Lost and found

I brought the netbook outside, there aren't many days left where I could sit on the balcony and work or write away. The cold is late, meaning it will hit hard once it's here. 

This is turning to be a dry Autumn, but I am enjoying every bit of it all the same. When the rain is here eventually, I will be ready, like I always am for rain, any time of the year.

The year is drawing to an end soon, I have thought about the blog so many times, and I think with the year ending, I would have had finished a full cycle. I am most probably going to stop blogging after that, and will return to the notebook and pen. 

So much was healed this year, most of what matters the most was kept outside the blog, but I'm itching again and again to pour my heart out on paper.

Perhaps I will manage to start one of the many book projects I had in mind all those years back, or maybe I will be able to journal regularly, and methodically. 

I have found a solution for my anxiety, my mind is not racing anymore, I am able to process thoughts and emotions at a slower pace, without adding extra pressure or feel more pain. 

My 40 didn't come out at all the way I had hoped or figured it would be, but I in lots of ways, I am happy I've put a nice and neat ending to a lot of lose ends. 

The priorities have shifted and keep shifting, perceptions too.

 I'm only just grateful to be so blessed, with everything lost, and everything gained, along the way... 

Beyond

It is safe to say that I am depressed.
In fact, it's a little beyond and more than just a depression.
Oftentimes, I keep myself sane by focusing on my own little things, inside my own little world, inside the bubble. Most of the times too, especially lately, the bubble is being busted, by the harsh reality of doing the living inside the Lebanon. 
I caught myself off guard today, feeling rather victorious, having checked the prices of things on different apps and web pages, and comparing them to the convenience store nearby. I ended up doing a mix of all, saving myself a good few Lebanese pounds on my grocery shopping.
Not only has the life quality of late deteriorated, and drastically so, but also my surviving skills has escalated to be the new center of my existence. I realized today too, that not only do I feel victorious and proud after smart planning and execution of my house keeping, house management and economics, but that I have become obsessive, impulsive, and developed anxiety too. 
I can't deny that the hard, rather peculiar, life that I lead up until the moment before the eruption of 2020 has helped me develop good survival skills, become very resilient, and be an extremely patient person, all of which has truly helped - and is helping, in carrying on steady, and with miraculous hope in these days. However, I am starting to worry for myself, for I'm dwindling away, ever so slowly, on the inside. 
My mind isn't as sharp anymore, I'm unable to process emotions and feelings properly either, my body is thankfully holding up still, but I'm getting new chronic pains, and the old ones keep reappearing. 
I'm aware that I need to keep carrying on for some time longer, for this is only just the beginning, but I must change something, or else, I must have someone help me. Help isn't help, help is presence, and presence is nonexistent!
If I had any hope in finding a partner before this wild storm, it is now gone for sure, for people are, unforunately, especially the people of this country, more than ever before, totally lost, shallow, empty, seeking instant gratification in their very breath, escaping their very shadows, creating worlds of illusions, delusional, and disheartened. 
Alas these are very gloomy days, and this post is but a mere diary entry. 
When is this going to end, slow down, or speed up, nobody knows.
One thing for sure is, 
and I've said it oh so many times in here it tires me to even think about it, but...
I'm exhausted!

Humdrum

This morning smells of unfulfilled dreams and broken promises. 
It smells of burned sage and lavender leaves, also the mix of burned cookies and popcorn from the night before. 
There's darkness creeping up on my heart, eating me away, I am sad and disappointed, and frustrated at my very disappointment.
I'm grieving my unborn children this morning, I could almost see their faces. 
There's darkness that's pulling me down, I must stay alone, to preserve my light, to stay in the light, to serve the light. 
There are pains and untreated, unhealed traumas that people carry around them wherever they go, mostly the back, mostly the torso, mostly the heart, mostly the shoulders, the hips too. 
I am scared for myself, I am worried for the people, I used to have hope, it's dwindling away... 
I'm in between different worlds and several separate realities, autumn has proven to be of most importance this way, it pulls me up, takes me away, and throws me somewhere new... 
I'm learning and discovering and exploring new realms. 
My anxiety and concern keeps raising, I can't even remember what safety feels like.  
Autonomy seems to be key, just like now, just like before, just like when I was a child, just like when I was bearing or raising a child, just like when I was anticipating bearing a child. 

The house smells of broken promises and sad, aching hearts. Also of newly put out carpets and rugs. The full moon is upon us, but who cares what a mere plasma does or reflects. Our entire reality seems to be a constant reflection and projection of our inner worlds, which is shaped by pain and more disappointments. 

To be love, to do love is already a forgotten thing, what remains is the aftermath of battles beaten hearts, that beat randomly, messily, and a breath that could hardly make it through the lungs, let alone, out.

Compartmentalisation

With the change of seasons, the end of cycles, certain truths are usually revealed. 
I lived my whole life distrusting my hunch, confusing it for projections, or subjective, pain filtered reality.
This is no longer the case, as new realms were very clearly and directly revealed to me this summer past. 
I was overcome with joy and sadness at it happening, a new level of trust relationship with myself was formed, and a big baggage of fake, distorted, and twisted old concepts was let go of.

The same happens on a micro level, with the passing of the days, after each night; at dawn, secrets are very clearly revealed. I have always been an early morning person, life seems to be much more fathomable to me when the world was asleep and quiet. I could better connect with the idea of our existence, and make sense of my own.

The hustle and bustle of life, the people, all the actions, the noise, seems to be very confusing and distorting to me, as nothing of it ever made sense. The talking and the indoctrination and the philosophies seems to always be missing the essence of life, in the way I see it.

This blog is an attempt to connect with so many of which I have lived my whole life blocking out. Realities within realities, drawing a picture of the complexity of being a human, a woman, and a mother, at this time and age. 

My morning writing ritual was supposed to help me unblock and unlock a lot of my own resistance, a life long of avoiding processing trauma, dissecting pain, and applying understanding to it. 

Every time I fail to convey what I wish to say, think or achieve, mentally and with words, like now, and most other blog posts, especially the ones non written, I come face to face with the realization that I'm still far behind restoring my default setting. 

I can't remember the last time my mind was sharp and straight, though heart is always on point. 

I wish to connect with the words again, and perhaps in ways I've never used before, in order to convey what's inside my head, and to help my head compartmentalise what's outside of it.

Your abundant heart

I watched you sleep quietly. 

If there is a face for my prayer, your sleeping face was it.

You are the prayer, the answer too. 

A gift, a message, a blessing.

I listened to your faint breathing.

Why aren't you breathing deeply, why aren't you breathing loudly, why so quiet?

Take up space! Fill up your lungs with life. Soar... 

Your eyes twitched a hundred times, you smiled too.

My heart smiled with you. 

I thought I couldn't love you more in your usual full chatter mode, and then came your sleep and still mode. I melted a little.

A promise to myself to get a little bit less poetic, as soon as the novelty of learning about your existence has faded away. 

In the meantime, I prepared my achy heart to fathom the richness of your being.  

Show me more, I can take you, all of you. 

Show my heart a matching abundance.

I thought I was alone...

and then came you.

May you have the most deepest, most peaceful of sleeps. May the most soothing and heart filling dreams visit your mind. May your soul know limitless joy, in your sleep, or waking. 

Bird poop

The rain is here, it stayed, so did birdie. It flew away in the morning, making flapping sounds which woke me up. 

The floor where it stayed is covered by poop, I'm used to cleaning that up at this stage. It feels both weird and nice to have these visitors. 

The rain is here, it stayed, making my chest expand with so much joy and gratitude. 

The rain is cleaning and cleansing, another harsh summer is behind us, a new passage, a new chapter, and beautiful clouds enclosing me, for repair. 

The rain is here, it's staying, for a good while. 

I will rejoice. 

 

Petrichor

It rained for the second time few hours ago. More rain poured down this time around, and for a longer period. It was oh so beautiful, and the smell, heavenly!

A new bird lays on the balcony again, he / she came a couple of hours before the rain. It's resting in the corner of the balcony floor now, the angle opposite where I sleep. I have the curtains wide open, and the window ajar. The clouds are nice and bright, thanks to the full moon. The air is fresh and clean. I will give in to sleep soon, I hope the bird enjoys the view. 

September is bitter sweet... 

The aftermath

I swat profusely last night. Odd, very odd, especially considering the weather drastically changing. 
I haven't had a good night sleep in so long, napping is proving to be tricky too. Everything is messing up with my mind, disrupting my inner clock, compass too. 

