ADOLESCENCE

I remember my adolescence partly carefree, because I studied, made music and painted a lot, and partly painful, because I had to listen to my mother’s problems, I didn’t know how to deal with mine and she wanted my help and I gave her advice but she did not listen to me, I only served as a container in which to put all her suffering. So I had loves but I didn’t even talk about it to my sister because she was smaller and shy, she wanted to copy me in everything, I was flattered but then it was a disaster when I left because she felt abandoned, and I didn’t have it done on purpose but I had dreams that I wanted to fulfill and she still had to finish school and could leave the following year but then she didn’t come to me anymore and I was very disappointed. I was a happy and angry child, I had long hair and blond curls, I made faces at my waist but I always knew how to collect tears. I was so afraid when I lost the caresses of the hands of those I loved, the beautiful eyes that were the background of my dreams. I have always responded with elegance to offenses, without ever taking away and without giving too much. I tied to silver threads hanging from the sky, notes of soul to make poetry rain, to protect me from the world. I took a train in my mind and walked miles to kiss you and tell you I love you, because I don’t know how to shout. I scream in the silences. I put aside my insecurities to warm my heart, to take cover. I ran a lot in my dreams, to catch up with you and I would always run, because they taught me that love is the only thing worth fighting for and continuing to breathe.
I was an insecure, anxious girl, a good girl, one who always did what was asked of him, who never went crazy, who watched others live and she always remained on the bench, who dreamed of meeting great love. I have lived like this for 15 years. Then something happened. I fell in love. A year spent behind a boy, dignity under his feet, his heart punched, of which only scattered fragments remained. When it was all over I was destroyed. I said to myself “enough is enough! Time to change! ” And so it was. You know, you change by choice, not by chance. You change when something breaks and you are faced with a choice: change or fall behind. I have always hated being left behind, I have always loved running, and so I did, I ran, chasing the girl I had been all my life away in a corner of my mind. I started drinking, smoking, even what I could have avoided. I started to go dancing, to collect meetings, guys that after one evening I would never see again. I just wanted to have fun, feel like a teenager for once. This is what happens to those who spend a lifetime doing the right thing. The day will come when he decides to put a point and break everything. But I assure you in the same way that the day will come when all this will no longer be enough. Where your heart of ice will hurt too much in your chest. In which neither cigarettes nor straws will be able to calm the anxiety that arises inside you, which torments you like a hurricane. In which vodka will no longer be able to make you happy. In which you will understand that all those guys have only used you as an object: taken, used, thrown, replaced, and your insecurity will become unbearable. In which breaking all the rules will make you feel wrong, and more alone than ever. Because you see, you can never allow anyone to love you unless you first learn to love yourself. Another year has passed. And now? Now I am a confident, determined girl, one who does not do what is asked of her, nor who disobeys him in the name of some principle, now I decide my life, I have stopped being on the bench, I have stopped looking love and I started looking for myself, to love me despite all my infinite defects and you know what? It was then that love found me. Love each other. It is the only rule to be happy.

