The Cursed Ones

Sometimes I think that all we really want is to lead a normal life. A good life. One where we can love and receive love back. That simple. It always, always boils down to this. No matter how fucked up we are. I would even say – the more fucked up we are, the more we crave normality. Because we always crave that we can’t get.

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Story of My Life

A conversation I had the other day has brought up so many memories and emotions that I feel the need to express them somehow. This is a topic I am very passionate about. Partly because I’m personally involved and partly because, in my opinion, this is still a global problem on a major scale, as sad as it is. Mental health is still something we as society don’t particularly enjoy talking about, and our ignorance has created immense suffering for way too many people. And guess who suffers the most? The most vulnerable among us, children and teenagers, too young and immature to take care of themselves and mostly dependent on us, the grown-ups. We are supposed to know how to raise a healthy and self-sufficient next generation. And yet we fail so often that it is getting ridiculous.

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Finding Purpose

Here I am finally. Home. My home. Finally. No other words are necessary to complete this thought, this moment enclosing it. Somehow everything has turned around without me even knowing or taking part in it. Well, that is not exactly true but I did take myself out of the way to let things run their natural course, and they, naturally, have brought me home.
You are the first ones, she said today. Isn’t that interesting? Falling blindly in love with an idea, a thought that lays roots in the mind, in the heart, and you can’t help but follow. You don’t ask why when your heart gives orders, you never ever question it. Question everything, every little detail your being is made of but never question your heart. Because it knows more our minds will ever be able of grasping.
I really don’t know what things mean these days. I live day by day, I take them as they come, as one day often feels like eternity, and then it’s gone and another one comes, and that is in fact all we are capable of handling – the day we face each morning, the sunrise that awakens the soul to strive for its purpose yet again only to fall back asleep as the last ray of sunlight is swallowed by the shadows of night. Darkness sets in and the soul is reset. Repeats it all the next day. It’s so subtle we hardly ever notice it. The purpose. We look for it like we’re crazy, but why do we keep doing it? Why do we keep looking for something that can’t be found?
I can’t even tell you what a fool I’ve been, how blind and ignorant, how dear a price I’ve paid for my foolishness. No, I don’t regret anything. I’ve had a fantastic life and it continues to be so, deep, saturated, real. But why do I have to laugh at my seriousness and sense of self-importance? I laugh because it’s funny. Considering myself important is truly funny and also a shortcut to failure. For it just so happens that importance doesn’t embody purpose. Importance constantly needs to be fed, it’s ravenous, never satisfied and readily engulfs you all. And while we are being digested by our personal importance, by our unfulfilled dreams and unrealized potentials, we just don’t see – we already live our purpose.
The fact most worthy of being laughed about is that we don’t even have to try to live it, as that is the one and only reason we have born in the first place – to be. To be. That’s it. That’s all there is. Simply being is enough for us to live our purpose. We are an inherent part of it, the same as it is an inherent part of us, and intertwined we transform and reshape, and twist, and turn, as our souls wake up and fall asleep every day, day by day, till day and night become one. That’s all there is. And what a fool I am for wasting my time searching for something I had never lost. But I didn’t know. That’s why the fuss.
So let me take you home with me. Home, you know, that place which feels just like the content of your heart being turned outwards and projected onto the walls surrounding you. Saying that I’m overcome with gratitude would be saying nothing at all. This is not just a physical place. This is me finally living the truth. The truth of who I am. The truth about me loving this life so much that I can’t prevent tears from falling at the beauty and richness of all we have created – through centuries, through lifetimes, through life and death of billions of souls.
I really don’t know what happens next. I only know that I have worked hard for years without knowing what I’m doing and why. I was just infected with an idea and I happened to possess the right combination, the right proportion of ambition and foolishness to keep doing it without any real proof that the goal is in fact achievable. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no hero. I gave up countless times. I still have days when I come home dead tired, thinking that all I ever achieve is torture myself, but then it all passes somehow and the fire keeps burning. The first ones, she said. The fire keeps burning. Not because of her words. Because of reinforcement they offered. The fire burns because it is what it does, naturally. Unknowingly purposefully. But add a little oxygen and see for yourself what happens…
None of this matters at all, though. This is just a cozy Friday night and me lying in bed, sleepy, letting the week settle as I type thinking that maybe I could start writing again, processing again. You know what really does matter? Your fellow human being. And kindness. That is all you need to be happy. Trust me. Truly. Please.