There's a cricket on the balcony on his back, he's dying. I've had good few of those lately, and I get excited over the idea of keeping them to use later on in art projects, but they seem to always disappear. I'm assuming the birds are eating them. 

We've had many birds visiting lately too, at one point, a bird stayed throughout the night, till the morning. The floor was covered with bird poop. I tried to read into it, I got different clashing inputs from different friends. The same with the praying mantis last year, it stayed on our balcony for more than a weak. 

Summer is officially over, the morning air is so fresh and beautiful, the crickets slowing down on their singing activity is leaving room for the birds songs to be heard again. 

The sun doesn't shine fully through my room anymore, it covers a little part of my bed in the morning, soon enough it will be out of sight totally.

I'm so grateful and thankful I made it through summer, now however, the aftermath. 

My nervous system is out of whack.

I need resting. 

I'm ready for the rain. 

Full circle

When I focus long enough, I could almost see you. You're sitting on a chair on the balcony, your back to the mountain, you're facing me. You're looking at me lying on my floor bed, you see it all, my pain and the bruises.

I could almost see you now, father, and I feel your stare, and I'm hearing your silence.

How fortunate have I been to come from you, to be like you, to long for you. What blessing, what bliss. 

I'll bare this new pain courageously, it's enough for me if only you know, if only you see.

I miss your very heart, your mind, and your hands. Oh how just how I miss your hands.

I'll cry myself to sleep tonight. I'll hum a little tune, will recall your scent, your face, and the touch of your most warmest, most safest, most generous hands, and will drift to sleep.

Carry me in the dream please, I need your strength tonight, if only just for a brief moment.

Weaning

The hardest thing to write today would be the truest. 
Heart is oh so heavy, though it rained. 
14th September, first rain, and a new cat. 
New and old pain, new and old ways, new and old realizations. 

The truest thing to write  today would be that I am shattered.
I need comfort and warmth and thoughtful gestures and loving actions, and the realest and most genuine of intentions, and the most honest of words, and meaningful wordings.

Heart feels like a soft dough that went off, having expanded but now shrinking.

The truest thing to write today would be that I miss you, and the losing myself in you, and the harm too.

This is how damaged I am, I miss you, and I learn how to let you go of my world, a little bit more with every new day. 

You used to be sun and moon and all the seasons, and now I pray for the seasons to wean me off you, and heal me from you. 

Fade in

Count the blessings, remember. 
Walk the talk, listen. 
Fade out, then come again. 

Birth,
nurture,
give,
surrender. 

Surrender, 
surrender. 

Open the door,
Let the sun shine through that cracked window,
do not fear. 

He is Sun, and moon, 
Earth and sky,
life and death,
the reason, the seen, 

and the unseen. 

Cry, if you must, 
but no more bleeding.

Stop,
the scar will heal,
He will heal it for you,
Just like He does your aching heart, 
just like He did,
all those many times before.

Remember,
you as a child,
you as a baby, 
you as an embryo,
remember, you were never alone, 
just remember.

He's there, 
now too,
Him and his, 
remember,
surrender. 

It's OK to cry,
weep if you must,
but...

Surrender,
to the pain.

Accept the healing, 
receive. 

He's salve and salvation.

Just breathe.

You...

There's loving you,

and then there's the longing, the waiting to be with you. 

I love the very longing, though it pains me. 

Your face when I see you... 

I love the very waiting to see your face. 

The anticipation thrills me with joy and sadness. 

But there's always your face, makes me remember and forget oh so many things. 

How could you possibly be so unique this way, and all the other ways.

I love the very resisting of you too... 

Everything in between

Today I don't want to write the words, I need for the words to write me. 

I'm fluid and soft and sweet, I'm tender and flowing. 

Today I wish to surrender to the misty morning breeze. 

The clouds are pretty, they promise of Autumn. 

I need pretty, and clouds. I could do with fulfilled promises. 

Today I'm warm and nice, today it's warm and nice, and flowing... 

I'm earth and land and sweet little things. 

I'm colors and textures and flavors. 

Today I am mother, and child. 

Today I am gestation,

and embryo. 

Today I am life, and death, and everything in between. 

Today I am manifestation, 

and the dream. 

The light, and the tunnel

The anniversary of our last move was two days ago. On the 28th August 2020 I moved with Yasmina to our current apartment. It has been a healing home for us, I am grateful for all that lead me to being here, at this time and space. 

We didn't celebrate, a cake usually would be the staple thing to get for such occasions. Though we seldom need an occasion really for cake, cake is life! However, I have been cleansing on the inside too, which meant eating much cleaner, and refraining from emotional / binge / comfort eating. When I get the cravings these days, I turn to healthier foods and ingredients. It almost feels bad how luxurious this is now, as prices of things have skyrocketed lately, and keep on doing so exponentially. Nothing makes sense in this country anymore. Still...

The price of my self sabotaging has been quite high, and drained me for so long. I find myself once again face to face with harsh realities, re-evaluating things, concepts, people, lessons, results. I'm at peace with where I am now, even though it could be temporary, even though it could be a passing phase...

Another stage of cleansing has been purging, removing Chris even more from my system. I managed to throw away jewelry pieces, documents, files, letters, recordings, writings, and much more that I simply could not have parted with before - nor thought was ever needed. Clinging to last bits of memories, feel good trinkets, and bitter sweet sounds.

I am grateful for all that has lead me to here and now, and for that misty morning breeze that promises of colder days, and cleansing rain. Two days away from September? Heart is already joyful! 

There are still mornings when I open my bedroom door and look at the floor and imagine how things would've been if cat was here; the excitement for the morning sun, the balcony, the birds, the privilege of access to the forbidden corners, the morning cuddles, the kneading, the purring. I'm convinced the thinking of cat is much more rewarding and hassle-free than cat herself. Life is strange, and beautiful in its own way. 

I'm trying to no avail recalling how the first morning after our move felt like, people, events, details are missing from my memory, save from one very striking incident, on the second night of being here. It was a heartbreak, a new one, of a new kind too, by a friend, a close one. Did it really take me a whole year to finally come to terms with how to truly treat mistreatments, judge misjudgments, stop, refuse, reject, return to sender intentional harm? 

Yes, and it could have taken me much longer too, and I could have (might have still) lead a rather naiive existence, believing like an innocent little child that love would prevail in the end always. 

If this year has taught me anything, it would be to the lesson of never losing touch with the reality of people, which is very different than mine. Never forget that good and evil, which concept I was never truly accepting of, is indeed embedded in everything humans see, touch, say and do.  

I remain to lead a life that stems, and root for, the light, but now I know to be wary of the dark, for it has consumed so many people, and what's worse yet, is that they have forgotten about it even happening at the first place. 

"If you want to change the world . . . love a woman — really love her.

Find the one who calls to your soul, who doesn’t make sense.

Throw away your check list and put your ear to her heart and listen.

Hear the names, the prayers, the songs of every living thing —

every winged one, every furry and scaled one,

every underground and underwater one, every green and flowering one,

every not yet born and dying one . . . 

Hear their melancholy praises back to the One who gave them life.

If you haven’t heard your own name yet, you haven’t listened long enough.

If your eyes aren’t filled with tears, if you aren’t bowing at her feet,

you haven’t ever grieved having almost lost her.

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman — one woman

beyond yourself, beyond desire and reason,

beyond your male preferences for youth, beauty and variety

and all your superficial concepts of freedom.

We have given ourselves so many choices

we have forgotten that true liberation

comes from standing in the middle of the soul’s fire

and burning through our resistance to Love.

There is only one Goddess.

Look into Her eyes and see-really see

if she is the one to bring the axe to your head.

If not, walk away. Right now.

Don’t waste time “trying.”

Know that your decision has nothing to do with her

because ultimately it’s not with who,

but when we choose to surrender.

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman.

Love her for life — beyond your fear of death,

beyond your fear of being manipulated

by the Mother inside your head.

Don’t tell her you’re willing to die for her.

Say you’re willing to LIVE with her,

plant trees with her and watch them grow.

Be her hero by telling her how beautiful she is in her vulnerable majesty,

by helping her to remember every day that she IS Goddess

through your adoration and devotion.

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman

in all her faces, through all her seasons

and she will heal you of your double-mindedness and half-heartedness

which keeps your Spirit and body separate — which keeps you alone and always looking outside your Self for something to make your life worth living.

There will always be another woman.

Soon the new shiny one will become the old dull one

and you’ll grow restless again, trading in women like cars,

trading in the Goddess for the latest object of your desire.