MY HAUNTED HOUSE

Have you ever heard rumors in your home? Someone calling you? Strange shadows? Strange things happen and you don’t understand why? Our house is perhaps cursed. It is a stagnation of very negative past events. In our house the partisans who tried to escape from the Nazis were hiding. Our house is full of people, even a child among them. A lady who let me find her perfumed scarves and in our attic every now and then the survivors of the world war dance.
Every time I dream I return there, in that devastated country of which only white rubble and souls without a body remain. I walk without memory through its streets, I rarely meet you. Then when I find you, you tell me how much you would like to rebuild everything, start over. Then you frown, hold back your tears out of pride, but I know you’re crying. Suddenly you pull me away, I follow you, but you push me away. Why can’t I stay? You scold me like a mother, telling me that remembering will kill me. How I would like to kiss you when you do this. I am desperate for your fragments in the soul of others, but I never find you. What looked like a shard of diamond turns out to be another shard of sharp glass that hurts me with disappointment. It destroys me not to remember your name. I would like to sleep forever, stuck in a dimension where your death doesn’t exist, but I can’t. Please come and see me again tonight.
I think I have had some signals from my spirit guides. It happened about twice: The first time happened last week while I was drawing: I heard a loud whistle, similar to that of a bell in the whole room that came from a specific point, and when I moved away from the room the sound decreased in intensity, and then increased in intensity. time returned. I asked my mom if she heard that sound too, but she said no. The second time happened last night, just before going to sleep: I was looking at the phone, and I heard that whistle again, but this time it was weaker. I ignored both of them not knowing what to do, because I don’t know how to interact, how to get in touch with the spiritual guides, but the point is that now I’m afraid they won’t contact me anymore, since I silently screwed them up. What a shit figure in front of myself, I think if the spiritual guides trample me I would apologize.
I have a little question to solve, or rather, a question that I can’t answer. I’ll explain better: There is a relative in my family that I have never met (he died in ’44 at 20), and his death was a tragedy for my grandfather’s whole family. Although I have never known him, and knowing very little about him, I burst into tears as soon as we talk about him or think about him, as if I had seen him die in front of my eyes. When I think of him an immense nostalgia rises, I miss him to death even though I have only seen him in photos, sometimes I dream of him during the night, and every now and then it happens that I feel a kind of presence around me, as if something or someone was watching on me. Also, when I think of him I feel a kind of spiritual connection with him, as if we are tied by an invisible thread that holds us together, or so I think. A month ago, by the way, I saw a spirit. Yes I know it may sound strange, but I have seen it. It didn’t have a human form, in fact, it was a kind of concentrate of white energy with slightly blue edges, but it wasn’t too bright. It was only for a few seconds, just long enough to open your eyes and light the lamp, and the spirit disappeared into thin air. A week or two later he appeared again, and he left the same way as the first time. Now, I would like to know: – Is that a spirit I saw? – Why do I feel a spiritual connection with this relative of mine? – Why do I miss him without ever having known him? – Was he the spirit? Here, these are the questions I’ve been asking for quite some time, and I sincerely need an answer. If there are any witches among those who will read the post, please answer me according to what you know, as I believe in magic and spirits.

SUMMER ENERGY

This is the season of heat. Of sun. And light.

I didn't celebrate Litha in the classic sense of the word. I love being outdoors on Saturdays like this, but it was really too hot last week to plan anything. For the evening or for the weekend. And the new moon on Saturday then left us with the dark and sultry night.


On the other hand, however, I realized the small goals I have achieved.
On the morning of the solstice, I woke up early, as usual, and stretched out looking out the window. I knew it was a special day and for some years now I have realized that I always start Litha's day this way, looking at the sun and saying a silent good morning in my heart.
It was very hot that day, but despite this I went out on foot at noon to get something to nibble on, looking for the nearest shade. The sun was definitely stronger than I could bear. Stronger, I realized. Of course it was stronger since it was the summer solstice. The time of the first harvest.
In the evening, with milder temperatures, when I sat in front of my altar to light the candle that I light on every Saturday (this time it was yellow, lemon-flavored) I found there the papers of my reading of the last esbat.
I had left them on the altar as a good resolution for what I had to work on.
And it made me smile as the Animal Spirit Horse, upside down, looked at me from the table. Over the last month it has somehow "straightened out".
I had associated it with a block towards my goals, something that prevented me from continuing to "run", an obstacle of some kind, coming from my unconscious that did not allow me to continue on my way.
After all it was true. I was getting lost in a glass of water. And I needed another person to get me out of it, giving me an external point of view.
Straightening my horse beautifully.

I smiled, thanking my instinct, which never fails to interpret even what I am not aware of and realized that even if half a year is gone, I have the other half to work with. I immediately thought back to my projects and works scheduled for this fall and I was charged with enthusiasm.
Perhaps the enthusiasm and motivation, not having lost them, are part of my harvest this year.
After all, what does it take to get lost in a glass of water?

What have you collected, more or less metaphorically, so far? And what do you plan to collect next?

MY NAME IS AMLETA

Art is his need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming its existence with the creative act is the only way for Hamlet to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Being a river in flood, dangerous for others, not accustomed to strong liquid currents, but a natural and splendid element for her. Art is its power. The power to create from nothing. To give life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most envied power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is its fierce demon, and it has been walking this path all its life looking for an escape. But you never get rid of art because only art makes it free and alive. It is like a second skin and if you take it off you become skinned and you cannot live anymore. Hamlet has art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies her throughout her life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds the flesh, the spirit, the whole life. He raises it into the highest sky, being able to see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using his fingers; and then makes it descend into the most terrible depths of the human abyss. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. Hamlet goes in and out as if from a window. It goes in and out of itself, feeds itself to the pigs, gives its vital breath, falls apart and then begins again. Who would ever want such a life? Yet many envy it and do not know what it means to have the fire of inspiration that consumes! Art is its condemnation.
She didn’t choose to start drawing, then painting, writing and playing at the same time. A dark force took his hands, and guided his dark energy. He was thus able to empty the pain he felt while living and to enclose it within his creations. Nothing remains of that period: everything burned. Unfortunately, something was saved from his subsequent dark periods, still not gone and up in smoke. Amleta was born on a cursed island, in a sick country, and soon she got rid of her life and the pain took her far away, where she continued to suffer and create, create and destroy, herself, paintings, installations, plays, notebooks, sculptures, … Amleta creates and destroys what he creates. Hamlet is and is not at the same time. He yearns for this perennial creation and has tried several times to free himself from his prison without success. This gift, this power, this torment of colors and words, is the nectar of his days. Everything else is just a bitter side dish.

