Dark Motherhood chronicles

Today I did not want to be a mother.

Today I did not want to be a wife.

Today I wish I never really got to know my in laws.

Today I did not want my knees to hurt from squatting colorful playgrounds and I really did not want this headache from a night of broken sleep. Oh, I had headaches before, believe me, I did. But Is a headache from staying up with my baby the same as the ones you get from a whole night partying? I don't know, but today I wanted to find out. 

Today I don't want to wear my old havaianas, today I want my high heels back (yes, the red ones, yes the silk ones!) I want my miniskirts back and the cleavage you disprove.

Today I don't want organic food, I want to skip lunch and get drunk with wine and olives.

Today I want to get into that jeep and travel again half the world. Today I want to dance.

Just dance (not "helping my baby to sleep" dance). 

Today I want to be naked, but sexy naked, not (I did not manage to put my clothes on yet naked).

Today I wanted to be carefree and light.

I want to walk barefooted and spend all my money in a massage.

Today I want to wear makeup, go to the movies, flirt the night away.

Today I want to make friends, toons of friends, and drink beer with them.

Today I want to swim, in the ocean.

Today I want to... 

Taking back my power

Taking back my power...

Nothing can give us power. As nothing can take power away from us.

We are power.

I have a very dear friend who is a healer,she does the reiki/ meditation/ holistic work but we actually meet.. Partying!

Dancing and drinking in a bar!

And for months this is how we related,we hang out together,in bars,discos,parties! Well,somehow... celebrating!

In between drinks she used to say "are you aware your are a goddess?" , I used to go out in my sexiest outfit so for a while there.. I thought she meant I was "hot"! Ahahhaha!

After some time I got to know she was doing healing and she got to know I am interested in "these things" and we would get together and meditate and celebrate and.. She would still often say it "you are a goddess" and would insist "have you told that to your girlfriends,have you become aware of your power?"

I started to realize what she is talking about.. I started to work,respect and treasure this divinity inside of me.

This is empowerment, for me it is the power that comes from finding myself,from giving value to myself and showing it to the world. No need to please, no need to ask for sorry for my opinion, no need to hide my looks or use them to be heard or noticed. 

Be me and love me. This is the power I have been finding inside. 

With no need for approval, the power to just be myself."

Wound talk

My knee hurts and I know it's you again.

I mean it's me, again lost in the illusion of Me, reflected in You.

How deep is the wound i carry inside?

How addictive is the bullying I accept to perform to myself, like a ritual, over and over again?

How strong is the memory of those words I heard years a go (maybe lives a go!)? 

How was it that I accepted your opinion about me as the truth?

How was it that I heard you critics louder than your compliments?

Why was it so easy to accept that flaw you mentioned once, and so easy to sit with it, a monster flaw making my steps heavy, making my back bend, making my bed cold and my shoes just... Uncomfortable?

How was it possible the mirror no longer showing me the beauty of my wavy blonde hair but rather the messiness of a "not dark enough" head?

How was it that I accepted this as my truth?! When did it happen comparison joined my vocabulary and dimmed my light? How did I allow that to happen?

What was I looking for when I found... This? 

All our choices are done based on what we believe takes us closer to joy and further from pain...

How much joy was missing inside my chest? How much joy was away from my attractive breasts, my sexy legs, my strong back, my expressive hands, my long arms, my almond shaped nails, my delicate pink yoni, my firm bottom, my small ears, my fine nose, my hazelnut green eyes, my perfect eyebrows, my small feet, my ivory teeth, my warm and soft tongue, my fair and delicate skin, my elegant neck and muscled shoulders... My wide thighs...my Shakespeare's heroin hair... My unique style!?

How much joy was I keeping away from my soul... My heart. My story?

It is all perfect, it is all full of magic, full of grace and strength, doesn't matter what words you choose to define yourself with.  

 How much beauty was I hiding from... Myself? 

I don't know. 

But those times are over and I am no longer accepting YOUR words to define ME. I am far too divine for that.

I might be alone, in the corner, licking my wounds but I am, now, closer from JOY then when I was with you. 

