Cuando me llama la locura

Cuando me llama la locura

Cuando me dice, ‘Mira, vuelve a mis brazos’

Grito, ‘No!’ y ‘¿Para que?’

Empieza a tocar su música

Cerquita voy en curiosidad

Toca mi mano con delicadeza

Me engaña en su baile y me muero un poquito cada canción

Pero te digo, es la muerte que me enseña como vivir

Asi que, con la locura

Yo me dejo hir

La pintura de mi corazon

Es todo lo que me vestiré

……………………..

When the madness calls me

When it says to me, ‘Look, come into my arms once again’

I scream, ‘No!’ and ‘For what?’

It starts to play it’s music

Closely I go, in curiousty

It touches my hand gently

I am fooled in it’s dance and I die a little each song

But I tell you, it is death that teaches me how to live

So, with the madness

I allow myself to go

The paint of my heart

Is all I will dress myself in

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I get to choose.

When hate gets passed onto me- and who knows how far it has traveled to get to me- I have a choice what to do with it once it’s in my hands. I feel its impression as it permeates in finger tips. I feel my fear, pain, rage as it shines a light on my own hate in me.

I now hear myself ask, ‘What do you want to give them?’, just before I’m about to rage at someone else over the hate a person shared with me. And I can’t do it. I can’t pass on the hate. I cannot get into the details my body will not let me.

I choose to let it end in me. I set a boundary with the person being heinous, which is my self love, my right to say ‘No’, I do not have to allow myself to be hurt.

If I am to let the journey of such hate end in me, I need to love myself with an uncomfortable brave ferocity.

So I do. I love the reflection of the hate in me this person has shown me as I am not separate from them. I give my love to the coward in me that writhes in attack. I bow to the innocence in me as the origins of all of this is self preservation, aloneness, abandonment.

And I rise with the self respect in me that calls for what is right and respects what needs to be done to transmute this hate and then give what I truly want to give. Love and honor.

To give this I must let all that is not, end in me.

Nurturing

I believe a lot of the conversations I have hurt myself with I may have had an innocent need to be seen. My little girl with heart open asking to be seen. I do not fault this, it is a human desire, I just look now at where perhaps that is not self care for me. I look to see where I am unconsicously carrying this unmet need as pain. I look for the root of this aching need, what it looks like to nurture this in myself.

Do you nurture your needs?

Painting by unknown artist

Everything I have been experiencing just continues to bring me back to the simplicity of life and the deep richness of simplicity, the mighty language more powerful than human thought, that which is hard for me to word beyond the thick presence of life in the wind and the restless silence yet music of presence.

All that I need is between me and the trees.