“You are a like a rock” a dear friend of mine once said to me. “I get the feeling nothing moves you”. I often remember his words and it’s interesting that we actually see ourselves so differently from the image we reflect. There is certainly a part of me that is like a rock, and a part of me that lives underneath one, but maybe that’s a characteristic of every woman; strong on one side, fragile on the other. That is why I didn’t say anything at the time and the words just hung there, frozen in time, even though thoughts usually have an effect and a life of their own. Sometimes they do cartwheels in mid-air, and other times they hide underneath a blanket, they’re also rebels that mess with you by showing up at the most bizarre, inappropriate moments. That is how I see myself, and how I see all of us, how we should let our guard down every once in a while and accept the world. I find comfort in the thought that I am not alone, because there are many people that don’t even allow themselves in, not even the silver moon in the middle of a summer night’s sky. Well, actually it’s often easier speaking to the moon than it is meeting our true Self.
There is a thin, invisible, but deep line, which turns thoughts into man or woman. Thoughts are never the same, even though they keep running around and insert themselves into every nook and cranny, every wrinkle of our skin. There remain two. Two sexes. Two realities. That is when I ask myself who I am, and the answer remains the same: simply a woman, but not a simple woman. Each day, I feel unrest of the soul that doesn’t ever want to stop, and rather starts a war to keep its horizons, and never let anyone diminish them. There are many wars like that, but I still fail to see the reason for their existence. Everyone is supposed to be the same, we’re all human, but in reality we each have our own battle to fight; so many different people, faces, looks, and smiles. So many different worlds.
In a dreamy vision of an everyday life, I see a world as a graphic novel; there are words everywhere, hunting me one by one like an endless train that unexpectedly turns into something ethereal. The words are in the air, moving around, but always end up returning to me. Accompanying tone, look, and gesture give them gravitas and intensity. I like to analyse the world around me, although I often discover truths I’m not fond of. That is why I can enjoy silence, which doesn’t need standards for me to understand what it’s telling me, because silence is so incredibly full of words. Silence whispers, screams, starts discussions, and often flirts with us. Frozen words become liquid gold, closed lips avoid fights, confusion and sadness, because the wrong moments have the unbelievable power to change the right word into the wrong one. World gone wrong.
We are blessed, when there are people around us we can share silence with. It is then that silence becomes golden, full of gazes, touches, embraces, warmth of the loved person, who needs no words to say “I am here”. Sometimes, it’s good to bite our tongue, especially around those who can start a revolution, anger, and often disappointment within us. When we start counting sheep to calm ourselves down, or simply dive into the beating of our hearts, and really hope it goes away as soon as possible. I read somewhere that a smart person is the one that knows how to listen first, and only then speak. It’s often difficult to pull the handbrake and stop, in the chaos of thoughts and words in our heads. Perhaps that’s the moment that counts, that is important for us to turn within and find the silver moon I mentioned at the beginning, and at least trust the moon with our lives.
It’s night outside. In complete silence, I let my heart do cartwheels.