Tag Archives: Time

When grandma’s room becomes empty

I watched the years go by
In reverse order
On a trip to my childhood
In the country, at my grandparents, and in that room
With a high table, two weak chairs,
With a short bed to jump in,
I’m a country kid now.

It didn’t come anything out of my mouth, not even sounds,
Not even words,
Not even thoughts from my head,
Just a hiccup of joy.

It smells in the room,
The smell of plums, greens and apples from the garden,
The plum branch rides a breeze
Through the open window,
Insects quarrel in the room,
I brought them old grass from the barn
And I made them a straw bed.

Mosquitoes punish me
They keep me awake,
And laugh about it,
Under the pale light of the stars.
I’m in bed counting the number of mosquitoes on the ceiling,
They and I have a pillow in common,
How many pillows did I crush on the ceiling?

The darkness doesn’t scare me
The spider in the corner doesn’t scare me
When I’m in grandma’s room,
The room that appears, then disappears,
I’m half inside and half outside,
Memories, fragments of memories
In a puddle of memory
Increasingly dry,
I drink from it because I’m thirsty,
Like the cow I was pushing
Every morning to graze,
To drink her milk, in the evening,
From the udder milked by rough hands.

I drew my grandmother’s face on paper
Which have been lost,
I drew my grandmother’s face in my memories
Which have been deleted.

When parents become grandparents
And grandparents become earth,
When the room becomes empty
And the house becomes earth,
When yesterday becomes years
And memories drown in time
As if they never existed
Do you remember them?

See, that’s why I was afraid.

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

You survived. You made it through. Scars, broken legs, damaged internal organs. Now what?

You may feel like a refugee, a displaced person who has been forced by a car accident to cross your own identity and self-boundaries, and who cannot return back, to the “you” – due to injuries, safely. It is not only the car accident, but facing your own mortality was the kicker. That forced you to become a refugee. There is no turning back, because there is no “home identity” to return. It is as your home identity was destroyed by the encounter with your own mortality. You now walk a road of grieving, a road to healing and rediscovering yourself inside and out. You are looking for a safe place to land and to establish the new “you”. Your track will take you from denial, to anger, depression, before you’ll finally reach acceptance; and your track will not stop there.

You could be deported anytime, deported by your own emotions. This will take you through difference places. You may feel happy, angry, betrayed. You will continue searching the emotional debris to find yourself.
There will be moments when you will feel great, worry free. As the great runs out, you may feel depressed. You will have to take your sister, your friend with you, carry own your family with you; do not be alone. They will help you on your emotional journey. You are lucky, because of your family, friends, and family connections.

You will share a room with your own self for months to come. With yourself, to encounter yourself. You may feel ashamed, guilty, or angry: Life, you didn’t have to go nuclear on me…and in those moments, remember these words: I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
When wake up in pain, facing another day – and no project beyond few steps seemed tenable, take a step forward repeating the phrase over and over: I can’t go on. I’ll go on.

Shit happens, experience happens. It is a fact about the world. It does not matter how bad and mad you fell about the world and the people, always, always put space and time between your thoughts and your actions. Between your thoughts, your emotions, and your actions.
Day to day, week after week, you will blossom. Don’t forget to smile, to laugh.

You will have moments when your awareness will by surrounded by crazy thoughts. You will get angry, and scream at people around you. You will feel separated, as if nobody understands you. You will not see your family and your friends, as being on your side; you will feel like they cannot understand you. Yes, nobody can understand you. However, they understand various aspects, different perspectives of the situation. Each of one of them can see only a part of your picture. The father sees one, the mother a second, the sister a third, and the friend a fourth, and so on. It is the relationship between those parts that create the entire picture. This connectivity will always support you.

You have to figure out your questions. What are your questions? What are the questions that matter to you? The questions after the accident and the questions after the questions.
Do I live? Do I love? Do I matter? What is the plan?
Girlfriend? Wife? Mother? Hairstylist? Or if no idea, your answer should be I don’t know. Be honest with yourself. Find and live your calling.

The prospect of facing your own mortality can be so disorienting, so dislocating. But look from the other perspective: you got the highest motivation in life, the mortality motivation. Most people do not get that until they are old.
Life gave you a golden ticket. You know viscerally, in your body, in your scars, in your broken legs, in your damaged organs, you know that time is limited. And that the time is ticking.
Now you need to decide what to do with that motivation.
You can go two ways. You got hurt; your first reaction is to build walls, to keep the bad thing outside, to be safe. Fear of driving, fear of anything that can hurt you. But you block the connection.
On the other hand, you can go: I am on fire. I will not fail to live and love. I am on fire.

Life gave you another breath. Yes, that breath that you just took it. That felling.
When life and mortality intersected, life has chosen you. Now it is your turn to live life to the fullest every day.

You may want to take your direct experience and translate back to language, write your own experience. Keep a journal. Accommodate everything in words. Grasp the emotion and experience of such experience and redirect towards something that is powerful: words, and language.

Think about your family. Think about your father; the moment he got the call, the reality of the terrible accident, and the possibility of burying his daughter. Think about the people who love you. You are not alone. You are loved by all.

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself

Girl in the Rain

The girl stands in the rain of life, and let her tears disappear. She swallowed this destiny like a pill prescribed by a crazy doctor. “That’s how it is,” she said.

For some time the girl remained speechless, as if someone had taken her vocal cords and implanted them into her brain. Since then she has been screaming to herself and for herself.

In a world haunted by sorrows and sins, she finds herself in the queue of life buying her share of cheap time. But when life’s acid spills on her inner self, she runs into the bathroom and in front of the mirror she prays: “Oh life, put chain on my thoughts and tape on my soul. Put chain on my thoughts and tape on my soul because I can’t continue this way.”

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

Girl in the Rain

 

 

The Beggar and the Masters

When the hope ends and the thought loses the sense of time,
When the existence shrinks to the point of nonexistence,
When the body in sunlight casts formless and infinite shadow,
He needs a change, a rebirth from his destiny.
He calls to the Masters; he kneels down before them,
A proud man once, a Beggar he is now.
Words, take them out from the prison of his mind
And throw them to the garbage,
Useless they are to beg for his own life
To the laughing Masters.

The Beggar and the Masters

The Beggar and the Masters