The echoes of muted screams

I'm the butchered cow, once fell, all alone, and the butchers roaming around, each one wanting a piece of his own.

I'm the orphan who dreamed excessively about Home, it started to project it on the faces of her predators. 

I choke on the thorn of the rose they offer me, totally oblivious to the purpose of any of it all, life, its roses, and the rose offering.

I am mother and child, and the deserting of both. The alienation, the abandonment, the sacrifice, the refuge, the longing, the containment, the attachment, and the detachment.

I am the neverending, always changing, mourning grief.

I am all the mornings, and some nightimes.

I am always escaping, avoiding, spacing out, self rejecting.

I am all the men that I have loved.

I am the residue of the residue of whatever breadcrumbs was ever thrown at me.

Men, women, children, all the same.

The pain is the pain is the pain is the pain.

Another day comes, 

Another day goes.

The cycles change, 

And I remain,

Griefbound.

On and on 

It goes. 

Until there is nothing left

but the echoes of muted screams.

Hush now baby,

Nobody's home. 

There is no home,

Just you,

And this incessant itching for a life that was only ever birthed once in your own psyche.

Hush and sleep now,

Or,

Just 

You 

Wake 

Up!

Oblivion in the city of ghosts

In the devil's lair, the only hopeful thing to do is ditching hope itself.

You see him in the eyes of everyone, you sense him in the empty smiles, in the fake words, in the silence, even in the void. He did not leave anything or anyone out, and why would he, this is his home after all. 

The grieving is not over what was, or what got lost, or what could've been, it is accepting that all if this life and its intricacies, even its rarest blissful moments, is only a facade.

"The biggest trick the devil played" indeed...

When you think you managed to unclench its grab on you, you find yourself in another trap. On and on it goes. There is food, and there is drink, and there are substances, pleasures, temptations, fake hope, numbing illusions, and all sorts of distractions. 

I see his face with that smirk, I hear his giggles, and that very loud and the most evil laugh...

Fuck you anyway, you lousy pathetic lowley parasitical fraud!

Try as you might,

You do not fool me! 

Cheers to another round of battles, 

This is personal now.

Monkey business

I asked God the other day: can I please, please, please embrace them so very tight with my body and close to my chest, so I can squeeze the demons out of them! 

God replied: you'll drown again, don't you ever learn?

I plead: I wish to try again, you and yours will pull me out on time if it happens again. Please! 

God went quiet. 

Ara whispered in my head: "tayseh, banana brain!"

I laughed and cried. 

Amen.

Wake me when it's over

The sky is crying with me, slowly, gently, quietly. 

It shouldn't have rained, it wasn't expected to. 

My washing is hanging out to dry, now soaking wet.

I shouldn't have cried either, I had already grieved and mourned, for several lifetimes over.

I don't have a sleeping pattern anymore, I am often finding myself having dozed off in the middle of a contemplation session in bed in the middle of the day, or after an excessive weeping session in the morning, or on an early evening crash. 

Everything is overwhelming; the reality, my thoughts of it, my reality, the past, the present, the future...

It feels as though I roam without a skin these days. The new level of sensitivity is making me feel extremely fragile and vulnerable. Everything on the outside is being sensed right through the inside of my body, no skin shielding.

I don't crave the human embrace like my usual anymore, I now crave it like my life depends on it, as though it's the very skin that would lessen the effect of this existence on me. 

The ground is still shifting, the tremors don't stop, but only crazy people like me notice it, feel it, or care to talk about it. 

The sky keeps on being messed with too, very badly so. I could hardly make out what is being done to the air anymore, but my incessant crashing of late is very telling for sure. 

I keep downloading dating apps and deleting them. I have reached a new level of despair, nobody's home, but while I'm here, and that crazy heart of mine still bursting with life, I got to venture. Who's there to love, who indeed!?!

Something happened to the timelines lately, I seem to be only bringing things from the past and making them much more relevant here and now, oddly. That tenacity of mine, I never tire, it sure surprises even me! 

I brought all the love and the vibrant memory of my loving heart to all those I loved in my childhood and growing up. All the men, the friends, the family members, the randoms, the strangers, the close ones, the lovers, the children. 

