Haven't written much, and it hurts a little.
I go through intense moments when all i want to do is stop--stop the world and just sit down and write.
Whether it is an idea, an image, a sound, a feeling, a desire, or maybe tell a little story.
Life has been touching me deeply.
Deeply, and in new places.
I love to feel alive.
I love to feel. It's scary, and I scare myself as well. Moments of true courage, of no refrain, of losing control. Allowing yourself to burn, hurt, laugh, shout, dance, scream, squeeze, soothe, caress.
We have been brought up to be so proper.
"Proper will bring goodness."
"Be proper, be good."
Proper will lead you to success. Proper is what you must, will and have to be.
I say: dare a little.
Give a little.
Be deaf a little and yet hear with your fingertips.
Listen with your lips.
Dare.
Dare, knowing the dare.
Take charge, which is not the same as saying: "be in charge".
If you gave in for a second. If you act, respond, react to this unspoken law. What will it make you?
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
RESOLUTIONS
"People change because their minds have been opened or their hearts broken"...
Just came across that quote, created by who knows who. I'm at a loss. Do I believe this? Something makes me hesitate to agree fully with this affirmation. Haven't quite discovered it yet--which probably is not entertaining for a blog entry, since I guess it is to write about discoveries or some kind of epiphany, or something!
I've noticed--which i love -- that I usually have sat in front of the screen with my ten fingers placed in the position, ready to type, and then having absolutely no idea what to write about.
It's just writing for writing: for the desire, the need, the curiosity.
Anyway, I digress.
"People change because..." I think that is the part I don't quite agree with, or am not fully seduced with. I think i'd rather say people grow. Growth requires mind cracking and/or heart shattering. It's not the same thing as change. I can change my pair of pants. I can change my hair style. Change my home, my nail polish, even my fashion, but it does not necessarily mean growth.
I'm talking about growth here, fundamental growth. And yes, of course there must be change involved, inevitably.
I couldn't care less about this quote, and now feel somewhat turned off about this whole analytical ordeal. But my true intention and my thoughts are that people should strive to grow. Work on it, work for it.
I've noticed that. I'm an observer. I can say that passionately. I'm crazy over it. Watching, noticing, spying. And through this watching I notice how little people really look. Marching soldiers from point A to point B, abandoned bodies who travel with no awareness. This is harsh for me to say, and I'm a bit of a jerk to generalize. I walk through streets and see the focal point of my fellows-- down, almost always down. I sit and watch, and there is uneasiness of being with themselves, alone. Whether it be iPhone, Smartphone, headphones, smoking. All to distract, all to avoid, all to escape.
I admire, I am dumbfounded, head over feet, rejoiced when I encounter someone that has cracked open. Who is working, struggling, questioning, even wondering about unveiling...just unveiling--themselves, the world that holds them. Big questions, big shifts, big challenge, facing fears of all fears. Be available to crack, break.
As an actor I was trained for details. Trained to specifics.
Yoga has exposed me to questions, yoga has brought me back to my breath. Take off the veil of habits, false identities, fear. Unmask the phony belief that we must work to produce, to obtain and reach for something external that will guarantee us and classify us as successful. The void of happiness. Coca-cola.
This year i've learned a lot. I've faced fears, I've been brave. This designated date of end/beginning, of turning over, is beautiful. It's not easy to stop and reflect, analyze and feel. Challenges to encounter, walls to break (or at least to begin chipping through). Let us all crack our minds a little open, and allow our hearts to break.
Fía.
Just came across that quote, created by who knows who. I'm at a loss. Do I believe this? Something makes me hesitate to agree fully with this affirmation. Haven't quite discovered it yet--which probably is not entertaining for a blog entry, since I guess it is to write about discoveries or some kind of epiphany, or something!
I've noticed--which i love -- that I usually have sat in front of the screen with my ten fingers placed in the position, ready to type, and then having absolutely no idea what to write about.
It's just writing for writing: for the desire, the need, the curiosity.
Anyway, I digress.
