Dear Moon,
I have been meaning to talk to you for awhile now, but was always busy, counting the starts that surround you. You do know there are many stars out there, don’t you?
Well, it is time now. Time for you to know about me. I have been watching you ever since I can remember, I have tried to talk to you, but I guess you haven’t heard me since you never answered. At one point in time, I thought you are just rude. I guess you are just far away. My daughter told me that you are very far. She knows, because she’s visited you. She told me how the man on the moon is really nice and that you two get along just fine. I’m glad, because I was worried about you. I would hate to know that you are there alone all the time and you can even hear us. That’s too lonely. Even for a Moon…
I’m here. You are there. I guess, somehow we are together although you don’t know me.
I am infatuated with you. I wish I could hold and caress you. I wish I could sing you lullabies and watch you sleep. I have to tell you now, I just can’t keep this as a secret anymore. I love you. There. I said it.
Yours truly,
The woman not on the Moon.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Utopia
In my world there are no cars.
In my world there are no boxes.
In my world, there are no lines.
In my world, there are no tears.
In my world, live only hearts.
In my world, live only writers.
In my world, live only eyes.
In my world, live only smiles.
You are in my world. And you, and you, and you.
She is in my world too. And he, and you, and you.
She can only visit my world, though.
When the sun sets in my world, she has to go back into hers.
In my world there is no pain.
In my world there is no wait.
In my world there is no fence.
In my world there is no regret.
In my world, you are what you want to be.
In my world, you look up at the sky and smile.
In my world, you are loved.
In my world, you are you.
In my world there are no boxes.
In my world, there are no lines.
In my world, there are no tears.
In my world, live only hearts.
In my world, live only writers.
In my world, live only eyes.
In my world, live only smiles.
You are in my world. And you, and you, and you.
She is in my world too. And he, and you, and you.
She can only visit my world, though.
When the sun sets in my world, she has to go back into hers.
In my world there is no pain.
In my world there is no wait.
In my world there is no fence.
In my world there is no regret.
In my world, you are what you want to be.
In my world, you look up at the sky and smile.
In my world, you are loved.
In my world, you are you.
Resistance
I step outside. Outside of my mind. I can see my heart pumping, resisting to letting go of feelings. My heart seems suffocated in the crowd of thoughts, feelings and rocks. I look around and try to figure out the magic words. I need magic words, right? I think I need to stop this overwhelming feeling of too much feeling.
The world around us resists to letting go. The night doesn’t want to let go of darkness. The moon lingers in the sky even when it is obvious that the sun is there. The leaves do not want to fall off the trees, the parents do not want to let their children grow. Who am I to decide that letting go is the thing to do?
My heart is still beating. That’s good, I think. I am inside my mind and I know I should leave. I need to live outside of my mind, my thoughts should be my companions not my rulers, my feelings should call before they show up… I’ve managed to grow a pretty spoiled bunch of feelings. They come and make themselves at home. Next thing I know they completely moved in.
I am here. I am sorting through my years. It’s spring cleaning. My first. I promise, there is no resistance this time. I will only keep what I need… It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I’ll keep this one.
The world around us resists to letting go. The night doesn’t want to let go of darkness. The moon lingers in the sky even when it is obvious that the sun is there. The leaves do not want to fall off the trees, the parents do not want to let their children grow. Who am I to decide that letting go is the thing to do?
My heart is still beating. That’s good, I think. I am inside my mind and I know I should leave. I need to live outside of my mind, my thoughts should be my companions not my rulers, my feelings should call before they show up… I’ve managed to grow a pretty spoiled bunch of feelings. They come and make themselves at home. Next thing I know they completely moved in.
I am here. I am sorting through my years. It’s spring cleaning. My first. I promise, there is no resistance this time. I will only keep what I need… It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I’ll keep this one.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wishes of a tree
Have you ever imagined being a tree? A tall, strong, straight up, serious tree. Or, a small tree with lots of branches in someone’s backyard. A mountain tree, or a prairie tree, or even a palm tree.