And now I cry and weep as I learn to detach and surrender the need to control the outcome of it all. "It is what it is".

I'm bleeding too. My womb is missing and craving and longing, it's crying with me, but at least I get the cycles. There will be time again soon for the embraces... 

I'm detoxing and suffering from very strong withdrawals. My strong will power can be scary sometimes. I don't know how I do it, but I do. Reset and reboot, time and again!

To feel so much, to devour so much, to contain so much, and then to go cold turkey, disconnect, detach. 

I was created like that, no point resisting anymore, it is written in the stars. I've actually been studying my birth chart recently , just wow! Says it all... 

I can't be bothered about cleaning lately, the place is in a mess, and I'm so annoyed about it. I also keep thinking that I don't wish to die suddenly while my floors are dirty or things need dusting, I genuinely need to go with the place nice and neat. But oh well, this is the reality for now, I suppose I ain't going anytime soon from the look of it! But one still hopes...

On another note, I'm finding solace in my constantly fresh, crispy clean cotton bed linen, I seem to be changing and cleaning those regularly without failing or tiring. At least I got that going on for me, through all the despair. The sensation and the smell seems to be doing the perfect thing to my body and mind, now more than ever before, perhaps they've become my missing skin for the time being.

For that at least, and at this moment, I'm grateful. 

Tomorrow,

That's another day...

Wake me when it's over

In-Purity

I'm washing all the sheets and bed linen. I'm washing all the towels. I'm scrubbing and wiping. I'm washing myself, repeatedly. This place and I ought to be cleansed, a heavy visitor came and soiled this pure space, under the "pure" pretence. The devil is smart, but feeble and cowardly. Same old tricks, only new faces and different bodies. 

You crack me up! 

Better luck next time... 

S.O.S

I cursed the curse that cursed you, 

This morning,

Mother!

Oh how I hate this existence that birthed your narcissism, my stuck in a loop with it, and all of the narcissistic men that moved me!

I cursed the milk you fed me,

I am still unsure you ever nursed me,

But I sure looked for that kind of affection from all the men that held me.

This reality has been crumbling for a while now,

I just wish I find the exist button soon,

To release myself once and for all.

I keep spiraling in and out;

One end has hope of healing and breaking the toxic patterns,

The other end takes me deeper into the rabbit hole.

I keep expanding and shrinking, 

So does my heart and mind,

And this achy body,

Which keeps craving physical affection like an orphaned infant.

I keep longing for the men to mother me,

And I keep mothering all those who dare to love me.

What else is there after all that has been said and done,

But a never healed, always open, damned mother wound!!!

Curse this reality...

Curse this realm...

God have mercy,

Please!

SOS!!!

The vortex

Hassan ghosted me last year

Raniya died earlier this year

Yasmina's still searching for her tribe

And Ali's soul is nowhere to be found from all the spirits attachments!

All I have predicted has happened

I'm sad and grieving and choking

The spirits did indeed win him over

I'm entangled and entrapped because I dared to love

I'm angry at God

I scream and shout 

In total silence 

Why did you bring Ali to me 

Why did you take him away

Why did you take them all away 

Why did you bring me here 

I'm naive and pathetic today 

I'm not going to pray 

Let me burn

Who said I can rescue me 

Who said I could rescue them 

Let it all burn 

And let us all drown 

Let it all be sucked up 

In this most evil and dark vortex 

If you hear this God 

SOS please 

Here we go again 

Hear us here 

We're calling Home 

I know I am 

Won't you please, 

Take me! 

The fire that heats burns too

The sun today was your heart 

And the warmth of your body

The sun was the fire in your grip 

And the light in your face when you smile

Today the sun was my lost companion 

For I have lost you, haven't I?

And perhaps I did before even the illusion 

of having you by my side, you firey thing!

I miss you but I miss me too 

I miss us, I even miss the cringe when we romanced

Except, it never really was that to me,

For you've fit in perfectly with my everything... 

Strangely so.

I only just wished there was a turning down to your anger 

I turned and twirled and whirled to no avail

You lit the damn fire on both us

I can't say I didn't see it coming.

Today the sun shone through but I kept the curtains closed

I didn't want there to be daytime,

Or life 

But now I bask in the faint warmth of the sunset

I plan on going to the park again soon 

Boy won't I miss you!

