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.  

Blocked roads

I've been staring at the screen for a little while, not sure what I wish to capture. It's being very challenging trying to make sense of the mess that is our country lately. We have new lousy changes every single day. It's Monday morning and I have set myself to kick start work for the week, but roads blocking by protesters is back yet again. This is supposed the first week practically lockdown free. 

I'm fortunate to be made to work from home, and having done so for well over a decade. The need to be out, however, running errands for the business, getting inspired by the motion of life, is needed, and does affect my productivity and creativity. I suppose I do miss and need those at this stage. I managed without as long and I pushed as far as I could have up until this moment, hence why the frustration this morning. 

Set backs are crippling, but I shall find a new way to get past beyond this, and to be rejoined with my initial goals, connecting with the dreams, and getting into the flow. 

On another note, I have started to embrace spring, cool and warm days and nights, new sounds, colors, shapes and forms. Also the sky, a mix of both worlds, it can't be that bad, though very soul keeps longing for authumn all year long! 

"He believes in beauty and gentle."

This one isn't so great a morning. I am home now, I ended up sleeping over at my friend's place in the mountain last night. I can be very talkative around close friends, and rather reserved around not so close people. Hanging out with friends is a rare thing for me, I do it very sporadically, because I can be very intense and it can be hard work. Talking is opening up, giving and receiving too. I need resting afterwards, I will shower shortly and have a nap. Thought to get on with today's post before I lose myself to the day shortly. I'm overwhelmed by the mountain of feelings inside me that I can see, touch, and feel ever so often, even and especially when I am away from Home. We listened to Portishead and Bjork last night, I couldn't hold my tears in, but I did try to hide them. I haven't listened to Portishead since I was with Chris, years ago. I haven't realized how fragile I am still deep inside, I am running away from all those feelings, the longing, the missing, the huge void, by keeping busy. If not, than that's exactly how it felt last night, and is feeling right now. I'm simply unable to stop the crying, my heart is not vacant, it's filled with the love I have for those very few, very special people in my life. Chris is one of them, and I miss the days, our days, the nights too, with music, and his beautiful openness, his eagerness for life, his many passions, and his letting me into his world, with the music, and the lyrics, and the many sounds. Also, the sights, especially that of his gracious face. 

Some mornings

Mornings are enticing. I am awake very early often times only just to witness them. If I'm tired and sleepy, then I go back to sleep a little after. Today in particular it felt so fresh and beautiful. I had a very enticing dream. I was in a country side, super green, super sheltered place. Several small cozy buildings joined together, pretty old. I am gathered with some of my very special and dear friends on the rooftop of one of them. We are discussing news of the move, as though my whole tribe has only just moved here. I am learning about the residency of the rest of the members. I was told that Elizabeth Gilbert, who apparently is my favorite person / friend in the dream, has bought that small one next to us. I look at where they pointed, and it's a shorter building than ours, tinier and cozier looking. The rooftop is filled with average sized super green trees, all blossoming. I smile at the sight, but really I felt my heart smiling. When I love someone, my whole being smiles at them, or the thought of them, or the idea of their very existing, or ever have existed. Elizabeth Gilbert used to be my most favorite author, I think she still might be, but I haven't been able to read her anymore. I am not able to read much lately anyway. I impulsively bought her latest book City of Girls a while book online, of course it was first edition and hardcover and I didn't pay attention to that, so I couldn't read it. I dislike hardcover books and can hardly read them, I prefer paperbacks, and the smaller, the better. Back to the dream however, it felt like missing of that good old friend, who feels like family more so than a mere friend. The dream carried on with other happenings, as though we were all getting integrated with our new environment and set up. The next day, I wake up and gathering with them again, I learn about the death of Elizabeth, Liz. My heart sank in a well of pain and sorrow instantly. The pain was so shocking and deep it woke me up from the dream. 

