Shallow

Not being alive then? How does that feel? Numb, empty, hollow. Limp. There is resistance, so much resistance that it disappears altogether. You're floating. Standing still. Air is still. Breathing shallow, eyes fixed on one point. Keeping them open so determinedly that the world becomes closed off, darkened, non-existent.

You have to relax. Tensing will only wake you up. Hearing will make you jump. Seeing will make you groan. Just relax, breathe shallow, don't look, don't notice how your body aches from staying still. The time disappears. Blessed stillness of the universe. Nothing will happen. Nothing will change.

It is another form of existence. Funny. How you used to crave that, really. Go chasing after it. Perhaps it's easy to bear just because of that; it is another experience. Another lifetime. Another person. To encounter. To embody. To understand. To examine.

What utter bullshit that is! Remembering to relax again now. To not care. You become so skilled in that so quickly. So fast it is scary. Impossible to go back. That's how it seems. Utterly impossible. Never again. Breathe shallow. Don't blink. Don't move. Just relax. Nothing will happen. Nothing will hurt.

Drawings: Forest, a Way

           Forest, a way 26.2.2016  


Btw today celebrating the 4 month anniversary of my beautiful healing knee.

How to breathe?

I'm a feeling junkie. I'm an experience junkie. I'm a junkie for creating. I'm a junkie for being born again, each moment. I'm a junkie for touching others, moving them. I'm a junkie for letting others see how I transform. I need it, I breathe it, I refuse to let go.

This openness feeds me, it waters me, it makes me vibrate life. When I'm surrounded by only surfaces, when I'm forced to close my doors, when there is no fire breathing inside me, out of me, around me, through me. I die. Numb, cold, indifferent. One dimensional.

When the doors are closed, I'm drained of energy. Forced to watch the world, only seeing, forced to react without connection, forced to act without reason, forced to hide without compassion. Every single word, every single touch, every single expression drains me dry, leaves me hollow, pushes me into a corner.

I myself have to open up, to push through, to demand, to open cracks to let air in for the fire to breathe inside. One single spark is enough. It is an avalanche, a breaking dam, a collective hysteria. Welcome, overpowering, beautiful. And in a snap I'm alive again. Breathing the irresistible urgency of emotion and intellect intertwined.

Now to know where to go to find it, where to look to see it, to know how to think to understand it, what to do to create it. The problem of a lifetime. The mystery of the human soul. The answer to the ultimate question. The spark. Not where, not when, not who, not why. The spark. How to be it?

Drawings

                   Colors 20.2.2016  

                   Power 21.2.2016

 

                    Dark 22.2.2016

Music. Once more.

Music is a complicated phenomenon for me. Never neutral. Always demanding. Always there. Always changing me. Always transferring me.

It has always been that way I think. But it has also grown stronger. When dance became my profession I lost the ability to listen to music for fun, for simply listening. I can't hear it with my ears any more.

Music worms it's way inside me, welling from deep deep inside me, coursing through my body, turning me, moving me, touching me, transforming me, evolving me. Creating new meanings inside me.

I also can't cope without it, without movement that explains myself to me. Without the symbiosis of music and feeling inside me. When I cannot move I loose that inside me, that which I have painstakingly formed into the language of my emotion, my logic.

Not being able to speak, to breath, to look inside me, to create new meanings makes me depressed. Empty. Meaningless. Broken. Frozen in time.

Four months is a long time to be frozen in time.

For four days now, I've been breathing again. There is a possibility of hope, of awakening, of a new life in my body, silently vibrating, wordlessly filling my dimensions, blooming in every inch of my skin, heating every infinitesimal point inside me, effortless, unmentionable, alive.

This is my soundtrack.

Zack Hemsey: Changeling

Ne eilisen kuolleet lehdet

ne eilisen kuolleet lehdet
puin väistellen
näin omituksi vaatteekseni
jonka ratkeissa
uusittujen toiveiden
pelko


avautui tänään
kuulaaksi
kun luvattu loputon odotus
repesikin sisälläni
hetkessä
satumaisena suruna

Hmmm. Toipumisen pelosta.

Healing. Today.

Just that. Healing. Today.

No requirements. No restrictions. No reservations.

Simply today; an open option for growth.

Il Villino, Treia, Marche, Italia, 20.12.2014