Letter to myself

18 August 2009

I wrote this last night:


the love you’ve once had, for people, for things in your life, for life itself… that love is never lost, even when the object of it (or the subject that ignited or inspired it) is gone or is no longer active… the love you’ve had is yours before anything else… it is in your heart forever… it is a treasure, it is the breath of God into you… it is the stardust and the original clay… it is always yours. That’s why we must not cry when we lose someone or something whom we’ve had love for… the love is never gone. Look back on the memories, and the love will resurface, and it will embrace you, and it will keep you warm. You are not the same person you used to be. You are better, you are stronger, you are closer to God, because you have loved.

But when I wrote this, I firmly believed it, and I still do. I will say more: it was a revelation for me. Here I am, typing in my weird manner, with hands fully lifted over the key pad. Writing things that cross my mind. Doing nothing, contemplating, realizing. When I wrote that, I was writing the truest words. The day had been very long, ensuing a night just as long. But when I wrote that, when I thought it as the words came from my mouth lying on the bed (they were both one thing, simultaneous), I had thought, well, I have just realized this, and I am fully empowered, because it is true… the love I have had is always mine, and is mine before being anything else. It never leaves my body, my heart. It has broadened the natural boundaries of my heart. It has made my heart roomier and my life experience richer.

Think of your life as a loaf of bread. When you are gone, or when the person or the object you loved is gone (for whatever reason), a new slice is cut. It is not gone, it simply abandons its first format. Does this make sense? Anyway, that’s that. The beauty of that moment, of that reality. Nothing ever leaves you. You can leave the bad moments behind, only come up with the good parts. There is always some result that you can keep in your heart. The knife cuts, but it doesn’t wound. It produces something. It reshapes the original material into something new, better, easier to handle. That’s what happens in life.

There are many things I still don’t know how to process adequately, and perhaps I never will. I have to accept that. Destiny is all about acceptation of things that you cannot change and you probably never will be able to change. It is about that, and the sooner you learn that, the better equipped you will be for life. As I type these words, I look back on my past, on the things that have made me happy at different stages of my life, and I realize that they are in fact all mine, but not only that. They are my little world. My little world is who I am. It is not a separate entity from me, nor is it a getaway where I run to when I want to isolate myself. No. It is not a capsule. It is just a cave where I sit sometimes. I listen to the silence around me, I look down at my body, my legs slightly curved under my body, my hands sometimes open and others closed as fists. I let go. I remember the things that I love. They are all mine, they come back to comfort me. It doesn’t matter who else likes these things and who doesn’t. It doesn’t matter that some think they are ridiculous things to love or that they make fun of them. They are mine, they are mine. They travel with me wherever I go. This love of mine will never leave. It is all mine. It is ours, it expands well beyond me (and that’s the way it’s supposed to be, precisely), but it is mine. It emerges from my heart, like a tidal wave. It engulfs me, it embraces me, it drowns me. It is my passion, my heart, my passion, my death. My little death every moment. My heartache, yes, every moment. Secret little instants of joy, all mine, left in my hands like little chests of treasures. Open them and each of them contains a gift. They are mine, all mine, forever. I will treasure them in my heart. They will always be with me, conforming the person I am. And they will bring me with them to my old age, an old lady spent, a long life experience, cherished memories, hard times had and gone through. And after all else is gone, my love, all the love that I’ve ever had, every single moment and teardrop and drop of blood spent, they will return to me, because they had never been gone to begin with. Mine, all mine. When my soul separates from my deceased and decayed body, all it will have will be the love I’ve ever had. Mine, all mine. Greater and truer than my human form, greater and truer than my memories, and above all greater and truer than the pain. Liberating me from the pain, validating my tears, putting me to sleep, joyous sleep. Filling my tired soul with peace. This is all that it was, but this is everything you will ever be. Don’t be ashamed of yourself. You did the best you could. Don’t look back in shame, or in bitterness. Your love has saved you. Your love is God. Your love is all you are. Yours, all yours.


2 comentarios

Archivado bajo Entradas del pasado, In English, Poemas

2 Respuestas a “Letter to myself

  1. Pingback: Where Are My Tomorrows. | IT's My Thoughts

  2. Pingback: In Memory Of An Inspiration « Exploratory Introspections

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