I knew exactly who she was, and I had that incredulous sensation when you recognize how vital parts of your sensibilities are mirrored exactly in another, and you can't believe it. That what had been alien was actually solace.
Raquy is the composer, Bünyamin is the inspired artist. They intertwine each other when they play and become one sound, one breath, moving together, the union of Shakti and Shiva! It’s a beauty to see.
You will be okay. You will figure it out. You will love again. You will find your voice and forgive yourself for how long it took you. You will become brave. You will throw your hat in the ring. You will piece and stitch language in ways that only you can, eventually writing stories and essays and poems. You will bite your lip and muster your courage and let words fly out of your chest, like a flock of ravens taking wing.
There is something with the way art moves you; real art, that is, the kind that rushes across your spine like the fingertips of whoever clasps your heart hardest, spotting your cheeks and laying out a carpet of salty sand for your toes to dive deep into, your eyes closing as rainbows fucking fall all around you, a tremble and then the inevitable stillness.
Part of why I create and will never stop is because my parents gave me the gift of life, the spark of creation, by creating me and I want to show them that they can take a deep breath and deserve, take a deep breath and dream, take a deep breath and believe. That I and they, in turn, are worth it.
Some magic people (usually the ones who don't work for a living) will tell you that regularly visualizing yourself as a huge, beautiful tree with roots that reach from your feet far, far down into the earth while breathing deeply into your belly is totally enough to ground you. Those people are wrong.
For some, getting inked is a very sacred and spiritual act. For others, it’s a display of masochism and deviance; an outlet, a release for a side of themselves that would otherwise turn to darker arts.
Even as I write this, the deep wisdom of my stomach’s core seems to be saying “Yes! This is it! You’ve got it! Just keep practicing this loveliness toward yourself!” I feel so in touch with my essence, my being, my body -- where my spirit lives.
But that fear was not enough to shut my brain up, inside which my thoughts bubbled. No matter how hard I tried to hide them, they kept resurfacing, sticking their head out, as if to tease me. So, one day to calm the voices inside my head, I decided to use the power of written words.
We are all interesting, creative and intelligent beyond belief. We all have gifts worth sharing, and thousands of unborn creations inside us. It is about time we used them. It is about time we said No to more money and Yes to more living.
By leaving out the words, and just singing "Nai Nai Nai" with enormous intensity and focus, these melodies help transcend the intellectual realm and allow us, in our best moments, to experience pure soulfulness, and then bring that warmth back to share with the world.
You have wanted this whole, big life but you have hidden yourself from it. You begged to be free in a prison of uncertainty and now that you are among the freest of the free, like a prisoner emancipated, your enslavement still carries an imprint of disbelief.
When I get out of my own way and just toss a handful of letters into the air, they swirl together into a variety of combinations and lengths, and eventually fall to the proverbial page as words and sentences.
Like a blanket of fresh snow, the expiration of my old self wipes out any traces of spring; of identities I once flowered in until their colors began to wilt, their stems bending with the weight of renewal, and I realize that self is often more transient than the seasons.
To leave or disassociate from society in order to find one's true place in the world is the ultimate act of responsibility. When we can be true to our own inner calling and follow a path that may take us away from society for a while, there is the inevitable return. With this return, we bring back a deeper sense of purpose and the unique gifts that might only be found in the desert of self-discovery.
I give this gift of solitude to myself so that I may learn my essence
So I may allow my angels, guardians, and teachers all the space they need to teach
So that I may hear the voices of my hampered thoughts
And give them permission to scream, dance and laugh.
When we collaborate we enter into this experience together, to be open/effective/present/infective. A conversation is not about homogeneity or evenness or sameness. It demands acceptance or else it refuses to flow.
By C.E. Ostra.
This is an excerpt from my book, Atravesar – To Get Across.
Celan Mairs lives a fairly normal life for a ten-year-old girl from Rancho Pescados. Although her mother is ill, she still excels in school and has the rest of her family and friends for comfort. She doesn’t find the mystic lessons of the elders strange — or the fact that all ranchos adults rely on a substance called transferon, which she will also learn to use.
Transferon helps to ward off contamination left over from the destruction of the old world almost two centuries ago. With it, the people of the ranchos are able to live outside in nature, while on the other side of the mountains a technology-based society flourishes inside the city of Albakirk. The two groups lived entirely separate existences for many years, but with the rise of the expro culture the social order is starting...
By Barry John Johnson.
This is the Day (Daily Vows for a Crazy World)
This is the day that I decide that I am all in.
This is the day that I Am.
This is the day that I decide that my needs matter. I state and enforce them.
This is the day that I truly serve others.
This is the day I release all illusions; I release all stories of how things are supposed to be.
This is the day that I make no excuses.
This is the day I won’t fear death or opinion.
This is the day I accept all that is, dark and light.
This is the day that I am at peace.
This is the day I forgive myself.
This is the day I banish all of my doubting
This is the day I trust myself.
This is the day my heart is emboldened.
This is the day that I break from the herd.
This is the day that I speak my truth loudly.
This is the day I let fate hold my hand.
This is the day that I feel most...
We are writers by birth and by destiny and by intention. Not by choice. If we never scratched another word on a coffee shop napkin, this would not change. A writer is not someone who does. A writer is someone who is.