Silenzio

 A Hindu saint who was visiting river Ganges to take a bath found a group of family members on the banks, shouting in anger at each other. He turned to his disciples, smiled and asked:

 'Why do people shout in anger shout at each other?'

 Disciples thought for a while, one of them said,'Because we lose our calm, we shout.'

 'But, why should you shout when the other person is just next to you? You can as well tell him what you have to say in a soft manner.'asked the saint

Disciples gave some other answers but none satisfied the other disciples.

Finally the saint explained, .

'When two people are angry at each other, their hearts distance a lot. To cover that distance they must shout to be able to hear each other. The angrier they are, the stronger they will have to shout to hear each other to cover that great distance.

 What happens when two people fall in love? They don't shout at each other but talk softly, Because their hearts are very close. The distance between them is either nonexistent or very small...'

The saint continued,'When they love each other even more, what happens? They do not speak, only whisper'n they get even closer to each other in their love. Finally they even need not whisper, they only look at each other'n that's all. That is how close two people are when they love each other.'

He looked at his disciples and said. 

'So when you argue do not let your hearts get distant, Do not say words that distance each other more, Or else there will come a day when the distance is so great that you will not find the path to return.”

I came across this story weeks ago and something trembled inside me. 
Trembled out of comprehension. The necessity of us to raise our voice. Is it a call for connection?
Is it a yearning of closeness? 
A loss of communication? 

Silence.
Silencio.
Silenzio.
Stille.

A universal call.
A moment of pure understanding.
An instance of listening, belonging, giving and receiving.

Vulnerability shows its face.
Do not fear.
Simplicity salutes you.
Welcome it.
Peace is acknowledged.
Surrender.

You belong.
I belong.
We belong.
I exist because you exist.
We co-exist.

Is this love that abounds me,
you,
it all?
The blaze of love is bursting me.
Is love this sweet and sour?

A blade is cutting,
a blade of grass is passing right through me.
It cuts and heals.
It makes my chest pound forward and up,
back and down.

There are waves to this silence.
There are colors.
There is movement to our hearts binding.
There is flow.

You belong.
I belong.
We belong.
Silencio.

fía.

Salty Fingertips

I am literally peeling pistachios at the moment.  My fingertips are slightly white (from the residue of the shells and salt).  I have before me a jar of the most beautiful greenish-purplish nuts.  These will later become part of home-made granola for a sweet dear friend of mine.

As i decided to peel, i thought i'd look at listen to some music, but then remembered "hey! there was this TED video i've been wanting to see...".
So i hit play.

It made me cry.
It made me shake.
It made me smile.
It made me sigh.

It interrupted my peeling activity, indeed.  Made me lick my fingers, making me twitch and quiver from the salt..but all that doesn't matter.
I just had to write.

Write about the wonderfulness (does that word even exist?) of what we are, of who we are.  The wonderfulness of who i am. Just like you. And the person next to you, or the person walking past you, or the last person you say or even thought about!
I am wonderful.  Where i am is wonderful and beautiful and sublime and powerful.
There is, what i like to call, an "instinctive" "innate" "inherent" feeling of connection we all have.  Some are in the sleep-mode, others have an unreliable network, others are privileged to have a high-speed-ongoing connection. But i doubt someone to be lacking the power to connect or that is just completely offline.
What i'm trying to say is that we all, in some sort of internal fiber, know/feel a part of something..something bigger.  And there is no doubt in my mind that we all want good, as opposed to bad. It's just a matter of focus.
Let us all unite in the calling of peace.
Let us all join the song of love.
Let us all surrender to beauty,
Let us all be seduced by irresistible love.

What do you choose?

