All posts tagged: death

Lean On Me

I took myself to yoga today for the first time in several months. I chose to go on my own and purposely told no one about it. Could I endure it? Not physically, but mentally? I practiced yoga for many years in Argentina, but since being back in the US, I’ve had a hard time finding a class and an instructor I like. While this didn’t stop me from searching for the missing puzzle piece, it did make me lazy over time. Eventually, I arrived at the excuse of “I simply don’t want to do yoga as my main workout each week because I’m bored of it.” For the most part, I eliminated it from of my routine, with the exception of a special occasion for charity, a few poses I’ve always done before and after exercising and, of course, my headstands, because I love them. After much reflection, I finally understood the real reason behind my disenchantment with yoga: it wasn’t the practice itself, rather the quieting of my mind that seemed extremely daunting. …

A (Re)Commitment To My Self

Without actually moving an inch, I can taste the bittersweet magic of writing, of watching as the first few mischievous words fearlessly leap onto the page, not knowing where they are going, or with what purpose, but choosing to follow anyway. I can feel how it feels to get lost in the process by simply closing my eyes. I can savor that moment when I lose track of time and forget where I am, who I am, how I am, why I am; that instant when I’m simply, freely, and easily surrendering and yielding to a force and an energy so deep within myself that it is as if it were All That Is. While the words create as they please by ordering themselves however they desire, I am able to immerse mind, body, and soul into the climax-like feeling of nearing the end, and the ecstasy of knowing that, when it is finished, the masterpiece will finally reveal itself and I will inevitably fall back into the constraints of my physical world and regain …

She

She felt herself a victim of the world, of this cruel and unequal place into which she was born without a say. She was told she had to conform to society, but society was difficult and unfair and chaotic, and not at all what her mind, body, and soul required to achieve that inner peace to which she was told she must strive. There were too many pressures, constantly and from all sides, enough to make any human go mad. She thought herself a fighter, always seeking to do justice, but felt cut short not by her own faults, rather by a lack of resources. She craved time, yet never felt she could afford to make it. She would watch others attempt to follow their dreams and would think, “Oh, what fools!” She would see them fail and fall and dust themselves off and try, try again, and again, and again, until finally she would stop paying attention from the dizziness it caused her. Whenever she paused to think and re-consider her path in life …

Your Trip, My Journey

I needed to write this before you answered me. You are sleeping right now, which gives me the perfect opportunity to finally breathe some life onto this page. We embark on a journey from the moment we are born and until the day we die. We do not choose to be thrust into this world. Some may consider this quite unfair. I, on the other hand, am glad I was not given the choice to be born, because that is one less thing off my shoulders. I may have not decided to come into the world had I known beforehand how much cruelty and destruction humans are capable of. But one thing is certain: I would have also missed out on the beautiful and miraculous possibilities of love. Therefore, since I am here anyway, I am happy with my decision to do my best to make an impact, whether it be small or large. Either one is fine by me, and both are completely out of my hands. Truly, it is better this way. Throughout …

We Forget

“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.” – Ernest Hemingway We forget to look up when we walk around a city, failing to notice the beautiful handiwork and craftsmanship of architects. We forget to admire breathtaking views when we are out buzzing like bees, too busy to even realize we haven’t taken a full, deep breath in a very, very long time. We get too used to the things around us, and we don’t humble ourselves enough. We forget that we are nothing in comparison to the universe that surrounds us and of which we are part. We forget that we are not the center of anything, except of our own limited perspectives. We forget to be thankful for the life, the opportunities, …

Tonight, I Cried

“Don’t be bothered by the noise. Go sit and be silent,” I read this evening, and it made me pause for a moment. Be silent, the phrase urged. Don’t mind the noise, it said. I lost count of how many times I repeated it over and over in my mind, until I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t do it. No, that’s wrong. It’s not that I can’t. It’s that I don’t want to. I choose not to, in the same way that I’ve chosen not to do it so many times in the past. But why? There’s no way around this one; it’s plain and simple: I. Am. Scared. Of. My. Thoughts. I’m scared of my thoughts. Me dan miedo mis pensamientos. Two languages, one concept. I don’t want to go sit and be silent. I don’t want to unearth all I’ve been hiding. I don’t want to face the part of me that has been tamed. I don’t want to deal with all of the pent up emotions cowering behind my smile. …

A Rude Awakening

I was 14 when the towers came down. I remember not knowing what the World Trade Center was, since I had always associated them with the name Twin Towers. I remember my Latin teacher being extremely upset during our last period, and other kids desperately trying to get ahold of loved ones on the phone, but the lines were down. Our very unpopular principal had to request several times over the loud speaker for classes to continue, and to shut all TVs off. I remember running through my front door when I got home that afternoon, desperate to see the coverage and finally understand what was going on. The first image to meet my eyes was that of a man jumping and falling…falling…falling down hundreds of stories, because he was caught in the floors above the fires and there was no possibility of him getting out. And then they repeated it, over and over again. It has since been forever imprinted in my mind. We were living in the suburbs of Philadelphia at the time …