melting down

I am fluid and soft like the melting waters of an iceberg. Melting down, from inside, to out, melting from the ligaments, the joints, the bones, the blood-pressure, feeding paper wipes.
Everything is softening, nothing left to be hard, to lay on, to hold up. Where will this road take? No power left to hold onto, just melting and floating on my back where the waters take me.
All rivers go to the sea... The heart is getting warmer, and the iceberg trickles out of my eyes. Let the summer come, let the change begin - a soft and sweet, melting freedom-fight.

baby steps of change

Someone or something is always there to inspire. If the little door is opened within. And then the connection is made with a gold string: the to-be-inspired entity is lit, and little sparks still fly around tickling the soul.
Shall it be a movie, a sentence, a sound, a dog, a bird, a color, a kiss, a touch, a gaze - someone lets herself to be influenced by another.

Tandem game, as sometimes the inspiring persons become receptive and the previously receptive person becomes the influencing, inspiring body. And soul.
Coexistence. Dreamworld. Such a deep connection from soul to soul... the newest inquiries in neurosciences are about to prove this connection.

I am the one to be inspired. I am the one to inspire.
I was afraid for such a long time to influence. To make myself known, as the dancer dances out her heart in a fluid, feet and bone trusted ecstasy. Dancers who dance for the sake of the beauty of the dance and movement and sweat.
Now I am inspired down to the deepest cells of my bones, injured third time in four months on my feet (a knee and two times the other ankle, ligaments need long rest now). I can't blind myself but have to realize that my feet wish to walk on a different path. They want to take me somewhere else, to impress and be impressed. To give and be given. Fluidity. Heartfullnes. Fragility. Openness. Freedom.

It is never late to chose a different life, to choose myself, to choose my own deep gratitude to express in my whole life. To shake it up, dance it out, to jump, jump and find my wings. But first, I need to know what is my desire. What is it I want? Then the flow will take me there. Hence desires are our compasses as is so perfectly shown in the Never Ending Story by Michael Ende, or in the movie of the Pirates of the Caribbeans - where captain Jack Sparrow has that wonderful black thingy pointing toward not to north but to the horizon where his most desired thing is to be found.
I've just found my compass, and hope to speak its tongue. 

Lost

Again and again it happens that the sens of being lost comes on. Like right now.
Unreasonable stomachache (of course there might be a reason for it, but I do not know that), and I want to combine too many things into at once. Not only into 24 hours, but into my life!
Maybe to have three lives would be enough .. or four. I wonder how could I pack all these into one .. I have no clue at all.

Sometimes I wish someone would just grab me and keep me locked in a house with a small garden till I learn how to write regularly and properly. I'm already soooo gooood in my mind. Still, most of the times, I hardly can catch the pen and suit it to the sweet paper and let it draw the story I carry in my soul. This simply does not work for some reason. Maybe I'm doing so many things that I have no power left to do it once I'm there. Or just laziness. Who knows... Blessed are the moments of free existence.

I'm feeling lost. Profound fatigue. Lack of guidance. Still I feel that there is path, since it runs under my feet, and I may even know its nodules as old friends.. but would it be possible to have some rest? To stop pulling myself up from hill to hill, across the valleys? Not complaining, if this is not possible, but to question, it won't kill anyone, will it?

Being lost. What can I do, if I'm lost? I try to identify where I am (or who I am, for the sake of those who are more advanced). I could say that I'm looking for some kind of 'landscape tree', shrub or any other point of reference to identify this. The reference point is the key. But there is no map of the soul-nature landscape tree, which could be noticed from up to 5 km . Or at least, it isn't called like this. Of course there are landmarks on the map of the soul, could one exclaim, who has already roved around the boundless balk of his/her soul. Of course there is. However now I have a different reference point in mind: a certain reference point, without that every other thing would just be meaningless.

Lent is here (and probably this is why my stomach hurts, it's time to grab myself to fast, it's time to get cleaned, to show through, to understand, to accept. And it's time to surrender). Today I realized that the only recognizable point of reference for me is the loving God, even when I can't love myself at all. He still knows where I am, when I'm feeling completely lost. In spite of the free will He gave to us, I believe He somehow leads me where He wants me to be (such like the theory of FLOW functions, wrote by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who was finally honored with a Széchenyi-Prize by the Government of Hungary).

Give, Father, please, I pray, time for me that I'd be able to live with my possibilities and that I won't let the minute go where I need to act. Please grant me the opportunity to share and manifold my talents that were entrusted to me! And even if I would like things happen on a certain way, I pray to live according to Thy will. For in Thee I stand alone in this world, and I grow my fruit for Thee. Amen.
This is today's prayer.