Love of a Cricket

Crickets and their burden of good luck.
Is there such thing?
Carrying the weight of spectacular creatures that provide wealth, richness, good fortune.
What about their own well-being?
Maybe it's the finding of a specific leaf to nibble, a tasteful grain of soil, a warm safe home.  
Or maybe a lovely drop of water?
               moments of silence/silence of the night/night becoming morning/morning is still dark/darkness at stillness coming to an end/end of sleep for others/awaiting for the sun.  Sun wake up, moon go to sleep.  
               moments of silence and i feel a profound connection of this home of mine, that hold me and so many other creatures.  It's such a heartfelt feeling that i must give myself a moment to just breathe. It's as if i can hear the heartbeats of all of us. Hundreds, thousands, millions, billions, zillions. It makes me feel so tiny, yet so significant. A cricket of my own. Could i ever be a lucky charm of someone, something?
                moments of silence. Stillness. And i think, feel, stories: Love of a Cricket.

Love of a Cricket
Cricket- Gryllidae is my name.
Chirping is my gift. 
Chirping to attract you.
I rub my wings for you, love.

I can feel you close, please come.
I sing to you, please come.
We only have a year, at the most,
Come.

The night is quiet,
the night is quiet and warm.
We are lucky, do you know that?
We are lucky for being us.
I am lucky to have you. 
Please come..?

While others sleep we can love.
It might be contagious,
let us inspire.

I feel you, please come.
Fiery goddess, please come.
Is that you?
Come, come.
I'll defy spiders, lizards, tortoises and frogs.
Come.

The blazing Sun will make us glow.
A night of passion.
An affair of 365.
Listen, listen,
Come, come
Come.

Shmiling

Sometimes i wonder whether i'm somewhat odd...or maybe a little crazy or just plain silly.
What makes me think so?
Well, i feel things, i think upon things that are extra-ordinary; hence, sometimes (i can't be so unfair with myself to say always) i think back and can't help sighing or shaking my head as a gesture of : "oh, that was kind of stupid".

It's when you're struggling with sleep: you move your legs around, your feet are constantly dancing with the sheets, you close your eyes, you open your eyes, you look at the time...the night is endless AND any sort of problem, any kind of trouble, just seems like the end of the world--making you feel anxious, nervous, worried, desperate.
Don't fight it. Embrace it. You're not sleeping.
I don't fight it. I embrace it. I'm not stupid or silly or crazy.

I've written before about my sensitivity, so i won't get into that.  But it is a major point in my life, and just like my gorgeous friend said to me (all the way from Dresden) i shall embrace it.  I embrace the important role my senses play in my life, i embrace my old-lady.  Because i am one, in a way. It gives me great pleasure to sit with someone, share a moment of good conversation, maybe in the company of some wine, feeling each other, sharing with each other. Yum.
Or walking. Just walking...and talking, or maybe not even.

Today i had a few starry moments of bliss. Little milestones in the day that made my heart sparkle and now, as i lay in bed typing, make corner of my lips curl up and smile.

Moment 1: gardening. Barefoot, scissors in hand, a bag and a little basket. Watering my plants, running my fingers through every one of them: cleaning leaves, cutting old branches, singing to them, and collecting little fruits (such as tomatoes, strawberries and wheatgrass).
Moment 2: Emilia. My little sweet, precious niece.  Alone in the living room, playing with her feet and caressing her tiny toes. Kisses included. Feeding her and sharing a moment of pure, focused staring at each others eyes.
Moment 3: Walking home in the afternoon.  Sun is shining, but giving off more light than blazing heat. Slight breeze on trees. Sidewalks somewhat empty. Breathing the air and feeling the skin of my arms, being aware of my whole body. Breathing and walking, at times, with my eyes closed. Giving in.
Moment 4: Kitchen. Cooking a tomato-basil brown rice. Cutting fresh vegetables. Music. Singing and slightly dancing. Hands smell of fresh basil, i repeat a song again and again and again (3 times). It's sensual and inviting.

Those were my moments today. And i thank my senses for taking them in. I feel alive.  Something urged me to write these words before entering the world of dreams...
This turned out to be a bit of a personal blog.  Fia's World.
Love & Light!