Man doesn’t need any more choices.

What man needs is Woman, the Way of the Feminine,

of Patience and Compassion, non-seeking, non-doing,

of breathing in one place and sinking deep intertwining roots

strong enough to hold the Earth together

while she shakes off the cement and steel from her skin.

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman — just one woman.

Love and protect her as if she is the last holy vessel.

Love her through her fear of abandonment

which she has been holding for all of humanity.

No, the wound is not hers to heal alone.

No, she is not weak in her codependence.

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman

all the way through

until she believes you,

until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion,

her wildness have returned to her — until she is a force of love more powerful

than all the political media demons who seek to devalue and destroy her.

If you want to change the world,

lay down your causes, your guns and protest signs.

Lay down your inner war, your righteous anger

and love a woman . . . 

beyond all of your striving for greatness,

beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment.

The holy grail stands before you

if you would only take her in your arms

and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy.

What if peace is a dream which can only be re-membered

through the heart of Woman?

What if a man’s love for Woman, the Way of the Feminine

is the key to opening Her heart?

If you want to change the world . . . love a woman

to the depths of your shadow,

to the highest reaches of your Being,

back to the Garden where you first met her,

to the gateway of the rainbow realm

where you walk through together as Light as One,

to the point of no return,

to the ends and the beginning of a new Earth."

 ~ Lisa Citore. 

Scared, saddened

Another day on this cursed land, my heart is heavy with so much pain for the people. A tragedy after the other, a roller-coaster of bad events that doesn't seem to be slowing down any time soon.

This is the land of no man, because men would've stopped this madness, men would've stood up for themselves and the weak, mean would've fought for the vulnerable, and spoke up!

Light has forsaken this patch of earth. Evil in many different forms and shapes keeps creeping up on the people.

It's a country that has forgotten what it means and entails to be human!

I'm scared and saddened, and preparing myself for the worst that is yet to come. 

A curse

Our country is drowning and fading into total darkness, while our men watch, silent, idly.

I'm forced to remember similar days around the wars and afterwardw, and I can't help but to remember father's composure, resilience, actions... Mostly his actions, during the war. What a man, a hero, a legacy. I was young and naive, grew up thinking men are like that... In a sense, I'm glad he's not around to see these jokes of men, tearing our country apart. 

I could never fathom when and how it started, this stagnation sickness, creeping up on our people, eating their souls away. Their hearts are cold and hard, their minds vacant...

What nightmare is this, what days, what times!

What a hell of a cursed land this is. 

Melting

Could you hold my face between your hands? I wish to bury my head in your lap. Please play with my wet hair, its a hard week, I need to cry.

Would you hold my hand, maybe squeeze a little? In fact, why don't you place both hands on my face, I need soothing, and warmth.

Please whisper to me nice little things, like the dreams I see you in, and the hopes of childhood, and my father's face.

Would you feed me please? I'm hungry, I need nourishing, and nurturing. Not the emotional kind of eating, but the one where you carefully and lovingly cook nature into a hearty meal, I need to eat your energy, your intention, your love. 

Please, please forgive my emotional state, I'm weak today, it's a hard week, but autumn is near, I promise to flourish again. 

I long for the light rain sounds, and your breathing. 

Can we go to bed soon? I need the sound of your snoring, like a baby needs a lullaby. 

Can you crush me inside your chest please? I've been too big for too long, make me small and little again, I miss us. 

I love us. You found me. What were the chances?! 

I'm hallucinating, maybe I have a fever, or maybe that's just the heat. 

Love me in August please, it's when I need it the most. 

Promise to make it up to you in the winter days, I turn 41... I still feel like I'm 1. 

Hold me and never let me go, for now, for a little, for as much as it's comfortable. 

i love You. 

Full sun

Daughter doesn't like it when I use the term "full sun". She's adament it's only ever just full moon, there is no such a thing as full sun. I explain to her in vain what it means to me when I use such expressions, and that we can use words and combinations of them to express anything at all. Language and communicating my thoughts, feelings and ideas are crucial to me, but the world doesn't care much about them, or me. 

I keep leading a very intense existence through this 2021, without being able to commit to posting daily like I said I would back in January, and boy do I miss the high spirits of that time of the year! 

These days, full sun is having its toll on me. It feels as though my mind is melting in the heat, but what concerns me the most, is my heart. Heart keeps expanding wanting to explode with love and everything grace and empathy and compassion and care, all year round, year in, year out. This crazy little thing in the center of my body is pulling all the threads in my life, dictating how naive I come across to some, good-hearted to others, soft and easy to some, and mere crazy to others. It is indeed crazy to lead a life with such fire within, continuously burning, warming, igniting, only just to go to waste. 

The most truest thing to say today would be that I feel as though my whole existence is going to waste. This is the very reason of my feeling depleted, depressed, saddened, angry. I have been feeling like this most of my life, often times confusing it for some sort of chemicals imbalance in my system! The imbalance is coming from the extremes, being too warm / hot, in an environment that is way too cold. 

I met with few different people recently, I made new friendship, let's see how long it would last before all pretenses come down. I met with old friends too, they drain my very soul, but what can I do but try and be out in the world once in a while, for fear of losing my mind totally. 

The most sweetest are the starved ones, they put effort, they show emotions, they reveal their truest thoughts, they share their ideal scenarios, dreams, intentions, and their hopes. If it comes with pride, it's even more luscious; the opening up is tasty, the resisting is alluring and enticing. Don't I know this type the most? Aren't I one? A pride starved mama bear alpha wolf woman damsel in distress? 

I'm holding my heart and carrying it through these most intense summer days, I'm praying for pain free nights, I'm counting the days for autumn, I'm longing for winter, I will come a full circle soon, and I hope I would have salvaged some dignity this time around, breaking a vicious circle, I broke a good few this year so far, more about that in another post. 

Matters of the heart / break the spell

I was born with a hole in my heart. 
I had jaundice at birth.
As an infant, I was admitted to the hospital frequently.
As a child, I had problems with the valves, and I ended up seeing doctors frequently, being in hospitals almost regularly, often poked around for all sorts of tests, having needles and whatnot injected in my system.

At the start of each scholar year, I would hand in a report from the doctor to school stating that I can not participate in any physical education activity. 
There was a period in my life where I had to go to a nurse living in the neighborhood, to get my regular injections. My mother wouldn't give it to me herself, although she worked as a nurse at one point in her life and she's well capable of doing it. I can't begin to explain just how painful all of this has been, on a soul level, but I accepted it all gracefully. She is mother, and I loved her. 

I would faint at stressful events, stressful events often meant a crowd of people... I remember my older brother frequently being the one jumping in to take me to the doctor or hospital.
When I turned nine years old, echo scanning came to the picture, it was bad. I had been so used to the heart tests by then, but the echo meant they applied a very thick gel to my bare chest, and I have started to become so shy and conscious of my growing body. And then there was this hard hand held tool, pressing it against my chest, sliding it too through the gel, so that they could see the heart state on the screen. It was very uncomfortable and invasive. I used to cringe, feel violated, and needed prolonged hours of comfort. In my head, it was a game we were all playing. That was not what was needed truly, for my heart to settle, but I played along, what else was there to do, I was only a child.

My heart was fine really, I could feel it overflowing with love, it was just not the case with the world, and I became lost. Abundance seemed to be illness, and scarcity normal. 

I learned how to shift the sail on this journey, soon after 
My first husband's name means "heart", he's the most heartless person I have ever encountered. 
Life is funny this way.

So much so, that when a supposedly very dear friend replied to one of my statements regarding a very important topic to me with "matters of the heart are luxury", I knew this was another joke of life. Him from all the people knows just how much I'm made from love, how that making has made me go through everything I went through. He was an eye witness to how someone can suffer from loving too much...

Matters of the heart are essential. 

Love is essential.

(to be continued...) 

Trojan horse

The truest thing to write today would be the saddest. 
Must I resist the sadness still, after a lifetime of grief?
It was born with me, or I with it, and the unfolding of life's miseries, tragedies and "misfortunes" are but a mere icing on top. 
My most purest essence feels orphaned, long before I lost my parents, very short after I was birthed. People come in and out of my life, and sometimes I am more diligent in fine tuning my choices and going through my keeps than others. Sometimes people are treasures, and other times Trojan horses. 
In order to remember my essence, I had to forgo doing all I have been doing in my lifetime as an adult. I am a pure being, with less resisting, and more openness to the flow, I allow everyone and I everything to just happen and exist, and I pick and choose what I allow close to me, and I go where I'm naturally pulled. 
An orphan, though smart and diligent, is prone to being manipulated. An orphan does not have a backbone, a safety net, a support system and so be default is a very vulnerable target, and niche. 

