Releasing my inner voice
From a very young age I learned the difference between being seen, verses being heard. I discovered that unless I open my mouth to say something people will assume what I am thinking just by looking at me.
This realization hit me one day when I was perhaps 6 or 7 years of age. I was at a family function desperately wanting to play with this . . .
Our time in New Orleans has come to an end.
In fact, we have literally hit a dead end! Our apartment complex backs up to the levee... a monstrous grey wall that has stared at us in mocking silence every day since last September. Imploring us to open our eyes and see that we have actually hit a wall.
Until a few weeks ago we have remained . . .
Today I am practicing,
Throw at me all you got.
Belittle my quirks. Undermine my abilities. Tread on my polite demeanor and quiet disposition. Even scoff my logic.
It wont change anything.
My worth is still my worth. It is not measured by your judgement.
So please, go ahead...
I'm stronger than you think.
In your darkest hour.
When hope is illusive and dreams unreachable. When your window to the world is tear smeared and everything you do ends in vein.
Pull down the shutter. Shut out the world.
Rest with your internal rhythm. Be with your pain. Ride your wave of consciousness and be present without resistance.
Live that moment . . .
Today I am practicing,
Living in the in-between takes a lot of patience. But there is no such thing as "happily ever after" without some trial and tribulation. Therefore I'm learning to embrace these moments, capture and live them fully. Because soon they will be gone.
I wonder, as I often do these days,
What will . . .
The resistance inside...
I have always felt like the black sheep.
Born to a Moroccan father, raised in a Caucasian family, insanely shy as a child, yet passionately loud when intervening family fights. I could never quite figure out who I was, or who I was meant to be.
But over time I've come to realize that to a certain extent, we are all black sheep (or at . . .
The day I crashed my own party!
It fascinates me how one innocent moment in my life. A moment that should have been fun, carefree and joyous, can turn into such a pivotal moment of regret for the rest of my life.
It all started with a simple decision.
A choice that I made when I was maybe 8 or 9 years old, that has clung to my memory like a parasite ever since.
The only . . .