I was talking to this tree once, and he was telling me stories from a far away time. He remembered every second of his hundreds of years. He told me he doesn’t get to have conversations too often and he was happy I stopped by. I touched its trunk and he shivered. “Nobody touched me in a long time.” “Last I remember, this little girl came and hugged me, buried her face in my leaves and asked me to hold her.” A leaf fell on my shoulder. I picked it up and said “Thank you”. I looked up and the branches were dancing, I stopped and listened: the tree was singing. The sweetest lullaby…
The tree told me about his youth and his wishes. When he was growing up, he wished to be a huge, tall tree in the middle of a forest, the tallest tree around. Then, he grew, the trees around him grew in a forest and he was the tallest. People would come and admire him, the other trees where envious and stopped talking to him. He grew lonely and sad. He wished to be a small tree in someone’s backyard. He wished he had friends and that kids would climb up on him and decorate him at Christmas. He wished and he grew older and sadder as time went by. That’s where he was when I stopped and hugged him. We talked for a long time and he told me his last wish…
I turned to leave and he burst into flames. I watched that big tree crumble up until there was nothing but ashes and amber.
The tree lived… The tree was happy… The wish was granted…
I was talking to this tree once, and he was telling me stories from a far away time. He remembered every second of his hundreds of years. He told me he doesn’t get to have conversations too often and he was happy I stopped by. I touched its trunk and he shivered. “Nobody touched me in a long time.” “Last I remember, this little girl came and hugged me, buried her face in my leaves and asked me to hold her.” A leaf fell on my shoulder. I picked it up and said “Thank you”. I looked up and the branches were dancing, I stopped and listened: the tree was singing. The sweetest lullaby…
The tree told me about his youth and his wishes. When he was growing up, he wished to be a huge, tall tree in the middle of a forest, the tallest tree around. Then, he grew, the trees around him grew in a forest and he was the tallest. People would come and admire him, the other trees where envious and stopped talking to him. He grew lonely and sad. He wished to be a small tree in someone’s backyard. He wished he had friends and that kids would climb up on him and decorate him at Christmas. He wished and he grew older and sadder as time went by. That’s where he was when I stopped and hugged him. We talked for a long time and he told me his last wish…
I turned to leave and he burst into flames. I watched that big tree crumble up until there was nothing but ashes and amber.
The tree lived… The tree was happy… The wish was granted…
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Counting
How many times have I heard: “you have to be first, coming in second doesn’t count”? I lost count. The first memory of my childhood is that of me as a child, in a crib, calling for someone to come. I could hear the voices outside my room, I was calling, but nobody came. I don’t know how old I was. I don’t remember anything else. It was just the fear of being alone. Was it the first time I felt alone, or the first time I felt fear? I don’t really know. It feels like the first time to me, so I guess, it was.
I would like second for awhile… What was my second memory as a child? I don’t know. The memories run together after the first one. I am infatuated with the notion of peace, with being able to let go of thoughts and feel compelled to just feel. I’m not counting anymore.
I would like second for awhile… What was my second memory as a child? I don’t know. The memories run together after the first one. I am infatuated with the notion of peace, with being able to let go of thoughts and feel compelled to just feel. I’m not counting anymore.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Expecting the unexpected
I wait for the sky to open and for you to put it all back.
I wait for the wind to take away the pain of dryness and for you to cover me up.
I wait for the earth to change its movement and, at any time, for us to fall… upwards.
I wait for the eternity of your touch, for the safety of your arms.
I wait for the moments to swirl and for you to send me your thoughts.
I wait for all the craziness to end and for peace to start.
I wait for rainbows, for sunshine, for soft kisses and for flames.
I wait for everything that I think is reasonable…
The sky opens, you cover me up, we don’t fall, we still are.
The moments come and go, they bring tears and laughter.
The life comes and stays for awhile, we feel peace and then we fall.
The rainbows color the darkness and we get up, we still are.
What we thought is reasonable is no more, we still are.
The flames take us away, the waves quench us, we still are.
Sore, burned, happy, fulfilled, stronger, better, complete.
We still are.
I wait for the wind to take away the pain of dryness and for you to cover me up.
I wait for the earth to change its movement and, at any time, for us to fall… upwards.
I wait for the eternity of your touch, for the safety of your arms.