The truest thing to say today would be that I was never loved truly. The pain that I have always felt towards people parting was the non existent interest in homing me, in me, with me, instead finding solace for their many pains, imperfections, scarcity, lack of... whatever they lack of. And that perhaps the attraction was always one of interest, of what could be gained, and doesn't my looks show it? the openness, the extra weight, the softness. People started to call me cute lately, what the hell is happening? Me is not cute, me is hardy and serious and solid, but perhaps being too tired after this rollercoster of the last 3 years, is starting to give me away. Cute is appealing, cute is dangerous, very dangerous, but what's more dangerous, is just how clear it gives people away too, using it. 

The truest thing to say today would be that I carry my home with me wherever I am, it is a heart filled existence and it eminates warmth and is inviting, and though I housed a lot in it, I am now beyond tired, for this house needs cleaning and cleansing, and there is pain in an empty house, because of many things, but maybe only just solely, simply because, I was just born this way. 

The saddest thing to say today is that I am ready to leave life, should a destined accident happen, a failure in body organs, or a mere coinsidence, and the saddest thing to write better yet, is that chances are I would be burried by the very people I lived my life avoiding, for lack of authenticity and honor. Only one thing remains solid to sum up my existence up till now, the love I have for my father, and him for me, and I miss the life when he was around, though he would leave me lead my own life, his mere presence worked as an achor, and ever since he left, I seem to be floating, and often times drowning. 

I need a big gasp of air, and proper rest. 

The truest thing to write today would be that I am lost, and though I am sometimes found, I lose myself in the very finding, for I do not know how to lead a life feeling contained, safe. The saddest thing is that the truth is ugly, cold and bare, and that people don't care for people, nor know the love language, or its essence, purpose, and ways. 

A lost, starved orphan is dangerous to him/herself.
I feel danger, 
I must escape, 
but I am beyond tired, and a hard, weighty pull towards the bottom may feel like an anchor, and I could stay a little longer in this delusion that resembles safety, that reminds of me of Him, and the warmth and the belonging. 

The truest and saddest thing to write today is: Papi, I miss you, I am lost. 

To write again, truly

The aspect of me that connects with the man in my life is missing. Perhaps I need to integrate that part of myself again, connect with it, listen to it, get to know it all over again. There usually is softness, ease, flow, and I haven't been any of those in a really long while. I've met so many people in those almost 3 years since the separation with Chris, but I haven't been with a man I could match with, on a relationship level. It's being extremely hard to get myself to acknowledge certain truths, let alone talk about it, but I grew so tired from pretending, pushing, empowering, distracting myself, and getting sidetracked. Tired too from resisting the sun, the sun is good, so is the light, just like the truth. 

I took me a good few hours to get myself to write this post, and I hope I will keep it. It's about time I write in the way I need to exist; raw.

I'm unable to tell the reasons for my hesitation, all those months and years, but I sense fear. I must delve more into that soon, so that I can remove these obstacles and allow the flow.

I'm often embarrassed of feeling too much, it has always caused me troubles, but then again, avoiding living my truth has resulted in me being utterly and hopelessly numb. 

I will start to write more often, not necessarily regularly, but as often as I possibly can. I will write as open, as mundane, as eloquent, as deep, or shallow as I could, I will not apply any judgments anymore in how things should be expressed, how they come out, how they might be perceived. and I shan't worry myself with how I am being perceived. 

The essence here is to live my essence, everything else will just fall into place. 

I've wasted so much time already. 

In a typical Chris manner when he used to encourage me to do something that might sound or look reckless, which would be exactly what I needed to do: 

"Let's do this shit, baby!"

Ocean of Possibilities

 I discovered Estas Tonne, I'm hooked. 

Watching and listening to him play is doing beautiful things to my mind. 

My heart is aching though, my soul is troubled. 

Summers are always so very tiring... I'm exhausted, beyond words. 

I need a cocoon, comfort, blankets, and softies. 

I need soft everything, for a little while anyway. 

I've been everywhere, doing everything. I need to pause, but the sun won't let me, summer days and nights are extreme. I need a little break from extreme everything, including my very own existence!

You know what happens when your only way of being is through forced resilience, out of a survival mode strategy? You lose touch with what you truly like / want / need. I've forgotten how to be at rest with things, situations, myself. 

Though I'm not doing much today, my core is restless. My inner voice is screaming madly at me, it wants out, it wants to be seen, mirrored, touched. 

Today I am sad. Being a full time mother can be crippling, and running a business even more so, and being all those things for all so many people is oh so draining!

I need Estas Tonne, like my need for breath of fresh air, and the end of summer. 

A vast universe

I could write this entry in a hundred different ways. 

I could write about the person I have in mind, I could write about encounters, perceptions, experiences, insights. 

Better yet, I could write about potentials. 

I could write about crying, over the past. 

I could cry too, I often do. 

But I will not. 

This post is about everything that I can not write about. 

There has been a massive expansion inside my chest and being. I couldn't, even if I tried, to put that into words; my writing skills and vocabulary haven't expanded as much. 

For a long while now, there has been plenty of new little sprouts and growth inside my being, I wasn't able to catch up with the documenting of it. 

I'm holding a vast universe within me, it keeps expanding, and my heart can't help but to crumble, cry and surrender at the beauty of its very existence. 

Sometimes too I fear it exploding, or I. 

I wouldn't want for so much beauty to disappear, but I'm surrendering to the notion if it all coming back again, like the mysterious ways of this whole existence. 

I am crying now. 

I often cry. 

But this post isn't about me, nor my tears, nor my perception or experience. 

It is about that magic which has decided to visit and stay a while inside of my chest. 

A vast universe indeed. 

Damsel in distress, tomboy to hero

Were there to be men in my family, I would've long allowed myself to be a damsel in distress. In reality, I couldn't think of someone needing rescuing and looking after more than myself at this time. Not because of the outside situations, or the circumstances, but because of who I am and what my needs are at the core, despite the appearances. Behind this very solid figure hides a very delicate creature, who needs extremely deep connections, and consistent presence, to truly thrive. It is no news by now, I've been running on survival mode, for as far as I could remember... 

When you're at your saddest / lowest, the truth comes out of you, without any filters. As soon as you're back online, in the world of demons, the filters are back on; filters to see through, filters to speak through, such is a system! 

I've said gems in the last two months, but then again I've been saying the truth in so many different ways and forms throughout my entire life, with no acknowledgments, and mostly only rejections. 

When Jade, my drumming teacher and friend asked me after a class we had years ago, few months after knowing me, why do I always have to be a Hero, why don't I take it easy? I went quiet, in an untypical manner. I don't let questions or comments drop by me easily usually, most especially if directed towards me, most especially if addressed to me directly, I always have an answer. That particular time, I was still getting used to Jade and learning about him. Like me, he says it as it is, as he sees it - but as he wants it too - and I was processing his words still. At one hand, he seems to have understood me when I expressed myself in numerous occasions prior to that, a lot about my life was shared already and been acknowledged, on the other hand, he was judging my approach, belittling my struggle. I never got back to him about this one, he never said things in the same fashion again. He's a very smart and sharp person, one of the few very gifted people I know, though he's not always on point. 

Here's the answer, to myself if anything, since I have often repeated that question in my head since that day, especially anytime I was in doubt about my handling of this whole thing we call life. It's a very long winded answer, brace yourself.

Masculinity is energy. It isn't gender, nor is it concepts, big words, or ideas, and certainly not a title. When my body started to develop as a woman, I wanted to hide it. As a teenager, I turned myself into a Tom boy; the demeanors, the outfits, the walk, the talk. Most important of all though, embodying the masculine energy in spirit. I felt most safe, most at ease and truly myself within that space. 

My life in family up until then have been spent mostly between two groups. One group consisting of my father, eldest brother, and their friends and neighbours. In this group time was spent mostly in the workshop of my father and inside the shop, evenings hangouts at home, or outings. The second group consisted of my mother, sister, and their friends and neighbours, spent mostly at home, ours or theirs. I watched very closely the dynamics in other households too, namely my own close friends and neighbours. There was a stereotype for sure, and I didn't need to judge as such, but I realized simply, as a result of it all, that I'm most excited and happy inside the first group. 