** does it intrigue you what song i listened and sang to this afternoon? HIT PLAY!

Sacrifice

Sacrifice-

In my moments of reflection, which usually happen early in the morning when it's still dark outside or late at night--when the light in my nightstand has been turned off and i'm left lying horizontally, eyes shut with the soundtrack of the night playing in my ears.
During these moments i think on life--the flow of it all.  The giving and receiving, the actions and reactions, the in and out, the balance.

And boom! There comes this big word: Sacrifice.
I've read about it, i've given it a lot of thought, and i've questioned:

How does "sacrifice" fit in my life? In my daily life?
With pain?
With distress?
With exhaustion?
With Truth?

There is the usual, conventional notion of sacrifice of giving something up, and getting something better in return.
The Vedas and Upanishads (most ancient Hindu philosophical texts) stand behind a different point of view towards sacrifice: it is something to be offered, not lost.  It is given without the expectation of giving something up.
Also conceived as a wisdom that is gained without begging.

It took me a while to truly grasp what these words meant.  **Note: i'm in no way saying that i've mastered or even fully grasped the concept of sacrifice.  
In today's world, where there is an air of selfishness and ambition governing us all, the plain idea of sacrifice is out of the equation of life. Just considering the key word of such statements-- offering?! 

It pains me, it really does, when i perceive the loss of human touch..of human spirit!
in relationships, in work atmospheres, in essentials such as health and education. It's not about the wellness anymore, who cares about the sick or the child? 
"Can they pay the bill?" 
"Yes?" 
chi-ching!
"No?"
bam (door shut in the face)

I sometimes feel a slight crazy questioning it all and feeling truly affected. I wouldn't renounce to it, by any means, but just fall into this state of awe when i see how those who have the political, economic and social power to change things are so removed. 

Here is my bizarre perception of life. I can't find another way of describing it but in abstract images and feelings.
Play along with me here:

It's as if life happened in frequencies.
How does that work?
Ok, let me set the scene-- just like a theatrical play.
There is space and time, inevitably.  Life is running through me and through us all in a determined frequency.  The high frequency of life.  This wave of energy exists in itself and is pure knowledge, pure consciousness-- stable, at ease, strong and light.
Then all the creatures of the world run through their own frequency, their own wave--varying in length, intensity, even color.  They are all a part of life energy, come from it, just not always in tune with it.
So there is this orchestra, symphony of waves--some are dissonant, some harmonious, some completely flat, others in permanent  rest.
And it's OK.  It's all changeable, it all varies..there lies the beauty of it all.

It is important though to take a moment and check the frequency.  Take a moment of abstract thinking, of assessment and contemplation.  Some things, habits, are deeply engrained--set in automatic.  And time does make us more and more rusty.  We all know how age affects our physical realm..it's not quite different with our psyche.
It takes courage and a huge act of sacrifice to produce true change. An act of surrender, offering--with no expectation or begging behind.  

Why am i writing about this? I have no concrete answer.
I'm on a journey, where i work and gear towards stability, joy happiness and love.  SUPER-objectives as a former acting teacher would call them.  
Sacrifice is most absolutely one of my objectives that will lead me to the SUPER one.

Love & Light,
Fía. 

Jesus Christ Superstar

This week is a biggy for the Catholic Church.
Iglesia Católica tiembla..!

All is happening in Vatican City.
Vaticano,
Vaticano.

I somehow think of it as cold, windy, chilly halls.
Medieval colors, medieval times.
Large doors being shut,
Priests and cardinals sliding quickly through the hallways.
Silent corners and yet rooms where you can hear shouts and echoes.
A feeling of danger.

Candles,
long, large, heavy wardrobes.

But then i think again and actually reconsider:
probably there's a powerful heating system,
large, comfortable rooms.
Some shouting, yes, but some laughing as well.
Lots of gold, nothing dirty.
Maybe a TV here and there.
Or iPhones!
to top it all off: there's a popemobile! 
papamóvil!

