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. 

Touching base

I can't remember how I ended up being so exhausted last week, but I do remember crashing in bed way after midnight, and thinking to myself I missed posted for that day. I thought to myself it would be Friday and Saturday off blogging, then Sunday I will resume again. I kind of did the same the week before, I needed at last a day or two to rest, from all the doing and going, even when it's as essential, as beneficial as my very personal blogging. 

Waking up this morning, I thought I needed to prioritise again. We're already half way through this new week, and I still didn't blog. Not only did I miss my daily thing, but also, I am binge eating again, and I feel swept away by the days and the demands of our life. I need to slow things down, the extremes have played havoc on my body and mind. Writing allows me, no it forces me, to slow down. It is meditative, contemplative, reflective, and grounding. 

This is why I need it, it isn't a simple desire or a project or a plan... 

Now, here, I've done. It's good to touch base. Now I must start my day, this is a self reminder of self love. 

Mundane

I'm weary today, got so much done, home and at work. Work is home, lockdown was never an issue to me. I do miss the little outings, such as the post office to dispatch orders, the mall for shopping, and the supermarket trips. I used to go out once or twice a week, when I end up having to do more trips during the week, it used to disrupt my flow of work and mess with my routine, and peace.

 

I met a couple of new people on Tinder today, everybody seems to want to talk about the lockdown and the virus and the vaccine and what I think, and what they think, and and... 

I used to have dreams of apocalyptical nature. These days I meditate to be able to day dream / dream about normal, mundane life.

Sleep things over

Today the cat was in a mood. I'm learning about her a little more every new day. I gave her space, she spent it mostly sleeping, and avoiding us. Purring went down from frequent to a couple of times all day.

On another note, I did stretching for the first since last week. My sciatica is killing me, I'm in continuous pain day and night. I should stick to yoga again, it seems to truly help. 

I spent few minutes in tinder today, the number of shallow, silly, and immature 40 and 50 something Lebanese men is worrying.

I must sleep, need for this day to be over! 

Vanter

I'm on my laptop using Blogger from desktop for the first time in a while.

I started my day before the sun today, right on time for the magic. 

I smoked some more. Little kitty meowed hard, I finished my cigarette and brought her outside on the balcony with me. On the first day I let her out with us on the floor, she tried to jump, scared the hell out of us, I never let her out without carrying her since. She's meowing a little more every new day, she's starting to ask for things, they're cute little sounds. She's communicating with us well, and she plays with us, her favorite is catch me if you can game. She jumps so fast and quick from one corner to the other, climbs so fast on everything and anything, and we chase her and sometimes too she hides. We haven't named her yet, many names suit her and her personality, but must we really? We will see. 

Yasmina just went out to harvest some wild sage, she discovered several bushes in her walk in the woods around the house. When I say house I really mean our compound, that ugly block of ugly tall buildings, with dirt, rubbish and ugly random everything. I am grateful to be here, with a bit of greenery and many quiet moments, but I can't help getting passionate about fixing things, bettering is a better word, bettering the world, sounds fitting. That sums up me in a lot of ways, a world bettering girl, in a very ugly part of the world. 

I could write essays about how much I dislike Lebanon, it simply isn't home, it never was. I have extremely vivid memories when I was 3 years old or so, and my very first encounters with the outside world, talk about ugly!  

The cat is climbing on my desk these days, getting more familiar with her surrounding, making it her home, and I was particularly fond of those moments she spent with me a couple of nights ago, as I worked alone in my office / workshop room, like I usually do. It felt less lonely, not that I could ever have humans with me when I'm working as such, but an animal, a pet!? did sound (look / feel) quite fitting. 

I have the boiler on since I got up, I was a night showerer my whole life, but lately I've turned into a morning showerer. Dictionary is correcting me for showerer, well I am going using it anyway! What I do miss however, is long days and nights of hibernating, not getting ready for anything at all, stretched hours of nothingness, attending to nothing and no one. I miss 2014 in particular, a year where I decided to take things easy, I read 50 books or so that year, probably 20% of what I've read my whole life then. 

Anyway, enough banter. I shall start my day already! Venting really, vanter, venter, banting, benting, vanting. (dictionary doesn't approve of any of those either, dictionaries are overrated.)

It is what it is

My heart is heavy with pain and sadness. I could've called my state of mind / being a depressed one, except I know these days that unprocessed emotions / feelings would lead naturally to this stagnant place of despair.