I pray to the trees from now to take good care of my heart when I do 

I pray for all of nature and all that is Godly to take care of your mind 

And for God to please save your soul 

I love you so, precious one!

Until we meet again, if we ever do...

في أمان الله يا أسمر

Sona

الطيبون للطيبات

أطهو وأصنع الحلويات

أعدّ حصة لك معي في كل ما أحضّر

****

ما لهذه الصباحات والأمسيات تشبه أيام الصغر

ما لوجهك يؤنسني هكذا

وصوتك يدفئني

ولمسك يحييني

أنا العجوز التي اكتفت من أمور الحياة وقصصها

وانعزلت وبلسمت جراحها بخلوتها

واستغنت عن البشر والصحبة

****

ما لصغيرتي الراشدة البالغة تحتضني

ما لها تطلب حضني كأنها طفلة من جديد

****

ما لهذه الايام كأنها بدايات النهاية

او نهايات البداية

ما لكلماتي تتلعثم

ولمَ أكتب بالعربية

****

أقرّ لك يا أسمر

انّك أعدتني طفلة

ومراهقة

وعروس صبية

وأمٌ مدلِّلة، مدلَّلة

أفرح بلقياك 

بل أنتشي من مجرد شوقي أليه

وأقضي ساعات الانتظار 

في حب كل ما يحرك فيّ وجودك

(ووجدانك وصدقك وعنفوانك)

وكل ما اعتقدت أن الحزن قد افقدني اياه

****

وأشارككما طعامي ووقتي ومكاني

وتدمع عيناي

 ويأنس قلبي

ويطمئن جسدي

وأستكين

****

هذه اللحظات

تشبه طعم الحب الاول

وأول أيام الزيجات

والأحلام الوردية 

والولادات الحديثة

والأمل

****

شكرا

وسلام 

يا أسمر

Fires in the fall

I used to know things, and talk.

These days I understand things, and I keep quiet.

What use does the narc have with my incessant telling of the stories of trauma healing, when all it can do is remain on being entraped.

I'll get quiet, and share my silent understanding with it, in that realm of illusional separation it keeps on evading, always submerging in a numbed out reality of ornate fakery and fuckery.

It pretends it's polite, and does nice, but keeps snapping, and losing the maskerade of its calm demeanor.

I was never bragging about my knowledge, I was just always so excited to be sharing, helping, doing this human co-existing on a deep level, but that seems to never be welcome, not four decades ago, not last year, not today.

I sit it in abandoned abundant knowledge and I teach myself more and new ways of humbling, and I get more informed, which humbles me even more. 

Simply put, life has a way of feeling like an eternity of endless days and nights and cycles that keeps on repeating. But I do trust the messages of this timeline, they're telling me to hold still, no action is required anymore. No moving, no movements, just grounding.

I sense the launching is nearing. I'm alert, but at ease.

I was prepared, always have been, all the pain too, it did that very thing, of preparation, and other things too.

I often smile in my aloneness, I bask in endless hours of sunshine, and the most beautiful illusion of solitude, for I am indeed on my own and one with it and them all. 

But write I must, for what a horrible loss it would be not to savour and cherish the moments, and all the in between's.

You can't tame the fire, but you sure can contain it.

Here's to December fire, and the very end of the autumn fires.

Fires in the fall.

Mantis

The mantis is preying, but that is the way of this world; calling things by not what they are or what they actually do. It's a Praying Mantis, so it is, nama stay.

Hearts closing, hearts opening, it doesn't matter what the actions are, as long as the look of it appeals, and fits the description, and the label.

Careful with the aesthetics, mind the appearances, as for the heart of things, it's not allowed to be discussed, only just if and when is needed for the purpose they set out for.

Hide the true nature of things, so the narrative fits in perfectly. Until the time of the big reveal, we stick washi tape to the cracks, call them cute and pretty, and hide behind a labyrinth of ornate words.

Sometimes we're big and mighty, other times small and fragile. Just make sure you check at the beginning of every given moment, and check during the moment itself, for all the shifts and changes, subtle and tiny, or loud and clear.

