I was feeling slightly lost, somehow lonely, maybe just a touch sad... Sometimes, even when one knows they made the right decision, the only right decision, there is still a touch of hurt, even if only for closing a door on a dream... I knew I did the right thing for me and mine, and yet, I wished for comfort and tenderness...
Sometimes what we wish for is not what we need. I could have stayed in the house, feeling just a bit sorry for myself, trying harder to shut the door on what could have been. I am good at closing doors and building nice shields around my heart. But I did not want that. I wanted my life back.
I was wishing for laughter and comfort, for tenderness and for a caring hand to wipe away the tears I refused to shed. Instead, knowing myself too well, I pushed myself to take a walk in the bush, with my faithful Nikon around my neck. Usually I chase the light and the vibrancy of color, the sharp contrast between them. And yet, each time I lifted the camera, I did it towards something dark and almost sinister. Not grit as it is hard to find grit in a beautiful bush, but nerveless, only shadows and no light, muted colors and deep grays, broken by dark greens that were made even darker by changing the stops on the camera.
The fact that the sky darkened as soon as I stepped onto the first path, was irrelevant. I often cheat with light, I often bring deep color where there is next to none. But I did not feel vibrant. I could not lift the camera at the beauty of flowers, at the lonely sun rays on the leaves. I barely noticed them. My mood was dark and I could not be bothered to turn away from it, so I embraced it.
Lonely forest paths with stairs cut into them... I always had an affinity for pathways and stairs, but usually as a promise, not as a threat to a painful solitude. And when I usually lift my camera to a tree, is for the majesty and the power, not for the loneliness. And yet, I took some of my best photos as I was jumping from one path to another, with no worry of getting lost.
Maybe it comes down to having grown up in the mountains, but I never get lost in a forest. In the city, I have no sense of direction whatsoever, and I often get lost, going round and round in circle, one street away from where I want to get to. Half the time, I can't even tell the difference between left and right. Without my GPS, I would be totally lost. And yet, in the forest, or in the bush, regardless how many paths I change, I always know how to get back on different paths.
But that Sunday afternoon, I could not find the magic in me. My power was just a tiny flame, barely breathing, in the same way I could not see the light for my photographs. Even when it started raining, I could not be bothered, but slowly I made my way back. And as I reached my door, the storm hit. Wild rain, angry thunder... I did not lift my camera. I stood by the window, feeling the storm beating into me, harsh and unforgiving. And in between lighting I felt cleansed, magic all again and I could finally breathe and feel alive, knowing that my life belongs to me and the Universe...
Monday, 13 February 2012
Saturday, 7 January 2012
Land of Dreams
People get lost in myths and from there, they get lost in the nebula of history. Countries come and go, cultures are lost, people became legends and history becomes folk tales that are not even whispered by the fire in cold nights anymore.
In an age of fingertip technology, we lost the heart of the lands we belong to. And sometimes, as the clock strikes midnight, a calling raises in the heart, a calling unheard, only felt, that one would want to understand... The call of the land and of history lost. It is the hour when the legends creep in the blood filling your heart with a longing without name.
Someone told me yesterday that no feeling is more deep then sitting down in a long forgotten place and listening to the stories the land tells. No stories that can be put in name, just Fata Morgana of dreams and half said words in languages lost.
Because like people, languages are born, evolve and die. Sometimes it is possible to hear them again out of the dusty covers of a book, but other times, no books are left. And then you can only search for a lost language in the matrices of another.
I live very far away from the land of my ancestors. And yet, with half a planet between the land and me, I can still hear the calling of a lost past. And gods without remembered myths come back, fleetingly through my blood. An intimate knowledge that is not knowledge.
Here is Bendis, the goddess adopted by Greece. A spear in one hand, a goblet of blessings in another, the eagle flying high above the white horse... So alive and yet so forgotten. High magic and the Moon, sacred unions and hunting... She whispers, but her words are unheard, only the awe remains as she passes through. I am yours, Mother, I am yours, Daughter...
Behind her, Gebeleizis follows... So young and beautiful, so handsome and so powerful is the god with golden hair! Arch and spear, eagle on the shoulder and tall on his horse, the god whispers of the connection between Sky and Earth, between war, life and death, because he is the supreme god.
Behind him yet is Derzelas, the god that talks of healing and abundance, of that which is lost only to be found again. And Istia of fire, so adopted and remembered by the Greeks! And Zamolxis, the one that taught us that to die is to be reborn again and that our very souls are immortal! And here is Apollo the Hyperborean, all sun and golden looks saying how he came to be from the Pontus Euxinus. And here is Dionysus, that who teaches Ecstasy...