My relationship with death is an old one. Long before I last my father when I was 18, I used to imagine scenarios of losing my loved ones, and crying. I remember very clearly that nothing specific used to induce such thoughts. They used to appear out of nowhere, perhaps they are rooted at my early realization of the eventual fatality of our existence. I also recall the early moments when I started to have anxiety around the idea of my loved ones leaving me. These weren't merely thoughts, they used to occur to me as though to alert me of what is to come in the future. 

Cat just slept in my lap as I rocked her while humming as I type, and now I'm feeling sleepy again but I must get ready, I'm actually going out, a proper outing, for the very first time in a good while. 

Death topic will resume time and again for sure. 

Poisonous state

It's a good March morning. The air is nice and fresh, there is a cold breeze, but also the sun is shining gently. The birds are singing like their usual, I could recognize few different new sounds. It must be a sign of spring; our first in this apartment. We reach equinox again soon, it's been a little over 6 months since we've been here. The changes of cycles is beautiful to witness, when there's room. I am slowing things down today, his week has been very hectic. I'm finding myself swept away by errands, chores, jobs, and commitments. 

Cat was with me, we seem to almost always spend few moments together in the morning. Some cuddles, food serving, outside world gazing from the balcony, brushing, purring, cigarettes puffing, jumping and climbing on lap and chest, purring, coffee sipping, more purring, occasional meowing.

There was a lot to write about this week had I had the mind for it. Poor mind seems to be constantly overwhelmed. When I say constantly, I mean whenever I'm either outside, or inside with company. I miss my good old routine of doing days home alone, and then a couple of days outside weekly, to finish errands and work, and the minimal socialising needed. 

These extremes now with lockdowns, curfews and whatnot, since before the plandemic, since the so called revolution in Autumn 2019, have totally messed up with my system. All I seem to be doing is stuffing my face through these apocalyptical times, waiting for the madness to wane, or for something new to sprout, for the world to go back to being not as messed up, for our country to be less asleep. 

I started a new diet on Monday morning, I'm supposed to go cold turkey, in order to undo the damage of February and reboot my system from the last few years. Photos on laptop and old ones on my social media accounts show clearly that my body started to deteriorate approximately 5 years ago. My hair started to go bad and thinning drastically, the chronic pains, the stiffness, the sciatica, general chronic pains. It was never aging really, but living toxically. They say aging, physically, is a sign of excess toxins. I read recently somewhere defining "poison" from a shamanic point of view: Anything beyond what we need is poison. It can be power, laziness, food, ego, ambition, vanity, fear, anger or whatever. Have I been too ambitious? Have I always lead a poisonous life lead by too much passion? How does one find balance when one's very neutral state is Extreme? 

Enough musing, I shall start this day, take photos of beautifully customized jewelry pieces, with customers' names on them. Too much ego? Perhaps poison is essence!

Ah, to be alive...

Sweet and tender

 A piece of Cote d'Or dark chocolate is melting inside my mouth. A mixed herbal tea is setting inside my cup, inside it is a teaspoon of honey. Not the market stuff, some exquisite honey sold seasonally only by my friend's brother in the mountains. All good anything comes from the mountains. I love the mountains, and exquisite everything. 

Soon I will bite into my last couple of chocolate pieces from the bar, and will start sipping on my tea shortly too. When I finish, I will be craving sweet everything all over again. Craving sweet, tender, and comfort has been the story of my life. The most traumatising moment of my childhood as far back as I could remember was the first day at school. The extremes between the sweet, tender and comfort at home, and the bitter, harsh and cold at school was shocking, so much so that I could still remember the moment today, and many other days that followed after. I was only three years old... 

Sweet, tender, and comfort was people too. Husbands, brothers, sister, mother, father, friends, random people too. Sweet, tender and comfort has never lasted though, it's short and brief and leaves me craving for more. Sweet, tender and comfort is Home. I am always missing Home... 

Sweet, tender, warm and comfort was Chris, he was many things more too. 

Chris was Home. 

I miss Home.