Illuminated Fragments

     Woke up in the middle of the night and watched anxiety take over me. All I wanted in that moment was to cuddle up to my baby and fall into sweet sleep. But my body felt different, and I couldn't shake it off - as if grey static bolts were chaotically sweeping through me, with no option for control. In the morning I realized that even in sleep I am stressed. This has been going on for some years now. And it's only getting worse.
     Every girl needs to feel protected in life - first by her father, then brother, then husband, then son. I've chosen different in this life: the biological male specimen gave me up, and my father raised me up to be a good human; only as an adult am I deciphering my parents' love in all the different forms they've surrounded me with. Every relationship I've thrown myself in gave no protection. Moreover, I was not raised religious nor spiritual. In other words, I have never had anyone to count on. And so I drank heavily to mask up the stress, swim in wine, beget other feelings. Like bravery. Or stupidity. Until one day I met someone with whom there was nothing. Just space. No stress, no protection, no worries, just space. I thought I found a path. I mean, wine and cigarettes and non-stop partying were no longer needed. My mind was clear, my heart was open. So I went into the real world, by myself, unprotected. Because the Universe will never drop you. And then I fell apart.
     I've been looking for pieces, perfecting the ones I already have, polishing the others that I find. Quite literally I am in the process of rebuilding myself as me. It's a frustratingly difficult task. Thankfully last night I realized the proportion of my stress. What do I do with it? Pass it onto my children, and everyone who dares to come close. As a woman, who by default has certain powers, I ended up manipulating people through that stress. What is this weight? Not trusting. I thought I did - "the Universe won't drop you!" -  I kept saying. But now I see... Can I let go and fall into my partner's arms with trust? Can I open my heart again to the world, and trust that I won't fall apart once more before I even put myself together? ...don't know.

Mosaic girl by lalylaura

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

     I have Vata in my belly, so much of it I can float away. I am a nuisance to the world, make me smaller so I can fit. Strange things are happening, I can't decipher 'em, slipping away. The armor is heavy, I might suffocate.



Blya-blya-blya

     I could write about my emotions concerning atrocious punctuation in a letter I'd received from our kid's school. Or about women who love to hug you just to force their perfume memory on you for the beginning of eternity. And I always want to write about egos - someone else's, of course, how unconscious they all are. Flies and mosquitoes are another unnerving topic, as I stare at my own annoyance, battling mental exhaustion. But would any of it do any good? And what kind of a question is that in the first place?
     Do you want to do good? What do you want to do with your life? Are you going to have regrets about doing nothing at the curtain's draw? What is a regret, where is its source? It is easier to forgive or erase from memory? If I simply watch my thoughts and patterns, I am being proactive? In other words, am I evolving? What does that even mean? Why I am dissatisfied with all aspects of my life at the moment? What is all this mush in my head? Why can't I seem to find a jiffy to breathe and clear, to see myself, to be myself?
     Every day I am bombarded by opinions not my own. Like advertisements, without my permission, bits of information rip through my material life and imbed themselves, tick-like, in my sluggish body. What do I want?! Where do I stand? I want to scream, to push, explode, tear, bleed, dance with chaos, destroy. And then I want to calm and create anew. From scratch. Like a Goddess. A Big Bang.


Cet enfant ne sait pas tenir sa langue.

     Когда-то давно, во времена первых пятниц, я познакомилась с мужчиной, который представился мне учителем. "Учителем чего?" - спросила я. "Я преподаю враньё", - ответил он. Я тогда усмехнулась над этой оригинальностью, мне просто было нечего на это сказать. А он пояснил, "Я - учитель истории."
     Это правда - нашу историю стирали, переписывали, сжигали и уничтожали, перевирали, скрывали, за неё платили и умирали, в неё не верили в конце-концов. И не только в прошедшем времени. Многое утеряно, особенно всё волшебство. Но утеряно временно, просто этим никто не интересуется. Не важно. Интересно то, что всплывают моменты ясности. Есть у нас выражение "Держать язык за зубами". Всё просто, чего объяснять. А несколько лет назад я узнала, что есть в йоге такая техника накопления энергии - именно держать язык за зубами! Не буду наскучивать подробностями самого процесса, но я уверена, что на Руси о такой технике знали и ею пользовались! И выражение это не просто говорит об утечке энергии, а напоминает как раз о неё накоплении!
     Да так, просто кусочек волшебства. Кому интересно, тот раскроет суть.  

GOD

     She searched everywhere, until finally stumbling upon pink-stone ruins in some unknown city, where small animals (hedgehogs?) took her by her hands, her sides, her legs. They led her up a pink side, and as they walked the stone changed in front of them, like a kaleidoscope, like a dream, a dimension different. Inside, he was sitting at a table, writing and having a cup of, maybe coffee? He was surprised, asking why she keeps finding him. The floor under her feet started to fall away; he was disappearing again ... this was a chance to say something, to stay, to change everything. The door to this world kept closing. He said, "I'm not the one, I only saw you once, brushed against you, you're a girl, don't look for me". The floor was losing color. She was just a girl. And before everything was gone again, she screamed, "I love you!"

Fimbriae of a fallopian tube under microscope. Credit, anyone?