"People change because..." I think that is the part I don't quite agree with, or am not fully seduced with. I think i'd rather say people grow. Growth requires mind cracking and/or heart shattering. It's not the same thing as change. I can change my pair of pants. I can change my hair style. Change my home, my nail polish, even my fashion, but it does not necessarily mean growth.
I'm talking about growth here, fundamental growth. And yes, of course there must be change involved, inevitably.
I couldn't care less about this quote, and now feel somewhat turned off about this whole analytical ordeal. But my true intention and my thoughts are that people should strive to grow. Work on it, work for it.
I've noticed that. I'm an observer. I can say that passionately. I'm crazy over it. Watching, noticing, spying. And through this watching I notice how little people really look. Marching soldiers from point A to point B, abandoned bodies who travel with no awareness. This is harsh for me to say, and I'm a bit of a jerk to generalize. I walk through streets and see the focal point of my fellows-- down, almost always down. I sit and watch, and there is uneasiness of being with themselves, alone. Whether it be iPhone, Smartphone, headphones, smoking. All to distract, all to avoid, all to escape.
I admire, I am dumbfounded, head over feet, rejoiced when I encounter someone that has cracked open. Who is working, struggling, questioning, even wondering about unveiling...just unveiling--themselves, the world that holds them. Big questions, big shifts, big challenge, facing fears of all fears. Be available to crack, break.
As an actor I was trained for details. Trained to specifics.
Yoga has exposed me to questions, yoga has brought me back to my breath. Take off the veil of habits, false identities, fear. Unmask the phony belief that we must work to produce, to obtain and reach for something external that will guarantee us and classify us as successful. The void of happiness. Coca-cola.
This year i've learned a lot. I've faced fears, I've been brave. This designated date of end/beginning, of turning over, is beautiful. It's not easy to stop and reflect, analyze and feel. Challenges to encounter, walls to break (or at least to begin chipping through). Let us all crack our minds a little open, and allow our hearts to break.
Fía.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Topsy-turvy
There
are not many moments when I feel IN my skin. I mean withholding the sense
of stopping time—the inner ticking—and then have a wider, more wholesome
awareness of just being here.
Here,
not there.
Here.
It
is a peculiar moment. It is of mindfulness, yet a contemplation of the
past. What I have done, where I have
been, explains where I am now. Having
that in mind, feeling it within every pore, every inhale and exhale, knowing it
in every interaction, every intention—physical, emotional, sexual, psychological.
Do
what you feel, gear your chariot, say what you mean or shut up.
Children,
animals, nature, act upon such simple-straight forward laws. When did it all become so tangled and
double-sided?
Ease,
dis-ease.
Want.
Need.
Birth,
growth, death.
I
sometimes get overwhelmed with hidden meanings, detours and subtexts.
I
get burned and stabbed with lack of humanity, all in favor of personal greed,
ambition and acquisition.
Isn’t
it a bit sad how, when definition of “acquisition” is defined by a dictionary
as: buying or obtaining an asset or
object: Western culture places a high value on material acquisition.
Work,
fight, moan, grin, show your teeth (grrrr..) for acquisition.
Acquire,
purchase, obtain, WIN!
“I
have this and this and THIS…oh, now I’m XX”.
Something
in that equation makes my system collapse, makes my nerves twitch, and I am
left with the great question: what the hell am i?
In
all directions, to all coordinates I scream: I have no idea, and maybe I’ll
never fully know. But I’m here to try to
figure it out. Somehow, someway.
The
searching, the finding-the getting lost, the loops, the topsy-turvyness.
I’ll
dance away,
My
body might cease, but I’ll always dance…
Friday, March 14, 2014
For me
For me.
For me, and only me.
For me, myself and I.
For me,
a choice,
a decision,
yes.
A constant variable in the equation,
equation of my soul,
life,
heart.
Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do I wanna?
listen,
listen,
listen,
talk, say it, say it til you listen and react.
The catalyst of love,
the copper thread that shares, speeds and escorts.
Run through me,
let it gallop by and by,
rush, electrify.
Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do you?
Do.
you.
Do I wanna?
Do I?
Do.
I.
Assaults
me
so.
This question.
FOR ME.
For me, and only me.