Inside the workshop, it was always very busy, father working away with his hands, multitasking, giving away orders, supervising the work of others, coordinating with my brothers, checking progress, schedule etc. On less busy hours, when it was just my brother inside the workshop, we would be joined by his friends. The work would carry on efficiently, but with entertaining conversations going on on the side. Big ideas, local topics, the world and the news, hopes and ambitions, and plenty of jokes and laughs. Brother had a classy air to him, he spoke little, but anything that came out of his mouth was precise and neat. No talk for the sake of plainly talking. He was smart, brainy, and nerdy. I loved how work was only just part of who he was. He excelled outside of it too, with his big thoughts, opinions, taste in music and literature, hobbies, and quirks. I learned so much with him and through him. We often went on long walks after night shifts, to exercise and clear his head. Then there were those times when we would go out, I would join him with his friends inside his car, first trips to the movies, first long rides, old and new songs, old and new friends. They would every now and then address their talk to me to keep me engaged, but I was never bored of their grown up (safe) conversations. It was extremely stimulating to my mind, I understood and digested a lot early on. I felt safe with my brother not just because of all the action, but the inaction too. Those cosy evenings at home inside his little space, with his computers, discs, books, and collections of Reader's digest magazines. We would listen forever to music, I would learn so much about so many things through him. I was mostly at peace around him because he was a man who knew what he wanted, was firm about it, and unflexible with it. He was authentic in every sense of the word, and when with him, the present moment felt pleasant, and just enough. It's hard to remember nowadays similar moments of serenity around people, not even himself at this stage. But that's another story, for another time. 

Then there was my father, most exciting man I've ever known.

(to be continued...) 

Propagation

I discovered the world of plant propagation a while ago. Spring is a good time to plant, re-pot, and surely, propagate. I was busying myself potting a newly purchased Pothos plant few weeks ago, only to discover it was infested with some insects. I panicked not knowing whether it's a normal thing or not. In that very moment I cursed my mother. I remember saying in my head passages that would do for a blog post. "This week, I cursed you twice my mother. First time for never growing plants, and the second time for never showing me how to grown plants, let alone deal with such a plant growing problem as bug infestation. This blog post isn't about plants, or bugs. It's about a very deeply rooted issue, with the mother in my life, and my mother. More on that soon." And then I brushed the thought away. I googled the problem and it turned out to be a more or less common thing. I didn't read about the treating the problem part, hands were busy and dirty, I followed my instinct instead, cleared the plant totally from the old soil, took away all the bugs, and seperated it into several different parts. I divided it in two pots. I used a healthy new mix of soil, cleaned the leaves, watered it, and put it in a nice bright area. The next morning it looked very green and happy, and new baby leaves started to sprout very shortly after. 

More about propagating later, I'm feeling very dizzy and tired, nothing new these days. But I will post what the dictionary define propagation: 

"noun: propagation

1. 1.

   the breeding of specimens of a plant or animal by natural processes from the parent stock.

   "the propagation of plants by root cuttings"

   • reproduction by natural processes.

     "hunting regulations ensure the propagation of the species"
2. 2.

   the action of widely spreading and promoting an idea, theory, etc.

   "a life devoted to the propagation of the Catholic faith"
3. 3.

   transmission of motion, light, sound, etc. in a particular direction or through a medium.

   "the propagation of radio waves through space"

As for the Arabic translation, here goes: 

1. 1. نشر
2. 2. انتشار
3. 3. توالد
4. 4. تكاثر
5. 5. بث
6. 6. امتداد
7. 7. تفشي
8. 8. تناسل
9. 9. اتساع
10. 10. شيوع
11. 11. نماء

"Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give it back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.

Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

Don’t worry.

The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark."

~ Joy Harjo, For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet

Sobering up

On my left, the phone is open on my instagram account. I went all the way down to my very first post, dated 10th April 2018. It's a beautiful artistic, yet very simplistic photo of a small journal with a pen on top of it. In the background you could see the pastel wall color, the shade from the curtain above, and the burgundy couch. The caption says: "It was finally time I had my own personal Instagram account. I have been hiding behind the business and work and commitments and responsibilities. But I have now decided to love myself a little bit more. Time for writing." 

On my right, a big notebook is open on its first pages, a plan of my first book from the year 2016, and a long list of topics and contents. 

If everything I lived has lead me to this very moment where I'm reminded of how much I need to do this writing this, than I am grateful, and dare I say, happy. 

I haven't posted anything on my instagram since 24th May. I am usually active, not crazy active, but active. There's a 101 reasons for me wanting and needing to write, yet all I seem to be doing is distracting myself from it. There's pain and a well of things to dig and feel and think out, and through, when it comes to writing. This account and that post, as I remember very clearly, was made to mark a certain passage, an end and a start of a new cycle, where I return to my self expression existence. But what was writing from that? Worlds apart!

It occurred to me this morning just how badly addicted our humanity has become to the so called social media. Instagram hearting, Facebook liking, youtube subscribing (or disliking), tweeting and retweeting, the follows, the likes, the comments, the stories, the reels, the views, the stats, the exposure, the clicking, the instant gratifications, the quick and fast and easy everything, the "content creating"! And boy did I fall into it the trap myself! 

Such slavery! Whatever they change, whatever new features they add, or old features they remove, we adjust. We resist at the start, but sure we persist. Such wasted resilience! A whole generation of youngsters are growing with this as the sole medium for self expression. We need to be seen so badly that we have fallen into the trap of the illusion of it happening virtually. 

I'm glad I'm sobering up. Instant gratification was never my thing. I need depth, pacing, slow motion, and a lot of pausing too. I need to create with my words pictures, sounds and motion. I need to invite and welcome people into my inner world with the slow pacing of words, and the magic that process creates. I need to express a very intricate world that exists in my mind and soul, with intricate words, and the right pacing. 

Alone, barren

I don't recognize myself.

Too busy catching up with the tide. Mastering my survival mode skills. Keeping up with the price of things, with the changes. Excelling at avoiding exposure to news. Honing my single parenting skills. Singlehandendly dealing with everything that has to do with our living, surviving and thriving. Dealing with, facing and processing emotions, feelings, and thoughts. Healing from traumas, and I don't say healing lightly, nor trauma, not a little, not at all. 

I've been busy healing our feminine, empowering our masculine, doing work and study and art, doing us and relationships and connections. Doing floors and windows and chores and errands and cooking and making and eating. So much of it, very little nurturing.

I've been so busy that I've denied myself seeing, so busy and caught up with the living that I ignored my me under that skin. It's stretched a hundred times and I still use the fat to cope with this so called living. 

Daughter left to school a while ago. First time since ever. I am home alone, I can't feel my body from all the pains, aches from yesterday's walk, tummy still upset since the visit to the supermarket, low and dizzying energy everywhere I go, whomever I encounter. Extremely fiery energy inside caused by an adolescent who hasn't been living normally in the society for nearly two years. To say I'm tired, would be an understatement. 

I keep running in every direction. Because of I don't, who would, and isn't life made for the living? The doing? The being? 

I don't know how to sit still anymore. There are pains beyond pains, and I need nurturing.

Pacing

The seasons seem to be going way too fast than my system, heart and mind can adjust to. I needed a much longer winter, and spring is going by too fast, summer might stay a little, I don't mind, but Autumn, I can live in a perpetual Autumn season if I could. Now that would be a dream! 

Time is going too fast, either that, or I have started to slow down. The pacing is of utmost importance to me these days, in absolutely every aspect of life, in everything I do, I say, and everyrhing I am. Communicating too, there seems to be a constant rush in blabbering whatever is inside one's head.

At this age and stage in my life, I need pacing... Must add that to my tinder profile. 

Tinder, a whole post should be dedicated to that alone. What a fast, fast world we live in! 

The man in the dream

I saw him last night, it's the second time now. First time he was announcing what he was looking for, but I was physically far from him, and couldn't tell his exact words, nor was I able to let him see me. This time around, it was different. 

He's tall and broad, dark skinned, with big olive green eyes, soft features, deep voice. I stood in front of him, very close, and allowed him to speak. He told me of his plans, a cruise in the sea, an adventure. I got him to repeat his words, first time I felt lost in his eyes and couldn't focus on the content of his words. He did charm me, with his very soul.

The plan was a cruise around several countries, he repeated his words in exactly the same precision, calm, and pacing. The second option was "or just a short and brief cruise around the shore". It is this option that made me consider his offer, the first one felt too far fetched to me, considering my fears from the sea, and my dislike of sailing in the water. Also the fact that I wish to get to know him at my own pace, inside my own space. I was tempted though, his confidence and genuine desire for this journey could be felt in his very being, and mine as a result. The flexibility with the second choice made me feel his genuine desire, and maturity. 