I wait for the moments to swirl and for you to send me your thoughts.
I wait for all the craziness to end and for peace to start.
I wait for rainbows, for sunshine, for soft kisses and for flames.
I wait for everything that I think is reasonable…
The sky opens, you cover me up, we don’t fall, we still are.
The moments come and go, they bring tears and laughter.
The life comes and stays for awhile, we feel peace and then we fall.
The rainbows color the darkness and we get up, we still are.
What we thought is reasonable is no more, we still are.
The flames take us away, the waves quench us, we still are.
Sore, burned, happy, fulfilled, stronger, better, complete.
We still are.
Flame
It’s getting dark outside. It’s that moment in between times: the sun looks tired, but still tries to give it its all. I look at the sky and wait. The colors change. It’s amber right now. Soft amber in the month of August. Flames in the sky. It’s interesting… it should get hot soon. I just want to stay here and watch the flames. It maybe just the fear of turning towards myself…
I have to warm up to my own flames now. It’s really dark and cold outside. I am a child, a serious, brown eyed girl who doesn’t smile too much. Everyone thinks I’m just quiet, they may think I’m cold. I am really busy inside, trying to sort out what’s ashes and amber and flames. When I finish, I’ll be old. I just hope I won’t be too old to care. Or too cold.
I miss your embraces. I miss feeling protected and safe. I miss being the happy, serious, brown eyed girl I have never been. I want to have been able to run out and jump in your arms and feel truly happy when you came. Instead, I always wondered if I was enough. Always trying to be more. So much trying, that I forgot to be.
I am not putting out my flames anymore. They will always burn.
I have to warm up to my own flames now. It’s really dark and cold outside. I am a child, a serious, brown eyed girl who doesn’t smile too much. Everyone thinks I’m just quiet, they may think I’m cold. I am really busy inside, trying to sort out what’s ashes and amber and flames. When I finish, I’ll be old. I just hope I won’t be too old to care. Or too cold.
I miss your embraces. I miss feeling protected and safe. I miss being the happy, serious, brown eyed girl I have never been. I want to have been able to run out and jump in your arms and feel truly happy when you came. Instead, I always wondered if I was enough. Always trying to be more. So much trying, that I forgot to be.
I am not putting out my flames anymore. They will always burn.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Differences
It’s going to be different this time.
The rain will still fall, but there will be new rain drops.
The sun will still shine, but its rays will touch your face differently
The night will come, but the sounds before it will be softer.
I will still love you, but my heart will beat faster.
The flowers will grow and some people will look at them and think
That they’ve seen them before…
No, they are different.
We look for what we want to see.
We dream of what we think we are allowed to dream of.
We love the way we were taught and get mad when it doesn’t fill us up.
We escape and become different.
Then, we start looking for what we want to see again.
The rain will still fall, but there will be new rain drops.
The sun will still shine, but its rays will touch your face differently
The night will come, but the sounds before it will be softer.
I will still love you, but my heart will beat faster.
The flowers will grow and some people will look at them and think
That they’ve seen them before…
No, they are different.
We look for what we want to see.
We dream of what we think we are allowed to dream of.
We love the way we were taught and get mad when it doesn’t fill us up.
We escape and become different.
Then, we start looking for what we want to see again.
Beginning
This is lot harder than I thought. When I read this assignment, I thought… it’s a piece of cake. There are so many beginnings! Where do I begin?
I have enrolled in this writing class. 50 days, 50 assignments, 50 pages, 50 bucks. Why? Because I like to write, it keeps me sane, because Kim made me (for those of you who know Kim, you know that’s absolutely true), because I don’t have enough to do (right). It’s a beginning. I have started to think about me. I have started to care about what I like and what I don’t, about how I spend my time with myself and about what I do for myself.
I grew up in a strict, tight, gray environment. My parents loved me, my grandparents loved me, everyone loved me, but it was all loaded with responsibilities. I grew up fast and grew up tight. I kept withdrawing into this world of extreme imagination hosted inside my head and heart. I was happy there, but it felt that on the outside I wasn’t good enough. Why am I telling you all this? I was talking about doing something for myself. Yes, I started to do more of that. It’s still hard and I still have a lot of guilt associated with that, but it’s a start.