For me, myself and I.
For me,
a choice,
a decision,
yes.
A constant variable in the equation,
equation of my soul,
life,
heart.
Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do I wanna?
listen,
listen,
listen,
talk, say it, say it til you listen and react.
The catalyst of love,
the copper thread that shares, speeds and escorts.
Run through me,
let it gallop by and by,
rush, electrify.
Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do you?
Do.
you.
Do I wanna?
Do I?
Do.
I.
Assaults
me
so.
This question.
FOR ME.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Fibonacci
0-1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21-34-55-89-144....
I don't know how to name it, I don't know how to even explain where exactly it is located.
There is a wheel, spiral, i am feeling inside of me. In my center.
It is not exactly on my chest, but more on the lower part of my sternum.
It is somewhere between my diaphragm and that key place in my body where the costal ribs are born.
In a specific soft part of my body.
Untouchable,
I feel you.
I feel you, energy.
I feel you, essence and force of life.
That place, that gets touched when I suddenly sense your smell that seduces me.
That place, that rises my temperature when i can feel your skin just a bit closer,
but not touching.
It is that place, that pulls me inevitably millimeters closer, almost unnoticeable.
I timidly advance, pulling,
pulling,
pulling in.
And you might not perceive my pace.
I feel you, elixir.
Elixir of life.
When you leave me out of breath as I look you in the eye,
as I follow the dance of your lips,
as your neck invites me
and
makes
me
water.
I feel you, spiral.
The shift you provoke.
The twist you explore,
Spinning me.
Spin me,
Spin me.
I am dizzy, but so found.
The birth of a star is inside me.
The explosion in the middle of the galaxy
is also me.
Fibonacci in the sky,
Fibonacci in the ocean,
Fibonacci in my spirit.
You spin me around.
You twist and squeeze,
swivel and twirl,
you
you
you.
And i love it.
I don't know how to name it, I don't know how to even explain where exactly it is located.
There is a wheel, spiral, i am feeling inside of me. In my center.
It is not exactly on my chest, but more on the lower part of my sternum.
It is somewhere between my diaphragm and that key place in my body where the costal ribs are born.
In a specific soft part of my body.
Untouchable,
I feel you.
I feel you, energy.
I feel you, essence and force of life.
That place, that gets touched when I suddenly sense your smell that seduces me.
That place, that rises my temperature when i can feel your skin just a bit closer,
but not touching.
It is that place, that pulls me inevitably millimeters closer, almost unnoticeable.
I timidly advance, pulling,
pulling,
pulling in.
And you might not perceive my pace.
I feel you, elixir.
Elixir of life.
When you leave me out of breath as I look you in the eye,
as I follow the dance of your lips,
as your neck invites me
and
makes
me
water.
I feel you, spiral.
The shift you provoke.
The twist you explore,
Spinning me.
Spin me,
Spin me.
I am dizzy, but so found.
The birth of a star is inside me.
The explosion in the middle of the galaxy
is also me.
Fibonacci in the sky,
Fibonacci in the ocean,
Fibonacci in my spirit.
You spin me around.
You twist and squeeze,
swivel and twirl,
you
you
you.
And i love it.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Tell me why?
I sit here...and i wait.
What is waiting? But maybe some missed opportunity of action.
Action, decision, control and courage. Active thought, active feeling, active faith.
The longing, the stretching of an impulse, and the beating of a desire.
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?
The fear that has ran through all of us.
Fear of not being the one.
(is there one?)
Fear of losing,
(what?)
Fear of hurting,
(it's not enough).
As clouds surrounding, drowning, caressing the vast sky,
I look at the sun in rapture.
Excited, aroused, euphoric, in ecstasy.
Your rays hit me hard,
give me a little shake,
give me a little quiver,
jiggle.
Do not wish to be common,
do not wish to be flawless
(cuz i'm not).
My colors to sparkle,
my light to penetrate through you,
fearless.
Fearless and active.
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?
Fía.
What is waiting? But maybe some missed opportunity of action.
Action, decision, control and courage. Active thought, active feeling, active faith.