Breaking my heart... Open?

Braking my heart open?

I don't know...

I don't know how it got like this... Again.

Don't know how... no matter how much I protect and "make my heart tough" and resistant, being careful not to fly, and cautious not to dive... too deep. Trying to make him see the dangers and the risks of walking around like this: raw, red, and open. No fear to shine, never hesitant to give... 

You see... It hurts. 

An open chest speeding the sky. 

"Protected by fairies", he promises; 

"in the company of the angels", he says; 

"with the energy of the purest beings"... he believes.

Yes, my dear heart... - I whisper -  But you see... It hurts. 

Something we are not doing right... Why would it hurt so much?

Or... Is it to be heart open always heart braking? 

Letter to you at the ashram

Oh you are falling inlove!

You know when I got there first time people told me this is what happens, you kinda "fall in love" with her, you wanna be in her presence, you want to carry a picture and look at her, you want her hugs and attention. At first I thought this was ashramite freAky talk! Ahahaha :) but then, after a couple of hours it wAs ME! Hanging pics of her in my room, singing Om Namaha Shivaya on every line I said!... Oh wow, I still remember so well our first meeting, I was called in my room around 9 maybe..? Well, anyway it was late, they come and say "Amma is calling you. Come quickly", and I remember the excitement inside my heart (and maybe a little ego kick! :)) She is calling ME?! Wow, I put on clean white clothes and just RUN! :)

And remember I knew nothing about this saint, I was not a... Follower... But I run, and meet a few other westerners waiting, like me, to get "room darshan" and I had no idea what this was but felt so... So excited!

And we waited in the corridor, and we went silently down the curly stairs, and I remember the SMILE of the people working next to her and I remember to feel her presence and her... GLOW, just before I reach the small circular room, where she seated, beautiful like a goddess, in the middle. And I remember we sat around her, silent, hiding like kittens. And I remember my heart pumping, and I remember listening to her talking, for as short as 3 minutes, with these very old couples that live in the ashram and come to see her, and you know how much I don't speak the language but we could feel her kindness and patience in her voice and ways. 

This was all so new to me but I just felt so.... Special. 

After some time, I am not sure how long, one of the ladies came to say we could go if we want to, none of us moved an inch. 

After that we got to be hugged by this smiling warm woman and, for the first time in my life I felt what a "blessing" feels like. I remember crying my way up those stairs :) 

 Enjoy Amma's, it is such a special place!

afraid of your truth?

And when you find, during random talk with loved ones, new layers of fear hiding inside... When you are not speaking exactly your truth.

you know the feeling? Sure you ARE expressing yourself but just... Being careful... Afraid (yes, it is fear) of a misunderstanding, afraid (yes, it is fear) of being judged, afraid (yes, fear...)  of being rejected... Afraid they will love you less... It is both a trick and a treat this Halloween night gift.

Today I will speak all of my truth, freely and lovingly towards myself and my nature. Today and tomorrow, hugging new cycles close(r) to the heart.