But all are lost and only few remember yet after millennium and millennium. Some forgotten, some remembered by other people... They sing the song that started in the Carpathians, the song of the White Wolf, Pelasgians and Aryans, the ones that from Carpathians went to India and Greece, to Asia Minor and shook hands with the Celts. The song of the Hyperboreans from the Danube and Carpathians...
Are only dreams of a land lost in myth and legend. And in ballads sometimes, by other names and other deeds they are remembered like the sacred signs still imprinted on the gates... The people are gone, the language maybe lost, the history shrouded in myth... But the land remains, forever alive, telling stories if only one can really listen...
In an age of fingertip technology, we lost the heart of the lands we belong to. And sometimes, as the clock strikes midnight, a calling raises in the heart, a calling unheard, only felt, that one would want to understand... The call of the land and of history lost. It is the hour when the legends creep in the blood filling your heart with a longing without name.
Someone told me yesterday that no feeling is more deep then sitting down in a long forgotten place and listening to the stories the land tells. No stories that can be put in name, just Fata Morgana of dreams and half said words in languages lost.
Because like people, languages are born, evolve and die. Sometimes it is possible to hear them again out of the dusty covers of a book, but other times, no books are left. And then you can only search for a lost language in the matrices of another.
I live very far away from the land of my ancestors. And yet, with half a planet between the land and me, I can still hear the calling of a lost past. And gods without remembered myths come back, fleetingly through my blood. An intimate knowledge that is not knowledge.
Here is Bendis, the goddess adopted by Greece. A spear in one hand, a goblet of blessings in another, the eagle flying high above the white horse... So alive and yet so forgotten. High magic and the Moon, sacred unions and hunting... She whispers, but her words are unheard, only the awe remains as she passes through. I am yours, Mother, I am yours, Daughter...
Behind her, Gebeleizis follows... So young and beautiful, so handsome and so powerful is the god with golden hair! Arch and spear, eagle on the shoulder and tall on his horse, the god whispers of the connection between Sky and Earth, between war, life and death, because he is the supreme god.
Behind him yet is Derzelas, the god that talks of healing and abundance, of that which is lost only to be found again. And Istia of fire, so adopted and remembered by the Greeks! And Zamolxis, the one that taught us that to die is to be reborn again and that our very souls are immortal! And here is Apollo the Hyperborean, all sun and golden looks saying how he came to be from the Pontus Euxinus. And here is Dionysus, that who teaches Ecstasy...
But all are lost and only few remember yet after millennium and millennium. Some forgotten, some remembered by other people... They sing the song that started in the Carpathians, the song of the White Wolf, Pelasgians and Aryans, the ones that from Carpathians went to India and Greece, to Asia Minor and shook hands with the Celts. The song of the Hyperboreans from the Danube and Carpathians...
Are only dreams of a land lost in myth and legend. And in ballads sometimes, by other names and other deeds they are remembered like the sacred signs still imprinted on the gates... The people are gone, the language maybe lost, the history shrouded in myth... But the land remains, forever alive, telling stories if only one can really listen...
Sunday, 1 January 2012
10 Years
Only few more hours were left out of 2011... And as my ghosts were having their own party in my home last night, making it impossible for me to sleep, I remembered...
Last time I had a party for New Years Eve was exactly 10 years ago... I spent that night in Bucharest with people I cared about, people I knew and some I did not at the time... I remember Abdul, so stable, so wise, so patient with the child I still was... I remember Nada, so beautiful and so grown up, a fresh and upbeat breeze in my so serious life... I remember the foods we all prepared in a small kitchen, the laughter and the easy camaraderie of the few girls smoking and gossiping in the kitchen... The dinner on a white tablecloth in the middle of the lounge as there were not enough seats for all of us... I remember Ahmed bringing lychees fruits who looked like hard, pink strawberries... But most off all I remember the laughter, the joy of facing a new year even though we all were away from home.
This year I did not have a big group of friends around... Just an Aussie style New Years Eve with pub hopping and a lot of drinking. The people that matter were away, scattered around the world, most of them, and the other ones all over the country...
This year there is no Latin celebration in the streets with long beeping cars and loud screams! Fireworks from University Piazza in Bucharest instead were watched by me from a bridge without a name for me, facing the Harbor Bridge in Sydney. But the sky was full of love hearts and if there was no mistletoe and no friends to easy kiss at midnight, there were phone calls to my loved ones...