I am smoking these days, I puff few cigarettes every now and then, on the balcony. In the morning under the sunlight, or late at night with the breeze. I've learned quite a bit about the many breathing techniques, and the healing that comes with it, yet at times, the only proper exhaling I can do is through puffing a stupid little cigarette. It's a breakthrough of a sort considering how much I consume things into my body when I am emotional, not releasing anything hardly. 

This is how I managed to put on and keep the fat I carry with me all those years, this is how I get to keep my shattered pieces together my whole life. It is sad, and boy do I keep trying to break this pattern! 

I don't just carry that body weight, but also the weight of years worth of grief. 

I am learning still to be expressive about my deepest feelings, but the words often fail me, and my mind is simply not sharp anymore. 

This is the very thing that years of numbing could do. 

I'm trying to sober up, wake myself up, but some things I'm simply not able to shake off yet. 

Perhaps I will succeed in doing so one day, and if not, then "it is what it is", as a friend of mine says when asked about his feelings sometimes! 

Froggy!

The sound of frogs is back.

Spring is in the air. 

It's very melancholic.

I haven't begun to enjoy winter yet. 

The days are fast. 

I did not wish to write. 

Something is wrong. 

I need to fix that. 

I finished the season before last of Orange is the new black. 

It was bad. 

I must sleep. 

I don't like February. 

Foggy

There's a fog inside my head, it's keeping my brain from functioning properly. I tried hard getting grounded and centered today, and I simply couldn't remove this sense of dread that has overcome me. It's one of those days, and I wasn't sure whether or not to skip a day blogging, in order to keep the content topic based like I intended to for this month. But then I thought I owe it to myself to keep going, and perhaps a reason more to do so when I feel like skipping, and typically, numbing...

Psithurism

I was awoken by the sound of the trees. I mistook it for rain at first, then I remembered that the weather is totally dry these days. 

There is a name for this sound, I just couldn't remember it. As I googled it, I contemplated the fact that my memory has drastically weakened in the recent years. 

In 2016 I was set to start writing a draft for a book project. The book was going to be a memoir of a sort, the chapters a memory each. The memories are moments and contemplations from my life and its events up until that moment. 

I wonder now whether part of my weakened memory is due to the pain caused by dropping all those projects I had intended to finish.

"It takes a village to raise a child".

... So the African proverb goes.

It was very warm today, for February anyway. The strong warm wind made it impossible not to feel spring nearing. This summer daughter turns 16. 

My baby is becoming a young woman.

17 years of cultivating this village inside me, so I could be everyone and everything for her. An ideal world I so naively thought would naturally exist at the magnificence and magic that was her birth. It turns out I was the only one in tune with the bliss that is our existence, and I wake up every morning excited as if I've just landed and the present day is indeed a present. 

Alas, our modern civilized world is a vacant one, bereft from meaningful connections, oblivious to the interconnectedness between us humans, and the many different generations.

Kitten

When I was a child, a black cat used to roam around our shop. Sometimes I was allowed to play with her. I didn't really, I just got close a little. Our encounters were mostly sharing snacks. I would give the cat half of each of my cheese puffs! I can't remember when or how but I was once attacked by that very cat. It was decided then that I was not a cat person. Trust is important for me you see. When I open up, when I share, it means something!

This post ought to have been a much better one, but my day was taken up by accommodating our newly adopted cat. As she finally climbed up on my chest and started purring loudly continuously for nearly 10 minutes, I tried to gather my thoughts and ideas for the 100th times today, with no luck.

I purred inside too, I thought there are many more days in February, maybe this one is just meant to be kitty focused. 

She's 7 months old, I haven't named her yet.

For now, more important decisions are at stake; let her sleep in my bed / my room / or outside altogether!?

Burst open!

I've done it!

A month of daily blogging. 

Now that I've mastered consistency in posting, time to hone down the content.

February should be special.

I am celebrating me, there has never been a better way to do so but bursting open!

Life is too precious not to do so. 

I've wasted many years already. 

Perception

I've taught myself something new this month, it was part or my self love initiative. I'm ambitious generally speaking, but I tend to go hard on myself, focusing mainly on the goal when driven. These days, I'm learning to compare where I'm standing now with where I was instead of where I'm heading, and the progress I made, the small little steps. The big picture will be full once I commit to these small stepping stones and tapping myself on the back the further away I'm getting from the shore.

Scratching the surface

I'm overcome by an overwhelming sadness. It's something between grieving, nostalgia and melancholia.

