Fall to fly

She came. She left. It was made and undone.

There are no rules, there are no cages but she’s not free.

Freedom is subjective.

Are we free when we cannot liberate ourselves?

Shall we try to fly when we’ve forgotten about our wings? 

Yes. We must fall and rise or we will never learn. Stubborn souls need to be obedient, need a guide.

I’ve ran around in circles with my freedom. I must obey yellow. I must connect.

Fly and fall. Learn. Grow. Be.

Choose the words you think, choose the words you say. Be more in control and it will truly set you free.

Fly little bird, fly. Even if you fall.

I don’t know much, except what I’ve felt. I’ve decided based on emotion and when I cannot remember why, I regret it. But when I do remember and I have a glimpse of clarity, I smile. 

I smile because I’ve gotten to chase happiness. And now I must be reminded that it’s sleeping inside me. Sleeping beauty must wake up and smell the roses. She must live and fly and fall and keep trying until one lucky day the wings will come out and she’ll fly. 

I have fallen but I must remember to keep jumping and fall until I finally fly. Because if I stop jumping, how could I ever fly? 

Blurry 

It’s a day she can’t remember. She remembered taking a break but had no clue as to how long she’d been resting. 

She had to get up and fight the good fight. What was the fight again? What am I fighting for? She forgot. She had a short term memory problem and that didn’t allow her to plan much. 
Just get up! She heard a voice. It was blurry and confusing. She felt a bit older and more tired. Is it worth it? Can I do this? It’s still blurry. Her vision has been compromised. 

And still, she carries on slowly. She doesn’t know what else to do except survive. Is that enough? Is surviving good enough? She’s forgotten how but she will carry on.

And she hopes and prays that the vision becomes clear and precise because she’s been lost for a while and it’s time. It’s definitely time.

The little boy

He wakes up and has to take care of business. There are diapers to change, issues to solve and fights to be had to survive this life that was given to this little boy.

“Hey! Come here.” He hears a bully scream. “What?” He bravely responds. He starts to negotiate a beating. He loses the negotiation and the bully and the boy get into a huge fight. 

His mom arrives at the school overwhelmed by this problem and by the other 4 kids she has to take care of. The little boy feels no shame, he had a reason to do it. He gets kicked out of that institution and once again had to go searching for a new school. 

The little boy is screaming and no one can hear him. Help me! Help me! He screams. His mom can’t hear him over other babies crying. Help!!! I need somebody! Help!!! He wasn’t heard. 

The boy becomes a man and has made many dysfunctional friends along the way. He tries many drugs and becomes friends with alcohol. But he does still admire his dad and wants to make him proud. He starts to work and is an average joe. 

The man wakes up one day and cannot breathe. Help!!! He yells again. Help!!! No one can hear him, he’s alone. He searches for help and finds Yoda. This yoda is modern, he comes in the form of an old wise man with white hair. He decides to help the little boy. The man was relieved. 

The process begins and the little boy arises. So much to fix, so much to undo. Can it be done?

Changes are made drastically; some good, some extreme. The message is sent but is taken to the extreme. Something comes of it; more good than bad. The man can breathe again and that’s good enough for him. 

Many stories unfold simultaneously and many people are yelling help! And we can’t hear them and they can’t hear us. Let’s try to get it right the first time. Let’s try to help each other out and be connected enough to listen! 

There is no longer an excuse. Let’s save the little boys and girls that have done nothing wrong. Let’s give them love and attention. Let’s save them before it’s too late. 

And if it’s too late, let’s be compassionate and try to understand that sometimes we’re all just doing the best we can and that should be enough for now. 

The little boy is in the process of being saved. It’s a long process but an effective one. It’s slow but steady. Let’s embrace our processes and remember that we’re all a work in progress. 

Blindfolded

She’s in the middle of the forest and doesn’t know what’s going on. She has been blindfolded and her hands are tied behind her back. It’s daytime because she can feel the warmth. Lost she carries on without knowing where to go. All she instinctively knows she must do is find a path. How? She wonders. How will I be able to find it without my sight? She can’t. She simply can’t.

For years she carries on without knowing where she’s going or how to get somewhere she doesn’t even know exists. Until one very dark day, in the middle of the night she finds Mantra. Mantra seems to be quite dark but he isn’t. She hopefully expects him to take her to the path and tells him all about it. After carefully listening, he simple decided not to take her anywhere. And with one single word he devastated her. No.

She cannot understand why he won’t take her somewhere. He hangs around and starts to explain why he cannot help her. She’s hurt and disappointed, doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say.

After months of hearing him tell her how he can help in a different way, she finally decides to listen.

I will show you how to free yourself. I will show you how to find the path yourself. I will teach you to remove your blindfold and I’ll show you how to become completely liberated all on your own. She hated the idea at first and now, day by day she listens and she tries. She fails and continues to fail. She still cannot see. She first has to believe she can and then we will see what happens.