One can take a Latin out of Europe, but can not take the Latin out of the person... So I screamed as I was counting the seconds, laughing like an idiot. I managed to stop short from dancing in the street... And when an unexpected friend called as the first fireworks were lighting the dark sky, I had tears in my eyes...
I walked until my feet were screaming, and Aussie enough now, folded my evening pants and took off my 6 inch stilettos. I had laughter in my voice and laughter in my heart...
Since I left my country so long ago, since I swapped cultures and continents, it was the first New Year Eve I felt no sorrow. The longing was there as I guess it will always be, but I was happy and having fun. Most likely in the future I will be going to an organized party on a boat or in a restaurant, leaving the pub hopping to younger people. But for 2012, I know that I laughed and I sang on the music... I know that after 10 years I welcomed a new year being happy to the core.
Last time I had a party for New Years Eve was exactly 10 years ago... I spent that night in Bucharest with people I cared about, people I knew and some I did not at the time... I remember Abdul, so stable, so wise, so patient with the child I still was... I remember Nada, so beautiful and so grown up, a fresh and upbeat breeze in my so serious life... I remember the foods we all prepared in a small kitchen, the laughter and the easy camaraderie of the few girls smoking and gossiping in the kitchen... The dinner on a white tablecloth in the middle of the lounge as there were not enough seats for all of us... I remember Ahmed bringing lychees fruits who looked like hard, pink strawberries... But most off all I remember the laughter, the joy of facing a new year even though we all were away from home.
This year I did not have a big group of friends around... Just an Aussie style New Years Eve with pub hopping and a lot of drinking. The people that matter were away, scattered around the world, most of them, and the other ones all over the country...
This year there is no Latin celebration in the streets with long beeping cars and loud screams! Fireworks from University Piazza in Bucharest instead were watched by me from a bridge without a name for me, facing the Harbor Bridge in Sydney. But the sky was full of love hearts and if there was no mistletoe and no friends to easy kiss at midnight, there were phone calls to my loved ones...
One can take a Latin out of Europe, but can not take the Latin out of the person... So I screamed as I was counting the seconds, laughing like an idiot. I managed to stop short from dancing in the street... And when an unexpected friend called as the first fireworks were lighting the dark sky, I had tears in my eyes...
I walked until my feet were screaming, and Aussie enough now, folded my evening pants and took off my 6 inch stilettos. I had laughter in my voice and laughter in my heart...
Since I left my country so long ago, since I swapped cultures and continents, it was the first New Year Eve I felt no sorrow. The longing was there as I guess it will always be, but I was happy and having fun. Most likely in the future I will be going to an organized party on a boat or in a restaurant, leaving the pub hopping to younger people. But for 2012, I know that I laughed and I sang on the music... I know that after 10 years I welcomed a new year being happy to the core.
Thursday, 29 December 2011
2011
Since I am an adult, the end of the years always makes me nostalgic. It is like a call to look over the year that has past, count my blessings and failures, balance the things I learned. I can't seem able anymore to welcome the new year without saying good bye to the one that passes.
For the first time ever, this year I will welcome the new year without any of my loved ones. No family, no children, no friends that I consider family. Just me and strangers and acquaintances... It should make me sad, but I just laugh at it. If things were different, I would have at least had a boyfriend by my side, and then I would have had to worry about his wishes. But I welcome the thought that things are not different. Because one of the lessons I learned was to be mostly independent. And to trully belong to myself.
Last year I wished for solitude, time to make myself whole again. I did get it. I received enough solitude to read all the books I wanted to read, to take walk alone, time to dedicate to my craft. Other then my children, I had no one to worry about or to please.
2011 was an interesting year.
I fell in love when I wanted least and I had my heart ripped out of me. I managed to cry only a little (couple of hours) after which I decided that keeping the memory of the good times was more important. And I have learned that I am strong, in soul and mind.
It was a year in which I painfully missed my far away family. There were days I would have given anything, just to be with all of them, even if only for a day.
It was an year when I watched my little one finding a dream and flying with it. As a parent, it was an education, a surprise and a blessing.
I found out that I am sick and will always be so. Medication will keep it under control, but it did not change the fact that I am sick. And after feeling pity for myself, I stood up and counted my blessings.
It was an year in which I achieved a semblance of peace with people I did not think I could.
A year in which I learned to say Yes or No, according to my heart's needs. Looking back, I just had to step away from guilt. And what a liberating lesson it was!
A year in which I have truly learned how to love myself through ups and most importantly through downs.
I did not achieve all the things I wanted to achieve, and there were quite a few and harsh set backs. But all in one, it was an important and blessed year for me.
