Sleep escaped her eyelids, though she was dead tired

she lay on the floor, on her yoga mat,

with her comfortable pillow and her cozy blanket it was night, a full moon that day

the blinds were shut open, and the room was so dim,

she wished she could muster some strength to reach

and open the window to see that moon

she could picture it in her head, so big and bright

but the darkness of her thoughts absorbed its lights,

dim

dark

obscure room

she sat in the middle of the room, but she felt cornered

as if the monster called darkness rose from within her heart,

and jumped up over her

she sat in the abyss of time and space

thoughts ran endlessly, and multiplied

she prayed for a voice, a sound, a vibration

she wanted salvation, from this vicious circle, the endless pain

she started thinking she was her mother’s biggest mistake

beauty, is there beauty to this life? Music became stale,

words won’t translate what’s in my mind anymore

happiness is for the rich, for the soulless, but my soul,

will forever roam this land looking to feel something that isn’t here

she started choking,

she grasped for air as the room she was inside, was now inside her

the walls were pushing down on her

suddenly she realized, she didn’t fear elevator rides or

shut room doors because she was claustrophobic

but because she was trapped on the inside,

banging on this glass door, this lens she saw life through

she opened her mouth and gave it her all,

her voice was no longer there

her body was screaming for her to move

to live,

it didn’t matter if there was nothing to feel or be, i t’s just a life.

Her exploding bladder had her jumping.

She splashed water on her face and looked up

She knew that jaw from somewhere

Those warm eyes, and soft cheeks

If it wasn’t for her hair flowing so long behind her back,

and hands filled with cheap bangles

She could’ve sworn she was looking at her mom.

She was thirsty, she gave her water, and she thrived,

into beautiful sculptures, translating the tunes of

melody she was listening to

Her body ached to be alive

Her hands wanted to be stretched open, but why do I never spin them?

Why do I never hold them high,

and open my fingers like an intricate web base of a spider?

She asked herself.

I guess there was never enough reason or excuse

for her to do any of these things in her every day normal life.

She sat there, listening to the music,

music that echoed deep, as if it was coming from the depths of the dark blue ocean,

she felt it in her crackling teeth,

pushing so much to arise t here was her, and she right in front of her in the mirror,

and she never looked more beautiful.

Her hands got intertwined, and span over each other,

Covering her eyes at times, holding her hair at others,

While she waved her waist left and right

She was always that beautiful, she just never looked.

She realized that as she remembered, “it is all a reflection of you”

The life around her,

The wind that moves the high up clouds

The bird that chirps at her window every morning

Her breath, in and out

Her smile, so beautiful.

She embodied the world around her

And yet, she was still empty

For existentialists, this would be chaos,

but for her, it was freedom

She was empty to receive

everything life has got to offer

Like a hollow flute that lets life breathe

mystique through her holes

“you get to choose, to be a sponge or a mirror”, she thought

“To respond but not store”, as she recalled the Daoist guidance

She asked herself, and now she asks you,

Do you deflect everything that comes your way,

without holding judgment, just letting it pass by, for what it simply is?

or do you choose to cling to everything and

find an answer in the most meaningless of details?

The mind is a great tool, perfection is unattainable,

and Forgetfulness is a bliss

So why do we insist on being something we were never meant to be?

That would disconnect us from our truth, and who we really are?

“Do not be an embodier of fame;

do not be a storehouse of schemes;

do not be an undertaker of projects; do not be a proprietor of wisdom.

Embody to the fullest what has no end and wander where there is no trail.

Hold on to all that you have received from Heaven but do not think you have gotten anything. Be empty – that is all.

(Zhuangzi)

When has error become a sin, something so bad, that our faces turn red for?

Our tongues get impaired, for being human

goes for hearts, greatness for truth, stiff and rigid, unreal

Let it be, it might just set you free.

free

free

She knew all she ever wanted was to be free,

while some wanted to be doctors,

others teachers, and so on.

She has been looping these words on repeat,

for as long as she could remember, “all I want is to be free”

But is she?

She ran, did that set her free?

She ran from all the right things, her voice, her words,

what is to be free?

Her hands that wanted to touch manure,

and shove couscous from her palm to her mouth

Her eyes, that wanted to see the world,

through infinite words on infinite paper in infinite books

Windows to endless minds, soft psyches, brutal lives

New thoughts, that made her put her guard down and explore

a new she

New writers, storytellers, fellow passengers of life

but she knew, writers often found their doom in their words

it was freeing, and liberating for a price

writers had their pain put ink into their pens,

soak their whites black,

writers were lost trying to find the

meaning of life instead of just giving in and living it

enjoying being part of the one.

and she knew

she knew she was one,

she always knew she was a writer,

but she escaped her words,

because they were her mirror of all the truths she escaped,

and truth was too big of a concept for her

all she knew of truth, is that it never was hers.

her truth was always dictated to her, she never had a say in it,

only now does she realize, she can finally choose:

“Out of everything in life, I now get to choose what I want to be:

fluid like water

radiant like a million shining suns

grounded, like a tree, at peace, in tune with her inner compass.”

ah, how freeing it is to feel this way, in control,

yet what irony, for freedom of all things, to make us feel in control.

we always strive to be in control, but why?

so that we don't get run over? but their loud, massacring noise

they made us forget, we are but souls, put on this earth to be, to give it from the light within, and watch as

that light grows inside its soil into multiplied, enchanting beauty

ah, what to give to be free, truly free

She’s got a hunger, eating her up,

chasing after a release, she can’t yet name

“to no longer be enslaved by my unclenched jaw

my unstoppable train of thought”

“i dont know anymore, if i want to be with people or for people

If I have to be with them, then hug me, and if I have to be for them

Then feed me to the worms and birds

Plant me as a seed,

i want to know what its like to be set in the wild,

free, to run tall up or long down,

Free, is it what she really wants to be?

then why does she feel so tangled inside

connection or disconnection?

is to connect what she wants? to find meaning

or to break free, from everything

from the weight of time and space and expectations

“i dont want to talk anymore, words are drops of water

A river, whose flow will never stop, that will never end

i just want to jump and feel

From the top of a high mountain,

while wind slaps my face into existence

i don't want to think anymore

what do I want? I just want to be.”