GOING OUT

After about two months of forced distance, today I went back to walk in My Beloved park and it almost did not seem real to me that I could see with My eyes, My beloved trees and bushes that I have missed a lot, just like being in contact with Nature while I immerse myself in its colors and its unique smells that do so much good to My increasingly stressed and restless spirit. While I was walking rigorously accompanied by the pressing and unmistakable rhythm of My Beloved Music, the sun wide open on My face and the imagination at hand, I had almost the perception that everything suddenly stopped, as if these two months had never passed. actually existed, picking up where everything left off. The only difference is that this time I was wearing a mask, which contrary to what I expected, did not bother me particularly, as did the thousands of pollen scattered almost everywhere. They did not prevent me from fully enjoying that moment so long sought and uniquely Mine. Yet this time I began to let my mind pervade the various accumulated doubts and perplexities, to try to group them and let them escape. Now more than ever I feel the need to empty My Soul, like a trash can full of waste paper to throw away to make some space – and as I listened to the noise they made as they were thrown away, I began to feel a lot relieved, because they weighed on My imprisoned heart like a real boulder. The feeling of liberation I feel every time it happens cannot be described. I walk at a fairly high speed, I don’t want to exaggerate, I just want to walk, to enjoy that long-dreamed and desired peace, thus rediscovering the joy of doing something I love and that for a very long time I was not allowed to do, thus rediscovering it and loving it as if it were the first time. At a certain point on a bench I find a little girl sitting with the tool in her hand to be able to make soap bubbles, and immediately my childhood comes to mind when I also liked to do them. I am amazed that they still exist. Exactly like I did, you too love to blow into it to discover the effect it has. And just as it happened to Me, I was ecstatic to see on his face that veil of disappointment to discover that he had no possibility of command over them. The bubbles wander in the air without anyone being able to grasp them, and when they feel they have no air thrust, they go out by themselves. In short, they are without masters, completely free to fly and to choose as they want. So My life comes to mind and I think she is the same too, although she is Mia I feel I have no control over it, free to do and act as she sees fit, without ever deigning to ask me for an opinion at least. I can and must only accept what he proposes to do, thinking that whatever it is, he does it for My Good. For everything there is a why and I have understood that My Life intends to make me discover them little by little, without going around them so much, direct and straightforward as it has been from the beginning. However it is fantastic to be able to regain possession of My Normality, albeit with the right and due prudence. It was hard to leave when it was time to go home, maybe because I’m afraid I may have taken it off again, the very thought makes me tremble. I really hope it won’t happen, even if the imprudence of others does not give me hope! Better not think about it. Better to keep thinking about that soap bubble that wanders in search of its freedom, between memories and a lot of desire for redemption.

SPIRITUAL LOVE

You humans struggle to chase after idols and desires that do not satisfy you and do not sedate your true needs. Because your essence is of different substance and your heart is different element. In vain you rage around goods and food for your matter forgetting that you are not here to live forever on this planet but you are only passing through and you will only stay here for a fraction of time that you cannot decide. Your flesh is troubled and your heart is tormented by things that do not belong to your spirit. You are part of that light which does not divide worlds but unites them. Unfortunately, you have forgotten the wonder of your light and mistake day for night. Ù Your feet get tired in exhausting paths to follow ideologies and religions that do not give you any benefit and joy. Your eyes get tired of reading sacred works that do not make you better. What miracle are you still waiting for that hasn’t already happened? Your waiting is full of useless expectations as you are ready to go but you remain still and cannot think that you can be other than yourself and what others see of you. Open your hearts and realize that you are not alone and that the light is already with you, you only have to accept it in the love that the Father has given you as the only and supreme strength to reach his Kingdom. You are strong, you can expand your essence and join the infinite energy of which all of you are made. Forget the matter that limits you and become aware of yourself and your divine love.

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