For the first time ever, this year I will welcome the new year without any of my loved ones. No family, no children, no friends that I consider family. Just me and strangers and acquaintances... It should make me sad, but I just laugh at it. If things were different, I would have at least had a boyfriend by my side, and then I would have had to worry about his wishes. But I welcome the thought that things are not different. Because one of the lessons I learned was to be mostly independent. And to trully belong to myself.
Last year I wished for solitude, time to make myself whole again. I did get it. I received enough solitude to read all the books I wanted to read, to take walk alone, time to dedicate to my craft. Other then my children, I had no one to worry about or to please.
2011 was an interesting year.
I fell in love when I wanted least and I had my heart ripped out of me. I managed to cry only a little (couple of hours) after which I decided that keeping the memory of the good times was more important. And I have learned that I am strong, in soul and mind.
It was a year in which I painfully missed my far away family. There were days I would have given anything, just to be with all of them, even if only for a day.
It was an year when I watched my little one finding a dream and flying with it. As a parent, it was an education, a surprise and a blessing.
I found out that I am sick and will always be so. Medication will keep it under control, but it did not change the fact that I am sick. And after feeling pity for myself, I stood up and counted my blessings.
It was an year in which I achieved a semblance of peace with people I did not think I could.
A year in which I learned to say Yes or No, according to my heart's needs. Looking back, I just had to step away from guilt. And what a liberating lesson it was!
A year in which I have truly learned how to love myself through ups and most importantly through downs.
I did not achieve all the things I wanted to achieve, and there were quite a few and harsh set backs. But all in one, it was an important and blessed year for me.
Sunday, 25 December 2011
Christmas and Rain
For me, Christmas has nothing to do with religion. It never did, as far back as I can think. Christmas always was a holiday for the family and loved ones, a holiday for coming together. It was a holiday of being close and enjoying a break from the insanity of life.
Christmas means snow falling from the sky in an endless dance of joy. Nights with dark orange sky and fresh snow shining like diamonds. Smoke lifting into the sky like gray doric columns from tall brick chimneys. Mountains covered in white, only the dark green of firtrees breaking the heavy blanket of white. Cold, very cold, and children that ignored it on in snow ball fights.
Christmas means children singing carols from door to door for hot bread, and money and nuts. It means trees that smell of forests raisig tall with gloges and lights. Days of cooking and white tablecloths. Christmas means families getting together.
Or at least, this is what Christmas used to mean. Sitting with my brother undr the tree, next to a hot terrcotta stove, telling stories and sharing dreams. Cooking with my mother in the kitchen and gossiping with my sister. A glass of crisp red wine with my father. Presents opened late at night in the Christmas Eve.
It is nt the same anymore. Now Christmas means endless days of rain. Maybe not to the extent it used to. This year the entire summer is only dark, gray, killing rain.
It is now living out of memories and tears from missing my loved ones. A plactic green tree that I decorate wth my children at the begining of December. Cooking mostly on my own, dishes innapropiate to the heat of Australia. Presents opened while the sun is still up behind the clouds on Christmas Eve. The carols come off YouTube, and start with adds.
Only my children are here. I drink a glass of wine only with myself as company, dreaming of being there, far away, with crisp smell of snow and a family that is way too far away, on the other side of the planet...
Christmas now is only rain and bitter knowing that one more year has passed since I could be with my loved ones.
Christmas means snow falling from the sky in an endless dance of joy. Nights with dark orange sky and fresh snow shining like diamonds. Smoke lifting into the sky like gray doric columns from tall brick chimneys. Mountains covered in white, only the dark green of firtrees breaking the heavy blanket of white. Cold, very cold, and children that ignored it on in snow ball fights.
Christmas means children singing carols from door to door for hot bread, and money and nuts. It means trees that smell of forests raisig tall with gloges and lights. Days of cooking and white tablecloths. Christmas means families getting together.
Or at least, this is what Christmas used to mean. Sitting with my brother undr the tree, next to a hot terrcotta stove, telling stories and sharing dreams. Cooking with my mother in the kitchen and gossiping with my sister. A glass of crisp red wine with my father. Presents opened late at night in the Christmas Eve.
It is nt the same anymore. Now Christmas means endless days of rain. Maybe not to the extent it used to. This year the entire summer is only dark, gray, killing rain.
It is now living out of memories and tears from missing my loved ones. A plactic green tree that I decorate wth my children at the begining of December. Cooking mostly on my own, dishes innapropiate to the heat of Australia. Presents opened while the sun is still up behind the clouds on Christmas Eve. The carols come off YouTube, and start with adds.