The longing, the stretching of an impulse, and the beating of a desire.
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?
The fear that has ran through all of us.
Fear of not being the one.
(is there one?)
Fear of losing,
(what?)
Fear of hurting,
(it's not enough).
As clouds surrounding, drowning, caressing the vast sky,
I look at the sun in rapture.
Excited, aroused, euphoric, in ecstasy.
Your rays hit me hard,
give me a little shake,
give me a little quiver,
jiggle.
Do not wish to be common,
do not wish to be flawless
(cuz i'm not).
My colors to sparkle,
my light to penetrate through you,
fearless.
Fearless and active.
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?
Fía.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
HEART
I am known to be stubborn, headstrong, maybe a little obstinate...but really I like the word "willful".
It is the beautiful mix of being quite idealistic, sentimental, passionate and romantic (this goes beyond love affairs) with being very practical and oh-my-god following what and where i have set my eyes on.
Stand away, because if necessary i'll push you, scratch you or out-wit you until I get it/there/you.
I think about this, and yet there is an element that I know is key to my determination. And that is my heart. As I type this out I hear a squeaky disturbing voice saying here you go again with the heart business. But it is so utterly true and important, that I apologize to all of you hard-headed people.
Heart that guides my way.
Heart that makes me jump,
spin,
swirl,
cry,
laugh,
long.
Heart, it is for you,
because of you,
to you
that I am me.
A beats that startles,
a beat that paralyzes.
beats that rise when making love.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you.
I pledge for your honor,
for your safety,
for your strength.
I kneel down.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.
The warmest feeling to lay on top of you,
and feel YOUR heart.
Our hearts.
The laying beside you,
watching you,
your neck
slightly
moving
to your beat.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.
It is the beautiful mix of being quite idealistic, sentimental, passionate and romantic (this goes beyond love affairs) with being very practical and oh-my-god following what and where i have set my eyes on.
Stand away, because if necessary i'll push you, scratch you or out-wit you until I get it/there/you.
I think about this, and yet there is an element that I know is key to my determination. And that is my heart. As I type this out I hear a squeaky disturbing voice saying here you go again with the heart business. But it is so utterly true and important, that I apologize to all of you hard-headed people.
Heart that guides my way.
Heart that makes me jump,
spin,
swirl,
cry,
laugh,
long.
Heart, it is for you,
because of you,
to you
that I am me.
A beats that startles,
a beat that paralyzes.
beats that rise when making love.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you.
I pledge for your honor,
for your safety,
for your strength.
I kneel down.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.
The warmest feeling to lay on top of you,
and feel YOUR heart.
Our hearts.
The laying beside you,
watching you,
your neck
slightly
moving
to your beat.
Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Play a Record.
We all have certain songs that touch our souls, that make us a little bit more sensitive,
that make our necks curl a little, our pores reach out, our temperature rise or fall...
Music is touching souls, just like it might be a soft lip encounter, a projectile look, a playful touch.
Music is intense as dark chocolate, a rich red wine, a clutch, a take hold of, a passionate grip of another body against yours.
Music is free-ing, as a window-opened road trip, a mountain, a view from the heights, the wind.
The combination of sounds, rhythm, frequencies, silences make us travel.
Travel,
Travel to places we like, we yearn, travel to places we fear, and yet are mysteriously attracted to.
Fatal attraction of what is forbidden, where the impossible might just be able to squeeze in--and it haunts us from time to time, slipping in for a fraction of a second, making us tremble.
Tremble,
Tremble at the thought of it taking shape, for granting it even a possibility.
Possibly, most definitely shaking us a little, making us lunatics, thought-less, yet so incredibly powerful.
Powerful,
Powerful of devising this malicious plan, deliciously mischievous, which has no desire to harm or make anyone/anything break.
Break,
Break the abstraction of time, create a new dimension with no limits, for a second, a tiny tiny second.
Music does it all.
Close your eyes and shake, tremble, stretch...stretch that thought.
Drink a whole case of wine of you,
Play a whole game of looks,
Take hold of you close and strong.
What record do you have on right now?
-Fía.
that make our necks curl a little, our pores reach out, our temperature rise or fall...
