If people could see behind and beyond every bad decision they make, would they still choose the same path? Would they still destroy, kill, humiliate and ruin destinies of people, they do not even know? Would they think twice before pulling the trigger, lighting the match, signing the paper? If people could feel the pain of the souls surrounding them, would they still look away pretending it is none of their business? Would they still ignore the pleadings of the lost ones, screams from the edge of sanity and crying of the broken spirits? If every spoken word would come right back to you, would you still always say it before thinking it over twice? If every wound you caused to someone else would be killing you slowly too, would you still walk over someone' dream, burn their hopes and stomp dance on the tears of the ones weaker than yourself? If every time someone gives up on their life, the world would get smaller, would you still pretend your problems are bigger than empathy? If every lost childhood would take away few years from your life would you still decline the shelter of your arms to a person that only needs a hug and a comforting embrace of warm words? If you would finally realize, that every thing you do affects every one you know almost the same as the ones you have never met ... Would you still use the word ME more often than the word YOU? Realize it. Realize that US is much more powerful than I and suddenly the world will start to spin in the right direction. Because even though our lives seem light years apart, we are all extremely close and incredibly loud.
nedelja, 10. junij 2012
sreda, 9. maj 2012
Besame Mucho
A touch and all it's hidden shades of gray ... The Touch and all the screaming facts beneath it. So simple, yet such intense gift of deliberate affection or accidental flash of hidden desires. Skin on skin, like soul on soul, floating around the world of unspoken words. Unconditional symphony of instincts covered with sanity, the primal need of closeness and disability to ignore the heartbeat of most inner sympathies. Touch. Me. You. Breathing me in, so I can breathe you out - the everlasting game of everlasting life. Touch me. Because I am you and you are me. Because the night is so cold without it. Because I was born in your eye pupil and died in your tear. Besame. Besame mucho.
ponedeljek, 16. april 2012
The Beauty Of Imaginary Recession
I just love the beauty of imaginary recession. The broken pride and shattered dreams of each and everyone of us. I love how we are afraid of tomorrow and in denial about yesterday. Imaginary Recession is a blessing. It is the opportunity for us to grow and fight for what we really want. I want to embrace the scared little girl inside of me and show her the way to the right path. I was born a dreamer, I still am and will remain one. Anything I dreamed about ten years ago, I now have. And I am certain that ten years from now I will live surrounded by everything I am dreaming about now. It's the power of my own thoughts and wishes, my devoted work and beautiful people I share my life with. I just love the beauty of imaginary recession. I love the rejections and humiliations that are thrown into my face on daily basis and push me back to where I once started so I can pick myself up and arise from the dust just like Phoenix did. I need to learn to be strong and not let them kill the child in me. It's the most precious thing I posses. And it must survive. Especially in times like the ones we are facing now. Imaginary recession is fragile like one's dreams are. Is as strong as our fears are. Don't fear anything. You are above it all. Once we start believing that again we will win it. We will kill imaginary recession. Break it into millions of invisible pieces that will be as harmless as snowflakes falling from invisible clouds. So, let's love the imaginary recession. Let's dream, not because there is nothing else left for us to do, but because we are worth the best. It's time for us to take what we want. Not ask for it. Take it. Thank you beautiful imaginary recession. Soon you will be nothing more but a beautiful memory of much needed time of awakening.
petek, 23. december 2011
HOME
My dear friends, casual readers or accidental visitors. I am signing in just to tell you, that after almost 3 years of wandering, Xara finally found her way home. Her journey is proudly signed with FIN, THE END, KONEC, KRAJ, ENDE, TO TELOS, FINNE, EL FINAL ...
After she gets all of her gathered memories precisely sorted out, she will hopefully be ready, to share her message with you. Thank you for being there all this time. Your attention is much appreciated.
p.s. With finally leading Xara home, I got myself the best pre-birthday gift I could imagine. 30's I am ready for you!
petek, 9. december 2011
torek, 4. oktober 2011
Na knjigo!