 

 

Inspiration

It doesn’t matter where it comes from or if it left. All that matters is that you create from wherever life seems to have put you, where you have put yourself. It all came flowing. The pain was unbearable and so it poured out of me. Now, inevitably, maturity finally came knocking on my door. I was wondering when I’d be willing to grow up a bit. Only a little bit though.

Now, I find myself having a hard time expressing myself because conflict was what moved me, what made the world go round. My dreams were still reachable and doable. I don’t know what they are now or what they’ve become. All I know is that here I am, writing. Here I am creating something out of thin air. Isn’t that what life is anyhow? Don’t we make it up as we go along? I know I have.

Rules seem to have escaped me. Life seems to have left me behind at times and I seem to be the young dramatic girl I once was. I am nothing and yet everything. I will always be a beautiful mess of contradictions. The only constant in life is change and I know that for sure. I see those around me plan and I am mesmerized by the idea. What is a plan? How does it work? How can one commit to one thing forever?

This confusion has led me to not get what I want. I didn’t know what I wanted so how was I to get it? It’s fine. Everything is fine and nothing is the end of the world. I do have one desire though. I hope to make a difference in this world and leave the Earth a bit better than I found it. Survival gets in the way, distractions present themselves all day long at many moments throughout the day. I’m trying as hard as I’ve been able to to ignore them and do more of this, more of love, more of life. I must cease to compare myself to others because I do not belong in this world and I should not desire to do so.

I’m in conflict in love. I’m trying to fight for my individuality whist sharing my space with another. He seems to want his things his own way and that’s fine. I’m just trying to find that perfect balance whilst achieving some sort of goal because my soul is tired of always wandering and have nothing concrete to show for myself.

The Wizard says I’m used to being uncomfortable and that all that matters is that I feel good for being me. He says that being me is enough success and that’s all that matters. What a lovely thought. Just writing it makes me feel better.

We shall see where this messy life ends up. I know I have to work harder, I also know I have to take it easy on myself and I know that I must be happy with what is because fighting is exhausting and I am very tired.

Here’s to writing again and never truly giving up. If we actually gave up, we wouldn’t get out of bed. And here we are, fighting the good fight for others that might have to face this thing called life.

Maybe the happy ending

It’s a little bit messy and imperfect. It’s a little bit beautiful and confusing. We all want the happy ending, but where is it? It is here and I just missed it? Or is it not here and it’s what motivates us to get out of bed in the morning? I’m not sure and that’s O.K.

Martin says it should all be pretty and fun. Him saying that helps. Me actually believing that is a whole other story. I love characters and I love stories; maybe that’s why I always expect that haunting happy ending. I like the part of the story where there’s struggle because it makes it interesting and intense. It’s been a bit more boring than usual and the fight feels long. Being real can feel like a full time job. Being real has never been hard but it is hard when someone refuses to see authenticity. Some do. Some don’t. That’s that.

Trees are always beside me and they speak to me. Their strength and their roots remind me that some things do last even throughout windy and dark times. We must keep calm and carry on. Will I keep getting older and have my dreams waiting for me anxiously to make them a reality?  I hope not for long; I hope not forever. I hope I can get a head start and finish soon enough to get some sort of prize. I hope the audience won’t be gone by the time the curtain goes up. I know talking about this isn’t as transcendent as actually doing something about it. But hey, I’m used to being a tortured artist; I can’t help myself.

Maybe the happy ending is now. Maybe we create it and accepting its imperfections is what matters most. Maybe.

The battle 

Me: I hear you heart and please stop. I feel you and you hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t been brave enough to pursue my dreams. I’m sorry failure has left me paralyzed. I’m sorry I couldn’t make better choices. Please forgive me, please stop. 

Heart: I forgive you completely but why are you giving up? I’m still beating and you know what that means? It’s not over. You can still pursue your dreams. Even if it’s more difficult, even if you feel you can’t do it again. If I’m still beating, then you can. So I know I’m broken and that makes it harder for you to carry on. I’m working on that. But even if we hurt, I know you can push through the pain and do what we love. Keep pushing, keep trying. And when you can’t and you don’t; that’s ok. But just try to picture what it’ll feel like when you’re successful and making a difference, when you’re fulfilling your calling; when you’re helping others. I know you hear and feel me; there’s a reason for that. Don’t ignore me. If anything, acknowledge me and talk to me; just don’t be indifferent to my desires. They are real and they are beautiful and they are authentic and can give you what you want. Do not let fear get in the way. He is someone you definitely shouldn’t listen to. And the details in between such as jobs, money, what others think, do not matter; not even a little. What people who love you say matters, what I say matters, when you see your greatness, that matters. Focus on what matters and don’t care about unimportant endeavors. They’re just there on the wall, they’re not the main performance. You know what it is; stop forgetting. And don’t silence me. At least hear me And give me a voice! I’m here for you to listen; for you to feel alive. Thank you. xx