Only my children are here. I drink a glass of wine only with myself as company, dreaming of being there, far away, with crisp smell of snow and a family that is way too far away, on the other side of the planet...
Christmas now is only rain and bitter knowing that one more year has passed since I could be with my loved ones.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
Low and High
Lately I felt low, down, melting into the hot asphalt with no power left to pull myself up. Usually it is easy for me to find enough joy in little things to pull myself out from the hole my soul chooses to hide in. But not lately.
I allowed stress to eat away at me as it used to in long ago past days. I allowed myself to be dragged into situations I promised myself I will never be again. Maybe I needed a reminder or maybe I just forgot. Once I went down, everything else came crashing. Black thoughts of not being good enough, black thoughts of self loathing. I forgot that the me I am needed love, self love as much as everyone else around me. Giving without replenishing myself left me empty and lost.
I forgot about my connection to the Universe, I forgot about myself. Give, give, give with no moment of peace, because peace resides in myself and carelessly I threw it away.
And empty, without the cane of support I used to offer myself, I got dragged deeper and deeper in a world without light or darkness. The ever judging ego screams at me that I should have known better. That I have enough experience not to be fooled by illusions. And yet, at those moments, I knew no better.
Everything happens for a reason, or so my lucid contemplation of my life says. Maybe if I did not allow myself to go so down, I would have paid no attention to the screams of my body. Just maybe. A million hammers pounding in my head would have been hard to ignore. Or maybe I would have succeeded in keeping my ego busy enough not to notice. I am good at being busy and filling every moment to the max. But usually I am aware of it and I admit that to myself enough to give my mind, body and soul a break. Not this time. And because I was too down to really care about anything else, I got the chance to hear my body crying me, me. And the chance to observe myself eating pain killers like lollies.
Not that I like tablets. The only tablets I like are the very old ones, made of earth or stone that the ancients used instead of paper. But when I am busy, it is easy to forget or ignore exactly how many I swallow to push myself through yet another day filled to the brim. But with my ego hurt enough to be down, I could pay attention to the rest.
To how my body felt like after a night of carrying rocks. How my head hurt like being pounded by hammers. How sick I was.
I am arrogant. Arrogant enough not to accept the fact that one of the only things I take for granted might give up on me and yell for me to stop. Arrogant enough to say that all is good when it is not so. Arrogant enough to think that I am invincible.
But I am not. And for once, I did the right thing by my body. Low enough to not want to do anything else except mopping around saying poor me, I noticed how I chewed on codeine and ibuprofen, one after another until I managed to get rid of the plaguing headaches, but to feel even more sick then before. I went to the doctor, a thing that I normally avoid. Cleansing my chakras, connecting to the Universe is enough for me to be OK, so doctors are rare in my life. Better said, I only visit one when I am threatened and bullied into it. Not that I am against doctors. I take my kids to them often enough.
Long story short, after enough of my poor me I'm fine but I'm not routine, I ended up going to one. I am wise enough to have known in big part the whys of feeling so sick. I was proved right in terms of why. My ego can take satisfaction in that. But in the same time, I was reduced to a whiny child when I found out I left it going for long enough to put my own life in danger. Prime example of arrogance. So, I am not fine. As a matter of fact, without doping myself with medications, I will never be fine.
Not a pleasant thought at the best of times. For me, arrogant and proud to never admit exactly how hard things are, it is even more so. But it does hurt and quite plainly I don't like it. It could have been worse. No matter how bad things are, they can always be worse, and I was never that arrogant as not to see that. So while I do count my lucky stars and everyone that bullied me into checking it, it is still hard. Hard enough to make me mop around even more. Poor me. I will never be healthy again. Poor me, my life as I knew it is over. If I am to be honest, my life as I knew it was over about one year ago. Or maybe more. But it still does not change the fact that until not long ago my well stocked medicine cabinet was never used.
I am happy not to take pain killers as lollies. And as much as I could, I did avoid it. But not in a wise way. Ok, I am sick. I will always be sick if I don't take a handful of pills a day. Brrr... Boo hoo... It still did not change the fact that I was doing my Christmas shopping feeling very sorry for myself. To make things worse, my feet clad in dainty high heels, were killing me after hours of walking in them. Another reason to feel even more sorry for myself.
As I was walking around the very pretty and modern shopping center, pushing the full trolley ahead of me, I stopped my a stall. So many delicate and beautiful things, made from heart. Admiring them, a shadow of a smile played on the corner of my lips. As I turned to go, something turned my head one last time. In front of me, in the same place I looked three times before, a lovely jade set of runes. I am a Witch, even though a stupid one at times. Maybe not stupid. Just arrogant enough to be stupid. Anything mystical attracts me like a bee to a flower. Did I mention that I actually dislike jade? I do. It is the only crystal I can not stand. But today, looking at it, I did not see the prejudice I carry around. All I have seen was a beautiful set of stones, hand carved and hand inscribed.
