Samsara

It’s an early Saturday and my slightly opened eyes, stare at this blotch of color that changes its shape every now and then. The sun painted my walls in a deep cadmium yellow.

My mind is restless for weeks now. It travels back and forth between memories, long-lost dreams, people I have met or I am yet to meet.

“What you seek is seeking you”, my nepalese shaman lady told me years back when I first met her in the Middle East.

She layed on her knees few Tarot cards :
“You have a restless spirit. And just like a candle, if you don’t burn, you don’t bring light.”

Then she went on telling me how bad untamed, spirited people, have it. That I can not be wind.

I nooded and clutched her hand as a symbol of my respect for her wisdom. Deep inside, I protested.

Today, with all my experiences, all the hard work, the years of transcendent meditation, cold showers, deep breaths, stoic readings, I am witnessing this weakness inside of me. This “pull and push” that every uncivilized mind has. As if, never before I have climbed the hills of my own spirit.
I am down and lost in the darkness of my primitive being, looking up at a peak that feels now, even harder to climb.

Isabela

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