13 Sep 2006


I want to write my way home. Inside. Sheltered. Protected. Cuddled. Hugged. Secure and safe. I do not want anything but settle in. Deepen my roots and my belonging. To the soil. To the land. Inside the earth hugs. Inbetween the sand and pepples. Occupy every small tiny space. Expand my roots. Deep and deeper. Wide and wider. Feel the sand's embrace. Warmth. Feel I am fully surrounded. Sinking in. Safe to let me roots relax. Safe to let my roots nourish from the soil. Nourish but not grab. Nourish because I am trusting that the soil will last. I am not running aganist time. Not running. Just stable and free.


"When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected to move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself. You never in your life think that love like this can happen to you."

A life of details. Stop. Steady. Move again?

I would previously say No to that. A big no no. I was young and foolish. I am old and foolish. I now can see the possibility of this happening. See that this is happening. Women by nature sacrify. Idiot or idealistic, you choose, if anyone denies that. Women do sacrify for everyone. Not an absolute statment. But they do. Expected to. More important, they want to sacrify. They do it naturally, not knowing that they actually are. They know it, yet, shed a blind eye on it. They drift away from who they are to someone, close still, but different. Develop a different interests, different style, different priorities. Most things suddenly are shifted and blurred into a prespective. Some kind of prespective. For sure a different one than it used to. As if their emotions take-over everything. Take-over ther mind and sweeps so deeply and intense all they knew and experienced. They become just dolls in the hands of their lover. Tamed. Happiness and sadness both mean the same now. Not blurred, or indifferent, but same because everything becomes dual. Mean the same and taste the same. COuld be because of the depth they tasted from both that the real differences, the imagined ones, disappear? I do not know.