Blog

  • 2019

    Gift from Hinton, photo by me

    “The tree that would grow to heaven must send its roots to hell.” Nietzsche.

    If there ever was a sentence that rings true for me this year, this is it.

    For the past 10 years I have grown so much, changed in ways I couldn’t have predicted, always in pursue of a better version of myself that could be more than enough and worthy of this life, in pursue of the light, in pursue of inner peace and my home in this existence… and I forgot the most important lesson of them all: balance.

    But Life is always wiser than I think I am, and always has a way of putting things back into the balanced perspective. I flew and flew so high, that I burnt my wings in the realisation that nothing underground is sustaining my height. No roots, no base, just a falsely justified list of old values and beliefs that had served their purpose in the past and that were so dusty and old they couldn’t be more than a memory dissolving… hopefully integrating in myself.

    It has been a powerful, transformative and truly painful descent to my undergroung cave deep below. Step by step I walked through shadows of my own making, I put on and took off many masks, I uncovered deeply hidden potential waiting to be acknowledged, I forgave, I remembered, I held my own hand and descended through every portal until the only thing left was absolute darkness.

    I was afraid, but I was more tired. I was angry, but I was more tired. I was sad, but I was more tired. I had to let go of my tight grasp on who I thought I was, who I think I am, and surrendered and closed my eyes. I spiraled into the abyss. I cried myself into ecstasy. And in that unbearable sufferring that still brings tears to my eyes as I write, I felt it. I felt it all. All.

    I felt myself die. I felt all the parts of me I left behind and locked away. I felt how cruel I had been to the me’s that had helped me survive in the past. I felt my heart burst open in my chest as I held my inner self in a compassionate embrace. I felt how all I believed in became smoke, ascending away into oblivion.

    You might think that the pain persisted when I emptied myself from all that I thought I was, maybe we think it is the absence of something that creates perpetual suffering. But the emptiness that shook me awake gave me the greatest gift this year; hope. Hope. A bright tiny star shining in the centre of my being reminds me I am held even when I am nothing more than relatedness and relationships, a little minuscule part of it all, but part of it all nonetheless, and that is more than enough.

    I close the year knowing I gave myself permission for the first time in my life to really let myself guide me wherever I needed to go. It was, and continues to be an inner journey. Not many will understand, but these inner landscapes and images and life are the truest part of my existence, so much more than the external. I had always known, and at last, I listen.

    I would like to end by saying THANK YOU. You all know who you are. Thank you for supporting this journey of mine. Eternal journey to the Self.

  • That kind of love

    Art by me

    I have cried almost every day this year. The darkness I feel surrounding my heart is so heavy, and so dense. I have moments of light and insights, lessons from the great below while in this state, but I am still swimming between so many shadows.

    I am sad. I am angry. I am frustrated.

    None of it is caused by my external circumstances, but by my inner turmoil and confusion.

    The people we love the most sometimes are those who don’t understand and can’t. Maybe no one can really understand another person. If there is not even one truth, if there are so many perspectives then it’s normal to feel and be misunderstood. The problem is when our well being depends upon the external factor that others understand us, and accept us.

    Here lies my biggest issue, I feel so alone in what I feel knowing it’s not true, but I feel it. And to feel it all, until the most painful fire burns me up into ashes is a practice I give myself out of love.

    The kind of love only one can give oneself. The kind of love that can never be found outside oneself. The kind of love that loves the darkness and the suffering and let’s it be what it needs to be, when it needs to be. The kind of love I aspire for myself and others.

  • Forgive and let go

    Photo by me in Tenerife

    I am forgiving myself.

    I am.

    For all the mistakes I thought I made, because I am here because of them; because I have learned what I don’t want anymore.

    I forgive myself for not knowing; for hurting others, even if it wasn’t my intention.

    I forgive myself for being how I was, because it was necessary for me to continue becoming who I am.

    I forgive others, I forgive them all. I forgive every single hurt my heart has known. I forgive every betrayal, every lie, every painful experience done to me, with or without intention.

    Forgiveness sets me free from being tied to the pain I thought these memories caused, but they don’t anymore. I see a blank page. A clear mind. And even clearer heart that knows what not to want. An emptying of my soul by spilling the overflowing water that needs to run free.

    I forgive and let go.

    ••••

    I wrote this without thinking too much, it’s what I have been feeling lately with the energies that surround me and I sense this shifting away from who I thought I was for so long.

    I just wanted to say here, that I am of the opinion that not everyone has to forgive everything or anything. Only now in my life I feel light enough to let go of certain pains that used to clench my heart, jaw and fists, but I really think there is nothing wrong when someone doesn’t feel like forgiving. The time will or will not come for it and it’s all ok. It’s truly a personal path this life, isn’t it?

  • Beginnings

    Photo by me in Tenerife

    September has arrived and I am still integrating the arrival of this year. I have not yet landed. I am in this liminal space where nothing happens, and everything passes.

    Internal change roars so strongly that it prevents me from opening my eyes to the outside world.That which was hidden ceases to be trapped inside, and I needed to listen with all my being the intimate silence of my most wounded voice.

    I can start to smell change in the wind.

    I feel in my roots the passage between endings and beginnings.

    The light is dimming. Finally letting me glimpse, without so much blinding fire, the present suffering as the great teacher of my longing. The desire to merge into myself, to reorder the shattered pieces of a puzzle that was once thought complete, and that now changes form and function.

    From air, to the waters of my internal oceans through which I have finally dared to dive. Knowing that I can finally breathe.

    Wet dirt under my feet. The weeds that I tear in the garden take away the pieces of me that weigh me too much.

    Increasingly lighter, my eyelids begin to open. And in this half-opening to being, half-opening to acceptance, I find the peace and calm that spills between my thoughts.

    September smells like beginnings, but also like eternities.

  • Comienzos

    Septiembre ha llegado y aún estoy integrando la llegada de este año. No he aterrizado aún. Me hallo en este espacio liminal en el que nada ocurre, y todo pasa.

    El cambio interno ruge con tanta fuerza que me impide abrir aún los ojos al exterior. Lo oculto deja de estar atrapado, y he necesitado escuchar con todo mi ser el silencio íntimo de mi voz más herida.

    Puedo comenzar a oler el cambio en el viento.

    Siento en mis raíces el pasar de un final a un comienzo.

    La luz se va difuminando. Al fin dejándome vislumbrar, sin tanto fuego cegador, el presente sufrimiento como el gran maestro de mi anhelo. El anhelo de fusionarme en mí, de reordenar las piezas destrozadas de un puzzle que un día estuvo completo, y que ahora cambia de forma y función.

    Del aire, al agua de los océanos internos por los que por fin me he atrevido a sumergirme. Sabiendo que puedo al fin respirar.

    Tierra mojada bajo mis pies. Las malas hierbas que voy arrancando en el jardín se van llevando los pedazos de mí que me pesan demasiado.

    Cada vez más ligera, los párpados comienzan a abrirse. Y en este entreabrirme a ser, entrearbrirme a aceptar, encuentro la paz y la calma que tanto se derraman entre mis pensamientos.

    Septiembre huele a comienzos, pero también a eternidades.