A Waterfall Singing Into a Sea of Silence - III

[.....] I am amused with the funny fresh feeling in my wings; I am amused to the tempting sensation of getting lost where every direction seems like a forward to me. 

Where to go now? I see my reflections clearer than ever, I know what I want but I am floating like a steam boat with no coal. It never gets easier, that is the new truth and the only principle about life as I see it now; it never gets easier but I become better at coping with it. I stay a little bit shorter in bed every new morning, I eat cleaner food, I channel my despair and frustration into running and meditation… the one thing I really need is coming too slow to be enough, I write. I write, but it is not enough for those waiting my writings; I wonder what is holding me back if it wasn’t fear? What is crippling me and my soul that hard? The words I have not written condensed together and made a sea of songs. I rest in the waters of the sea inside of me when I am tired of flying. I take a never ending deep breath and I feel how my body greets the air flowing inside of me. The exhaled air carries many songs from the sea inside of me and my entire body resonates with it like a vintage wooden music box. I am fully connected to myself and the world. I see my sadness, I touch my fears, I push my body to the next trustless step, I set my sails into a sea of faith.

At the end of the day I lay down on a sheet of fresh green grass that is hidden between the realms of my existence, I gently stretch my muscles and then release them, I inhale a never ending deep breath, I exhale a never ending lullaby; the songs I have not sung transcend throughout the layers of my disappointment and depression… they transcend outside all the realms I can see, outside the whole universe…. The songs I have not sung whisper quietly to me and lift me like a cloud of green stardust… I am transcending, I am limitless, I am wide awake; I am a word written on the milky ways with bones and flesh and a humane soul.

"I move slow and steady

but I feel like a waterfall..."

 [Relief]

A Waterfall Singing Into a Sea of Silence - II

April, I am wide awake; I cannot tell how many days have passed since my voice came back to me. I am wide awake, I am lost in the white of my bed sheets and I take a never ending deep breath, I close my eyes and I quietly pluck one feather of depression at a time. The deep roots of my depression scream in pain, they clench too hard on my flesh. My pain becomes too big to be felt anymore. I pluck harder and harder, every feather takes away a chunk of beating flesh and neurons. I pluck them harder. The white of my bed sheets is lost into the bleeding disfigured feathers; the spooky nightmarish feathers that are not mine anymore, and the flesh that’s tied to my soul with letters and ink and the dust of burned dreams. I am wide awake. Walking is like flying, I am so empty, I am filled with little deep holes, dark and bleeding; I put on some light perfume, a nice t-shirt and a pair grey of sneakers; my hollowed body has become perfect, so perfect for drifting and flying; a messy cloud of bone dust and dried flesh is floating above a sea of silence and mountains of disappointment. 

May, where to go now? The words I have not written squeezes through my hollowed chest and fill the holes, they sprout little green and blue feathers. Where to go now? The words I have not written are heavy. They pull me downwards and slice through the cloud, the sound waves carry me, and I kindly stretch my featherfull wings, I take a never ending deep breath and I clap them together… I am amused with the funny fresh feeling in my wings; I am amused to the tempting sensation of getting lost where every direction seems like a forward to me.

A Waterfall Singing Into a Sea of Silence - I

[Recession]

February – March 2015, I am falling apart. What I feel is indescribably ambiguous. I can’t bear the weight of the words I have not written and the steps I have not taken; their pressure makes tiny painful cracks through every bone in my trembling body. I cannot hold the heart beats inside my chest; the loud inconsistent beating shutters the cracked bones and leaves my chest wide open; I collapse into dreams of death and non-existence. I am falling apart. The indescribably ambiguous feeling fills the cracks in my bones and melts the shattered pieces together. I am wide awake. The poems I have not written and the walks I have not taken are hunting me. My melted bones are stiff and unresponsive. My soul is scared and anxious. I take a never ending deep breath and I scan how the wooden floor feels beneath my passively relaxed body. I’d rather feel it beneath my feet, but I have been struggling to stand up for too many mornings to remember. I collapse. I fall into a sea of silence. My footsteps are scattered everywhere, I cannot remember where to go; I cannot see the light, I cannot trust my next step, I walk in spirals, my reflections collide and I collapse. I am wide awake. I take a never ending deep breath and I scan how the keyboard feels beneath my fingertips. My hysteric heartbeats echo in the furthest corners in the space I occupy, the echoes are hollow and heavy, their teeth bite my fingertips and the writing slowly bleeds out. I do write. I do have a voice; it rattles but it is audible; it is thin but it is visible. It seems ghostly, but surely it does exist; and it is dear to me.

Voices In The Heart

That voice isn’t mine

It doesn’t feel like me anymore…

When I look at it

In the eyes of the people around me

It looks different...

“Hopeful,” they would say

“Dreamful”

And “ambitious...”

Except mom

“Oh, my poor baby,” she says.

All that pain!

Hope it guide you to brighter paths

Where you find your deserved peace

Fulfilled dreams

And sincere loved ones.

But my voice’s heavy

In my shaky hands

Whenever I speak

Its thrones etches in my chest

I barely resist the pain…

And I, I write…  

I write to soothe the etching heart.

I write to be a little lighter,

Conquering my little death with letters and phrases

Covering my heart with shields of stone-hard words

My soul sprouts little green dreams

Weak as my voice,

Distant as my memory

Of how my voice used to be…

These memories

Are how I keep moving forward…

And I’ve only increased in predilection over the hardships.

Predilection to reclaim my stray voice

To reconcile with my heart

And befriend my new alphabet.

Maybe I am not looking hard enough

Maybe I am looking in the wrong way

Maybe I should stop looking

And start working.

It’s hard to fall in doubt

And harder to be motionless,

Passionless,

Lifeless...

My heart is splitting

Over submission to the failure

-Because it’s easier!-

And resisting the fall...

Collecting the remains of achievement

Gluing it together with the fainting dream

And building small steps...

One step

Over the other

And I am free, again.