Time is not real. The separation between hours and numbers was made by us, so we can have some sense of control, also to make timing between each other easier. Sometimes we think we actually make things happen on time. Like there wasn’t a divine order already in place for us.
The day never rushes through us, we are rushing through it. The day just is. Giving it time is allowing ourselves not to run anymore.
Slow down. It’s OK. It’s winter.
We will always be here. Just not in the same form. We will change into more love, into more grace.
air, arosion, attention, bio, body, boundaries, breathe, chemical-free, communication, communion, dis-ease., disease, ebergy, eco, feeling, flowers, honey, immersed, inner, internal, knowledge, love, love making, magic, nature, nurture, pain, profit, sacred, secret, sun, sun-dried, suspended, tea, the elements, transformation, trees, Universe, water, winter
Because being suspended in liquid honey is the closest I could so far describe the feeling of being absolutely in love with something or someone.
Because every time I see a real flower (not the ones produced on a massive scale, with their DNA messed up, so they stay in perfect shape for longer, but with little to no smell at all left), I think to myself: as long as flowers still blossom, there can be no question on the existence of Love.
Because anytime I feel pain, physical or spiritual, I remember that it’s nothing more than evidence of the lack of love, or scarcity of it. Even the pain inflicted by others, because that’s nothing more than a request for attention from those who do it.
Because tea is a form of liquid love which you pour inside your body, with hours and hours of good “side effects”. Tea is the story of the planet, encapsulated in the pores of leaves, that starts to unfold once again under hot water, being brought back to life, for enough time to whisper to our souls about the magic of life. And it is the echo which reverberates inside our organs and veins, getting us back to our primary rhythm. Connecting our mind, heart and root energies in a stronger bond, while washing away the traces of dis-ease and the inevitable frustration built up over time, from the walls of inner landscapes.
I’m talking about the tea made from the plants grown on chemical-free soil, hand-picked and sun-dried, you know, the right kind, that keeps the sun and the wind in them, after the water has evaporated. Not those things with 7 labels on the package to convince us that they are natural, when in fact no memory of how they’re supposed to smell or taste remains in those tea bags. Evidence of desperate attempts of men in white robes debating on how to imitate nature, and multiply something which just looks like it, for the bigger profit.
Because it’s the air that keeps us alive, and the air which eventually oxides and erodes the appearances of the body and the material into oblivion, so that the new could emerge.
All those little love makings triggered by each breath in and out feed little rivers of new life throughout my internal universe. And so I know I am being loved as long as I am the recipient of this exchange of new and old.
Because I am water. We are more like water than like any other thing. We are more like water, air, and thought, than we like to admit at this point in time. Water is synonym to magic. It heals, clears, nurtures and transforms. It can transform in anything it needs: patience, impatience, nurture or destruction. It holds the knowledge of the Earth. Life could not begin unless we were fully immersed in the sacred communion liquid first. While humans barely communicate trough words and actions, the Earth communicates through the wind, the water, us, and everything else.
7. The Sun
Because most things follow the Sun, and I feel them all a part of me. Because me and the trees miss it badly in the winter. Because few things can escape the secret agreement it has with the other things that remind me of Love, and also with every cell of my being, such as it is perceived within the boundaries made by men.
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Be happy where you are now, with what you have.
This was a day with a spring scent. Information from the weekend still settling down in my brain. Didn’t get to make pancakes. But tomorrow is another day. Saw a few clips on OBE, got my Abraham fix and managed to make a short trip in the sun in the afternoon. I’m still trying to figure out who had this idea of us humans getting inside these opaque boxes for most of our day, in which little sunshine, little fresh air gets in… We miss the rhythms of the nature, in our eyes, and ears, and pores… but we don’t know it yet. OK, some of us do, but most still don’t unfortunately… Ate low in protein at breakfast and lunch, and by the time I got back home had extreme fantasies with some… you know… bacon. Then got them fulfilled. Then had my second quarter of glass of wine this year and saw a short movie. And just like that, my day is over. Not my day, but my fuel. This is what 32 feels like. How am I supposed to handle a boyfriend or a pet? My phone is kinda kinky. He says “touch to update google hangouts” and stuff… I don’t use more than half that crap. I’m afraid to “touch”. Lol. It might update things I didn’t even know existed before :)))) This is how you know you’re getting old. Faster than how people got old 30 years ago. So anyway, I started wishing for a lot of things, you know, that feeling you have when the day is almost over and you didn’t do much. At least I didn’t drop my bag in the mud, like I did on Friday. No more aftermath washing. And even though your body can’t take it, you still send the commands. That’s what got me into a two months in bed health issue this winter. So, yeah, adjustments time! And after your brain realizes it is not in shape for some proactive awesome proof of human intelligent capacity – I mean even that was kinda hard to write – it goes: “hey, how about a movie? It’s still some type of cultural act, or at least it could be, 10 years from now.” So I said to myself I can’t do this shit all the time. This projecting of what could have been is highly toxic and negative spiral inducing. So how about just being extremely happy with things exactly the way they are? After all not one moment has ever contained the perfect ingredients or perfect outcome. There are always seeds of improvement in anything that exists in our reality, and even the realities to which we measure our own. I think when that impeccable moment comes, all life will cease to exist. So maybe it was the wine, maybe all the spiritual practices I’ve been endeavoring in – including some chakra aligning – although I’m sure it was both, but I just decided to relax, let the usual feeling pass through me instead of resisting it, and got really grateful for all the wonderfully crappy and unbearably, food-porn-like-good things in my life. And I think I heard my brain say thank you. :)) Yes, our efforts should settle by the time the sun checks in on the other side of the planet. But we never seem to get that. Sometimes I have the feeling we race computers. What a sad specie we are.
But getting back to my initial thought stream… how can we be happy with more, tomorrow, if we don’t know how to be happy with what we have today? The Now contains everything we need. Every moment is another teacher of that. Ah! The taste of non-self-persecution!
This is probably one of my most journal-like posts since I started the blog. I wonder how will all this sound in the morning… I should make tea.
Yeah, this was supposed to be a short note. Better luck next time I guess.
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A time for every color of your past, the silence of what is too insignificant to last.
Woke up to the dry howling of the wind and thought about how we lost the sun again today. Cussed at the making of the Universe, the Earth and the cosmos, and the distance between the planets and the stars, this distance which makes it easier, or harder to go on, for us small creatures, …and at the frail making of my bones, which never loved cold, but which have always been loved by it. It found a space to thrive and dwell, to tell its stories once again. About how structures of this plane crack inside and lose their shape under its weight, how the light travels faster, the minutes grow longer, and love gets easier, because in these silent times there are not so many directions to take so easily anymore. “You’re not welcome here”. But the cold is always deaf.
Slowed down by the weight of my clothes and my thoughts, I roll my steps on the salty ice dust, to meet my brief destiny of today. The cold now sits on the branches of this plane, ruling the morning still, stretched like a thin, poisonous, invisible octopus over the trapped memories, inside the evidence of the past warm rays.
The road ahead changed overnight into a white mystery, a visual spectacle for an audience who will never get the pains that make it. A rare chance to experience the frozen energy field around each and every leaf, the trace of the blizzard stamped on the trees.
Eternal paradox of the snowflake melted by the very warmth of the joy it brings.