I feel fresh and powerful, full of unexpressed feelings and thoughts. I feel much older than I really am, but much more energetic than before. Before the beginning…
I have enrolled in this writing class. 50 days, 50 assignments, 50 pages, 50 bucks. Why? Because I like to write, it keeps me sane, because Kim made me (for those of you who know Kim, you know that’s absolutely true), because I don’t have enough to do (right). It’s a beginning. I have started to think about me. I have started to care about what I like and what I don’t, about how I spend my time with myself and about what I do for myself.
I grew up in a strict, tight, gray environment. My parents loved me, my grandparents loved me, everyone loved me, but it was all loaded with responsibilities. I grew up fast and grew up tight. I kept withdrawing into this world of extreme imagination hosted inside my head and heart. I was happy there, but it felt that on the outside I wasn’t good enough. Why am I telling you all this? I was talking about doing something for myself. Yes, I started to do more of that. It’s still hard and I still have a lot of guilt associated with that, but it’s a start.
I feel fresh and powerful, full of unexpressed feelings and thoughts. I feel much older than I really am, but much more energetic than before. Before the beginning…
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Playing with pain
My thoughts seem to be running away today. I’m stretching my arm out and… let’s see… I got one.
It’s one of my thoughts. Sorry. You are going to stay with me for awhile longer.
Pain seems to sharpen with the passing of seconds.
Is it the time that hurts or just me?
I think it’s the most outer layer of me.
I’m good inside, I can still feel warm.
The pain returns and tries to penetrate deeper.
I stop it and throw it away. How rude!
It didn’t even ask if I’m willing to take it in.
Well, I’m not. Next time, it should ask.
I’m sending my heat on this trip. It’s a long journey,
but it will make it.
It needs to get to the outside and warm up my eyes.
Should be easy, I have faith in my heart.
Meanwhile, I’ll just sit here and wait…
It’s one of my thoughts. Sorry. You are going to stay with me for awhile longer.
Pain seems to sharpen with the passing of seconds.
Is it the time that hurts or just me?
I think it’s the most outer layer of me.
I’m good inside, I can still feel warm.
The pain returns and tries to penetrate deeper.
I stop it and throw it away. How rude!
It didn’t even ask if I’m willing to take it in.
Well, I’m not. Next time, it should ask.
I’m sending my heat on this trip. It’s a long journey,
but it will make it.
It needs to get to the outside and warm up my eyes.
Should be easy, I have faith in my heart.
Meanwhile, I’ll just sit here and wait…
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Prayer
Give me strength from your hands.
Give me a breath of air from your eyes.
Please, give me everything you had at the beginnings.
Then, turn me into stone
Turn me into a green rock,
and into a green woman.
Turn me into your tree, and take my leaves.
Uproot me, and build me up into a wall.
Water me. Water me with heavy rain,
with water heavier then the emptiness within.
Reborn me from the crumbles of green rock,
and leaves, and roots.
Then, I will be. Re-give me to you,
and I will be… a soul in the sun.
I will always whisper:
Love, you… you…
Give me a breath of air from your eyes.
Please, give me everything you had at the beginnings.
Then, turn me into stone
Turn me into a green rock,
and into a green woman.
Turn me into your tree, and take my leaves.
Uproot me, and build me up into a wall.
Water me. Water me with heavy rain,
with water heavier then the emptiness within.
Reborn me from the crumbles of green rock,
and leaves, and roots.
Then, I will be. Re-give me to you,
and I will be… a soul in the sun.
I will always whisper:
Love, you… you…
Life
At the beginning there is pleasure,
and desire, love, passion and… two…
Then, there is a welcome scream
and curiosity, struggle, laugh and… one or … three…
Then, running, falling, rising, flying,
falling, running, searching, knowledge,
and… one…
It all becomes heart, love, knowledge again, pleasure,
and desire, love, and…two…
Then one… and another…
And another.
Slipping away and struggle, trying to hold on, and
Impossibility.
There is black or light. Pain or peace.
Who really knows what it is?
It could be passing on.
At the end, there is beginning.
