I Like...

I like to go out when it´s raining. Very few people are outside and the ones who are hurry the hell up to get home. Muffled by the rain´s own music, I can sing as loud as I feel. If it´s a warm summer storm I leave the umbrella home and I sing and dance till I´m soaking wet and blissfully exhausted.

I like going to the beach at fall. When the sun´s bright and warm but it doesn´t burn and, if you listen carefully, you can hear spirit´s whispers in the wind. I love walking by the seashore, sometimes for hours, collect seashells and meditate by a campfire. 

I like herbs and flowers. To fill my home with them, smell them, make natural crowns, healing and shooting teas and ointments. I like to see them grow and, strangely, I feel like they keep me company...

Dancing in the Rain, by Amira Rahim

I like dreams. All of them: daydreaming, lucid dreams and even nightmares. I like to re-tell my dreams, dissect them and draw meaning out of them. 

I like those special nights with the coven. I like the intimacy a dark room lit only by candles, a warm drink and our small yet close circle provides. Usually guarded by the foll moon it´s a night of guaranteed gossip, laughter, secrets and magic. 

I like kisses. Romantic, passionate kisses. The special ones, those kisses that freeze time and make your mind fuzzy. Long kisses that are sweet and acid, soft and rough but always warm. 

Even if it sounds crazy I like missing you, and him and he... I miss those private moments, I miss those first times... I miss the way I used to look at you in the eyes. 

I like to think new first times to miss will come... Maybe one will stay and make me feel home... 

Siblinghood. I Carry Your Heart, I Carry it in My Heart.

Do you have any siblings? Coming from a large family I realise how the relationship I have with them is unique. 

It is almost like a silent presence that connect us, the following poem by E. E. Cummings expresses what I am trying to say in a much more beautiful way. Hope you enjoy it:

2016 Holidays 

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere

I go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

I fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart(I carry it in my heart)

The Art of Losing isn't Hard to Master.

I have lost many things, my favorite crystal,  my red notebook... I have lost a friend,  a lover, even the future I once hoped for...
But as my best friend and I think. Sometimes this things in life aren't mistakes, but lessons.
The following poem by Elizabeth Bishop is one of my favorites, and to me it represents exactly that.

Daisies in a Paintbucket, by Elizabeth Bishop

ONE ART
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
So many things seem filled with the intent
To be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther,  losing faster:
Places, and names, and what it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I've lost my mother's watch. And look!
my last,
or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
 I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master .
Though it might look like (Write it!)
like disaster.

When It Feels Like Home.

Home is where the heart is. When I was little I used to dream about the house I grew up in all the time. I wish I could go there more often, once a year is just not enough. Strangely, I feel the essence of my home, sometimes, around me. Which helps me cope with the distance and, while trying to define what that essence is, it has revealed where some of my values come from.

Home feels like:

Sunshine and a Clear Sky, 

The refreshing breeze, and the sound of tree leaves shaking on the wind,

As well as that ding-dang-ding-dong of my Grandmother's wall clock.

Home is that easy going Saturday morning feeling of worry-free state of mind,

It's doing, thinking, inventing, sharing, playing, exploring and starting.

Home is on the garden plants, on the stones, on the candles, on the dried medicinal herbs, on the books and notebooks and on the Olive and Almond trees. 

Home smells like Rosemary, Lemon and Peppermint,

It tastes of nifea (yogurt with nuts, fruit and honey), of fresh tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers, of homemade french fries, chicken soup, gazpacho and chocolate bar's baguettes.

Home sounds of laughter, it is loud and crowded but in a good way. It's singing till late in the garden as well as the quiet, calm sounds of silence. 

Home is gathering on a stormy day to watch the lightning bolts,

to share secrets in a dark room lit only by candles,

Home is to dance under the rain, to contemplate the sunset and

to sit around a circle on every full moon night. 

Home is where the heart is, so if you ever feel lost, close your eyes and focus on your heartbeat, on the strength of the earth beneath your feet. Focus on your breath, on the air around you. An then you will know. So tell me, 

Where do you Belong?