a daylight dream

  I sit there receiving, a sprightly, exuberant mulberry leaf drinking in the jovial sunlight of february. it’s my first time to learn to receive, and there is no ultimatum when it comes to surrender. it just is. the moment you know it, it is gone. the forgetfulness of it is leaning into being  it . all my life, I chased and ghosted power. the tidal waves of craving it, projecting it into everything, and when finding myself gazing at it eye-to-eye, I’d run away. I wanted to be anything but powerful. anything but strong. I wanted to be calm, gentle, kind. I wanted people to love me, because all I’ve ever learned is how to make people hate you. but there were the shadows in hindsight manipulating me to be powerful all along. I’d get myself in the trenches of wanting to be invisible, and learning through it the essence of being strong. the authenticity in knowing what is true and clinging to following it even if it requires hurt and pain. and now the tables have turned. I’m powerful. it’s

  oh, my dearest heart. how fascinating you are, falling in love again and again. with every turn of this labyrinthine life, the paradigm shifts and you find yourself returning to a version of you you never were but always you knew held deep inside. isn’t it terribly perilous to keep falling again for life when it has so menacingly betrayed your trust? I find myself unable to keep up with that cynical temptation to be at the side lines. there are wings that were made to land only for the temporary, finding themselves in their skies again. I seem to be willing to have my heart broken again and again, just to have it healed in a renaissance. alongside the glimmering lights of ancient towns and riversides that welcome shivery winter walks, warmed by hands swaying in an embrace. my trust is inexhaustible. a trust that even if I’m failing and not seeing things through, the heartbreak is meant just for me. at least, the disappointment will be real. there’s an empowering authority in being ab

the most artistically beautiful question is perhaps: how do we alchemise this pain into another thriving existence? that is the process I cherish the most. the alchemical transmutation of my darkness into a wavelength more subtle, grounded and calm. there is a restlessness I find in me, toppling me down as I venture into new things. a grappling idea that I’m never enough. a stifled creative force so shaky and fragile that does not allow itself to burst into light. that is the miracle. a change of perception. every time I feel it gnawing at my insides, I can peek closely instead of react. I can liberate this anger into creating everything I’ve always longed for. I can smooth out the wrinkles of self-sabotage into surrendered trust in the universe. amongst everyone I know, I am rose-wrapped warrior with scarred skin. but I can do it all when I’m facing the sun, as long as my roses are nourished by comforting rains, glorious sunrises and friendly fresh winds. and now there is this anger.

it’s been a long time inside my bubble. the bubble of insecurity, silencing and imposed anxieties. a bubble of so many closed doors and a single three-inch wide window allowing for the faintest ray of light to beam in. a ray of God’s absolute beingness in my heart. but now it’s different. I’m outside this locked cage with a world filled with possibilities. ordinary happenings. annoying errands to run. things that take time. things that don’t. little things that fill the day— things like cooking, cleaning, managing and replying to texts. when life was just my heart and the devil, there was only one thing I had to do: survive. and when done correctly, thrive. therefore, it was only a perpetual strife to alternate between both in peace, and there was really nothing else I needed. I could give up on food, people, enjoyment and hobbies. I had to give up on everything just to have the energy to stay alive. and now, there are the little friendships to maintain. the business to keep up with. t