two years ago I married India

Two years ago i married India. But this was not an arranged marriage. Or arranged by the Gods maybe, far from this bodily life we live. Me and India: the love affair was going on for a while. Probably since I saw your long eyelashes blinking with your dark eyeshades (can't believe there is no kajal on that!) at that bar in Vietnam; probably since I tasted yoga for the first time in that acting movement class; probably when I burned my tongue with madras biriani in that restaurant in Lisboa; probably when I did not dance Navrati at that temple in Maputo; probably when I tried the first kathakali steps washed in my own sweat in Kerala; or when I first tasted idlis (oh idli love!) at master's house, or prasad at snake temple (yes, paysam!!) or probably when I gazed at Amritapuri waters or cried at kali temple after Amma's hug; probably after street chai and greased pakoras in Mumbai; probably since I started wearing a bright red bindi in my forehead, cause I feel so strange without it; probably after dancing meditation in Pune; or after Swiming at sunset in Goa; probably when I received colorful garlands for the first time from your mother in Indore or when I almost fainted facing Indian traffic in the heat... Or... probably since I saw Taj Mahal's image (can you believe I haven't seen it for real yet?!) at one of my mum's oriental art books when I was a child (boy I was fascinated by that book). Or probably since the first time I tasted cardamom, just that way you keep it in your pocket, and you chew it and you forever enchant your words (and your kisses). Of course this was my love affair, this was my passion and my despair, my beauty and my beast. My turn me on and my iceberg. Sometimes lost in the beauty of a little temple of Shiva underneath a tree others not managing to see pass the cow's shit just in front of it. Sometimes delighted with the sound of tabla, others irritated by the high pinch voice that goes with it. So in love with the bright saris, so hating having to wear one. So fascinated by the mysterious rituals, so mad I was lost taking part of them. It was ON and OFF detox and intox of India. Such pleasure in an ayurvedic body oil massage, only matched by the amount of disgust in a glass of ghee to drink at panchakarma. But then I decided to choose, and I choose to accept something I feel like a karmic tie, a beyond time and space connection - and we did, also, called it a marriage. Inside of me i married my fire to yours, and we have, indeed, been burning since. When I say I married India you provably imagine gorgeous henna tattoo all over me, the groom coming riding on a horse and me, covered with a silk red sari, eyes looking down, delicate and reserved, siting in the middle of flower mandalas, in front of a brass dya, waiting for your light. Yes, that sounds amazing, but that is not me. I cannot tell you how many challenges I face when I visit, when I taste, when I cook, when I wear, when I kiss, when I love... India. India is my soulmate, indeed it is. Not the one that gives me forever bliss but the one that brings to the surface every one of my unresolved issues. India is my master, indeed it is. Not the one that uplifts and nourishes my soul with daily inspirational quotes and chants but the one that shakes my beliefs to dust. India is my tantra, indeed it is. Not the one that teaches me Kama sutra but the one that lives in the pleasure I learn to take from all the moments of my time. India is my sadhana, indeed it is. Not (only) the one that daily helps me down my mat for Suryanamaskar, not the one that flows trough my throat chakra speaking my truth and gives life to my kundalini dance moves celebrating my nature but the one that humbles me every step of the way, keeping the ego at bay. India is my spiritual path, indeed... It is... Not one that takes me to live in the mountain, wearing white clothes and forever meditating in a cave... But the one that shows me serenity in the middle of an Asian market; kindness in the aggressive crowd on a bus; calmness during a toddler tantrum; beautiful songs in a sleepless night; grounding in a skyscrapers town; strings of light in a long distance relationship... Two years a go I married India. But the love affair was going on for a while... This is not, as you can see about loving you, but I also do... Happy anniversary... With love, Joana (And now, yoga! ;-))

confessions of a body

Image by Juan Luis Rojano Mora

Confessions of a body Yes I have done it. I have changed clothes cause you asked me to. I have cut and dye my hair for your compliments and used bad words just because my crowd was using them. Yes I have heard my mother's voice inside my head countless times, correcting me and yours, criticizing. Yes I have used to deny that I did change the length of my skirts from country to country not to be respectful but to be accepted, to fit in, to be appreciated. Yes I have played small for your comfort. Yes I have indulged in casual sex. Yes I have lied before, about lovers and studies. Yes I have said before "I know" when I had no idea. Yes I said "I don't care" just before I took a shower to cry. Yes during all my traveling I have many times been afraid. Afraid to be ignorant, afraid to be lost, to be rejected, to feel ridiculous. Yes I have repeated words from others not really knowing what they mean. Yes I have used lines and wear trendy outfits just to look cool. Yes I have preferred to repeat myself in my safety zone than to try that new path. Yes I have traveled, yes I have changed place often, yes I get bored easily, yes I can do it just to hide away. Yes I have faked them, the orgasms. Yes I have celebrated them, the fights. Yes I have confused obsession with passion, aggression with love. Yes I have been afraid to speak my truth, yes I have hidden it inside for fear. Yes I have been jealous, yes I have lied about it. Yes I have loved to be stared at while walking into a room. Yes I am fragile, yes I used to pretend I was strong. Yes I have felt insecure about how good, how worthy, how loved I am. Yes I had doubts. Yes I did flirt out of boredom and had sex cause I could not say "no". Yes I felt abused, yes I did not say a thing. Yes I have drunk to escape to other realities, yes I have enjoyed that. Yes I have danced my feelings away. Yes I have faked a smile. Yes I wanted to look smart, yes I once felt I had to prove "i can do it" to the world. Yes I have tried to please you. Yes I have over eaten and I have starved just to be socially correct. Yes I wanted to be pretty and was afraid to connect with the beauty of other women. Yes I have been selfish, yes i can be mean. Yes I have flirted with your boyfriend just for fun. Yes sex has made me feel powerful. Yes there is darkness, yes I knew how to hide it walking in the spotlight. Yes I felt I knew it all, yes I got impatient listening to your questions. Yes I have judge you cause you are not like... Me. Yes I love to talk, yes I love that you listen. Yes, now it all comes to me. I have been there, I have done that. Yes. All of this is also me. Yes I was not sure I wanted to share this. yes I was afraid you would love me less. Yes, now I don't care.

