Pieces

by Susana Lorenzo

  He read it, he laughed, and he mocked. He might have thought she was nuts. He said that even if she was the last woman on earth she would not feel attracted to even touch her. He persuaded her that she was not able to seduce him, not even his wizard. He convinced her that, for him, she was untouchable.

  How could she be so wrong? The inner witch had always been right. She could see the movies... She could see beyond his words and his disguise... But maybe not. May be, she was wrong. She felt embarrassed and ashamed. She wished she had never given him those poems. She buried the message. She destroyed the images. She became pretty sure that she had been mistaken and she forgot every word and step.

  They became friends, a weird type of friends. Not that they saw each other often. Perhaps they had been friends before but that cannot be said for they could not even remember the moment they started believing they were good friends.

  Far away she went. Exile and giving up life led her far from herself, far from this village, far from this man.

  But there he was, always writing, always calling, always asking, always a good friend. And there he stayed by her side although he never believed that the wizard had been waving at her. From time to time she would write to him about his path of light, about some tiny fragments of his life. She could not help that much, he was not willing to be helped but he never left or never went away even if he could not go closer than an email.

  After many years, she forgot about that message, that encrypted poem she had written, the images she had seen. She could not imagine how she could have considered even touching this man, who was not handsome neither ugly and was not able to dance or move around the grass. She was not attracted or seduced by him. There was nothing she could really like about him. He was a good friend, a good man, an intelligent brainy scientist who had a wizard hidden inside.

  Darkness almost won the battle, she was about to jump so many times but he held her in the distance. She realized he was a good person to talk to when you are about to die. He could sit in the border of the cliff and talk to her without feeling disturbed, sad or upset. He would never be afraid of losing her, he would never miss her, he would never cry for her. She could tell him about even the darkest thoughts or feelings and he would not run away.

  And then, she was able to escape from that deadly cage where she had hidden her fears and she came back to the village. All over she started again with her life and there he was with his advice, his friendship and his care. The distance never changed, for they could have lived in China, Canada or Wales, he could not go further than an email.

  His wizard kept struggling and from time to time he would wave at her, but she ignored him, because she would not make the same mistake again, and of course, she would not lose a true loyal friend because of a mistaken reading of the universe's encrypted codes.

  And this intelligent, smart man started to wake up slowly to his inner life, he was able to be aware of what cannot be seen, he could listen to his wizard and he could talk to the southern blue witch living inside that woman. They helped each other, more than they could have ever imagined before. She was there for him. He was there for her. They could see in each other's dreams. They could read each other's thoughts and feelings. They could foretell the days to come. They could work with their gifts and talents. They were able to learn from each other while they kept living their own lives and they shared their secrets about lovers and romance. Little by little, he was able to build a bridge and they were able to see each other with the eyes which show us the trees and the clouds, the sun and the skin, the true face of soul here on earth.

  Many years had passed, the years of the warriors of light. One day, after looking at the crystal in the corner of his eyes, she woke up with that strange dream, not coming from the deep, thick nightmares, but a constant daydreaming about the wizard and this man, who was not handsome and who was her true loyal friend. There was no pause or delete or cancel key to press. The images were there. And then each scene became a feeling going through her skin and flowing with her river. All of a sudden the message was again there, she felt sick, mad and scared. The old buried feeling was alive and beating her heart and winding her breath. What could possibly be going on with her? She looked for the poem and there it was, something she could not understand clearly, an encrypted code she could not read well. She warned him that something wrong might happen, she knew she had to do something about it, but she did not want to. She shared the poem again and he admitted he had kept it even after feeling embarrassed by her attitude long ago.

  Up he raised his shields. Far he sent his wizard. Cold his silence grew. And this man who was not afraid of dark thoughts, who could be strong enough to walk by her side when death was moving around, he was now just scared of her trying to reach him again.

  She decided neither to fight fate nor the will of the universe. She just let her veins open and saw the river flow from her to that thin crack between the walls guarding his heart.

  Higher he raised his shields. Further he sent his wizard. Colder his silence grew. Iron coated his words. Once again, she thought she had been mistaken, even if the images would flood her eyes, even if the wizard could reach her in the distance, even if her river would melt with his wind during his dreams.

