It took me by surprise
and shook me like a leaf.
It cut me with its thorns
until my blood mourned.

It drowned me in tears
down on a bed of roses.
I flew high on its wings
into the blackest waters.

It connected all the dots,
uncovered secrets and lies.
I touch heaven with one hand
after my feet burned in hell.

Riding on the waves of shame,
deep into the beauty of sadness,
down the mountain of humility,
to face the beast of fear.

I laughed mostly at my selves
and cried for all us women,
for mother earth and its creatures,
for Ukraine, Vietnam and the Fallen.

It broke my heart open
yet not my soul.
It unleashed my darkest fears
and my most holiest parts.

First I felt you next to me
then I became you
and you became me
until all were One, just as they say.

I am reborn knowing
that love won’t kill me.
It just breaks me open
so that the light gets in.

May its scent stay with me
as I descend back into my life.
May its colours shine brightly
through all my deeds and actions.

May my body and soul
stay impregnated with its record.
May it forever keep the connection
alive with the divine.

Because in the end,
there is no end,
only the pulse of existence.
Nothing is important; everything just is.

when I remember to salute the sun
when I give thanks for being alive
and there is local avocado for breakfast.

The day is just different
when I have lunch in the park
when i am teetotalling
and simply call that person I think of.

The day is just different
when I look after myself
when I say hello to the trees
and am not rushing anywhere.

It is as simple as that.

What to do with war,
when you are not in it?

Be grateful, it occurs to me,
for relative safety and freedom.

Ignore it completely,
if you can- can you?

Feel sad, angry and guilty,
but not more than those at war.

What to do with war,
if you live a normal life?

Discuss it, read about it, paint it,
analyse and fret over it.

Feel the impotence and injustice,
sit with it and pray.

Pray for those in it,
even for those responsible; even for him.

I paint to stop my mind from going in circles
and to not feel the guilt of our petrol circus.
I also paint to stop thinking about certain things
and to not forget those same terrible things.

I count to 8000 and I can see
my body, alive and free.
I count to 8000 and feel my heart
when imagining being rained on by metal darts.

I count to 8000 with no threat of being bombed today
wondering what it feels like to fire weapons every day.
I count to 8000 wishing for peace and freedom
while I try not to get distracted here in my eden.

We switch to summertime and still we clap.
By now not only for the people working in the front lines.
We clap because we get to put our head outside,
because we hear, and possibly see, others.
We clap because we need to release energy,
make some noise, feel our bodies.
We clap because we are alive,
we have survived yet another day
and are privileged enough to clap together.
We clap to keep things going, to motivate others, to motivate ourselves.
We clap because we need to be heard, we need to connect and we need to give thanks,
despite everything or maybe because.
We clap hoping our loved ones in hospitals and residencies hear us,
we clap to continue, we clap because we can, because we love.

I lose myself
time and again
a million times
have I lost my selves
so many times
I became a seeker
I looked for gurus
I searched for healers
I tried to find god
and also some dealers
I looked for mother
and then for father
I searched the scriptures
and travelled the world
looking for something
looking for anything
I lost myself in movies
in characters and names
I played them a thousand times
switched channels all the same
I lost myself in them
in you and also him
until one day I pushed the button
the screen turned blanc
and I was home.

545 meses. Se dice rápido.
545 pétalos en el papel.
¿Cuántas manchas pintabas?
¿Cuántas flores deshojaste?

Meses que parecen semanas,
Semanas que se sienten eternas.
El dibujo se construye,
El tiempo pasa y todo cambia.

¿Dónde acaba, si realmente acaba?
¿Dónde acabas tú y donde empiezo yo?
‘Lo verde sana', dijiste.
¿Quién sanó a quién?

Vivir conscientemente,
Contar hasta 100 sin distraerse.
Vivir la vida, sin decir ‘cuando’, parando.
Sin pensar, pintando.

–

Solo porque la obra está creada
El duelo no se acaba.
Solo porque el tiempo pasa,
Todo no se cura.

Tu sigues lanzando tacas,
Desde donde? No importa.
Poco a poco este verde se agota
Y la primavera, nuevos colores trae.

El tiempo pasa como todo pasa.
Ser del pasado y a la vez del presente,
Con nosotras estas siempre,
En las manchas y el papel.

Slowly we can see
The light we have dimmed down.
We start to feel
A strength we don’t let out.

Admiring others
Intensely is what we do.
How they look, talk,
Achieve and how they move.

We submerge
And don’t let shine
Our best self
We hide behind.

Reclaiming our light
Is scary and takes courage
To let it shine bright
Letting no one judge.

Even if it feels too big,
and others become furious,
Share a magnificent gift,
And dare to be glorious.

Here we are again,
after what was not,
a walk in the Park.
Dancing in the great Hall,
skin to skin, aura to aura.
No more space for distancing,
Soaking it all in,
and releasing even more.
Complex human beings,
bound together by music
dancing in the Village,
green grass below our feet.
Fields intertwined,
exchanging glitter and sweat,
tears and breaths.
A long meditation,
experiencing belonging
to this Club of human beings.
Energy as technology,
and technology as creativity,
into dance and music.
To break us open,
let us lose control.
To make us feel,
to set us free.