You don't understand

No you will not understand. Not the sleepless nights nor the tantrum filled days. You will not understand why my messy hair, my loose t-shirt, my dark circles. You will have no sympathy for my terror if, even for some seconds, I lose my child in the crowd. You will probably laugh at the number of times I adjust and re-adjust the pram where he (accidentally! This rarely ever happens!) fell asleep; or the times I cover him gently and check his temperature (sometimes even waking him up with my concern) at night. You will have no petty for my cancelled plans and suspended dreams. You will think it is not a big deal to be a full time mom. No you will not know what it is to change diapers all day and nurse all night; to sleep siting with your baby in your arms, afraid if you change position he will wake up (again!). You will say "it's ok" he looks fine" "this too shall pass" but you will not mean it. Cause how could you? You do not know what is a kick or a slap from your anxious toddler. Have no clue how it feels to look for "what did I do to cause it" reasons. You don't know what it is not to go for grocery shopping for a week just cause you can't keep your baby in the shop long enough. Of course you don't (neither does the neighbor - she has a maid; or her friend - she has her baby in school since he was 4 (months old...)). Have you tried to go back to sleep after been woken up by a loud scream from the one you love most? Again and again (and again, sometimes 20 minutes apart)? Have you attempted to vacuum clean a nose from a screaming helpless baby or hold him tight when he has the painful vaccines for the first time? Do you know what it is to look in the mirror and miss the old you, with more curves (or for some of us less) bigger breasts (yes, how they shrink after he nurses!) and make up in place? Do you know what it feels to be lonely even when you sleep by my side? Or to secretly wish you would sleep in another room cause there is just not enough room in our bed for three (or cause, sorry but your snoring sometimes wakes the baby up). Can you imagine never again eating with both hands, or siting down, or quietly, or slowly, or 100% free to choose your menu? You know how my back feels after all the carrying, the rocking, the breastfeeding? The list of struggles and challenges could go on but I am journaling about it to let it go, not to hold on to it. But you see, all changed. Cooking is never the same, walking is never the same, breathing is never the same! Oh you will not understand how much LOVING is never the same! And with all this "no you will not understand" I feel you... YOU are missing... The big things - have you seen him? Have you seen tumtum laughing in his sleep? Yes, he does. And how could you know how priceless it is? Today he is 21 months old and I am happy, so happy to be with him. With love, Joana (And now, nap time! ♥)

Tonight I would...

Tonight I would cry. Tonight I wound sneak into the woods unnoticed and would meet the wolves. Tonight I would braid my hair with grass and cover my skin with dust. I would dig a little hole in the dirt, under a tree, and would sit there, quiet, cold, simple. I would lick my wounds. The wounds no one inflicted, the wounds I carry from past lives, the ones open by disconnected love, the ones that bleed and the ones you can hardly see the scar. The wolves would sit near, and in the beginning I would refuse the comfort of their fur, lost in the victimization cycle. I would sit, cold, alone, and I would cry. And the cry would caress every cut and every bruise, warm tears opening my heart. Next thing i notice the wolves would be there, cleaning my face with their thick tongue and covering it with healing saliva, siting behind me padding my bed. And tonight I would look deep into their eyes and have no fear. I would not want a house, a bed, or a family, I would see it there, in the hypnotic gaze of the wolf, all there is. And tonight I would hug that, cause it is all Me.