  And there he spoke and asked her not to go. His words should not be listened to, his attitudes should be ignored, that's what he said and asked for.

  She did not like him as a man, she only loved him as a friend. He did not like her as a woman, she only cared for her as a friend. She was untouchable for him and yet she felt she was able to find the way to his skin and show him what she had learnt, and tell him about the sacred fire and give him what she was told to. And maybe he could learn how to dance and how to move around the grass. She knew exactly how it could feel. She could feel the river turning into lava when reaching him in the distance. He was freaking out for he did not know what was going on and he could only think with his frozen thoughts of the brainy scientist who had lost his heart such a long time ago. And yet, he would live and dance and feel in those scenes she was able to see, on that daydreaming movie which would never stop.

  She could not tell him, he would not believe her, that she was not there to love him, not in the way people love on this earth. She was not there to grab him or make him the man of her life. They simply had the chance to let the wizard and the witch have fun together and play with the stars and let the planets collide and the cosmic showers pour on their lives. They could give each other a flame of sacred fire, a wave of endless ocean, an inch of unknown plasma.

  She saw herself dancing around him, eyes closed, lights off, words unspoken, gently moving the air without even touching him. She felt the warmth crossing the borders, reaching the empty spaces, melting the shields, breaking the wizard free. She saw the man smiling and the wizard laughing. But he would not dare to stand so close to her, nearer than an email, closer than a handshake, she would always be untouchable for him for she had come dressed in a way he would never like.

  So she spent a sleepless night writing this story which I am telling you. Many ends lived in her mind, just one end was the expected one by the universe.

  Nobody ever saw her again. It is said that there is an old man, a smart man, a very intelligent man, who is neither handsome nor ugly and who lives in a cottage in the suburbs. He likes telling stories about wizards and blue witches. He likes helping people although he never learned to heal them using his hands for his skin turned so grey and so cold as it had never felt the warmth of the sacred fire. His eyes shine so brightly when the wind dances around him that no one can ever tell if it is because she was ever close to him or because he wished she had been.

  Soledad Lorena

  With the help of the Southern Blue Witch, as most of the story comes from the scenes she could see on the screen of her soul’s eyes.

  As the river gives into the ocean,

  what is
inside me moves inside you...

  -Robert Bly

  The Kabir Book

  Dead landscape

  Off we go to the broken shore

  Vessels going wild

  Sand turning to stone.

  Memories told

  In languages unknown

  Emptiness flooding

  The break of the day.

  Rivers coming dry

  Lava freezing to death,

  May my name dry

  And the endless night fall.

  Sparing thoughts

  When a woman opens hear heart

  When a woman, any woman, opens herself showing some hidden part under the surface, it might be the muse, the heart, the wild wolf, the witch, the fairy, the river flowing under the skin; when a woman does so, it is because she feels safe and she trusts the person opposite her. 

  When she does so, it is not always because she is seeking something or because she is trying to cast a spell on the man watching her unveiling.  She does so, because she wants to give the best of herself, because she needs to let it flow, because she needs to be free.  Because she thinks whatever she is giving might do good to the other.  And after that unveiling she remains kind of naked from inside, no matter how much clothes she is wearing.  Therefore, whatever the man does, will affect her enormously, because she is naked, she is wearing no disguise, no shields, no iron walls.

  If the man walks away, destroys  bridges, draws a vast desert of silence, sends his guardians and predators, ignores her, laughs at her and he pretends nothing ever happened;  he behaves like all those families, all those communities who set fire to the witches, all those loving parents who punish their girls because they are not normal. 

  Instead, you should be able to face her, give her a coat if you cannot give her a hug, sit by her side in silence if you cannot say a word, look into her eyes showing her that you appreciate what you were given and that you truly respect her.

  There are knights without swords,

  There are fairies without wings,

  There are angels without sky,

  As well as unexpected friends

  Who can go through darkness

  Ignoring curses and spells.

  You never know how simple words,

  True and sympathetic feelings

  Can do with all might,

  Never feeling afraid

  Of walking without disguise.

  Mercy and miracles

  Times to be successful and glorious,

  To show no pain, failure or sorrow,

  That’s what people say.