A hardy, real, and manifesting nature is called masculine ~ or detached. They left out all the other traits for the feminine, and they glorified all of its many toxic aspects. Surrender they tell you, go down, dive deep, stay up, that is the way. Don't you dare tell them there are other ways, they'll outcast you, and call you lost.

And if you don't listen to their words, and if you don't see things their way, you're scapegoated, and called a fool, and the bringer of toxicity in flesh, blood, and soul. 

Fool me once, fool me twice, fool me thrice?!

They whisper in your very soul and tell you that you're desitned to pay all your life for the mistake of not being broken enough, not being saturated enough, not being distorted enough.

They pull at your strings from down below, repeatedly, differently, sporadically.

Snap!

Who got time for this madness,

Heed the call of Spirit.

Amen.

Who knows!

Autumn grace

It happened so fast, I was too preoccupied to savour it. Today though, I'm slowing down. Here is autumn indeed, for I needed my socks and cardigan to be able to sit in my usual morning spot on the terrace. 

It has rained several times already, but I missed all of them, except the very first one, on the evening of September 1st, when I sheltered the kitten. I had decided to foster it earlier that morning and spent the day accomodating it. When the rain came by the evening, I knew it was to be called Ghaith ~ غيث. I was too worked up about its wellbeing that I missed the petrichor, and the small little joys of autumn rain and autumn things, but we're only just starting, so not all is lost.

I fostered Ghaith for 12 days in total. I nursed it back to health, treated it for the ticks and fleas, cleaned it, gave it plenty of milk and food, and a lot of play time and cuddles. It kneeded on all of my body endlessly, most especially my head at night, during my sleep. It especially loved nesting inside my hair and in he nook of my neck. It kept me awake most nights through kisses and purrs. Thought I was rescuing it, it ended up rescuing me; cracked my heart open like it hasn't been for a long time. (That was pain for you, it does horrid things!)

It was my first time fostering a kitten, so young and so fragile, and a street one at that. I was very apprehensive, but we did good, both kitty and I. I needed its trust so I could do the work, it gave it to me, abundantly, and it paid off. 

I thought I could change something in me that would make me enjoy the constant company of a cat - or a kitten, but I was wrong. Some things we can change, some things we can't. I kissed it and thanked it very dearly and gave it away, for it was time for it to go, and for the next phase of healing to start, for us both. 

I was made differently, maybe naturally, and maybe through a series of traumatic events inside of me, still, there was no point trying to normalize myself, in order to start enjoying mundane things like others do - though I desperately needed it. While my nervous system was crying out for small enjoyable things, and small scale everything, simply thinking it or acting it out was just not going to do. I tried, I applied myself, I failed greatly.

While I don't exactly require the company of a cat to thrive, I do however require an abundance of heartfelt gestures from humans, the warmest embraces, the gentlest of touches, and the most genuine and endearing words ~ for mere survival, not just thriving.

That is not possible at the time being, so I will try to remain present with my body instead of failing it, like I'm so accustomed to doing. Try and listen to it as it tells me its stories, where it hurts, where it feels nice, where it needs attending to, where it's ready to serve me and my ambitious actionable plans when the time is right.

It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, when Ghaith showed up, and how deeply it stared into my very soul that first night that I had it inside, in my bed, as I was crying away. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, at my heart, when Yasmina showed up, and laughed and cried, with me and beside me, and at our embrace. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, as I think of the ever so subtle grace hidden in the smallest of acts, facts, faces, and situations. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, now as I listen to En Al Andalus on repeat, and stare at the clouded morning sky, and feel the chilled and humid breeze on my skin. 

I had grown so very tired of the weight of the pain I was carrying, I had to put it down, all of it. All the pains inflicted on me, by me, through me. All the pains I was carrying that wasn't mine. I forgave myself, and then forgave all others. I reached out to everyone, I said sorry and thank you. I am not sure how much of it was felt, but at this stage of new level of apocalyptic realm, even if it reaches a tiny forgetful spot in their mind, I'm happy with that. This was the small little act I was capable of. That was what I felt called to do, and make. 

Who cares about stupid employment and cash at this stage, I mean, fuck this existence as they had planned it, I refuse to abide by their rules till my last breath, and one way or another, I know that my acts, thoughts, and stands are going to be fruitful.

