THE WHITE FLOWER IN THE MUD

You see a mile away that you are special, everyone points it out to you but you don’t want to see it. You color the lives of those around you but you can’t find anyone who colors yours, and I see you looking around for a pair of eyes in which to reflect yourself. But you can’t find them, because you are pure and the only time I saw you mirrored in someone was when that child was in your arms, the one you said had the same eyes as me, but strangely I saw yours again. . You tell me that I have an innate purity, and I tell you, and so we spend our days wondering who among us is right, never finding an answer, even if I know it. Sometimes we see the world in black and white, and while I drown in the darkness of darkness you point out the purity of white, and slowly together we emerge from the abyss. We often have a tantrum, because we are never too old to cry in exchange for a candy, or a caress. Sometimes I would like to give you my eyes, and ask for yours in return, to change perspective and see if our points of view are damn the same or so damn different that they collide all the time. And sometimes I want to make you feel special, just as much as you make me feel.
I grew up with her. “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all” has become the phrase I repeat most often. They always wanted me to be different: thinner, more affectionate, less cold, less sarcastic, less reserved, more feminine … But I can’t. I don’t know how to hug, sarcasm spontaneously comes out of my mouth, I’ll always have a tomboy part, despite my make-up and hair in order. I have always fought, I have always managed by myself. Some time ago, I wanted to get a lotus flower tattoo. It is a particular flower: it comes from the slime, from the mud but finds the strength to blossom and emerge from this dirt. When it blooms it’s wonderful. I felt and I feel this way. I just can’t fully blossom, I always find myself trapped in the mud, few parts have blossomed, the rest is still hindered. I gave up the tattoo partly out of fear, as I am too delicate, partly because it is now turning into a too trivial tattoo. So maybe I’ll mix a Celtic four-leaf clover with their flower. But I still haven’t had time to try to draw it.
When one is dedicated, one is totally dedicated. We all share the pain, something deep that breaks our hearts in half, that makes us gasp, oppresses us and makes us scream inside with evil until we are completely exhausted. But love wins everything. Love overcomes time, overcomes pride, overcomes anger, overcomes difficulties. Here, above all, Love overcomes difficulties. Because Love is dedicated to heal, to heal, to remind us that life goes on and we can open ourselves to something great, beautiful, new. Love holds hands and hugs tightly, because Together is Better. Together we are never alone. Two Heads reason, discuss, comfort each other, understand each other, advise each other. They help each other. They love each other. Because love wins everything and knowing that you can share your problems on the strong shoulders of those who love us is already a great sigh of relief. Love Wins everything. Because Love knows. Love knows. He knows suffering, he knows tears … but he also knows the joy of falling in love, of being together. To make it: in spite of everything. “When Love arrives, treat it well”. If Love is faced with the Common Thought of being Two Souls who give themselves to each other, then Love is realized. And it completes. In the Today and Forever.
Give me time to change. I don’t like habits. They are an unconventional of habits. Yet, in the end, I get used to it. Like all. I have always welcomed changes with sudden ease. Growing up, who knows why who knows how, I neglected to cultivate this ability. For years I have pursued habits that have become stronger and more alive. Some of these saved me, some broke me. None, however, is indispensable if I don’t have the ability to let them go. Just give me time to change. This morning, I met a dear Buddhist friend of mine who was six months pregnant. She is a special, sweet and courageous woman. We talked about children, parents, education and Love. When I left her, I told myself that it is worth changing, choosing to be a better person if only to leave something Good, Bright, Strong in the world. And, in the presence of the children, to be able to set a good example. Because it is never the adults who educate the children, but the opposite. Adults mislead children, force them, clip them, adhere them to their reality, forgetting that the vision of children is much more complete than theirs. It is worth changing to remember how to play, how to taste the snow, how to touch the ground. Finding the time. That as adults we lose, we fight, we take the rest of our life. Give me time to change. The time to abandon my mental schemes, pre-built in years of purism, which have become aseptic. A purism that smells of emptiness and in which I no longer came to meet myself. Myself. Find myself. Love me. Live me. In order not to have fears. To forget that I was looking for myself and just remember to be happy. I’ve spent far too long telling myself no. Please forgive me, thank you, I love you. Give me time to change and I will rely on myself, without trying to be helpful at all costs. The Posts. I am there. But first of all I have to Be There for Me. To love, to love me, not to disappoint me. The courage to remember that goodness is not something that can be given as a gift, only to find oneself empty-handed. “If you keep filling other people’s glasses, when do you drink from the well?” Alive. Here, “Live” also means this. I’m finishing “getting ready”. Then the change will come, light and sincere. Habits will fall like houses of cards, faded by the wind. It is the world that acts as a mirror for me, it will change in my embrace.

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