She never fails to amaze me, when she finds me diving deep to encounter the shipwrecked wisdom I forgot I lost, when I am sent in flight to the isolation among the clouds where I can finally see.
She is an ancient enigma written in every human language known at the same time. But we must not suffer in confusion: through acceptance that our short lived minds will never be able to fully see her, we simply allow ourselves to be surrendered in her presence. Our blessing is to witness her mysteries in unveiling, for as long as we can.
She is volcanic, all devouring darkness: leaves you nothing besides the abysmal waves of awe that swallows everything it finds in its way. It's a purging, the day you say goodbye to old burdens. As the chaos is silenced and the firmament is revealed, she is vibrant and magnetic: calls your soul by the name, and embraces it as it is joyfully guided to the depths of its oceans, where new life begins.
And now you watch, she is serenity in bloom, ethereal motion echoing through the space: the fog that holds you and makes you spin, weightless, over the surface of earth.
And so it goes, as she keeps maneuvering all as she sees fit, sending delight and sorrow in a cyclical dance around us, as we spin, as we fall, as we witness terrific, cosmic dreams materializing.
No matter the shape or pace it takes, it is never less powerful, each time more beautiful. I only pray that she keeps moving me, at least until the wind ceases, at least until the fire no longer burns.

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Finally a post in 2025, eba!

It always feels so weird to write in English. Although I've been exercising it since my teenage years, I still have the sensation I’m constantly using the wrong words, in the wrong phrases. What a sin. I guess that’s just how it feels to not use the language you were raised to speak. Maybe, in my case, it applies to both English and expression.

Thank you for reading. Take care ♡.