If it wasn't to love and grace, I would not have lasted so long on this plane reality. Though every fiber of my being gets exhausted, though I'm fatigued beyond words, though I am suffering from chronic pains, and though mind is beyond exasperated, I hold on to thin threads of hope.

I had spent days and nights recently thinking of absolutely every person I ever encountered, asked their forgiveness, thanked them, and sent them love. 

There was no point in carrying on with life the way it has been lived so far, most especially the grieving period of last year, up until August 31st. I had prayed, numerously, and my prayer was answered, God indeed has helped me close that old chapter. There are new lessons to be learned now, new growth sprouts, new adventures of a different sort. But first, we had some cleaning up to do.

It isn't a one way communication anymore, this prayer thing, it's a dialogue now, we even joke sometimes, God and I. I recall I was writing in my prayer book a while back, towards the end of it I said: Giddy up Goddy! And then laughed and laughed...

Gotta filter this existence through the centre, it could never lead you astray ~ just make sure it's decluttered.

Thank you, for it all, seen and unseen, known and unknown. 

More please,

Amen.

.

.

.

.

جادَكَ الغيْثُ إذا الغيْثُ هَمى"

يا زَمانَ الوصْلِ بالأندَلُسِ

لمْ يكُنْ وصْلُكَ إلاّ حُلُما

"في الكَرَى أو خِلسَةَ المُخْتَلِسِ

Ticks and fleas

You're frustrated at me, how oh how do I bring a street cat into my house!? 

You're disappointed because you had hoped to call in tonight, you've missed me and wanted to see me, it's been a long August indeed, but now you can't, because of the possibly flea infested house. You crack me up, you obsessive maniac!!

Don't you know, that when you're away, doing your thing, like everybody else is, with your people, and your tribes, and your rituals, and routines, that I am usually left alone to my inflamed brain, which keeps leading me astray?!

I am the childless mother, and a motherless kitten called to my heart... I'm only just human after all, take it easy!

We were a match on that September morning, with our achy hearts, shaky bodies, and that same longing and craving, for the touch, warmth, and the belonging.

Her mother abandoned it.

My child abandoned me.

It's not hard to figure, is it?

Do you see it now, how I can't relate to other humans, why I keep to myself, and why my mind is splitting?

My heart got shattered, and I've been trying to put the pieces together ever since. 

It's been a year now since the move, I shall put an end to that specific cycle soon, I promise to do my best, and perhaps, meet you then at your exceptional level of persisting excitement and positivity!

I miss that,

I missed you,

I miss you,

You excentric fool,

You intimidating fuck!

Until we meet again...

P.S: you endured summer me, now you can rejoice, for here comes September, my favourite month of the year, and you're in for a nice surprise, April boy!

The many stages of healing

How much of the ego did you kill today? 

That's how much of healing you've got done.

Kill the mothertucker! 

Crush it.

Show it who's the boss.

It is you.

Your soul is online,

Bring it on!

Heal that achy heart.

Love it, 

For all the love it is capable of,

For all the love it has shared and given,

Love it dearly,

Love it, dearie.

I love you so,

Little girl,

It is I alone this time.

My inner child,

The discombobulated,

The disheartened,

The broken,

The most fragile,

Most sensitive,

Most open,

Most vulnerable,

Most hurt, bruised, damaged,

On the way to restorative healing, Rana.

I love you so.

Don't just read it or hear it,

Feel it in your very damaged bones,

Feel it in the achy cracks of your joints,

Feel it in your utterly inflamed tissues,

Feel it in your broken down nervous system,

Feel it in your inflamed heart,

Feel it in your inflamed brain,

Feel it in all of your organs.

Let it do its job,

Step out of the way,

Just you let it.

It's done,

Amen.

Thank you,

Thank you.

The essence

The mornings have a special taste of freedom. 

They're wild, free, and very rebellious.

They don't bend, they're inflexible. 

Though the days and nights are polluted,

Morning air is always fresh.

When they attempt to break your soul, it's the hardest for them to achieve in the mornings.

Morning sun supports in putting up the fight.

Mornings are real, raw, and very sharp.