The Wall

One of the things we fear the most is intimacy. It also happens to be one of the things we crave the most. To be deeply felt, seen and heard by another human being, just the way we are, unprotected and very, very vulnerable – to let somebody come that close, passing all the outer layers that keep us safe, but also distant. True connection is always a compromise between the two – safety and distance, as we might merge into one, but does it last, can it really last if we are ultimately meant to function as individuals? Can we really trust and can we know for sure that the person we place our trust in will never ever hurt us in any way? No, we can’t.

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I haven’t said a word for such a long time. It feels weird to write again, like visiting a person I haven’t seen for a long time with no obvious reason. We sometimes do that, don’t we? We stop seeing somebody just because it happens that way, time passes, expectations fade, but sometimes our paths cross again. And when they do, it always feels like the last time we talked to each other was only yesterday, even though we both know it is not true. That yesterday was a long time ago. And that time has left its mark on us. We are the same and yet we are not. We have changed. Without each other.

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There is something about the heart, about the best of you who resides there that possesses this magically explosive potential for turning the whole world around if that is your deepest and truest desire. You can break through anything, any obstacle, any barrier, swim across every single ocean, climb every single mountain and survive every single storm. Nothing, absolutely nothing can stand in your way, as long as you are in a perfect alignment with your heart. As long as this is the case, nothing has the power strong enough to prevent your heart’s desire from coming true. A pure, clear desire that stems straight from the heart combined with a rock-solid intent to be achieved becomes an unstoppable force that keeps the whole universe going. And the truth is you have always known, somehow, deep down, that this is who you truly are, a star child, combustible, and that you do have a purpose, the one thing that revives you like nothing else does. And you explode. And nothing ever remains the same. Nothing remains the same when we take quantum leaps, like missiles, one after another.

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The Magic Words


I think I have longed to hear those words ever since my early twenties. But I never did. I probably wasn’t that type of girl. And being the type of girl I was, I used to adore the other type, the one that did hear the magic words. And I thought they must possess something I was lacking, as that felt so out of reach for me. But strange things happen, and it was yesterday when I heard the same words I have always wanted to hear. Will you marry me, that is. Coming from my ex’s lips, probably his final trump in a sequence of attempts of getting me back. I’m walking around all day with a bleeding heart because I know him, I know him all so well, I know his struggles and his fears, and also his dreams, and I know that he was serious and how much it took him to expose this side of him to me, the vulnerable side, the one I was dying to reach throughout all the years we were together and the one he always kept at a safe distance despite all my trumps I was playing one after another as part of my sequence of attempts to break his wall down. I never succeeded, so I left. Was that my real final trump?

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At the End of the Day Another Day Begins…


I was at the beach tonight. Watching the setting sun. Merging with the seaside glistening golden below the fiery orange disc approaching the horizon slowly but visibly, touching tree tops, setting them on fire, illuminating a path of saturated gold right from where I was sitting to all the way over there, far away in distance, disappearing in shadows rising behind the flaming trees.

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Home is where the heart is. That little (or sometimes not so little) space you can feel when you place your hand on your chest and by doing it touch the real you. The safest place in the whole world. Home. Imbued with wisdom, and everything feels so real and so you in there. Sometimes it’s the only home you have. And if this is the case, it’s so important to remember who you truly are, who you are in your heart because it can turn out that the difference between in here and out there is striking.

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Rising, Falling


This morning felt terrible. Not because of the morning, it’s never morning’s fault. It’s my fault only, for being terrible. The most sacred part of day, made terrible, because of me being such. I took a pen and my diary and let my hand slide over paper as it wanted to, no thinking, no filtering. This was what my hand left there.

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