Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
irinia Mar 2023
"Contentment is a synonym for loneliness, cool loneliness, settling down with cool loneliness. We give up believing that being able to escape our loneliness is going to bring any lasting happiness or joy or sense of well-being or courage or strength. Usually we have to give up this belief about a billion times, again and again making friends with our jumpiness and dread, doing the same old thing a billion times with awareness. Then without our even noticing, something begins to shift. We can just be lonely with no alternatives, content to be right here with the mood and texture of what’s happening."

"it allows us to finally discover a completely unfabricated state of being. Our habitual assumptions — all our ideas about how things are — keep us from seeing anything in a fresh, open way… We don’t ultimately know anything. There’s no certainty about anything. This basic truth hurts, and we want to run away from it. But coming back and relaxing with something as familiar as loneliness is good discipline for realizing the profundity of the unresolved moments of our lives. We are cheating ourselves when we run away from the ambiguity of loneliness."

"Cool loneliness allows us to look honestly and without aggression at our own minds. We can gradually drop our ideals of who we think we ought to be, or who we think we want to be, or who we think other people think we want to be or ought to be. We give it up and just look directly with compassion and humor at who we are. Then loneliness is no threat and heartache, no punishment. Cool loneliness doesn’t provide any resolution or give us ground under our feet. It challenges us to step into a world of no reference point without polarizing or solidifying. This is called the middle way, or the sacred path of the warrior."

by Pema Chodron from "When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advise for Difficult Times"
irinia Mar 2023
pain loves the present tense
it loves gravity so that the clouds
are turned into geological strata
sometimes I use my hands like an anaesthetic
between right and wrong the pain dillema:
to feel or not to feel (the unknown)
we discover clever remedies or illusions
quiet cannery in the storehouse of flesh

it comes in circles mixtures all kind of names
it has rythm texture electric blackness
each unshed tear an orb of contraction
compulsive excavation of the void inside
sometimes I feel I have canyons of salt in my heart
on the edges of safety so much to learn about terror

this pain is a blind Robinson on Hope island
(with his bare hands he sets pyres in his heart)
was it pain that invented this language, these holy wars?
love you, hate you, nonsense, can't stand it anymore
I know my father lied to me that he doesn't feel pain

bodies in pain can't dream the water slide of life
that might take us further away into the night of day
time to say thank you, say farewell,
love everything that simply is
it is time to
irinia Mar 2023
but who are you, Theseus, what is your name
behind the name that I call even in my sleep
when there is no memory of the worlds
you have founded
and will

what stays hidden beneath your name that I whisper
with a hunger older than ourselves
with a thirst so fresh in the fleeting moment
that words to name it have yet to be born

who are you to me, Theseus
my lord of many lives
and a hidden essence?

who? the labyrinth of days
shows me a different you
every time I open my eyes

it’s my words that ask, not I

not I who can listen to you with my skin
and can feel you with my hearing,
taste and touch and arrest with a gaze
across expanses bending over the horizon

bridge over the water
cobweb over cliffs
joy
joy over joy

a life-saving answer
maybe
to the riddle
when the time comes

by Ioana Ieronim from Ariadne's Veil
L Oct 2022
O
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔩𝔣  
𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔒,
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪.
Banana Mar 2022
I'm scared that 'becoming' who I am is just an acceptance of realities others have created. Maybe the older we get the more entrenched we become in what we perceive to be the truth; the more we experience of our tiny existence, the more we believe in it.
"The way of life we live, a life we have never really chosen, forces us to walk past what we see."
MuseumofMax Feb 2022
Wandering in and out of what could be

I used to fear a missed opportunity

Now I’m thankful for what I lost
Despite the pain,
I grew into who I am.
The Noose Jan 2022
I know you when you delicately stitch the fragments of your unbecoming
When everyone else is reaching is reaching for the sun
I know you when you ache to swallow it
When you rip through yourself
Searching for the skeleton key
That will quieten the longing
The cure
Vague, elusive
I know you when your love is sacrificial, ******, clingy but real.
written in March 2018
internetgirl Dec 2021
seven freckles
stretched across the expanse
of a mystery
when the wind would pick up
she would dance with her shadow
and her twirling reminded the moon of its celestial duties
she held the milky ways in her lungs
and the stars in her eyes
and every day as the sun bid farewell
long, dark, outstretched arms awaited her
a receding tide of centuries of patience
of forgetting
of rewriting
she asked herself often
if she was born for this world
or if it was born for her
as leaves simpered at the brief graze of her skin
and nebulas spilled from her fingertips
tellurian: of or inhabiting the earth
Nisha Oct 2021
At peace with my demons
Free from temptations
Finally awakened
Never forsaken by the God that created me

Thinking about what the future holds for me
Healthy as I can be
Manifesting who I aspire to be
●-●
Just short and simple ♡
L May 2021
I think about what it would do to her. To call her: god. Divine majesty.
Do not be afraid she says.
And how we must be reminded every time...

When these creatures undress before us, and their form is an arrow sleeping in our gut. Our insides wrenching again and again each time we look. The more you worship, the more pain you know. Terror resides in the beauty of their form- a body we cannot understand. A body that is never wrong.
And oh, how we can’t help but look.

I look.

For me, the moon is full and hanging behind my eyes.
The wrenching and the writhing
The moaning and pain
It is sublime, unbearable transformation.
Transmutable worship, transmutable horror-- Nourishment for a thing caught in its becoming.

You caught me in my becoming.

I am the dragon and the maiden it keeps.
I am the mouth and the hand reaching inside it.
Darkness and light begin to blur.  
         𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠.​​​​
Next page