McVatican.
Jesus Christ Superstar.

Vatican troubles... think on how it all affects me.  The pope has just retired, stepped-down from his godly mission in life.  "So what?"
I can't be that trivial.  I can't be that removed.
Well, really, i can.
I just choose not to be.
I have a sensitive structure.  Truly.
(do not confuse sensitive with being emotionally unstable or just a plain emotional wreck).
My character is sensitive: senses are a big thing for me.  I perceive and create experiences easily.
So, it's in my nature to have events become a part of me..or reach me.

Vaticano,
Vaticano,
Vaticano.

I first questioned: mmm, so what happened with the Divine calling where this "holy" man is the voice of God in Earth? Can this voice just disappear? Can it be as simple as saying: i quit?
Does he just stop listening to the voice? or is this voice now silent to him?
Hmmm...

Then i thought: How is all this related to faith? True blue faith? I call upon the origin of it all, the origin of an individual (group of individuals) experiencing the overwhelming feeling of Divinity.  Supernatural.

I have my own view on this-- which involves the great knowledge of the Universe, the law of the Universe, including mysteries and exploring the unknown.  The Greatness of it all. That's my Divinity.

Now i look into what the Catholic Church has become.  I respect. I respect those who believe in God, Jesus Christ, Heaven, Hell, etc.  Everyone has a right to believe in what they want.  But you'd have to be blind, or play blind, to deny that out-dated dogmas, rules that don't speak of freedom, money behind the churches doors,  and the violent outburst of terrible accusations-which have been proved to be true-- has wrecked and spoiled the "house of God".

I fool around and call it McV, say it's become a shopping mall, a gift shop where there are little souvenir figurines of Jesus...Jesus Christ a Super star.  A super hero. 

I admire Jesus. He was an enlightened being, a true leader, a believer of faith.  He moved masses, conquered and mastered energy.  He lived his life with a focused intention of removing the veil of ignorant, trivial, unconscious life.  A yogi, why not? Not about dogmas, classifications, names, institutions.  A human. 
What has it all become? 

He'd be loathing his image today, he'd deny golden rings and luxurious mansions. 

So, how does all of this affect me? At least it makes me question.  It makes me evaluate and understand...myself a bit more. 
I'm reading a book on Leo Tolstoy, and something just felt like my soul speak.
i speak through his words:

"The hero of my tale--whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful--is Truth."

"Devoting my life to found(ing) a new religion that fits human evolution.  A religion which does not promise future beatitude but gives beatitude on earth."

olor a jazmín.

Walking North, on the East side of the road. 
I effortlessly step between splattered ripe plums on the ground.
Summer fruit suicide.
The sidewalk feels a bit sticky.
Fructose sweet caramel. 

Walking North, on the East side of the road.
Splattered ripe red purple plums.
Summer sidewalk suicide. 
I walk and all of a sudden my body takes over
and i detour. 
I no longer walk in a straight line, but slightly make a curve
heading directly towards a fence.
An unknown house fence.

The black metal bars,
seduced,
invaded,
conquered,
by green.  
Green and little white flowers.
Jasmine.
Jazmín de mil recuerdos.

Walking North, East side.
Ripe red purple plums.
Summer.
Sweet caramel.
My body takes over.
I detour.
I find myself hypnotized,
at full stop.
Nose first, tip toes, pulled forward.
Jasmine.

I inhale and i feel 10.
I inhale and i'm stepping on grass.
I inhale and i smile.
Oh! 
I'm dizzy, at a loss of time and purpose.
10 seconds of full concentrated surrender.
10 seconds of complete sexy provocation.
Quisiera ser una abeja o picaflor.

I open my eyes and consciously must step away.
Mind control.
Damned mind.

I walk North.
Summer.

*** Fía.

MUSIC

Música
Música
Música.