  From NLP to meditation,

  From daydreaming to dream boards,

  From prayers to affirmations.

  But one deserves the right

  After so many years

  Of struggling, thriving and surviving,

  To get tired and hopeless

  To feel desperate and surrender.

  Despite faith and God’s love,

  No matter how hard I may try,

  There are times when steps lead nowhere,

  The sky shows no map or sunrise,

  And the mud gets thicker and thicker

  Under my bare feet.

  This is a time of getting weaker and weaker,

  Of not eating properly but once in a while,

  Of not getting nurture for the soul or heart,

  Of not being successful or prosperous,

  Of saving energies and breath

  For the day yet to come.

  The mind gets cloudy,

  The heart gets gloomy,

  The flesh gets useless,

  And so the days

  Get darker and empty.

  It’s time for expected miracles,

  It’s time for God’s mercy,

  It’s time for checkmate,

  It’s time for generous help,

  That’s what my heart says.

  Surfing the Universe

  Every now and then I surf the whole internet searching for your name, you are not on social networks, and you are totally out of reach. You seem to live locked in your own world which has no windows but gates for business people and standard social contacts.

  I hear from so many people I do not want to know a thing. But that old spell seems to be so strong that your name is forbidden in my sky.

  I wonder, if I wrote a letter, if I took a bus, if I phoned your office… I know the answer, you would pretend you do not even remember me; you would talk to me as a total stranger.

  Nevertheless, I can fly and I can swim around the high walls. I know your heart is frozen, I can even say your body is petrified like an ancient wood. You even look older than you really are and you do feel old but so self confident that you believe you need nothing else, you think you have everything you can think of. You do not realize how empty your heart can be.

  Just one sigh, just one beat and you would notice how long you have spent without actually living, feeling and loving. It was so long ago that your soul went to sleep that you do not miss it anymore.

  I still dream, just out of curiosity you come and knock on my door, just for fun you search for my name on every possible net. I still expect that chance we never had. I still believe everything would have been so different and less painful if you had been the one.

  But what it was it’s already gone and there’s no way to make a change. And this is what it is.

  Once in a blue moon I allow myself to love you, I let myself miss you so much that it hurts. Once in a blue moon my tears are written with your name.

  Once in a blue moon, I realize there is still too much to forgive and yet to forget.

  I have one special wish before I die: a special moment, a quiet talk, truth naked and my heart beating at the pace of your eyes.

  There is only one thing I regret in my life, having burnt all the precious gifts you left me. I would kill myself for touching them once again.

  Sometimes, 

  we need someone to hold us tightly

  we need somebody to take care of us

  we need to allow ourselves to be weak because there is someone strong enough by our sides

  we need somebody but not anybody to touch our heart

  we need to close our eyes and let him sing us a lullaby.

  Sunday mood

  Idle point

  Idle time,

  no motion, no passion

  no crying, no panting.

  Nothing to wait for,

  the road is just a mirage

  hope is but a miracle.

  Wandering round in circles

  absent minded

  empty headed.

  A zombie keeping the pace,

  death reaches you

  when purpose leaves

  and there’s no place or time.

  Stolen

  You know you have no right, but there it is. You steal the image, you sound the words, you undress his eyes and you make a moment.

  You know it’s wrong; your energies should not touch others’ unless consented. But then you write asking the universe for forgiveness. But then you cry and you let it go.

  Only a beautiful heart inspires a courageous thief.

 

  Walking thoughts

  One of the good things about reading is that you realize there are new words to be used or new ways of using words.

  After reading several books recommended by some friends, I would like to coin the word "cup":

  (v) to hold your hands in the shape of a cup, often around something.

  I just love the sound of it, the image it gives.

  I would like someone to cup my face, to cup my rear, to cup my breast, to cup my cheeks, to cup my ass, to cup my elbow, to cup my pussy, to cup the back of my head, to cup my chin and then, I would just go and cup his heart.

  These are the kind of words you can never translate.

  There comes a time

  when you believe

  that all the stars<
br />
  are shining for you

  and that the sun

  will never fade

  beyond the clouds

  of your worries…

  Soledad Lorena

   https://solelor.blogspot.com

  Susana Lorenzo

  solelor@hotmail.com

  susanajazmine@gmail.com