journey North, as far as Nurmes

Migraine in Savonlinna

flashbacks for a few days now.

shooting up with migraine today, shaking me.

today rain, grey, the lake quiet and

mirorring the clouded sky, lost all 

yesterday's color.

i woke up, holding your hand but it was not there. it has never been.

i remember how i couldn't believe what i heard through months and years.

i walked in love, imagined long walks

and sleeping with you in my arm, cuddling, slowly waking into mornings

of a new period of life, sweet and tender and free and open and wide.

i was open and innocent.

i heard it was wrong to feel this.

it ate me, i ate me until my heart gave up,

it was exhausted. i had a myocardial infarction. i know i wanted to die. i had to make a choice.

to live or to die.

i rebelled, i tried to run away, 

i tried to hide inside other women,

inside sensations born in the wilderness

of my blood. i knew it couldn't work.

i wrote poems. i meditated. i walked on air, on water.

i walked out of my confused soul and mind.i walked to

meet you again and again.

for you nothing was ever enough.

i was flooded with your problems, depressions, complaints and again and again shocked with your analytic thoughts, your detachment in which i found no place nor home.

and only some months ago i decided. not to suffer anymore, to let go, to be happy.

i was happy.alone. 

i did just what i wanted to do, present in my life, keeping a deep participating feeling for you.

i didn't know that i will fall back in me as soon as i will be with too much time to

think and feel and that i have to work continuously to let go.

in the end i cannot find response to

me, i cannot find connectedness and inclusion with you.

i gave you my hand. i gave you blood, honesty and vulnerability.

i don't feel much now because i don't want to: it makes me feel alone. 

there is no music i can feel of vibration together through space, more echo

stirring me up-and still words and thoughts and endless doubt. this music is sensual and came out at a molecular level of relatedness and essence.all music is like this, it can find together or not in flow ,  not inside a frame, the call of the wild geese passing, the wind taking the sound: but it is still there. 

i must retire, hide, go inside and maybe

go away. 

there is something too wrong,

and it is not only in me, there is not enough grace and sweetness, nothing is soft. 

i know i cannot run from my heart.

but i can walk away.

the construction of love 

without feeling at a cellular level:

this is destructive to

me.

i don't know how to go on.

so i do something else in the meantime.

i try to be good to me.