You can't mess with the mornings, they mean business.

I'm not hyped about sunsets like most people are, nor do I chase them.

Give me an eternity of sunrises and I'll be as happy as can be. 

When leaving this earth plane and when asked about the best it offered, my answer would be:

Newborn babies, thunderstorms, cold showers, my father's hands, and sunrises...

I'm sitting in my summertime sunrise spot this morning on the terrace, I captured it with a picture. It won't be long before it disappears behind the building. By then, like every autumn and spring, it shines through the opening in the wall facing my front door. I sometimes open the door to let it shine through, but often times, I like to capture its light through the door's peep hole. 

Though we want to consume that which and whom we love completely, it isn't necessary. A fraction of the whole suffices. The rising of the day, a moment in the rising, a bit of sunshine, one casual picture, few moments of contemplation, few long and deep breaths, one heartfelt prayer, one truthful wish, one good-intented action, only one real human being, one heart warming memory!...

Essence is all that's left and kept after each chapter passes. And isn't this whole existence but a mere chapter unfolding and soon to be over so we can turn the page, and write its summary!? 

The curvature

I am frequently asked, and I'm sometimes wondering myself, why is it that I am kept stuck in stagnation ~ freeze mode ~ when that heavy weight that almost broke my back and I've been carrying for nearly two decades is there no more. 

One answer can be like this one that came to me today: that curve in my back, the pains and stiffness in my bones, joints, and muscles, the closing off of my chest, heart, neck, and voice, have all been going for so long that simply straightening up won't just do. 

My body isn't recognizing that the weight isn't there anymore to carry, and my mind isn't registering the change. As to my heart, well that's too long a story for now.

Another answer is this: when the cancer that has grown so big inside the body causing so much pain for so long has been removed, the pain isn't simply taken away with it. The body still aches where the growth once was, it takes a very long time for it to adjust and to start healing, if at all it does.

When a prisoner is released from his prison, freedom doesn't necessarily register as that in the prisoner's system, and often times, the prisoner fails at adjusting to life outside of his cell.

What I have wrongly considered for so long liberation was my imprisonment, and what I thought of as entrapment was freedom itself. 

This healing the mind and attending to the heart thing keeps going, and in fairness, I don't think there is a near end to it, though the soul is longing for release.

In the meantime, I'm learning still to communicate with my body, try to tell it things, try to listen to what it's telling me too, for I had abused it quite a bit as I prioritized other beings, other things.

Another thought was this: if I consider my body a separate entity from me, then perhaps I'm able to start recognizing its own limits, and both our boundaries (it and I), and respecting them. By so doing, starting to honour it, attending to its needs, and putting it first. 

Just another thought, there is no one answer. 

Time will tell, 

and hopefully it heals!?...

(that too is perhaps just another thought)

Packaged goods

A dying bee is going in circles on the floor of the balcony. There's water here and there from the watered plants, she makes sure she avoids it.

There's a cool breeze at sunrise this morning, moon is again setting behind me, though a bit higher up today.

I cried a lot last night, there was so much physical pain, in addition to everything else. All of my back hurted badly ~ and then there were the dreams and nightmares. As though the hardened hearts of those who mattered the most was felt in my very stiff bones and joints. Ah now, that's a revelation! I remember the specific days when the chronic pains of now started in the past. Which body parts, what events, what feelings, what thoughts, what actions.

The body keeps the score indeed, and when I chose to avoid processing things, it brings me back to the moments. There is no escaping the work.

I'm just so very fatigued.

The dying bee is like a toddler playing, I must let it do its thing without interfering, while watching from a close distance. I might be of assistance, but mostly I should just let it do its thing. One is figuring out a way out. The other is figuring out a way in. 

We all run in circles, those of us in the middle of figuring out and being figured out run in circles from pain, almost hallucinatingly excruciating pains.

We follow the sun, we follow the moon, we hope for clues, we aim for cues, we almost always miss the point. We confuse the acts with states, and are often held up by status. Misleading roles and rules and contributions, deeds and dues, actions and prayers, places and spaces.

When I say we I mean they, really.

The assigned roles are only just the packaging, the gift is in the content. The content is the essence, the essence is the core, the core is the Love. There are no tricks, it's that dumbfoundingly simple. 