I stood there not saying a word, not expressing myself, nor speaking my mind, but I made him feel my interest. I got closer to him, I was gazing straight into his eyes (his very soul), he wraps his arms around my waist and gently pulled me closer to him. He said "you have surprised me". I kept the gaze going, as I felt a magical rush of energy exchange between our beings, while I caressed gently the lobe of his right ear with the tips of my left fingers. I surprised myself too, but I didn't utter a word, the moment was too beautiful and rich for words.

The birds woke me up from my sleep, but the dream remained with me. I hope to see him again in another dream soon, it's been a while since I had those beautiful ones. 

As for writing, it has been a while too, but things need to be done outside of my expressing with words world.

I haven't stopped journaling though, I've been on a journey of my own, but nothing new there...

“Grandma, how do you cope with pain?”

“With your hands, honey. 

If you do it with your mind instead of relieving the pain, it toughens even harder.”

“With your hands grandma?”

“Yes, our hands are the antennae of our soul. 

If you move them; knitting, cooking, painting, playing or sinking them into the ground, you send care signs to the deepest part of you and your soul lights up because you’re paying attention to it. 

Then signs of pain will no longer be necessary.”

“Hands are really that important?”

“Yes my daughter. 

Think of babies: they start to know the world through the touch of their hands. 

If you look at the hands of old people, they tell you more about their life then any body part. 

Everything that is done by hand is said to be done with the heart. 

Because it’s really like this: hands and heart are connected. 

Masseurs know well: when they touch someone with their hands, they create a deep connection.

It is precisely from this connection that healing comes. Think of lovers: when they touch their hands, they make love in a more sublime way.”

“My hands grandma.... how long I haven’t used them like this!”

“Move them, my love. 

Begin to create with them and everything within you will begin to move. 

The pain will not pass away. 

And instead what you do with them will become the most beautiful masterpiece and it won’t hurt anymore. 

Because you have been able to transform its essence.”

 ~Elena Bernabe 

April is almost over

Cat is not here anymore, I've been sad and low since. 
I missed our mornings, the birds and the sunlight, her following me in every room, the morning cuddles and the purring, the excitement, the meawing, and her presence... 
But, I knew she had to go, the mood changing, the unpredictability, the misbehavior, the attitude... it was just too much for my not usually cat person self to handle. 
She's with my sister now, she adopted her two weeks ago, she's getting along well with her cat, besties she calls them. And only today I can finally relax, she climbed up on her chest and cuddled for a little bit. 

The cat topic aside, I am overwhelmed with bouts of sadness and grief. My body is suffering greatly... under the stress of trying to find balance with the changes, all changes, I found myself going to drumming again. Only thing is, I can not do it anymore. My body is clearly telling me (has been doing so for a good while now), but I kept on ignorning, until it could do no more. I've been having physiotherapy, ciropractice, and thai massage, besides stretching at home, and nothing is working. The pain is not going away, nor waning. I found myself spending days (wasting) lately doing nothing but only just trying to cope with the pain and take it easy. 

I did manage to get hooked on reading again, I think it's my solace, especially that I found myself getting depressed again, I could not / would not allow it to consume, not this time around! 

Writing however, meh, I tried on several occasions to journal, and the pain of handwriting killed me. All the things one need for one's dominant arm and its joints! 

One thing I said to myself this morning however, I've got one thing constant and not changing for sure, and that's the warm weather. In the next few months and for the rest of the spring / summer period, the sun will almost always shine every morning, and throughout the day, the weather is expected to be hot / warm and in between, and the day relatively long. I can at least focus on this one fixed, constant and consistent routine to try to alleviate the anxiety of the continuous uncertainty and increasing levels of stress in our day to day life in this land of misery! 

Needless to say, I've been finding it extremely hard to keep my calm lately, I don't know how but things got so bad energetically speaking since I got the cat. And though a weight has been lifted since sister adopted her, it feels as though more cleaning (cleansing) needs to be done to gain my normal state of being again. 

Perhaps the cat was a metaphor too, and perhaps I was triggered a lot because of her, and that it's good to know (be reminded of) what I am capable of giving and where / what I need receiving. 

It's a relatively hot evening, and it's a full moon night, and I'm finding it extremely hard to relax. I will sip on another cup of chamomile in the hope of calming my weary mind. The sun shines on me on my bed these days, I hope it eases the pain and warms my heart gently each new day until I become full and complete again...  

Aimless

I was up all night, I cried my heart out.

I allowed myself to feel all that I've been using food to numb away. 

There's a lot of pain, because of the longing, and the missing, and what was lost, and what could have been, ought to have been.

I must eat good again, I start today. 

I did not work, I did not attend to anything or anybody today.

I made art with daughter, together we are processing so much still. 

I am tired is an understatement.

I wish to have a little break from existence itself.

It keeps going... aimlessly. 

Nee Saan

The days and seasons are blending into each other. I am dragging a very heavy weight package through them. My coping mechanisms changing only in appearance, deep inside the pain is one and the same. I need a closure, or to validate it myself. The longing is ever growing, and the warmer weather is only making it more obvious. I wish to avoid still this very existence; I haven't been able to make peace with so much fire within that cries out for so much air and water. I keep grounding myself, but I'm sprouting just as much as I'm routing, and I should remind myself of the elegance of not resisting a fate of ripened fruits being wasted away. My solace is Autumn, always looking forward to Autumn, any time of the year, especially in Spring, especially in April.

... نيسان

Contain it not

I'm awoken in the middle of my sleep by dreams. Intense ones involving close people in my life, and the theme lately is home. I wake up shaking from many of them, some of them put me face to face with my deepest fears and most unhealed pains.

I struggle in Spring, often feeling not ready yet for the ice to melt, for my hybernation to end, for my wounds to be exposed.

The resisting holds little power against the fixated change of weather and turn of seasons, and I succomb. In my succumbing, a volcano of tamed emotions erupts, and I find myself swept away by the essence of my own existence; a passion that I could never fully fathom, only trying to integrate it in this very cold and squared so called civilized existence. 

Here goes nothing, nowhere...

I'm clenching on my jaw, I've been pressing my teeth. I have just realized so; I am in bed winding down, ready to sleep. Tomorrow I get back to writing, I keep saying to myself every night. Too tired and wasted after spending days that are consuming all my energy. 

So much action and happenings and events taking place, imn hardly able to catch my breath. Nightmares too, my mind is weary, my body too, my body especially. 

It doesn't matter what I write, as long as I keep at it. Or does it? 

Anyway, here goes...

Mother, on the drum

I got up at around 4:00 in the morning, heart was racing. I had a very intense dream and it woke me up. I saw my mother, and it was a very vivid and lively dream. Though I can't recall all of it, but one thing stuck with me was that "scene" where she was on a screen, as if we are having a video call with her. She looked so happy, wearing bright colors and her background was very lively too. She was doing a beat on the djembe, and calling out Yasmina Yasmina. The sound was similar to the that of Msa7arati calling for prayers and sohour in Ramdan. 

I couldn't go back to sleep for a couple of hours afterwards, my mind was racing. I have busying myself with thoughts about spirits, the psyche, our existence, this very life...

I have given up thinking of the topic a while back, coming to a personal conclusion, for the time being anyway, that there isn't much to this world outside of what we see and do. 

Back to mother, I suppose I was happy to see her, even for the briefest of moments, even if the dream was interrupted, even if it didn't make much sense.

a wish

I'm ready for the next level of this distopia. I'm ready and I'd love for something disastrous to take place again, this time around swallowing me physically, deep inside earth, or exploding me into thin air.

I'm beyond sad and depressed... 

Des-pair

I woke up this morning with an overbearing desire to be contained. The need to be contained once I became a grown up was never met, and so I stopped attuned to the luxury of such a need a long time ago. Every now and then though the desire surfaces, I allow myself to lament in the emotion for a while, until I curb it again. My ways are not very orthodox, I am an emotional eater after all. I have been overeating my way through this most nerving year of the so called pandemic. This morning was a typical morning in that sense, despite my successful attempts at eating clean this week. It's my father's birthday, and it's rather overwhelming how many special days there are in this month, it only just occurred to me. Father would have turned 79 today, but he will remain 57 always, and at times, younger too. 

Woman's Day on 8th 

Teacher's Day on 9th 

Father's birthday on 19th 

Mothers Day and equinox on 21st. 

