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