Every day I write, about my life, things I experience when it comes to love and that needs to be processed or said.
At least for myself.
I was wondering.
Something I caught myself, not been doing so much lately.
Wondering.
Perhaps too busy, occupied with other things that kept me busy.
Which is very plausible, at least to me.
But the thoughts that made me wonder, are the following.
Quite some time I am spending with this writing.
And now I have even started to write my autobiography.
Even more writing.
Not that it is making me tired.
I was questioning myself. ‘Why is this so important for me?’
Perhaps I am being devil’s advocate here.
With writing the autobiography I feel so much fear.
The words in my head, but when I sit and start to be typing, it is something that really makes me trembling and even sick.
I am dizzy and start to sweat.
The only option I want to take is not possible.
Hiding in my bed.
However the pages seem to be writing itself, my hands won’t follow my head.
It is simply what my heart wants to be said.
It is another type of block that I am facing.
A beginning of something new, however I have been before to this kind of place.
Of that there was something that could not be said and made me questioned everything, not just a little bit.
It is the passing of my mother, that is holding me to the ground.
If I could hear her just one more time.
It was about 4 years ago that I found out that she wasn’t alive anymore.
Something that came as a shock, although from inside I already new for much earlier.
A connection I have with her that goes beyond heaven.
But overcoming death takes its time.
It is not an easy path to follow.
I can tell from experience.
To know you are existing and nobody with so much love you can return to.
I am speaking about my mother.
I know from the time we were together, but also now I am much older, her genes reside in myself.
It is not that I carry my mother, but to feel her love I carry.
It is this, that makes me less fearfull, for what comes after writing this autobiography.
The autobiography is not so much to be afraid of.
It is these words that I speak to myself, to understand that I can rely on the energy of my mother.
Although she is not anymore around.
A process of becoming. By releasing her death.
To find that her love is within me.