Many friends too... 

I ordered knefe, eclairs, and shaabiyet, and I stuffed my face with them. Now I am feeling very low but a tingling sensation in my body is taking place, sugar rush, everything rush, and it feels good. This here is my drug, and perhaps I am attempting to get away from it by adding other substances, smoking and coffee and alcohol. Nothing seems to work though, nothing is working on my body and system like food does. 

This week in particular I am experiencing some sort of despair, I am often finding myself wasting time, and contemplating the nothing and everything, for no purpose and without aim whatsoever. Needless to say, I was not productive.

I am tired from having to be strong and carry on as if things are OK so that I don't freeze, when things are beyond bad. I wrote several different paragraphs yesterday, only to delete them, because I simply wasn't able to write coherently. 

I suppose I am doing the same again now, I will post anyway, and retire to the living room, and binge watch the hell out of shows, to take my mind away from this present moment... 

Happy birthday Father, I miss you every day! 

Longing

It's painful waking up to the reality of this country every new day. Yesterday was a very hard day to swallow. It is as though we are kids locked inside a house with abusive parents, with no escape, and our cries goes by unheard. 

The Lebanese currency has hit another new record low, and things keep getting worse and worse by the day, and sometimes the hour. Nobody and nothing is ever stopping the damage, or at least slowing the pace. As a lone parent of an adolescent, I am feeling very insecure and unsafe. If things can get that bad, that fast, with no objection whatsoever, then I wonder just how much more bad there is in store for us the Lebanese. 

I've never felt any belonging to this country, and it never mattered because it was never made to be home for anyone. Such a cold, cold, and very sad land!

We're closing a cycle this week, I remember vividly the events of last March, and the days leading up to the most apocalyptical day in my adult life, the spring equinox, March 21st. I went out with Yas for a walk, and the streets were scarily empty and devoid from any sign of life. We picked wild flowers from the bushes on the side of the roads, we marveled at the grey skies, and we returned home to put our flowers in vases and enjoy a mother's day celebration like no other.

It wouldn't be so accurate if I say I am depressed, because these unprecedented days are exceptional on our mental health and nervous system. It is fair to say, however, that I am feeling very low, so low and weak. I've fought so many battles in my life on the personal level, and I pushed even harder in 2019, so that I could lead a somewhat stable, more peaceful life in 2020. 

The irony of this existence is wearing off, I now need more so than ever before to be united with and consumed by which and whom I am passionate about. A soulless existence on this land could leave me sane for only a short while. 

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”

Louise Erdrich - The Painted Drum.

Get me out of here!

It's a difficult day, in the sense that I wasn't able to think or function properly. I attempted working several times with no luck. Same with writing. I ended up watching a couple of episodes of Vikings, and here I am again in my work space, hope to be able to catch up on anything at all before I retire to my bed. I slept a lot today and I wish to sleep some more. I felt so overwhelmed like I haven't in a while, and I gave it some reflection, it occurred to me that it's due to the socializing lately, it's been a busy weekend. This has always been the case with me, but in the days of corona and social distancing / lockdowns and curfews, I'm experiencing those symptoms more so than ever before. 

Besides me lay a big notebook, I dug it a while ago from my special journals box. On the first page, there's the list of New Year's resolutions 2016. On the 3 following sheets, a draft of what my book should be about, and how it should be written. Plenty of notes and a pretty nice vision for a beautiful project that has always been inside me and grew with me. The period stretching from Autumn 2015 till Summer 2016 was spent in Beit Meri. I have some fond memories on our life there, but some bitter ones too.

The remainder of the notebook is blank, and is yet to be filled. 

My life seems to be like this, filled with notes and drafts, and projects dropped or postponed or interrupted. There's chaos in the way I am doing life, and a very thin line is separating what is being forced unto me, and what I am getting myself entrapped with. 

Recharge, repeat

Yasmina slept over at her aunt's last night. She hasn't done so in a really long while. It's healthy for her to have special time with her aunty, a different adult, a different family member, different vibe, ways and everything. She has been struggling with my strict and rigid ways recently. Those are only meant to achieve, try to anyway, a sort of balance. Extremes call for extremes; her very laid back approach to studying is rather concerning at this stage. The unprecedented "online" classes are sure to frustrate the hell out of any adolescent in the time of blossoming, they're been imprisoned inside their houses, with more screen time, and very little room for self expression and true learning. Still, she needs to upgrade her ways to adjust and catch up. She is well behind, and the scholar year is nearing the end. Only two years away from joining college, things are getting real. So much time wasted already, and in my opinion, there simply is no more time for passiveness and allowing things to take their course. Though she differs with me about this, but I stand my grounds! I often tell  her I am simply doing my job as her mother when she feels things are getting personal. I don't choose to be this or that way, if it comes to me, I really would rather just to live and let live, be left alone to my own shenanigans really, but this is my duty towards her. There isn't much more years of this, soon enough she would be held accountable for all her actions. While I am still involved in her life, I with to give it my all, and this does mean that she starts to resent me at this stage, and I have made peace with that too. 

It's a peaceful and quite morning, though cat got lonely, she usually sleeps in Yasmina's room and spends the mornings with her. She meowed and meowed at my door early in the morning, I had to let her in. Some cuddles under the covers did the trick, but she soon after got hyper, and I had to let her out again. This is all still very new to us. We, getting to learn about cats in general, and her in particular, and I suppose her, getting to learn about us, her new home, the boundaries and the potentials of fun and comfort she could get. She's not a kitten at 8 months old, but not an adult cat either. I am hoping by summertime we would have formed some strong bonds and new healthy routines for us all to enjoy each other and this life together.

I am planning on making the best out of my weekend, take things easy, nurture my mind, body and soul. Come next week, I have to implement new routines at work. I will have to manage both creativity and productivity. Creativity mostly needed for my personal Ardh124 jewelry content, and productivity for the business Calligraphics Jewelry. I am well aware I would need to delegate tasks for the business eventually to allow for proper growth, but I am unable to do so at this stage still. Teaching somebody all the things I currently do and manage will take so much time and effort that I always end up preferring doing the things myself. Perhaps it's something to look into for next year, if possible at all. For now, I have to keep doing my thing, stick with whatever works, and improve on things wherever possible, little step at a time. It's more or less how I always managed, minus the new regular, usual setbacks of recent.

I've managed to curb some of my cravings this week, and slow the pace of eating / snacking / binging to some extent. I will need to gradually too be more disciplined with that in the coming weeks, in the hope of reaching a very good new routine come April. 

I started a new book yesterday, it's nothing too special, called Memoirs of a Dervish, just managed to get it amongst other second hand books from one of the Lebanese groups on Facebook. I haven't yet managed to get adjusted to the new prices of things, particularly books. A typical 17$  - 23$ book now is basically around 200.000 LBP!! That amount too used to be the total of my weekly shopping cart at the supermarket. These days, it hardly covers fruits and vegetables and a couple of chocolate bars. Dark chocolate now is such a luxury item. I remember this time last year I was talking to a friend about how apocalyptical things feel. A year later now things are even more so. Very Orwellian too, but, I shall do what I must; stay focused always, get centered often, and align with my plans and visions at all times. 

Detox, cleanse, recharge, repeat. 

On that note, I must stop the musing and get on with the day. 

I am, I am, I am.

I am getting excited about the mornings again, to get up, sit down, and write. I haven't had this feeling in a very long time. Being a responsible lone parent means that I would often allow myself to be overcome by thinking and dealing with responsibilities and commitments when I first open my eyes. Not necessarily the only way to go, but it seems that I got myself stuck. It also seems that I am getting myself out of this, slowly but surely. I am more capable of giving when I am nurtured, and I haven't been nurturing myself in a very long time. I think the last time I was feeling truly at home this way, inside my body, was back when I was still in my Dekweneh apartment, a year ago. My soul is starved...

To wake up in the morning, in tune with my own thoughts around myself, my wellbeing, my state of mind, my feelings, and most importantly, desires, needs, and wants, seems to be the utmost privilege these days. For sure, it doesn't need to be this way, after all, I am an artist and a creator, and everything I do stems from within me. If within is rustic, neglected, rotten, then what can I produce, then what can I create, and who would I be without my creations and my doing? 

I am trying hard this week to clear my system from the toxic things I stuff my face with. As usual, it's proving to be hard, and I didn't go cold turkey, but slowly easing into it, one meal / snack / drink at a time. A binge, emotional eater is destined to deal with any distress through overeating. I have been overeating my whole grown up life. Perhaps when I was younger even, perhaps since ever. It only started to show when I was 13 years old, and it's the memory the most vivid of me consciously choosing to try and numb myself out with food. It happened after a heartbreak, my first. 

