Living life as an ongoing experiment ✨

 Alrighty, time to get serious here about some shit. Where do I even begin?

It's been tough lately. I would say the last year and a half I've died like three times... And it's been so fucking hard and painful. I hadn't fully recovered from dying the first time when I died the second, and wasn't even expecting the third one. But curiously enough, it was only after the last time that I was forced to face some truths I was running away from. Guess I needed a cheap shot from the universe. Guess it was sick and tired of my bullshit hahahahaha. All for my own good though. It's all good. We're good.

So yeah, I've been processing things I couldn't even remember before, things I had buried in the deepest depths of my brain, don't forgive the redundancy, it is as it is.

Signs have been unfolding in front of me in the creepiest ways, very gently at the same time. How the universe works its ways is very particular indeed. And I've found myself grieving things from years ago, decades ago, sometimes it even feels like I'm grieving things from past lives.

And I'm mesmerized, honestly. How was it even possible to carry such an immensely heavy backlog for so long? How did I make it so far with such a load on my heart? At the beginning, these questions seemed to be followed by a void in my mind which it interpreted as "no answer". But, you know, if one stays with it, one will actually start to feel. Staying silent with that void, I found out, through it, there's a way down to the room of my heart. This door that the mind is, has no answer for ninety-nine percent of things that are felt in the heart.

I've been finally learning about kindness.

Biggest realization ever for me lately: it all begins with the ways I am kind to myself.

Honestly, though. How the heck could I expect kindness and love and compassion from life when I'm being so fucking hard on myself? I catch myself beating myself up about the dumbest things, also things that are absolutely non of my business, or just not at all my tasks to be so concerned about to begin with. Things I did or said I cannot change, situations and people far away in the past, closed doors, etc. But then, as funny as it sounds, I also beat myself up for beating myself up about these things, wth?

Well, it all comes down to kindness. Kindness doesn't come afterwards, it's what ignites it all. It ignites forgiveness, compassion, understanding, empathy.

Also, kindness has taught me that it's okay to make mistakes, and that, at the end of the day, mistakes are not that big of a deal. This life is a freaking continuous learning experience. It's fine! What's gone is gone, what will come will come, and what is just is. Kindness inhabits the present moment, and how much sweeter it is to dwell in it than in old pains.

And so, I've chosen to live my life as an ongoing experiment. Allowing myself to try as many things as possible, dying and being reborn as many times as needed, deconstructing my identities and rebuilding them constantly, going for it, for what? I don't know, trial and error, whatever outcome I'm fine with. No, it's not about being complaisant or agreeable with just whatever. It's about constantly shredding dead skin and renewing my eyes.

Cheers! 🥂

Here's to new beginnings 🥂

I come back here from time to time. It has become a safer place over the course of a decade or maybe more. And I don't think any ghosts from the past dare wander around this long-forgotten realm anymore.

I get that tingling sensation, a little rush of dopamine and adrenaline at the same time, if it makes any sense. Like I can pretend someone still comes to this dusty nook of the virtual space and still minds reading these random little thoughts, or that, by sheer fluke, some stranger could come across it and decide to stay for a while and drink from the elixir of my memories, letting them dampen their souls a bit. How refreshing! Borrowed remembrances of a world never known.

I honestly like it here, the silence and stillness of it, like the places in ruins I used to visit only to share a moment with weeds, debris and ghosts. Could this then be my new safe place? A comfortable one perchance and at last? I swear I've tried journaling in a notebook with just a pen and found it so difficult. And don't get me wrong, I love writing out all sorts of things by hand... I just find myself feeling so much resistance when it's my complicated emotions.

Anyways, may this place become once more the container of my shadow. May this place be tender bedding for my vulnerability and secrets I would only share with a kind ear.

Cheers! 🥂