My love for you is like Henna

My love for you is like henna. Yes it is beautiful. Yes, takes time and patience to built. Yes it seams to fade... Every 3 weeks or so... Yes, intricate patterns creating flowers and leaves, all world's nature sinking into my skin. Nature from that path we took to the beach everyday, next to the wild buffalos in south Lantau. Nature from those mountains we climbed in Argentina (remember? Oh how you love those cold hikes...). Yes, intricate pattern spiraled from our ecstatic love making visiting the ashrams in India. Yes, intricate pattern made of sharp edges from the unkind words emerging during our fights in Hong Kong. Yes, intricate... Sacred geometry designs, with yantras, Om and prayers, from our talks on spiritually, on planes (the ones that made a 14 hour flight go bye so fast, remember?). Henna has a scent, have you felt it? It does not smell like flowers, it is not perfume, it is a strong pungent smell that stays with you for the time the beauty lasts. You never forget you have henna even if you hide the tattoos. Intoxicating, more sensitive souls would say. I kind of like it... Henna is used to celebrate. Henna is used to purify. Henna is used to induce relaxation in the bride and women that help her during the stressful days of the wedding (did you know this?). Henna is used to bless... You told me once how beautiful it is that the women being hennaed have to be helped to do everything. If it's in your feet, you cannot walk If it's drying in your hands, you cannot eat. It's a ritual, a rite of passage. Yes, I can see how my love for you is like this henna I am so fascinated about... Henna tattoos take time, take love. Are gifts from artistic hands and soft hearts (yes I believe so. could you draw henna with an angry heart?). Henna is all the sacredness of the feminine, birthing beauty no matter what conditions. Have you heard of war zones, or natural disaster zones, where the women, emptied from all goods and sometimes loved ones, walk far, to go up in the mountains, to collect henna leaves and create the magic paste? Yes they do. They work for beauty. And beauty is love. My love for you is like henna... An art I even started to learn and tried to practice... Lost in the cones, hard to hold like a pen; and in the motifs, hard to draw and memorize. My love for you is like henna and I always feel when the design is fading... like if every spiritual cleansing I do is washing more of my skin, bathing my body... Me, siting, alone with the flowing water... Silently (sometimes painfully) watching the art fade away... My love for you is like henna and I feel all the heavy maintenance it takes, so many hours to create, so many secrets to help it look brighter and stronger, and so easy to let... it... all... fade... away. And I used to feel how demanding is this magic, how rooted in rules it lives, how... Easy is it to do it "wrong"... And I used to feel that if I did not take the time to sit down to work my magic, collecting the leaves, drying them to powder, mixing the paste (maybe adding the black tea, the lemon, the turmeric tricks to it), making the cones, and religiously apply it to my skin, letting it sink for a whole night, and keeping it away from water a whole day... it would just go.. Vanish... Yes, sometimes I feel my love for you is like henna... And it's time... To drop the effort and let it fade forever... Or... To make it a real, forever, tattoo.

Today I miss...

Today I miss my friends, so very deeply.

Today I miss the places where I danced till sunrise, the shores I collected seashell from, the summers I have sunbathed till I burned my skin. Our meetings by dusk for a drink, our afternoons at the coffee shops talking, our times out, for the movies, the theatre, the art exhibitions. I miss a good laugh, I miss high heels and lipstick.

Today I miss the glamour of the work I used to do (even if it existed mainly in other people's head); I miss the colleagues, the empty spaces to create, the brand new texts to open, and read, and sigh... Today I miss the dreams we share together, me and my friends. I miss my tribe, I miss all the well known places. I miss my language, I miss my brother...