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.” 

“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.” 
- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night.

ALAA WARDI!

I believe there's someone out there for everyone, someone waiting to love and be loved, someone who will accept you the way you are without asking you to change, someone who will love you as much and as passionate as you love without expectations.. Someone somewhere is waiting to start a new life, wonder if we'll ever meet!!

I wrote this song with my friend Angie after we figured we both had this idea in common, and we decided to share it with you all cause it's a song we all can relate to somehow. We hope that you like it.

This video was made by: Farah Kassem & Angie Obeid

Each person is a walking song. Our heartbeat, our breath, our laugh, our yells and screams all together tells a story that differs from person to person yet we can all relate to. That is why music has no race or religion, no age nor job. It is a universal house and anybody is invited inside. So wipe your feet and enter our house of spiritual communication and language and forget about everything for one second and let us take you on a journey. (Sarah Salah)

GREEN

Green. 
i love you, green.
Green.
i care for you, green. 
Green.
i cry you, green.
Green.
i smile you, green. 

Green.
Peace
for me
green.
Green.
Peace
for you
green. 

Green.
i drink you
green.
Green.
i eat you
green.

Green.
i smell you
green.
        I close my eyes and travel through you. You i inhale, discover every little bit of you. My eyes shut 
        i can still see you thoroughly by means of your fragrance. Fragrance of green. Green of grass. 
        Grass freshly cut. Cuts right through me. Me, you, us exploring each other by virtue of smell. 
        Smell me smell you smell green. 

Green.
i taste you
green.
Green.
i kiss you
green.
        Traveling to moments of green. Green flows, green grows.  Grow in me around me up and below,
         inside outside near and far. Far we shall never be. 

Green.


*** Fía.

Cloud Gazing.

Moments of clarity,
moments of simplicity,
a tiny split moment in time when it all settles--or maybe moves-- to a place of understanding. 

I'm enjoying a instant of warm breeze, watching the white clouds slowly travel South.  This large group of white curly puffs that seem to work together and head somewhere.  
And i think...
(i like to think, contemplate and review quite a lot)
i think of things: situations, people, myself, the environment. 
My thoughts travel like the big chunk of clouds.

And so i come to a moment of ease.  I call it ease for there is no struggle of any kind, there is no battle, there is no giving up either.  There just is...
a pinch of surrender, maybe.  But i like to think of it as a letting go and being. 

Lose the complication.  
Lose the mental masturbation of problem solving and deciphering. 

I just happen to read an entry from my friends yoga teacher, and it speaks exactly of this: detached- attachment and effortless-effort. http://us5.campaign-archive.com/?u=ef05bedd74581a4140afa19ee&id=3b24ebe01d 

How does that go? 
Practice and Play. 

Be alive, present, aware...but with a certain detachment and at ease. 
This yoga teacher so appropriately quotes the Thomas Merton (monk and student of Zen):
"issues of life are not so much problems to be solved, but mysteries to be entered."

I find that beautiful.  
It implies courage, it implies faith, it demands strength.
Not fear. 

Another new revelation, piece of information, (new to me, at least) was that the German word for "holy" (selig) is the English root for the word "silly".  So there is some lightness and playfulness to it all...

So, going back to my breezy afternoon- cloud gazing moment, i found myself with a bit of simplicity and epiphany.  I'm here, now, today.  I'm in a journey..for sure..we all are.  This journey has ups, has downs, has rocks to climb, rivers to swim, lakes to soak on and sun-bathing moments.  But it's all alive, its all an opportunity to find new discoveries and earn little stars of heartfulness joy. 
My journey is a bit bumpy at the moment, but it's quite beautiful too.  
I haven't felt more in my skin as now.  
There things i want, and i want them so so bad.
I want to be a part of...i want to play. 

I can smell my courage, my faith and i kiss my strength.
Not afraid. 

Fía.