I finished third week of detoxing, and I have only come close to realising just how much chronic pains my body is handling. 

I finished watching the film Baraka on YouTube, then Human the movie auto played. My heart is full with joy and sadness for humanity.

I am both inspired, and wishing I could terminate my life. 

Also, blogging all those days has made me realise I'm only just hardly able to scratch the surface. The surface is useless to me. I need to dig deep.

All those pains and the holding back is a sign of how much awaits me, to release. 

...... 

Incoherence

 I'm in the office every single day this week. 

Two weeks of detoxing have helped set me ready to kick start this year. 

I am now ready, spending very long hours on my desk, sorting out files, doing spreadsheets, updating my plans, figuring out problems to all the problems that arose in 2020. I'm connecting with my room and my things, and allowing myself to feel alive again, though there is so much pain. 

I've prepared for so much in 2019, and I started a lot of new things in 2020, only to be forced to drop everything. 

The hardest is proving to be my creativity. 

Ardh 124 a project I started in 2019, launched in January 2020, hardly saw the light. The chaos of the so called virus took us by surprise and we started the survival mode within days after. 

I did what I did best, prioritize! 

It feels like a baby that I have neglected, in order to look after my other sick baby. 

It's painful and sad. I am sad and grieving. 

I can't even get myself to write coherently. 

This is how sad I am. 

Post traumatic brain functions... 

But I will persevere. 

This very thing is life to me, not the earning and providing, and the coming and going, and the surviving, pathetic survival! 

Noise

There never seems to be enough quietness. I need my peace so I can restore my faculties. Can't seem to operate normally. So much noise on the outside, inside me too.

I like for you to be still

"I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true."

Pablo Neruda. 

Sleep it off

I'm very sad today. 

I'm tired and uninspired. 

I slept a lot, I cried a lot, and I think I'm going to do some more of that shortly too, then call it a day hopefully. 

Mind is blank, numbing is key. 

Two weeks in

It's a very long day. I ought to have napped, but I didn't. I am getting so easily overwhelmed these days. I need total silence and peace for my mind to function properly. I need to be productive and creative for my sanity's sake. Almost two weeks in with the detox today. There has been a lot of cooking and meal preperation and food topics around, I'm so tried from that alone. There are no shortcuts though, that's the only proven method to work, from experience.

I must sleep soon, will dream of a day, or two, where I get to do nothing at all, think about nothing, and look after nothing at all! 

In an ideal world

In an ideal world, I'd be living like a hermet. I would interact with one person, or two, once or twice a week, or month.

In an ideal world, I'd be living in a small country side house, with wooden everything, and old everything.

In ideal world, I won't use the mobile phone, I won't have use nor need for internet. 

I'd have my books, notebooks, and my mind to keep me entertained. 

In this ideal world, I'd have guests occasionally, whom I'd welcome with so much love, warmth and excitement. 

I'd be open as much as I wanted, and I'd close off too, for as long as my soul needs and desires. 

Up close and personal

It appears, I will only ever got the motive to write if I go deep. It's very hard for me to write otherwise. Going deep, at this phase in my life, is proving to be tricky. There are many routes to take. Everything is subject to perception, cycles changing, and state of being. Everything is constantly moving and shifting. The core however, seems to be stable and constant. How much must I dig? How much depth do I need? Am I processing the old? Or digging a road for the new?

All I know is that this blog will only get more and more personal, and I have to be fine with that, if I truly wish to keep at it.

And I do... 

Julie & Julia

I just finished watching Julie & Julia, I cried my heart out. Maybe I'm emotional /

hormonal, maybe too I'm exhausted and shattered, scattered really, from too much twisting and turning, and getting swept farther away from my true voice and calling.

I remember watching it for the first time ages go, I remember too reading Julia's

books. I remember how often I'd stop in the middle of my reading to tell Chris about it, her, Julia. I was inspired, motivated, excited. We had been through so much already by 2016, but I was ready to kick start things again, like I always do. 

We were bck to my tiny little 3 x 4 sqm room, in our tiny kitchenless studio in Dora, but boy was I happy! 

I miss at times that feeling of loving being with someone so much, and being so in love with that someone too, and loving doing and living in the same space and time as that someone. Him and Yasmina were my only family. 

It is just Yasmina and myself now, and though I'm eagerly anticipating the return of my inspiration, my old excited, passionate, optimistic, expressive self, I can't help the emotions every now and then.