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? 

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! ;-))

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.

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...)