I don't know if it is beautiful. For me, as I seen it with electric light playing on the inch long piece of rocks, emanating a light of their own, so pure, they were magical. Magical enough to zap me to reality. With a smile on my face, I accepted that some people are worse then the worst. I also accepted that I am sick. No hiding around, no dumb rebellion, no poor me. I am sick. Bravo. Done. Said and accepted. But that does not change the light inside of me, inside the jade I truly seen for the first time in that brief look. It does not changes who or what I am. I am still a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover. I still love the sun shine playing on green leaves between the clouds. I still take photos, I still read my books... I am the same. Still me.
Holding the runes, the jade I felt love for that first time, it daunted on me that I still love the same things, just maybe with another layer of understanding. And I still love myself, no matter what changes. The light inside the jade, the magic of the runes, entered my soul and reflected all around me, in my connection to the Universe that was still perfect. That will always be perfect. In forgetting to love myself, I automatically forgot to love the All around me. Falling in love with a piece of All was falling in love again with the All, including myself. Magic will always be around me as long as I accept it, as long as I want it.
With a smile shining on my face, I knew happiness. True happiness that comes from openly loving. And with love, hope and trust, acceptance and power weave together again to form happiness.
I allowed stress to eat away at me as it used to in long ago past days. I allowed myself to be dragged into situations I promised myself I will never be again. Maybe I needed a reminder or maybe I just forgot. Once I went down, everything else came crashing. Black thoughts of not being good enough, black thoughts of self loathing. I forgot that the me I am needed love, self love as much as everyone else around me. Giving without replenishing myself left me empty and lost.
I forgot about my connection to the Universe, I forgot about myself. Give, give, give with no moment of peace, because peace resides in myself and carelessly I threw it away.
And empty, without the cane of support I used to offer myself, I got dragged deeper and deeper in a world without light or darkness. The ever judging ego screams at me that I should have known better. That I have enough experience not to be fooled by illusions. And yet, at those moments, I knew no better.
Everything happens for a reason, or so my lucid contemplation of my life says. Maybe if I did not allow myself to go so down, I would have paid no attention to the screams of my body. Just maybe. A million hammers pounding in my head would have been hard to ignore. Or maybe I would have succeeded in keeping my ego busy enough not to notice. I am good at being busy and filling every moment to the max. But usually I am aware of it and I admit that to myself enough to give my mind, body and soul a break. Not this time. And because I was too down to really care about anything else, I got the chance to hear my body crying me, me. And the chance to observe myself eating pain killers like lollies.
Not that I like tablets. The only tablets I like are the very old ones, made of earth or stone that the ancients used instead of paper. But when I am busy, it is easy to forget or ignore exactly how many I swallow to push myself through yet another day filled to the brim. But with my ego hurt enough to be down, I could pay attention to the rest.
To how my body felt like after a night of carrying rocks. How my head hurt like being pounded by hammers. How sick I was.
I am arrogant. Arrogant enough not to accept the fact that one of the only things I take for granted might give up on me and yell for me to stop. Arrogant enough to say that all is good when it is not so. Arrogant enough to think that I am invincible.
But I am not. And for once, I did the right thing by my body. Low enough to not want to do anything else except mopping around saying poor me, I noticed how I chewed on codeine and ibuprofen, one after another until I managed to get rid of the plaguing headaches, but to feel even more sick then before. I went to the doctor, a thing that I normally avoid. Cleansing my chakras, connecting to the Universe is enough for me to be OK, so doctors are rare in my life. Better said, I only visit one when I am threatened and bullied into it. Not that I am against doctors. I take my kids to them often enough.
Long story short, after enough of my poor me I'm fine but I'm not routine, I ended up going to one. I am wise enough to have known in big part the whys of feeling so sick. I was proved right in terms of why. My ego can take satisfaction in that. But in the same time, I was reduced to a whiny child when I found out I left it going for long enough to put my own life in danger. Prime example of arrogance. So, I am not fine. As a matter of fact, without doping myself with medications, I will never be fine.