Music is touching souls, just like it might be a soft lip encounter, a projectile look, a playful touch.
Music is intense as dark chocolate, a rich red wine, a clutch, a take hold of, a passionate grip of another body against yours.
Music is free-ing, as a window-opened road trip, a mountain, a view from the heights, the wind.
The combination of sounds, rhythm, frequencies, silences make us travel.
Travel,
Travel to places we like, we yearn, travel to places we fear, and yet are mysteriously attracted to.
Fatal attraction of what is forbidden, where the impossible might just be able to squeeze in--and it haunts us from time to time, slipping in for a fraction of a second, making us tremble.
Tremble,
Tremble at the thought of it taking shape, for granting it even a possibility.
Possibly, most definitely shaking us a little, making us lunatics, thought-less, yet so incredibly powerful.
Powerful,
Powerful of devising this malicious plan, deliciously mischievous, which has no desire to harm or make anyone/anything break.
Break,
Break the abstraction of time, create a new dimension with no limits, for a second, a tiny tiny second.
Music does it all.
Close your eyes and shake, tremble, stretch...stretch that thought.
Drink a whole case of wine of you,
Play a whole game of looks,
Take hold of you close and strong.
What record do you have on right now?
-Fía.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
JUICIO
Sin juicio,
sin PRE juicio,
en realidad sin muela del juicio. Ése es mi status actual. Sin una, la superior-lado izquierdo.
Un reverendo hoyo en la encía, zurcida con un hilo obscuro.
Lado zurdo de la cara levemente hinchado, dolor punzante, malestar en el área del ojo hasta el mentón.
En conclusión: tengo todo ese lado tomado.
Es increíble lo limitante que puede ser la molesta consecuencia de una extracción molar. Y yo, a mis treinta años, sacándome algo que en realidad pareciese ser correspondiente a una etapa adolescente-púber.
Desde lavarse los dientes, succionar cualquier cosa (yo, ávida consumidora de un rico mate matutino), sonreír, hablar con full expresión, tirar un beso, cantar una canción, saltar, bailar, correr, andar en bici.
No, no, no, no.
Y por qué muela "del juicio"? Claramente conozco más los casos de la gente que nunca ha tenido juicio (pues no le salieron), y otros que tuvieron y como buen dentista-gasfiter se lo sacaron de una. Creo no conocer a nadie que tenga sus buenas 4 muelas.
Y aquí estamos, des-juiciados, comiendo papilla, compota, helado...hinchados como ardillas.
En todo caso me ha hecho pensar en hartas cosas: algunas bastante superficiales. Pero mi primera reacción a mi malestar actual-- cómo habrán sufrido aquellos parientes míos desde la época de las cavernas con un dolor de muela, y después extirparla a cuero-pato! Batallando con infecciones, hinchazón, comidas no muy aptas (o sea, cero licuadora, mini-pimmer, procesadora).
También pienso en la palabra juicio. Se utiliza con varias acepciones:
JUICIO (Del lat. iudicĭum).
sin PRE juicio,
en realidad sin muela del juicio. Ése es mi status actual. Sin una, la superior-lado izquierdo.
Un reverendo hoyo en la encía, zurcida con un hilo obscuro.
Lado zurdo de la cara levemente hinchado, dolor punzante, malestar en el área del ojo hasta el mentón.
En conclusión: tengo todo ese lado tomado.
Es increíble lo limitante que puede ser la molesta consecuencia de una extracción molar. Y yo, a mis treinta años, sacándome algo que en realidad pareciese ser correspondiente a una etapa adolescente-púber.
Desde lavarse los dientes, succionar cualquier cosa (yo, ávida consumidora de un rico mate matutino), sonreír, hablar con full expresión, tirar un beso, cantar una canción, saltar, bailar, correr, andar en bici.
No, no, no, no.
Y por qué muela "del juicio"? Claramente conozco más los casos de la gente que nunca ha tenido juicio (pues no le salieron), y otros que tuvieron y como buen dentista-gasfiter se lo sacaron de una. Creo no conocer a nadie que tenga sus buenas 4 muelas.