Still, they seem to be often fooled, tricked without there being any trickery. 

Just remove the package, you fools, enjoy the real gift! 

Or else, keep running in circles...

 

To yin and to yang

The moon is setting behind me, the sun is rising in front of me. The cycles too are entrapment. 

I made myself a hot chocolate drink, I used my special recipe, with muscovado sugar, butter, lavender, and cinnamon.

I am tired beyond words. My body, my mind, my senses. I need gentlness, I need kindness. Heart could do with tenderness and soft things. Soft gestures, soft words, soft touches.

I pushed myself hard this week, today I aim to rest. I create space for receiving, for slowing down. Today I try to take a break from the crying and all other rituals and routines. Today I embrace a chance for companionship and some brief togetherneess. 

My cup is so full, it needs only sharing. In the act of pouring over, my heart gets mended a little bit more every time. To give is to receive. Who's in need, who's deserving, who's asking. To ask for love is to be love is to be transformed by love.

I wake up before the sun and wait for it to rise. I celebrate it and it celebrates me. I take in the brief quiet moments as the city wakes up to its daily turmoil and chaos.  

I'm a woman waiting for my man, achingly. The sun is salve, it acts as my lover, briefly. It shines its light and warmth upon my body and being, and I shine back my light to the world. I birth little hopeful thoughts, and I take little thoughtful actions. 

Breaking through the entrapment with a classic dance of masculine and feminine, both outside of me, and inside of me, with the other, and in my hermitage and solitude.

The scent of my buddy is left on me, I smell it on my hair and my skin, it's mixed in with my own, a classical dance indeed. 

Here comes another day, another season, another year. Shut your heart open where it's due, then open yourself up again, wide and wild...

Let God in.

Soul-stice

I call on God, God calls back on me.

I say ya Rab... 

God says ya Rana!

Prayer is different now, so is everything else.

The dreams ought to have stopped, but they haven't.

I saw them all this week; all the men and women who've hurt me badly, at it again, in those recurrent dreams.

Same scenarios, same let downs, same trickery. Bigger pains, more tears, various ghosts of trauma manifest.

My mother back from death only to be much more active, lively, loving, and passionate, so that when she dies in the dream, it hurts 10 folds more. As though reality wasn't harsh enough, I re-live it in the dream with much more intensity. That particular dream kept me crying for hours on end since the moment I opened my eyes from it, few days ago.

I now have my crying routines, mornings at sunrise and evenings after sunsets. I'm on the terrace during those hours, doing my contemplation, listening to my music and tunes, giving myself the time and space to feel. 

When I'm not, I'm usually pushing myself to be more productive and much more creative. I work on schedule now, like the olden days. The fact that I'm still not generating money is irrelevant here, I have to love myself again, and it starts with commitment. This is here is my most essential commitment and to myself. Cash will flow, eventually, hopefully!?

I don't have control over the atrocities happening in the world on a daily basis, or the ones happening to me or under my noise, but I do have total power over my waking up every single morning and starting my day at 5:00 sharp, also the number of hours I put in on my workbench, and the number of projects I finish daily. And so that is a exactly what I now do.

I have a new cuddle buddy, he resembles my imaginary person. First time we cuddled, he did all the right moves and things. Needless to say, it's a soul connection. I only ever do those these days anyway, where there is flow, recognition, and appreciation. He's big and broad, and very warm, strong and soft, and very harmonious with my nervous system. Who got time or you energy for anything else anymore!?!

It's an intense week, summer solstice, cancer season starting, full moon in Capricorn, and other mad things all around. To say I need comfort would be an understatement. 

I painted my nails grey this morning, it used to be my favourite colour in high school when I was 18. 

I'm riding this new wave of summer madness while holding on so tight to my sanity helmet.

And I pray...

For financial security,

For safety,

To keep my dignity,

To gain more strength,

To revive all old powers,

And for grace.

A Rana (sun) song

Dreams

There's a sense of an ending in the air...

I keep seeing father in the dream lately.

Last night's dream felt like a wrap up of this madness, an ending of a sort, a feeling of packing and leaving.

A sense of homecoming,

of Home...