Not a pleasant thought at the best of times. For me, arrogant and proud to never admit exactly how hard things are, it is even more so. But it does hurt and quite plainly I don't like it. It could have been worse. No matter how bad things are, they can always be worse, and I was never that arrogant as not to see that. So while I do count my lucky stars and everyone that bullied me into checking it, it is still hard. Hard enough to make me mop around even more. Poor me. I will never be healthy again. Poor me, my life as I knew it is over. If I am to be honest, my life as I knew it was over about one year ago. Or maybe more. But it still does not change the fact that until not long ago my well stocked medicine cabinet was never used.
I am happy not to take pain killers as lollies. And as much as I could, I did avoid it. But not in a wise way. Ok, I am sick. I will always be sick if I don't take a handful of pills a day. Brrr... Boo hoo... It still did not change the fact that I was doing my Christmas shopping feeling very sorry for myself. To make things worse, my feet clad in dainty high heels, were killing me after hours of walking in them. Another reason to feel even more sorry for myself.
As I was walking around the very pretty and modern shopping center, pushing the full trolley ahead of me, I stopped my a stall. So many delicate and beautiful things, made from heart. Admiring them, a shadow of a smile played on the corner of my lips. As I turned to go, something turned my head one last time. In front of me, in the same place I looked three times before, a lovely jade set of runes. I am a Witch, even though a stupid one at times. Maybe not stupid. Just arrogant enough to be stupid. Anything mystical attracts me like a bee to a flower. Did I mention that I actually dislike jade? I do. It is the only crystal I can not stand. But today, looking at it, I did not see the prejudice I carry around. All I have seen was a beautiful set of stones, hand carved and hand inscribed.
I don't know if it is beautiful. For me, as I seen it with electric light playing on the inch long piece of rocks, emanating a light of their own, so pure, they were magical. Magical enough to zap me to reality. With a smile on my face, I accepted that some people are worse then the worst. I also accepted that I am sick. No hiding around, no dumb rebellion, no poor me. I am sick. Bravo. Done. Said and accepted. But that does not change the light inside of me, inside the jade I truly seen for the first time in that brief look. It does not changes who or what I am. I am still a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover. I still love the sun shine playing on green leaves between the clouds. I still take photos, I still read my books... I am the same. Still me.
Holding the runes, the jade I felt love for that first time, it daunted on me that I still love the same things, just maybe with another layer of understanding. And I still love myself, no matter what changes. The light inside the jade, the magic of the runes, entered my soul and reflected all around me, in my connection to the Universe that was still perfect. That will always be perfect. In forgetting to love myself, I automatically forgot to love the All around me. Falling in love with a piece of All was falling in love again with the All, including myself. Magic will always be around me as long as I accept it, as long as I want it.
With a smile shining on my face, I knew happiness. True happiness that comes from openly loving. And with love, hope and trust, acceptance and power weave together again to form happiness.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Believes
Lately I find myself more and more in the position of explaining my believes... And it is hard... How can one explain the knowing of the soul and all those little things that are beyond the words... How can one explain the Divine in letters... How can one explain that which has no label?
It is easy for me to explain what I am not... But being not leaves me with the necessity of putting into human words what I am...
I believe in more then one god, which I prefer to call a Goddess, and yet I am not a polytheist. Because for me, all gods and One God, all goddesses One Goddess and God and Goddess One thing that has no word. So maybe I just believe in The One that is All and yet everything. The One that is me and the rock, my child and the river, my friend and the skies, my enemy and yet the air, and fire, and wind...
I am in the same time a slave and a master, as there are no boundaries... I am the daughter, and yet I am the rivers and the oceans, the light and the dark, the Moon and the stars, the dawn and the dusk... I am the daughter and yet I am the trees that bend in the wind and the wind itself, the springs that start high and the mountains themselves, the Sun and the fire from the beginning of time... I am Me, and yet I am One with everything from the beginning of nothing until the end of All... Because I am All and All is Me, in a circle with no beginning and no end...
I believe in this God that I call a Goddess as giver of life, that is All and yet nothing... Wisdom and pain, blessing and curse, life and death... Maybe my All is the life then ends in death just to be reborn again as Life...
I believe in magic and the Witch as the old wisdom that is so easily lost in a battle for power. Being the All and yet nothing at all, I believe that I can shape my reality... Being just energy I can bend the energy according to my will. And yet while I have complete freedom, to do the good or bad that might be the good that is bad and the bad that is good, I can harm none without having to pay the price of tying myself down into someone else reality...
And yet I believe in those things I see and I feel... The Moon that has the power over my body and my planet... The planet as Earth and giver of life, hence as the Mother... I believe in spring as the Virgin, in summer as the Mother, in autumn as the Crone and winter as Ianus the god that looks one side to the past in death and the other to the future in life... I believe in Yin and Yang as The One that is neither male nor female, neither good nor bad...
