Sometimes it feels better not to talk. At all. About anything to anyone. Just sit there and trying not to think anything. Listen to your breathing, watch your chest making this move up and down from the fresh air filling your lungs. Feel the breath, feel the air you breathe in when it touches your nose. Be conscious about this. Open your ears and hear the sound of silence. The sound of an existing soul caring only about herself at this moment. There’s no one around and there’s only your body and your mind which are forming this perfect team called ‘yourself’. There’s your skin touching your environment, leaning at something or lying on your cold bedsheets. It’s a little bit cold so your pores are aching for this tender warmth. Your lips are forming words only in your imagination without saying anything out loud.
Nowadays everybody wants to be in the middle of attention. They are loud, busy, exaggerating. Busy attracting attention and speech.
I’ve always liked quiet people. You never know if they are dancing in a daydream or if they’re carrying the weight of the world.
They impress me because they are not as vitreous, as predictable. They mostly don’t care much for their environment. Or otherwise they do too much.
The weight of the world… It flows away from me. The longer I stay in this quiet position, the more I can feel everything going off. Away from me. I lay my hand on my heart and wonder how this machinery works. There are thousands of nerves and veins keeping me alive, making me feel and breath and see. I only see a black light because my eyes are closed. I don’t want to see anything right now so that I can see the beauty of my soul. Some pictures creep into my mind. Pictures of days long gone. Beautiful ones. Sad ones. Even some I can hardly stand reminding. But I am not sad about them in this moment because I am free.
I can feel my body getting older. The wonderful youth is leaving bit by bit, day by day. I swipe my finger along my eyes and these wrinkles are getting bigger and bigger. Some are made of laughter, some are made of worries. The darker ones gain the upper hand. I am not this careless little girl anymore. I am not this noisy attention seeking girl anymore. I don’t know how to explain my mind getting older.
Things become so clear to me as if I am a hundred years old. My hand is touching my hair and although it is of a beautiful blonde, the inside feels grey like the hair of a grandmother. My inside feels so ‘don’t know’. Old would be the wrong word, cause I feel still alive, young and so full of energy. Tired would be the wrong word, cause I feel still willing to do, willing to change the world. Wise would be the wrong word, cause I am aware of making mistakes, still a lot of them. I feel so don’t know that I don’t know.
Sometimes this don’t know makes it hard for me to understand. Makes it hard for me to not feel sublime.
I already had everything in life. It feels like I would have experienced already a full lifetime, but if I am lucky, this was only the first third. And perhaps I didn’t live at all. Perhaps there’s something I miss without knowing it. All the people getting children. I don’t want to have any, but perhaps this is the thing I will miss most in life looking back from the third third to the first or second.
These words I was told once opened my eyes and explained the world to me in a way I am still learning to understand. I feel so near. I suddenly feel a stranger soulmate existing.
There are two experiences that are truly sumptuous in this world.
Two different experiences but similar in their equal and extreme emotional density: birth and resurrection.
Birth is opening up to life.
More: birth is life itself.
To be born means to emerge from a void without memory and enter into the infinite meanings of the world.
We are born infinite times and it does not happen only when the body comes to light. We can say that a love, a dream, a child, a passion are also born. And none of these experiences are without torments.(remember that)
The resurrection experience is very different.
If birth emerges from the void, resurrection emerges instead from death.
After all, we resurrect so many times to the world: after an illness, in the aftermath of a mourning or war, after the elaboration of a wound of love or when we have reconciled ourselves … with ourselves following an internal conflict.
If birth is life, then resurrection is something more than life.
When we experience it, there is no torment in our soul anymore but only joy.
In us, the True happiness is unleashed for those who have conquered death and its ghosts.
Resurrection, therefore, will be nothing but a particle of a miracle hidden in our mortal life.
…making my blind eyes see like a stranger.