This country is limiting, the options are restricted, my responsibilities are crippling, however, I am not my responsiblities, nor this current situation, or this messed up country. I so happen to be here, in this time and place, but I shall come back to the space I hold within, I must remember, I must stay true to the voice within. 

Facebook reminded me today of a post I was tagged in back in 2015. It was by my bookish friend Hoda who tagged me in it, a photo of a pendant I made her with the words I AM I AM I AM, referring to Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. The pendant lays against the cover of the book. I never got so much into Sylvia Plath, but that book read back then did touch a nerve. 

I suppose in lots of ways, I needed to see this today. 

A very tiring day

The cat is very hyper today. She behaved differently lately, I am assuming it can be the spaying. We spayed her two weeks ago. I noticed recently that she has been peeing in my plant. It's a first. Today she teared down the corner of the net window and escaped to the balcony. I am always bringing her to the balcony with me, lately even I've been letting her on the ground for a while, I just have to keep watching closely and block her jumping, many birds fly by frequently. 

I asked the vet earlier and he only just got back to me. He said it takes up to a month after the operation for her hormones to settle. We're two weeks in now. Boy oh boy! As if I needed another hormonal creature around the house with us! 

I'm trying to keep my calm and focus on my routine and day, unfortunately it's being a little tricky to achieve. But I moved things around yet another time. Just in the office, I moved my work station in a way where I can have the most day light on my bench. 

The weather has gotten increasingly warm in the last few days, peeking yesterday, with hot air and an invasion of some sort of bugs. Today it's changing, it's been cloudy since the morning, and now the temperature has dropped. Looks like it's going to rain soon, there must be a storm coming. 

We didn't have a winter winter this season, it was either sunshiny warm and bright with blue skies, or stormy with thunder, lightning, rain / snow, and wind. I suppose this country goes by extreme everything. This whole part of Earth is messed up in a very sad way. I am yet to belong... 

I posted a little something earlier in the morning, not my own writing, but still, I could have done without writing. I did feel the urge to write though, and while doing other things, I kept thinking of the content. This is a good sign finally; my faculties are slowly coming back to life. I am yet to get back to reading again, but I'm in no rush.

I am slowly able to see clearly just what damage the last year has brought unto my system. Though it was very harsh on my nerves, but I think I was doing OK (ish) until before the explosion. Clear signs of depression could be remembered now, especially on the few days after our last move... 

In her memory...

"In her memory I build boundaries that are made of Roses and Nettles, Wolves and Bears, Oak and Witches. 

I stand up straighter, stronger, when I remember her.

The memory of that young and fragile thing, so broken and so magical, reminds me to respect and honour the depths within my heart these days.

I listen to her and remember her knowing, before the breaking and the wounding misguided her.

So lost was she, that now, I make sure to let my heart guide me home,

to a sense of belonging within.

I oil my body in sweet plant oils, to honour her pain, her tenacity.

Paying attention to the scars, the tightness and the tender hopes held within flesh and muscle memory.

I rest in the forest and listen.

Letting her know, I understand now, 

that she really did hold a wildness so real, so alive, and it’s here still, beating within.

No one took it, or destroyed it,

and I’m coming back home, to that place,

so together we can rise.

For she is me, and I am her, and I’m learning to rest back in my original nature, my beauty, my braveness,

my wild."

Brigit Anna McNeill 

Grandmother's song

I'm sipping on perfectly foamy and smooth Turkish coffee. I bought this batch of coffee last week, at a specialty store, on our way to Saida. We used to always get coffee to our people there on our way, it became a tradition of a sort. The aroma of coffee has always been very enticing to me, but until recently, I was not a coffee person. The guy from the shop approached us in the car and asked if we wanted the order brought to us in the car. I was already out of the car by this stage, I told him we're getting in. I've put the stupid mask on and got inside with my sister. I waited until she put her order, then I requested mine, after a little investigation. It is her mix I am taking, two thirds blonde, one third dark, and extra cardamon. He scooped the coffee beans from the huge container in front of us, added the cardamon, and put the mix inside the electrical coffee grinder. Packed inside a paper bag, handed to us with extra cardamon written on it. We ordered some few other bags to take with us, different mixes. The aroma of all that coffee inside the car was so sensational, tormenting too as there was nothing we could do but inhale it in and wait until we have some nice coffee soon. 

I didn't have nice coffee until now. I made it with pure cane brown sugar, and boiled it only very gently to perfection. 

I am not a coffee or cigarettes person, generally speaking, yet I seem to be really enjoying myself engaging in such rituals of recent. In lots of ways, I wish to know what it feels like to do those, ritualistically, routinely. Both my parents were smokers and did coffee, regularly. I was not of coffee age when I passed. I miss them. 

The missing, and writing about it, can go on forever, it is when I am not missing that I should get concerned. I tend to block myself from feeling very often, in order to be in my yang state, and get things done. I haven't had a man in my life, in the proper sense of it, in a truly long time. Perhaps I never had one, involved directly in my life, since father passed away. In lots of ways, I feel I am getting into my father, in order to give myself, and my daughter, what we need. When I was a child, one of my nickname used to be Mahmoud. Endearingly, close people to the family would call me by his name, because of the resemblance. My child mind could never comprehend then the similarity, I would look at our faces, and never be able to see it. As the years went by in my adult life, I started to know truly, deep within, what that entailed. I am truly Mahmoud and Haybet, and my writing journey will enclose many words about them. 

I've made it through three cups of coffee, flipped my cup upside down, will get Yasmina to read my fortune, for fun, mostly hers, as she has been finding immense pleasure in such witchy musings and activities lately. 

In the background, I've been playing on repeat a newly discovered song called "I hear the voice of my grandmother's calling me...", I shared it with my cousin to show it to Mila, her daughter. Mila is a very special child girl, and to some extent, I feel I truly know her. Her grandma, my auntie from my mother's side, passed away a year and half ago. They buried inside my mother's grave, it was her wish, and in Islam this is something that could be done. Cousin Hisham, who came from the States to be his mother for the last moments, ended up burying her himself. He described to me how they gathered the bones of my mother, put them together inside a bag, move aside, and then in her place, the body of my auntie was placed. I got the chills when he told me, but in lots of ways, it made me content in some sort of strange way. 

"I hear the voice of my grandmother's calling me... 
I hear the voice of my grandmother's song...
Saying: wake up, wake up child, wake, wake up. Listen, listen... 
Saying: stand in your power woman, stand in your power. Listen, listen... 
Saying:give birth, give life woman, give birth, give life mother. Listen, listen... 
Saying: teach and be wise, grow, teach and be wise. Listen, listen..."

Integration

It's a peaceful day, I haven't felt as quiet and as calm inside in a while. A lot of it has to do with going out and finally finishing some over due work trips and errands, but also the fact that I am back actively to my jewelry work bench. I worked for several hours yesterday and today, and I didn't feel the pains. I have been a little bit apprehensive about getting back on track, as I've injured my shoulder badly few months back, and it never healed. 

I have forgotten how therapeutic it is being there; the creativity flows effortlessly. There's healing beyond simple words could possibly describe. With every little piece created, and through all the little steps taken in the procedure, a release of massive energy takes place. I was reminded of the pure bliss I used to feel in my most creative, most productive days behind my work bench years ago, they used to involve my family life with Chris. Isn't it something that I keep processing, dealing with, and releasing, all things emotions, feelings, and affections that has to do with Chris! You would think it should be well over and behind now, I did too, but it's not. 

There are parts of me I've let go of, the moment I've let go of Chris. I am claiming those parts back now, though it's a very painful process, and I had thought I was done with the most painful phases before.

Putting together one's broken pieces is never easy. I am very broken; a big part of my very soul left with Chris, and I need all of my being to be full and complete again. Perhaps then I will be able to stop all the many self destructive coping mechanisms. Perhaps with every new jewelry piece I create now, a little something of me will be integrated again.

I need something to consume all of me, like my love and devotion and dedication for Chris used to consume me all and keep me alive. I haven't even come close to finding my true writing voice yet, but at least my hands can work other things, until then. 

There's a beautiful cool breeze, and though I have the heater on, the window is open. I've been puffing more cigarettes. That oral fixation of mine!

I can hear beautiful silence, and the owl just howled...

I'll go to my bench now, a specific piece in mind is calling.