Broken dreams 

It decided to be born by accident. It wasn’t planned. It started with a desire and died as an idea. Once upon another time the voice lived. It still lives in a dream and doesn’t know how to become real. Its creator is struggling with the living. And so it patiently waits to be brought forth. 
The closest it got to becoming was in a small town full of broken souls. Everyone was lost enough so that the dream hostess did not care enough about the judgment and just sang.
Life got in the way, as it usually did, and the almost dream got lost once more. It’s been silent for yet another year. In the shelf it remains. 
It’s a broken dream, it’s many broken dreams. Where do they go? The desire to make them happen isn’t always enough and they become passive. They remain in a world created by wandering souls. 
It’s a day when the dream remains lost but not forgotten. It will be waiting to come forth until the desire dies or burns brighter. I wait for the day where the voice can scream and be heard. I’ve been silent all these years and silence is an interesting teacher. I’m trying to learn and hold the desire in my heart. 
And to those dreamers that feel like giving up, don’t. Even if you want to and think you should, don’t. I have nothing else to say except: don’t. 

Meant to be

It’s a struggle until you unlearn what was taught to you by the passing voices in the halls of the school or the college you never went to. By the authority figures that think they’re doing you good by making you fit into the box. Boxes aren’t for everyone.
The leaves fall year after year and our expectations are left hanging on the wall as an art project because no one told you it’s never going to be the way you thought it would be.

 
We create beliefs and hope that most of them are positive instead of negative. You know what you don’t want, and so you venture out thinking that you’ll find what is perfect. But more than finding perfection you find life. You’re left between the cracks and you think that’s a bad thing but then you realize that that’s what makes you; that’s what makes art.

 
Those who can see beyond what is happening and have the understanding of a wallflower are the ones that are screaming on the inside. They’re the ones with opinions and all they want is to be heard.
Once in a blue moon you find one of the others and smile knowing you’re not alone. Sometimes one of the others turns away because the light is too bright for the darkness.

 
And then one day you’re woken up to a beautiful mess and all you know for sure is that it’s yours. The pieces, the colors, the memories, the moments aren’t there to be judged but observed and acknowledged. The books read will forever be stored in your hard drive. The opportunities missed will forever live in a parallel world.
The events waiting to happen and the stories untold are waiting for you to step in and bring them to life.
The love is felt by a beating heart and the pain has evaporated the tears but not without leaving a tiny scar on the left side of your brain.
It’s overwhelming and it’s all a part of it. It’s completely undone and touched poetically by the talkative sky. It’s here and it’s yours and it doesn’t have an ending; very much like this story.
It goes on and on until it’s easy to transition into what is meant to be.

The thought of you

The thought of you is haunting. It crawls in and it won’t let go of me. The memories last because they’re deep. The feeling has a name but I haven’t found it yet. The thought changes its form and it always takes your place. The thought of you smiles at me and knows. It knows what I’m feeling and how deep it goes. It had waited to find me because my heart had to grow big enough to feel you. Logic tries to deny me the pleasure of going in; today I won’t let it.

Passion grows and it shape shifts into trees and moments and experiences that never seem to end. I’m underwater and I’m up in the air. I’m here and I’m there and I’m everywhere and all I can see and think is you. I close my eyes and the thought is felt by the touch of your hand and that very unique smile on your face you have when you see me. It reminds me how much you love me even when you’re not close enough to hold me. It whispers lullabies that sound sweet and soft. It sometimes screams and makes me feel alive. The thought of you also reminds me of the challenges and it kindly tells me that love isn’t the absence of hardship but the growth it inevitably brings. I smile knowing that the path is lived tighter and closer than before because of them. I found the thought of you in my head and it was chasing me. You sometimes take a hold of me and I let you because it feels amazing and inspiring. Your eyes are leaves. As a child I always wanted a leaf because it is perfect and beautiful and sheds green and light wherever it happens to be; your eyes do the same for me. They shed green and light and give me hope even when hopelessness is trying to bring me down.

The thought of you reminds me who I was and who I am. It reminds me how deep down inside I knew all along what was real and what wasn’t. I thought I was insane for wanting more and wanting it as soon as humanly possible. It turns out the thought of you was real way before I met you. Having faith felt impossible at times because having you was necessary; and even though you were very close, we were worlds apart. The difficulties and mistakes from the past had to be lived and made in order to be able to finally see you. I probably passed by you a thousand times but I just couldn’t see you. You say I’m the invisible woman because you weren’t ready to see me. I couldn’t see you either. Now I see you, I feel you and I think you. Now you’re here.

The future is always unknown but the present is given and is meant to be enjoyed and acknowledged. The thought of you today needed to be felt. The thought of you keeps going and loves the red and the raw and the passion. The thought of you makes me smile and makes me want to be completely and absolutely me. It teaches me about compassion and growth and it reminds me how love should be. It isn’t perfect, it’s magical.