Y aquí estamos, des-juiciados, comiendo papilla, compota, helado...hinchados como ardillas.
En todo caso me ha hecho pensar en hartas cosas: algunas bastante superficiales. Pero mi primera reacción a mi malestar actual-- cómo habrán sufrido aquellos parientes míos desde la época de las cavernas con un dolor de muela, y después extirparla a cuero-pato! Batallando con infecciones, hinchazón, comidas no muy aptas (o sea, cero licuadora, mini-pimmer, procesadora).
También pienso en la palabra juicio. Se utiliza con varias acepciones:
JUICIO (Del lat. iudicĭum).
1. m. Facultad del alma, por la que el hombre puede distinguir el bien del mal y lo verdadero de lo falso.
7. m. Fil. Operación del entendimiento, que consiste en comparar dos ideas para conocer y determinar sus relaciones.
Leed con atención. Y es bastante complejo el término. Desde "enjuiciar" hasta fomentar el juicio, confiar en el juicio natural humano-- que yo creo corresponde a la generosidad, compasión, amor, comunidad.
Seré ingenua? Quizás.
O muy idealista? Tal vez.
Pero creo en la bondad y en la belleza. Y sé, creo y siento el poder de la energía positiva.
Estar despierto, estar presente, actuar.
Que el juicio no sea sólo un concepto mental, una idea sin cabeza ni pies ni corazón. Que tengamos conciencia de nuestro poder y del don de tener juicio.
Lo digo con una muela menos, en pleno dolor.
Es así como pienso también que éste pequeño dolor (que me afecta muchísimo, pero ni se compara con otros dolores de alma o dolencias físicas más impactantes)...éste dolor me regala el momento de tomar conciencia, de utilizar mi juicio y simplemente agradecer.
Es en éste contexto donde me encuentro ahora: recostada, baja de energía, con un foco de dolor, un leve desgano y sensibilidad de alma. Así estoy, y lo siento y lo quiero sentir.
Gracias cuerpo, gracias mente, gracias corazón.
Gracias juicio.
Fía.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Soar
A song sang by two.
A breath of two.
Voices that create a heartfelt tune.
The space between.
Life.
Death.
Living.
Sinking into each other,
falling slowly,
swimming in flight.
When eyes close and it's not black.
Giving in and giving out.
Discovering all the corners.
Fingertips.
A recipe of life:
1 ounce of pain,
5 tablespoons of desire and lust,
1 cup of smiles,
half a teaspoon of fear (optional)
mix, blend, beat with memories.
Spice with lips, hugs, caresses.
Fingertips.
This all sounds very amusing, this all sounds very clever, but what is the true recipe of life and living? My biggest fault has been trying to figure it out; sprung out from the mind, the rationale, and what I have been taught to follow as a life.
A life of what? A life of success? To whom? To what? For what? For whom?
Recipes, steps, instructions, dots to connect, lines to fill, answers to circle.
Moments of clarity, those moments when you are just flowing. And you feel it. Feel it with the wind, with the sun, with your hair, with your neck and your hands. There is no struggling, there is just game. Playing the game, surfing, traveling, rocking, singing, dancing, shouting.
The butterfly of life and death. Both wings carrying you through. The limit is so subtle, so preciously frail, delicate. It flutters together, and this capacity of living is the same capacity of dying.
Live a little, die a little.
Live fully, die fully. It is absolutely inevitable.
Yet, soar.
Soar.
Soar.
Soar.
Take flight, lift up, and fly to the sun to get burned.
Melt your skin,
ache to the bones,
and become fertile ash, bountiful soil, food for newcomers.
Soar.
A breath of two.
Voices that create a heartfelt tune.
The space between.
Life.
Death.
Living.
Sinking into each other,
falling slowly,
swimming in flight.
When eyes close and it's not black.
Giving in and giving out.
Discovering all the corners.
Fingertips.
A recipe of life:
1 ounce of pain,
5 tablespoons of desire and lust,
1 cup of smiles,
half a teaspoon of fear (optional)
mix, blend, beat with memories.
