Re-bE for me is a very private and a very open self-dialogue. 　　It is a bridge that has connected me to myself, then back to others again. Anew. To my expression, my creativity, my joy, to my own truth. 　　Re-bE is my ''scrap paper'', my true rehearsal, my procedure for the procedure with which I became re-connected to my own. 　　It was a lesson and a quest for love. To re-discover love. 　　Love for me and love for the others. 　　It was a lesson on trust. 　　Trust first in me then back to trust for the others. Anew. 　　 　　...and we are what we were so restlessly searching for... 'twas in us; 　　All bridges, all open doors and windows, all lack of towering walls and mazes, what kept us from loving, from being loved, from being understood. 　　The puzzle, that I had left half-done, un-done, that summer's day on our veranda in Famagusta, as the radio announced that we had just had a Coup d'etat, to be followed by a Turkish invasion, was being completed piece by piece by piece. Re-bE. 　　 　　And I was the one placing each piece. Piecing every piece together. 　　Finally with this meticulous placement, my displacement had found its home too, so did my own placement in the scheme of things, in life. 　　 　　So Re-bE, is for me the delayed search and new acquaintance of self. 　　Myself. What a joyous occurrence! 　　 　　'' Self in what dark depths of unknown main lands 　　Perpetually misled seamstress of circumstance 　　Weave my shawl of steel do understand me 　　An avenue unimpressed 　　Complete the quest 　　Liberate this ending to a start.'' 　　(Excerpt from my Re-bE song: "Sand and Wind") 　　 　　Then, came the understanding of my past. 　　 　　Every time I would 'forget' a person, a Music, a letter, a word, a song, a kindness, a name, a synchronicity 'planned' moment would in astonishment and at the same time tenderly, find me and remind me of how blessed were my years passed. 　　 　　Of course what has made everything seem blessed, has always been: Love. The exchange of it. The giving and the receiving thereof, no matter how challenging and 'not me' the years and the deeds seemed to be at the time. For this I am THANKFUL every day because now I know, how to automatically "translate" any experience, any memory into melody or word. 　　''The stealthy moon of night 　　Uncovering its height 　　A memory remembers to escape 　　A stain in a drawer aspires, 　　To save my endangered hours 　　My creases never ironed 　　I am as sensitive as iron 　　Beginning without end my walk through life 　　The sea, the desert the sun, they're mine, they're all mine 　　That's all I need to know 　　I'm free and never alone 　　I don't own anything but I've got everything that I need'' 　　(Excerpt from "My Tango")