At the beginning there is pleasure,
and desire, and…
and desire, love, passion and… two…
Then, there is a welcome scream
and curiosity, struggle, laugh and… one or … three…
Then, running, falling, rising, flying,
falling, running, searching, knowledge,
and… one…
It all becomes heart, love, knowledge again, pleasure,
and desire, love, and…two…
Then one… and another…
And another.
Slipping away and struggle, trying to hold on, and
Impossibility.
There is black or light. Pain or peace.
Who really knows what it is?
It could be passing on.
At the end, there is beginning.
At the beginning there is pleasure,
and desire, and…
Monday, March 12, 2007
Algebra
I used to like to graph functions.
I liked the surprise I felt with each touch of the pencil on paper.
Straight lines climbing towards infinity.
Curved lines approaching that asymptotic line which seemed to appear
all of the sudden in the middle of the page.
I was fascinated with that reaching without actually touching.
Never actually achieving. How did the lines really feel?
There was great sadness too in those graphs…
I liked the surprise I felt with each touch of the pencil on paper.
Straight lines climbing towards infinity.
Curved lines approaching that asymptotic line which seemed to appear
all of the sudden in the middle of the page.
I was fascinated with that reaching without actually touching.
Never actually achieving. How did the lines really feel?
There was great sadness too in those graphs…
Riding the ride
I feel the tears of not being falling inside me.
I feel myself smashing against words and thoughts.
The vowels scratch me. They are so easy to say, but so difficult to caress…
Is it day or night? Is this light? Is it really me?
I turn around and I see myself looking at me.
I stretch my hand so I can get over memories.
I stop and realize that I am just a memory.
I am a forgotten page in a book with lots of pages.
People.
My thoughts hurt. My hidden thoughts, your unsaid thoughts,
buried in the deepness of other thoughts.
My mind embraces them, empties them of all meaning and feeling,
transforms them into black letters on a white wall and then,
into words more black and more empty.
I’m better, right? The words have passed…
I feel myself smashing against words and thoughts.
The vowels scratch me. They are so easy to say, but so difficult to caress…
Is it day or night? Is this light? Is it really me?
I turn around and I see myself looking at me.
I stretch my hand so I can get over memories.
I stop and realize that I am just a memory.
I am a forgotten page in a book with lots of pages.
People.
My thoughts hurt. My hidden thoughts, your unsaid thoughts,
buried in the deepness of other thoughts.
My mind embraces them, empties them of all meaning and feeling,
transforms them into black letters on a white wall and then,
into words more black and more empty.
I’m better, right? The words have passed…
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Kneeling
Desert lions, I miss you!
I miss your strength.
Pray for people and for their dried up roots!
I want to caress your fantastic mane with my leaves.
I want to hear your roar.
Speak for me, desert lions!
Pray for people, desert lions!
Sprinkle some of your eyes’ strength
in people’s souls.
These souls are so thirsty for love…
Kneel your power, desert lions and send us your prayer.
I miss your strength.
Pray for people and for their dried up roots!
I want to caress your fantastic mane with my leaves.
I want to hear your roar.
Speak for me, desert lions!
Pray for people, desert lions!
Sprinkle some of your eyes’ strength
in people’s souls.
These souls are so thirsty for love…
Kneel your power, desert lions and send us your prayer.
Questions
There is Time. You are Time, rising towards nowhere.
You are Time stepping down towards somewhere else.
There is Time petrified in a light that could never be red.
Why isn’t ever enough Time?
There is Earth. You are Earth, black and heavy and full of rainbows.
You are Earth, from the world across,
You are the Earth of the eternal world among all of the worlds.
Why aren’t we one with the Earth?
There is a Moment. You are the Moment, born from the Time
rising towards nowhere.
You are the Moment, born from the black and heavy Earth,
full of rainbows.
Why can’t the Moment last forever?
You are everything. So, why is there this farewell
without face or laugh?
Why is there a tear and why this roundness of stones?
Why just stones?
You are Time stepping down towards somewhere else.
There is Time petrified in a light that could never be red.
Why isn’t ever enough Time?
There is Earth. You are Earth, black and heavy and full of rainbows.
You are Earth, from the world across,
You are the Earth of the eternal world among all of the worlds.
