Μίλα μου για έρωτα, μίλα μου για αγάπη...

Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is the way you can both hate and love something you are not sure you understand.

- Dorothy Allison

 

 

Listen to me. Right now.

You are right. Fuck it. No more. Never again.

You are not too much. You have never been too much. You will never be too much.

The very idea is preposterous. Because you were born to be you. All of you. Not a tiny acceptable sliver. Not a watered down version with colors dulled and edges softened.

No. You were meant to be every last pulsing-bleeding-loving-crying-feeling bit.

And if someone tells you that you are too much for them, the only truth you need to remember is this:

It is highly likely that they are not now, and never could have been, near enough for you.

Because you, my girl, are the sun and the moon and the stars. You are the force that pulls the tides. You are the unrestrained howl under a wide-open moon. You are the essence of what it is to dance into ecstasy. You are the heat and the sex and the sweat and the burn and soft and the grace and the grit and the ocean of tears.

You are all of everything.

You are the mother of us all and the daughter of the Universe.

You walk through shadows and light.

You burn down and rise up and hold captive the pulse of the world.

You make the gods tremble.

And that, my dear, is bound to make some people crazy uncomfortable. It will make them pull back and push away. Because the way you dance with your shadows and your steadfast commitment to your light will push them into spaces that are fascinating and compelling and utterly terrifying.

Your very being asks them to step into places they may not be near ready to visit, let alone stay.

Because like the depths of the ocean that calls you home, you will never be easy.

But darling, you were not brought here for easy. You are here for so much more.

Because you are a boundary-pusher.

You’re a truth-seeker.

You’re temptation and seduction and heat.

You’re a mirror and a sorcerer, and inside you swirls the power of the ancients.

So no, you are not easy.

But in the space of that truth, please also know this. Do not get this confused with the notion that you do not deserve the deepest ease.

Don’t, for a minute, let them convince you that you will not know the grace of a lover who does not require that you constantly translate yourself or diminish yourself or quiet your storm or tone down your extravagant love.

Because that, my girl, is bullshit.

Because out there somewhere there is a love who will never dream of calling you too much. Who speaks, like you, in poetry and candlewax and stardust. Who runs outside on stormy nights to howl at the moon. Who collects bones and sings incantation and talks to the ancestors.

And that lover, when you find him or her, will see you and know you — just as you are and just as you should be.

And they will say Yes. Yes, you. I will go there with you. I have been waiting for this.

And so while you are waiting, I want you to do this. For me, and for every last too much girl out there.

You take all that too much and you channel it. You gather every last ember of your too much broken heart and you light that flame. And in doing so you will call forth the others and sing the song that brings us home.

And then you — in your infinite, perfect too-muchness — unleash it all on the world. And you go and love too much and you cry too much and you swear too much. Fall in love to fast and get sad too often and laugh too loudly and demand with clarity the exact terms of your own desired existence.

Don’t you dare consider doing anything but that.

Because we need you. Every one of us, man or woman, who has been called too much. You are our reminder, in the most desperate of moment, that we are exactly as we should be.

Every last too-much bit.

-Jeanette LeBlanc

 

Η καρδιά φτιάχτηκε για πάθη, για λάθη, για έρωτα, για μίσος, πόνο, αγάπη και όνειρα. Κι αυτά δεν έχουν σχήμα καρδούλας. Έχουν σχήμα ζωής.

 

ΓΑΛΗΝΗ
Γαλήνη βαθιά
πλασμένη από φως γαλήνη.
'Ολες οι στιγμές σε πλάθουν
το αίμα σου χοροπηδάει στο καλοκαίρι
ένα σου φιλί ηρεμεί το όνειρο.

Σε κάθε πέτρα που πατάς προβάλλει η χαραυγή
σε κάθε ώρα ανοίγει η πόρτα τ' ουρανού
κι ένας νέος ήλιος μπερδεύεται στα πόδια σου.
Ενώ δίνεις την καρδιά σου
τα λουλούδια κλαίνε και γελούν.

Είσαι σαν τη θάλασσα που λικνίζει τ' άστρα.
Γαλήνη και δροσιά στην καρδιά του σύννεφου
σκιά στην άκρη ενός χαλικιού.

Σιωπή μου ηχηρή και ηχώ μου μυστική
Ρόδο της φωτιάς
κι ανθός της νύχτας.

Σε κοιτώ κι όλα είναι γυμνά
καθώς τα πόδια σου κινούν απ' το φως
και πρός το φως πηγαίνουν.

 

Η αγάπη κάνει το χρόνο να περνάει. Ο χρόνος κάνει την αγάπη να περνάει.


Επιγραφή σε ηλιακά ρολόγια

 

Τα λόγια είναι φτώχεια..

 

 

“Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person's sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they're taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem .. Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.”
Ayn Rand

 

“sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love”
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

 

Πάολο Κοέλιο (11 λεπτά)

“Anyone who is in love is making love the whole time, even when they're not. When two bodies meet, it is just the cup overflowing. They can stay together for hours, even days. They begin the dance one day and finish it the next, or--such is the pleasure they experience--they may never finish it. No eleven minutes for them.”

 

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So, I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay
O' ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
O let my books be, then, the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine writ.

William Shakespeare, Σοννέτα (XXIII.)

 

Πρώτος έρωτας

Στον Ζαν Μπουλλέ
για να του αλλάξω ιδέες

Όταν ένας άντρας αγαπάει μια γυναίκα
Την παίρνει καταρχή στα γόνατά του
Φροντίζει να της βγάλει τη φουστίτσα
Ώστε το πανταλόνι του να μην καταστραφεί
Γιατί το ύφασμα πάνω στο ύφασμα
Φθείρει το ύφασμα.
Κατόπι με τη γλώσσα του κοιτάει αν της έγινε
Σωστά η αφαίρεση αμυγδαλών
Αλλιώτικα υπάρχει φόβος μόλυνσης.
Μετά, για να μη μένουνε τα χέρια του αδρανή
Ψάχνει βαθιά, όσο μπορεί βαθύτερα
Ωσότου ανακαλύπτει την ουρά
Από ‘ναν άσπρο ποντικό
Που ‘χει βαφτεί στο αίμα
Και μαλακά τραβάει την κλωστή
Να φτάσει ως το ταμπάξ.

Boris Vian

 

Anyone who is observant, who discovers the person they have always dreamed of, knows that sexual energy comes into play before sex even takes place. The greatest pleasure isn't sex, but the passion with which it is practiced. When the passion is intense, then sex joins in to complete the dance, but it is never the principal aim.”
Π. Κοέλιο