How can the All be anything but neither good nor bad since the rain has the power of life and blessing but also of death and curse in floods... When the sun, the very same sun can make my plants grow and yet starve to death another? How can I believe into pure good and pure bad when I have the power to happiness and pain, mine and another?
And more, how can I reject the dark when only out of dark light can come to life? How can I reject the part of me and of All that suffers and lies broken only to find the magic of raising again, wiser then before? How can I only love the light when it would not exist without the dark to show it off? How can I believe only in good when I owe my wisdom to the dark times that nearly broke me?
And like the All that I call god, how can I not believe in that which most call magic? How can I not when from myself I can heal another? How can I not when wishes upon the stars that die come true? And yet, magic like the All is neither good, nor bad... It just Is...
I believe that life is fallowed by death fallowed by rebirth... and how can I not when my plants that die with winter get new leaves in spring, the same plant and yet another? How can I not when the sun raises and goes away each dawn and each dusk? How can I not when every winter is fallowed by another spring?
How can i not believe in the All as Goddess as Virgin, Mother and Crone when the one cycle of the seasons is so? How can I not when I, myself went from the carefree virgin to the powerful mother and going soon to what I hope will be the old wise woman? How can I not believe in the All as both male and female when life exists not without both?
I don't know what label to put on my believes. Pagan and Wiccan are the closest I have, but I can put no labels on That that has no label...
It is easy for me to explain what I am not... But being not leaves me with the necessity of putting into human words what I am...
I believe in more then one god, which I prefer to call a Goddess, and yet I am not a polytheist. Because for me, all gods and One God, all goddesses One Goddess and God and Goddess One thing that has no word. So maybe I just believe in The One that is All and yet everything. The One that is me and the rock, my child and the river, my friend and the skies, my enemy and yet the air, and fire, and wind...
I am in the same time a slave and a master, as there are no boundaries... I am the daughter, and yet I am the rivers and the oceans, the light and the dark, the Moon and the stars, the dawn and the dusk... I am the daughter and yet I am the trees that bend in the wind and the wind itself, the springs that start high and the mountains themselves, the Sun and the fire from the beginning of time... I am Me, and yet I am One with everything from the beginning of nothing until the end of All... Because I am All and All is Me, in a circle with no beginning and no end...
I believe in this God that I call a Goddess as giver of life, that is All and yet nothing... Wisdom and pain, blessing and curse, life and death... Maybe my All is the life then ends in death just to be reborn again as Life...
I believe in magic and the Witch as the old wisdom that is so easily lost in a battle for power. Being the All and yet nothing at all, I believe that I can shape my reality... Being just energy I can bend the energy according to my will. And yet while I have complete freedom, to do the good or bad that might be the good that is bad and the bad that is good, I can harm none without having to pay the price of tying myself down into someone else reality...
And yet I believe in those things I see and I feel... The Moon that has the power over my body and my planet... The planet as Earth and giver of life, hence as the Mother... I believe in spring as the Virgin, in summer as the Mother, in autumn as the Crone and winter as Ianus the god that looks one side to the past in death and the other to the future in life... I believe in Yin and Yang as The One that is neither male nor female, neither good nor bad...
How can the All be anything but neither good nor bad since the rain has the power of life and blessing but also of death and curse in floods... When the sun, the very same sun can make my plants grow and yet starve to death another? How can I believe into pure good and pure bad when I have the power to happiness and pain, mine and another?
And more, how can I reject the dark when only out of dark light can come to life? How can I reject the part of me and of All that suffers and lies broken only to find the magic of raising again, wiser then before? How can I only love the light when it would not exist without the dark to show it off? How can I believe only in good when I owe my wisdom to the dark times that nearly broke me?
And like the All that I call god, how can I not believe in that which most call magic? How can I not when from myself I can heal another? How can I not when wishes upon the stars that die come true? And yet, magic like the All is neither good, nor bad... It just Is...
I believe that life is fallowed by death fallowed by rebirth... and how can I not when my plants that die with winter get new leaves in spring, the same plant and yet another? How can I not when the sun raises and goes away each dawn and each dusk? How can I not when every winter is fallowed by another spring?
How can i not believe in the All as Goddess as Virgin, Mother and Crone when the one cycle of the seasons is so? How can I not when I, myself went from the carefree virgin to the powerful mother and going soon to what I hope will be the old wise woman? How can I not believe in the All as both male and female when life exists not without both?
I don't know what label to put on my believes. Pagan and Wiccan are the closest I have, but I can put no labels on That that has no label...
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