My writer soul

         ... I had to try hard to overcome "her" severe resistance to rebirth. She was distressed about writing again and also writing about a man I loved and lost last year. For not writing making excuses is always easy for her, because I'm too busy in my clinic (I am a doctor) so she always can remind me of hundreds of things that must be done there.

 So we fought and she came out of her shell again. But why she doesn't want to choose another subject for her posts? Honestly, I don't know. It's 8:36 am now and I must hurry to work in one hour, so I have no more time to adorn my writing. It would be enough to say he was from the ancient people of Qero, from Peru. By the way, this is not (unfortunately) a love story. That our souls knew each other and called each other's names distantly doesn't change the truth that he died before we get the chance to meet. That's why I can't write anything about love.

Dennis died young. They say the shamans are able to see their death coming. I still wonder how such a mighty shaman could be surprised by the red-winged angel in the middle of the roaring waves of Pacific Ocean. But last night, I was reading a very beautiful paragraph of Dennis's book about "how to feed the stones". Feeding special stones is a ceremony in Inca shamanism and depicts how to nourish our links to mother-Earth by paying attention to the symbols of nature. I closed the book for a moment to answer the "aha!" voice in my heart that said "You fool! Why do you think he's gone to a worse place?! Death was his friend as the stones and the whole existence were!" And I started laughing aloud for a lightning bolt in my mind suddenly showed me the answer why he left, and all the other whys, oh yes: He had done whatever he had to do here.

I feel inevitably attracted to shamanism since I knew him. But who is a shaman?

Shamanic teachings say "Symbols are everywhere, and everything that you experience mirrors a part of you. When you can perceive reality in this way, you understand how you're already dreaming your world." Then his short time appearance and setting in my life must be a reflection of something deeply rooted in me, otherwise it couldn't impress me so much.

I'll continue soon. Promise.

Hello there! It's my new blog after 8 years of just pouring my mind's contents on paper-and then hiding them in places I couldn't remember later. Writing has always been part of my life since a very young age. I had made things that on compassionate grounds could be called short stories, memoir, diary of trips (this one is my favorite) etc, though no one has read them except for the readers of my previous blogs... Oh I loved those blogs that don't exist anymore.

Now I feel that the need for sharing is exploding me from within! Currently I work up to 12 hours a day in the role of a physician- that's just one of my "persona"s. My other roles have been wife/mother/healer/lover and a few more, and they all have been fulfilled more or less but one: the writer. I really don't know how and why the destiny or maybe an inner power of self-destruction has stopped me from choosing writing as the aim of my life, but I see the soul of writer behind my other "masks" that is always waiting to get unveiled some day.

Well, now it's the writer's time! She is so shy (It's natural after a whole life of hiding) that I had to wrestle with her for 8 hours today until at last she accepted to show up, and here she is (oof!) I won't let her go to sleep again at least in this life and if I'm lucky, in all my next lives, too.