Why aren’t we one with the Earth?
There is a Moment. You are the Moment, born from the Time
rising towards nowhere.
You are the Moment, born from the black and heavy Earth,
full of rainbows.
Why can’t the Moment last forever?
You are everything. So, why is there this farewell
without face or laugh?
Why is there a tear and why this roundness of stones?
Why just stones?
Rising
The sun rises once again.
Where did all the darkness go? It was here just a minute ago…
The night was all around me, I could feel its touch
The night surrounded me and I felt nothing afterwards.
I almost miss the finality of night.
I feel it seeping inside me and the fear of no light,
Slowly gives way to coolness.
The sun is back. You are the light. The light of my night?
No. It comes after darkness. IS it just my light?
And why should I share it with the world? Or do I?
Does everyone else see the light?
I see people walking in the dark.
I see people cold and empty.
How could they be empty when the sun is up?
They must not have seen it?
Should I tell them?
Hey! Stop! Can’t you see?
Where did all the darkness go? It was here just a minute ago…
The night was all around me, I could feel its touch
The night surrounded me and I felt nothing afterwards.
I almost miss the finality of night.
I feel it seeping inside me and the fear of no light,
Slowly gives way to coolness.
The sun is back. You are the light. The light of my night?
No. It comes after darkness. IS it just my light?
And why should I share it with the world? Or do I?
Does everyone else see the light?
I see people walking in the dark.
I see people cold and empty.
How could they be empty when the sun is up?
They must not have seen it?
Should I tell them?
Hey! Stop! Can’t you see?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Flow
I am a mountain spring. In the eyes of the mountain, I am small, but so vital. I run through forests, I search the valleys, I am cold and alive. I dream of a quiet lake, but I can’t be one. There’s too much motion, there’s too much purpose, there’s too much desire to conquer the world. The mountain would be empty without me, although the mountain gets tired of my constant flowing. It sets up rocks in my path; it uproots trees and throws them in my banks. I move around the rocks, I flow through the trees. My banks cannot contain me. I get to the dam and I focus on being. I am amazed at how free I feel, and how contained. I come and go, from one side to the other, I jump and flow and the dam is around me. I smile… I am free, but I am home. When I get tired, I can make… electricity.
I am a mountain spring. You are my dam.
I am a mountain spring. You are my dam.
Trial
The nothingness did not change.
Holding my silence in my arms, in the middle of its darkness,
I looked up and watched the sky. I said:
I am a piece of this tree that… hurts.
My silence was only a bundle of darkness and transparency,
a drop from the world’s silence.
A piece of the sky was missing. Oh, that’s my silence!
A crumble from the sky.
And there was the sky full of holes. Terrible.
My fear was born.
What if I can’t put the sky back… inside me?
What if I’ll leave the world looking at a hole in the sky?
I was quiet, holding my silence close to me.
I was quiet till my silence deafened
And implored me to come back inside me.
Holding my silence in my arms, in the middle of its darkness,
I looked up and watched the sky. I said:
I am a piece of this tree that… hurts.
My silence was only a bundle of darkness and transparency,
a drop from the world’s silence.
A piece of the sky was missing. Oh, that’s my silence!
A crumble from the sky.
And there was the sky full of holes. Terrible.
My fear was born.
What if I can’t put the sky back… inside me?
What if I’ll leave the world looking at a hole in the sky?
I was quiet, holding my silence close to me.
I was quiet till my silence deafened
And implored me to come back inside me.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Asking
Don’t go.
I want to watch you some more!
I want to pick you up,
whisper by whisper,
light by light, sadness by sadness
in my eyes rising towards you!
Don’t go.
I thirst for your lonely lips,
those lips with perfumes
of white lilac.
I thirst for your eyes,
hiding the sky in each caress
with which I’m embraced…
Stay…
I want to watch you some more!
I want to pick you up,
whisper by whisper,
light by light, sadness by sadness
in my eyes rising towards you!
Don’t go.
I thirst for your lonely lips,
those lips with perfumes
of white lilac.
I thirst for your eyes,
hiding the sky in each caress
with which I’m embraced…
Stay…
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