Spice with lips, hugs, caresses.
Fingertips.
This all sounds very amusing, this all sounds very clever, but what is the true recipe of life and living? My biggest fault has been trying to figure it out; sprung out from the mind, the rationale, and what I have been taught to follow as a life.
A life of what? A life of success? To whom? To what? For what? For whom?
Recipes, steps, instructions, dots to connect, lines to fill, answers to circle.
Moments of clarity, those moments when you are just flowing. And you feel it. Feel it with the wind, with the sun, with your hair, with your neck and your hands. There is no struggling, there is just game. Playing the game, surfing, traveling, rocking, singing, dancing, shouting.
The butterfly of life and death. Both wings carrying you through. The limit is so subtle, so preciously frail, delicate. It flutters together, and this capacity of living is the same capacity of dying.
Live a little, die a little.
Live fully, die fully. It is absolutely inevitable.
Yet, soar.
Soar.
Soar.
Soar.
Take flight, lift up, and fly to the sun to get burned.
Melt your skin,
ache to the bones,
and become fertile ash, bountiful soil, food for newcomers.
Soar.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Waking the Dead
In moments of rest (because I've had them) questions commence to haunt me like old wise souls. Clouds travel to me, through me, and from me, touching me in ways that are unrecognizable by my physical body. Yet, I am touched nonetheless.
Questions, words, ideas, smells, images, colors, tunes and rhythms.
Lying looking at the ceiling and feeling the overpowering space between me and maybe some other curious star. Cuddled on my side staring at a trees shadow on my wall. It dances with the wind--shaking off its old rusty dust, becoming bright green ready for more sun. Surrendered to the floor, on my belly, side of my face on the ground. A melting drop of oil, beating. I can hear my heartbeat, I dance with my breath, and i thank for being here and being part of the earth-- just like any other little creature that steps my same earth.
Shoes, boots, sandals, heels detach us for where we come from.
I place the soles of my feet on the generous ground. It is there to take me (you) in. We are also stems that inhale and feed off the soil and water. We are also leaves that shine and grow with the sun, and dance with the wind.
Fingertips touching my own skin: feel eyelashes, feel lips, feel knees and hips. Wake your touch and know thyself, love thyself. Feel, thank, and love.
We are being told not to. To cover, imitate, deny, copy and curse for our so-called faults. Shake it off and think of the wonder of being one and only. One and only. Beautiful one and only. A box of paints that can color and sparkle and twinkle just and only like you.
Wake the dead of beauty. Wake the so-feared human spirit. Wake the so-called dangerous emotions and playfulness. Wake the daring, wake the risking, wake the long-held tears and voice. A voice that can sing, yell, howl and laugh in all it's colors.
Wake the Dead.
Questions, words, ideas, smells, images, colors, tunes and rhythms.
Lying looking at the ceiling and feeling the overpowering space between me and maybe some other curious star. Cuddled on my side staring at a trees shadow on my wall. It dances with the wind--shaking off its old rusty dust, becoming bright green ready for more sun. Surrendered to the floor, on my belly, side of my face on the ground. A melting drop of oil, beating. I can hear my heartbeat, I dance with my breath, and i thank for being here and being part of the earth-- just like any other little creature that steps my same earth.
Shoes, boots, sandals, heels detach us for where we come from.
I place the soles of my feet on the generous ground. It is there to take me (you) in. We are also stems that inhale and feed off the soil and water. We are also leaves that shine and grow with the sun, and dance with the wind.
Fingertips touching my own skin: feel eyelashes, feel lips, feel knees and hips. Wake your touch and know thyself, love thyself. Feel, thank, and love.
We are being told not to. To cover, imitate, deny, copy and curse for our so-called faults. Shake it off and think of the wonder of being one and only. One and only. Beautiful one and only. A box of paints that can color and sparkle and twinkle just and only like you.
Wake the dead of beauty. Wake the so-feared human spirit. Wake the so-called dangerous emotions and playfulness. Wake the daring, wake the risking, wake the long-held tears and voice. A voice that can sing, yell, howl and laugh in all it's colors.
Wake the Dead.
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