-drives in my reality, since I do not know where they are at the precise moment of leaving my house, they must be accelerating with intense momentum to reach the speed of light and disappear forever on the other side, in the universe of left socks, assorted pens, hairpins, sunglasses, keys and umbrellas. There must be such a universe, given the hundreds of items that disappear without trace each year.

Seriously speaking, we do have to be serious when speaking: words have weight. So few among us understand the power and potency of words in creating realities. Millions of people have read "The Secret" where this idea is popularized, yet they sought another "get rich quick" scheme and overlooked a fundamental principle of human reality. Words create Worlds. Is it said in the Gospel of John:

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not..."

Manuscript in the Badische Landesbibliothek, Karlsruhe, Germany, 1220.  Cod. Bruchsal 1, Bl. 1v 

That's a pretty important statement about  the true significance of words, filled, as they are, with the Divine creative power. Words create human reality.  We live in the Universe we made of words. Poets do, philosophers, scientists, scholars, politicians, business people, do, parents and children do - we all define our realities in words. Spoken aloud, words can become enchantments or curses: "I hate you, go away" breaks the heart of a child, and may lead to a life-time of trauma. "I love you, you are beautiful" brings an instant flowering of gladness.

On the website of Dr. Masaru Emoto (1943-2014) we read: "We all learn valuable life lessons at our own pace, but there is one basic truth we all learn early.  Positive, compassionate words comfort and heal; negative words and insults hurt. Until recently, we knew this only because we could feel it.  Now we can actually see it.  Thanks to the experimental work of Dr. Masaru Emoto, we can look to water, and its frozen crystals, to confirm the healing power of beautiful music, positive thinking, uplifting speech, and prayer."

"By exposing water to a particular word or piece of music, freezing it, and photographing the ice crystals formed, Dr. Emoto has shown that from beautiful words and music, come beautiful crystals, and from mean-spirited, negative words, come malformed and misshapen crystals. What is the significance?  It becomes clear when we remember that the adult human body is approximately 70% water and infant bodies are about 90% water.  We can be hurt emotionally and, as the water can be changed, for the worse physically, by negativity. However, we are always closer to beauty when surrounded by positive thoughts, words, intentions and ultimately those vibrations."

Dr. Emoto’s theories are articulated in his books: The Hidden Messages in Water, The True Power of Water, and The Secret Life of Water.  Some of his experiments involved writing or saying "I love you" and "I hate you" to various samples of water, with the effect showing the creative, organizing power of love and the destructive, chaotic nature of hate. In other experiments he compared crystals formed in frozen samples from pure stream water  and from microwaved water. Just looking at them makes you want to throw out your microwave... It just is not right.

In any case, believe it or not, water, or not water, the healing power of self-talk, affirmation of one's own value, beauty, goodness, and happiness is well established. But then, what about all these curses, uttered at random, casually? So many "F-bombs" dropped on the waters within the listeners and the speakers alike... What is the damage? We do not know for sure yet, except that "grating" effect, that feeling of being "taken down" a notch, somehow diminished.  I was cursed out by someone not long ago in a phone message I saved, thinking it would be a good start of a book, and not realizing that words could be used with such venom. But then, I thought - why bother? If I transcribe and publish those curses, I'll add to their hidden power, I'll make them go out to the world and do the work that they were designed for: to destroy, to diminish...

Instead, I decided to write an entirely different book, of "Poems and incantations" leading the readers Into Light, with its 30 poems and 12 prayers... I wrote them for myself, but also to share. Enjoy!

Crown Jewels

I am an onyx of grounding
I am amber of attraction
I am a topaz of resilience

I am a rose quartz of affection
I am a turquoise of expression
I am an amethyst of insight

I am a sapphire of faith
I am an emerald of hope
I am a ruby of love

I am a crystal of clarity
I am a pearl of understanding
I am a diamond of light

This book is now available in the following formats:

Paperback (trade, 6 by 9  inches), ISBN 978 0 9963981 8 3
http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/paperback/product-22829841.html

Pocketbook (4.22 by 6.88 inches), No ISBN, available on lulu.com
http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/paperback/product-22810285.html

and E-Book in ePub format,ISBN 978 0 9963981 9 0
http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/ebook/product-22830071.html