LOVE FEVER

Estado febril.
     Feverish.
Temblores del corazón.
      Heart tremors.
Calor.
Sudor.
Suspiros.
      Heat.
      Sweat.
      Sighs. 

Los oídos se ensordecen con el palpitar.
El pecho crece, desciende, crece, desciende.
Expectante.
Vivo.
      The pumping, beating, thumping is deafening,
      Chest expanding, sinking, expanding, sinking.
      Expectancy.
      Alive.

Párpados, pestañas revolotean cual mariposas en un jardín inglés de lavandas.
Hay un pequeño mordisco al labio inferior.
Coqueto.
Sensual.
      Eyelids, eyelashes blinking butterflying away in an English lavender garden.
      Lower lip slightly bitten.
      Teaser.
      Sensual.

Momento cúlmine.
Labios se separan.
Inhala. 
Todo se expande: ojos, traquea, pecho.
Electricidad.
Cabeza! Corazón! Pies!
     Climax.
     Lips pull apart.
     Breathe in.
     All expands: eyes, trachea, chest.
     Static.
     Head! Heart! Feet!

Te veo...
     I see you...

PLAY! 

and PLAY!

Océano.

Océano.
(cómo me encanta esa palabra)

Océano.
Océano.
Océano.

Roca caimán con vida.
Un ser barbudo exfoliado con agua y sal.
Limpiándose día a día: de las culpas de una vida pasada?
De las heridas de guerra, quizás.

Gaviotas que hablan, susurran y cantan.
Cortejo marino de negros, blancos, verdes y rosados.
Una continua celebración.

Fragancia a mineral- casi como el olor a sangre.
Paz y Guerra.
Calma y Violencia.
Caricia y Amenaza.
Amor y Terror.

Océano.
Océano.
Océano. 


....tu que haces nuestro planeta azul. 

SMOKE ME TONIGHT

I’m up beyond the clouds, yet my feet can feel the heat of the earth holding me. 

My heels are breathing, like two lungs, alive.

Dirt, grasssss.

Sensitive, perceiving how much my blood hungers another.

Another? Anyone? Someone?

You.

Afraid to face it, terrified to dive in.

There are games to play, games that lend to tricks and make us half-players.

I don’t want to be a half-player.

I’d rather get lighted and burned.

I see a figure sucking in some kind of smoke.

Gray, white.

Complete contrast to the black of night.

Light me,

Suck me in,

I’ll turn into smoke.

I’ll travel through you, become a part of you.

I’m light-headed.

I’m losing the reins allowing the beat of this galloping heart hit my thighs,

dance with my body.

I’m light-headed.

Surrendering to this whirlwind of energy waves.

Underwater, twirling with the sea foam.

I’m light-headed.

High and addicted to the memory of the smell of your skin.

I’m light-headed.

Becoming smoke.

Traveling through your deepest corners,

ending in the tip of your lips.

Smoke me tonight. 

Long time, no write

It's been quite a few weeks, i think actually a bit more than a month since i last visited my dear post. I've been meditating a lot about this kind of media, this blog for me to express my inner thoughts, inner feelings and insights. 
I started it all with the intention to allow myself a real space (although i don't know where it lives..in a cloud somewhere? a nonexistent cloud?) for me to bring out, type out, what is happening inside me. The idea was brought to life as a cry from the soul--at least i like to call it so. I was living in New York City, in the wild city of lights, of everlasting sirens, nonstop activity (no matter how useful that activity actually was), but activity nonetheless. I can't help but call upon the typical image that i've seen in some photograph, postcard, advertisement or movie--can't recall where.  That image of a woman/man standing in the middle of light chaos.  Where the time and exposure of the lens has been tweaked so this individual is in focus and all you see around is some overwhelming cloud of lights.  Beaming around her, beaming across, behind, above him or her. 
That is what it was like, really. 
It was beautiful, yes..at times.  It was exciting, hell yes.  But i was alone. Alone and lost. No space for air, no space for tears of either joy or sadness. 
I was a statue. 
What was this statue doing? Did it feel? Did it dream? Did it smile or frown?
No. Not really.
And the answer was simply: no time for that. 
Yes, there was time..time to be used.  Time to be effective, productive. My productivity was not only making me go around in circles: quite like a hamster on its wheel.  (Cliché again, i know). All those stupid terms of today's language was depleting me, was making me empty and hard as stone. 
To make long story short, it all cracked. It had to, really.  
I was lucky enough to have a safety net.  A home, a family. 
A family of friends, a family of relatives, a family of people i do not even know but that i see, listen and read about and admire. 

