There is never time. There are children, laughing, running, getting their knees scratched, crying. There are bills to pay, news to watch and things to say while we take big bites of beef and fries. Things started and not finished, sentences left incomplete. And their incompleteness hovers above my head and haunts me and wakes me up from my counted hours of sleep and I pick a pen and a piece of paper on the nightstand, and I pick up the IPad at the grocery's line, or a napkin at the ice cream parlor and I fill in the blanks with the words of our dreams with the delicacy of the love that once was and I continue the writing of the bits of our lives. I pick them up where we left them and I choose the words that will keep them infinite.
I am the kind of person who lights candles. This is now, not then. it is a recently acquired habit, one that has done me well. I light up candles every day. In the beginning of each class I set up an intention, I focus and I light the candle. I ask myself to be the light, to be the container, not the conduit. I am now the kind of person Who walks barefoot on the grass of my backyard and lets herself shower in the improbable rain of Brasilia in May. The four elements rest now on my desk making my therapist smile when told about them, making her proud of myself and my journey. I am the kind of person that feels the connection with the elements, and nature and the universe, so new. I am again a newborn being. And it is not the first time, I have once died and it’s no secret. This time, however, I did not have to die. I had only to shed the old skin, the one who served me no more. I am still the kind of person who looks in the mirror and who wonders who this new being is. This new self
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