Today I miss sunsets and parks. I miss cinema. I miss that way we used to sit, stare, smile, and have wine.

Today I miss a clean blue sky. I miss my gorgeous girlfriends and their hair. I don't know why but I just miss you all so much. I miss my friends, my male friends and their hugs, their jokes, their soft flirty ways... I miss driving a car knowing where I am heading to, I miss improvising a night out.

Today I miss mint tea with milk. I miss pasteis de Nata...

I miss Mozambique, I miss Portugal, I miss all those places where I left pieces of my heart... 

Today I do, miss you <3

Flowers in your hair

I dream of moving to one of those places where people wear flowers in their hair.

Why? Cause a place like that can't be a bad place.

It's my birthday

23:23 this side of the world 

and i was just born (15:15 Pt -london time) 37 years ago.

I feel I am young.

I feel I am old. 

I feel that I live in a rusty body sometimes, others it's the mind... and it's crunchy sounds... Having troubles opening up (more, and more, and more).

I am not afraid, the more I live and dream the less I am afraid. There is nothing to fear I know, only love to share.

I am very grateful for this knowledge, and the experiences I learned it from.

I am happy to be here. Very happy I am a woman (this time around), fantastic to be a mother... exciting to be a witch, a healer, forever an artist, always a gipsy.

I am passionate about creation, I follow the "religion" of celebration. I am here.

I thank you for taking part on my creation, my world is, I can say, more beautiful with you (believe me, if not you wouldn't be reading this).

I am grateful for your bDay wishes, made me feel... Loved.

(And will keep me company even in the lost patches of my path, I will remember "friends love you, and orbs visit you, often, this is your path, honor it")

Joana

The more you cry?

And have you noticed, the more you open your heart chakra (maybe with meditation or just exercising compassion) the more you cry? 

I mean the more you get moved and touched by stories, by pictures, by animals scared of humans, by people begging for food (or for love..)...? 

Did you notice the more you get lost gazing at the sky, the more ecstatic is your dance, the deeper your diving into poetry, or art. The more your heart beats (the more it goes tumtum! ;-)) the more you float with lightness and joy, and the deeper you suffer with lies... Disappointments...

Oh don't worry, the opening of the heart is a good, a fantastic thing. You are blessed, taking the good path, don't give up now. Not cause it's painful, or it feels lonely. You are not alone, never alone.

Enjoy this, this ability to be so deeply connected with all there is.

(next step, stay grounded while you do it...)

Dia do pai...

Hoje é dia do pai e eu não sei o que dizer... Todos os anos é a mesma coisa, há cá dentro uma sensação estranha de que "devia" ter algo para dizer... Mas não tenho. 

Passei a vida toda assim... Vejo agora que criei mecanismos para me defender disto (como se este dia me "atacasse"...), lembro-me quando era criança e era obrigada na escola a fazer o "presente para o dia do pai"... Lembro-me do constrangimento de não saber desenhar "o que o pai gosta mais" ou a cara do papá... (Tenho até um desenho do jardim de infância em que desenhei para ele um balde... Um balde?! Yah... Sabia lá eu o que desenhar...). Lembro-me de chorar porque os outros meninos diziam que eu "não tinha" pai, dizem até que me vinguei desses que falavam assim, mas disso não me recordo... Mas lembro-me de forrar (literalmente) a minha caixa dos lápis com fotos do meu pai... Não porque as fotos fossem de grande significado para mim mas para provar que o tal "pai" existia, eu também tinha um...

Lembro-me de mais tarde passar a considerar o dia do pai como um segundo "dia da mãe" e pronto, fazer os tais presentes foleiros para ela, não sei de onde veio esta estratégia mas durante uns tempos funcionou. Mas já não funciona, já sou crescida suficiente para ver que não funciona, que partilhar hoje uma foto do meu pai não faz sentido (e encontrar uma em que estejamos os dois é mesmo impossível). E sou crescida suficiente para dizer que isto é triste. Que é triste não poder dizer obrigada, que é... é uma merda, não ter uma memória real dele...

"Não ter" pai é uma merda... Pronto, disse.

Filha Joana