Nekoč sem za sprostitev brala knjigo. Ne eno, vsaj dve naenkrat, da mi slučajno ne bi kaj ušlo. Preoblačila sem se v kostume glavnih junakov, se z njimi podila po zaprašenih hodnikih neodkritih skrivnosti in jim brisala solze ob nesrečnih prvih ljubeznih. Dihala sem njihovo hrepenenje in vonjala njihov strah ob preprekah, ki jim realni junaki največkrat nismo kos. Listi so polzeli med mojimi prsti, en za drugim, kot zreli klasi zlate julijske pšenice. Vsake toliko sem obliznila blazinice, da sem lahko okusila nauke napak glavnih likov in se lažje poistovetila z njihovim pogumom, dvomi in strastjo, ki jim je pomagala najti oazo v neprehodni puščavi. Rada sem brala...
Danes za sprostitev popijem kozarec rdečega vina, knjige pa čakajo na policah na tiste blažene dni, ki jih imenujemo dopust. Jutri z mano potuje buklica Potovanje duš. Ker v nekaj pač moramo verjeti...
petek, 30. september 2011
Nespečnost, ali prazna stran postelje
Pa smo spet tam. Ozdravljena 'nespečnica' is officially back, more awake than ever ... Mogoče je za to kriva kapitalistična preobremenjenost v zadnjem mesecu, ali preprosto dejstvo, da nisem vajena spati v prazni postelji (kosmata čivavzilla v tem primeru ne šteje) ... je mogoče, da se človek odvadi biti sam s sabo in s svojimi mislimi? Je verjetno, da pride trenutek, ko nismo kos samemu sebi? Večer ...navidez tako miren in tih, ravno prav spokojen, da moje glasne misli začnejo topotati po moji zavesti in jo držijo pokonci v sveži noči romantičnega indijskega poletja. Če bi bila v srednji šoli, bi o tem napisala pesem. V zgodnjih dvajsetih bi nespečnost z akvareli prelila na papir, danes pa sem se zatekla v prostor, ki mi je bil nekoč tako zelo drag- v sobo s pogledom na moje srce.
Nisem več prepričana, da zadnje leto še služi svojemu namenu.Vlogi psihiatra, najboljše prijateljice, mentorice, rame za jokanje, praznega platna, ki potrpežljivo prenaša moje ostre poteze z oskubljenim čopičem, ki je videl že boljše čase. Room with a view of my heart ...pretty daring name I would say. Odpiranje srca popolnim neznancem me je vedno na nek način strašilo, obenem pa privlačilo in gonilo k temu, da sem blogu zaupala stvari, o katerih nikoli nisem govorila naglas. Nešteto noči sem preživela med temi štirimi stenami, izlivala gnev naključnim mimoidočim, ki so se vračali v mojo sobo, morda zato, ker so se našli v mojih besedah, ali le zato, da bi uganili, kdo se skriva za besedami, ki so včasih tekale po prvi visoki zeleni travi s pisanim balonom v rokah, včasih pa se plazile po temnih hodnikih, kamor vsak,ki je pri zdravi pameti, nikoli ne bi zašel.
Ne spim.Zato pišem.Pišem, zato ne spim. Vi berete, zato ne spite. Ne spite, zato berete. V bistvu smo si podobni. Vsak s svojega dela stekla gledamo isto stvar. Odgrinjam zavese v svojo intimo, prižigam luči v sobi, kjer domuje moja nespečnost. Zaprašena je in skoraj prazna. Na sredini stoji le velika miza, z majhno nočno svetilko, ki osvetljuje moje rdeče nalakirane nohte, ki udrihajo po tipkovnici in skozi okno pošiljajo dimne signale vam, ki ste v tej sobi nekaj našli. Obdržite to zase. Naj ta soba ostane naša mala skrivnost.
Ura je skoraj tri zjutraj ... Zagrinjam zavese in ugašam luč. Priprem okno, ker veter, ki veje skozenj premetava papirje, na katerih se bleščijo moje najgloblje misli. V kotu sobe opazim kamin, ki že dolgo ni grel praznih sten sobe s pogledom na moje srce. Prižgem vžigalico,jo vržem v zevajočo črno luknjo polno pepela in vanjo enega za drugim mečem papirje, ki odkrivajo več, kot bi si želela. Moje veke končno postajajo težje, udi zaspani, misli pa se počasi umirjajo v smiselno zaporedje, ki mi šepeta: "Čas je za posteljo..." Zaslišim le še zvok ključa v vratih sobe s pogledom na moje srce in potem tema ... Lahko noč, ali dobro jutro. Kakor za koga. In ne pozabite, to je le naša skrivnost ...
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