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From the cradle of civilization people were led by the power of their feelings. Feelings are what extinguish us from the animals and what made us to do the next step in evolution, turning us into human beings, still ruled by instincts, but covered with the soft touch of emotions, strong enough for to change masks and create societies.
My favourite French author - Honoré de Balzac says that “suffering leads to the greatest inspiration” and no one here is about to object this stated fact- suffering is the form of a feeling that may be consisted by not one only reasons, to be caused, but there is one that is constantly there – love. And the off-spring of them – the broken heart. These and others are the reasons for Your Eden to hope to meet her revelation somewhere on this long and hard road (in or out of Hell ;) ).
What is love? Not one and two people on this planet tried to express in every kind of form what the love is.. And they were all right, because what is love if not what make us continue the fight as mighty warriors in shining harnesses, love is that shows the light paths through darkness and our inner soul landscapes, and the shelters, and the calm wharfs, where You can hide from the storms and wait Your wounds and scars to be cured. And this is what this Eden was searching for, wandering through unknown places.
She is now in safe. And a soul is in peace.
The ancient greeks used to believe in the “calocagatia” – the mixture of inner and outer beauty in the honourable citizens. It wasn’t enough just to be noble inside, or to be beautiful in appearance, but to be both noble inside and with beauty and grace, given by the Gods.
Stepping quietly in her shivering white silks, Your Eden feels that her direction is right and if she follows her heart, it will bring her to the perfection of the ancient world – calocagatia, when wounds and scars will be gone, and the thorn heart will beat again with the heart of the one that possesses her.
Because, as the flying snow, a we can also fly..
Yours, Eden
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In my dreams I can see vividly the stories I tell and also the positive story already latent within. When I'm painting a dream, I understand that this is a part of myself long buried under layers of roles, expectations and fears, feebly seeking help. The dream is a cry to myself to shake off oppressive conditioning and be free. As it's pictured, this dream, in somebody mind's eye he may sense that he too was once such a child whom he still carry within himself in ways unique to him. He may imagine "if this is my dream...". It may be the physical universe is created just for a place to experience physical life with all its ups and downs. Part fairy tale, part comedy of errors, part philosophical morality tale and part debate of free will versus fate, the ultimate solitude of every individual for whom other people and the world can be as deceitful and capricious as a dream. Stories break down these barriers. Every element of a dream has meaning, so dreams are worth divining, deserving understanding. The more things stay the same, the more they long a change; the more things change, the more they turn to stay the same; vicious crcle. There’s only a difference of degree; once you’re in you’re moving - through the grief, our lives unfold; changed by the urgent thirst of determining a value, patern or (dawning) suspicion - or through a very joyful coloration. There is a purpose for “telling the story”. Taking the step...
Mentioning Balzac, I'm thinking of dreaming. It's an unaccountable riddle.
thank You! Thank You for You exist:)
Thank You for everything
Eden
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