I think the first little crack was this little bugger-- this blog. 
Haven't been very active about it recently.  At least not in action, although totally in mind. Things that i think about, things that i observe, words that i listen or read, images that i see..it all goes into this little bag that leads to blogging. I write it down on my tiny notepad, i copy/paste it on my personal folder or make a note of it on my email or phone. 

Today, unexpectedly, un-planned, i just sat down and started writing. 
That spark came from an interview i was just watching: dated 2010, Mr. Max Neef on democracy now.
I've been so blessed to know him, but that could make up a book, not a blog post. 
Back on track:  one of the many eloquent things he said just made me hit pause and write. 
"we know a lot, we know hell of a lot. But we understand very little". 

Aha.

Fía.

Message in a Bottle

Words.  
Written.  Spoken. Sung. Read. Listened.
Words. 
Of love, of pain, of distress, of yearning, of beseech, of aid--even of anger. 
Words.
Building worlds, breaking them, to mend them back together--or not. 
Words.
Constructing thoughts, unveiling feelings, founding knowledge. 
Words. 
Describing personal and universal realms, allowing connection.
Words.

How vital are they for us?  This is rhetorical.  
We build language through words--not only written and spoken: a certain gesture defies distances of oceans and continents, and still communicates a certain essential message. We possess the powerful tool of connection through the use of language.  We even create poetry, art, with language.
What about the universal language of music? Rhetorical once again. 

Today i'm thinking about written words, nonetheless. I've been diving into a magical world through a book i grab and cherish every night.  
A confession: sometimes i see myself with time to grab my book, in the middle of the day, and resist.  Resist because it's such pleasure to go to bed and welcome the world of those ink words, knowing i'll then surrender to my dreams with such magic and beauty.  
What am i reading? 
Letters to Olga (Cartas a Olga) by Anton Checkhov--or Chejov, in Spanish. 
A collection of letters between these two souls, between 1900 and 1904, years in which they explore their feelings, give in to their love and affection, marry, challenge physical distance between them, discuss and live through art (she acts, he writes), go crazy over their passion, examine insecurities, moments of pain, explode in joy, amuse each other with their wit, and overall love. Love. 
These two souls existed.  They sat under a tree in Yalta, cried over a piece of paper in a candlelit room in Moscow, inhaled the air of Petersburg, formed the thoughts, felt the feelings, and delivered their souls in these private correspondences i'm now reading every night.

I feel like a spy. 
It makes me a bit nervous, i must admit. 
At times i stop and think about them, and wonder if they ever thought someone like me would be reading such personal messages.  And it makes me a bit uneasy. 

I melt.  I do.  I melt at their humanity. At their simplicity, at their complexity, their authenticity. 
I kneel before language. I am able to access this piece of life from the past and realize the universal-everlasting language of love and life. 
Their letters allows me to open the door to Russia, to a world i didn't (and never will) be a part of.  I've read the outstanding plays of Anton Checkov, but now, I can explore a piece of his world-- color my glass of perception in a similar shade as his.  And Olga, as an actress, as a human being, as a lover, a beating heart of a specific era. 

Words. 
They create my world.  They nourish my life.  
Words.
Let my heart speak.
Words.
Put me sleep, make me dream, wake me up, allow me live. 

Fía.