Metamorphosis

I'm going through something extremely exhausting and painful 

- yet somehow so transformational and beautiful.

In blindsight this metamorphosis process was revealed to me in a black butterfly I saw this summer. She had just came out of it's cocoon and there was this red liquid next to her, like she had been bleeding blood. Her wings had this gorgeous white lace detail, like a veil of a bride that was ready to be given into marriage. Time to leave the childhood behind.

I have never seen anything quite like it. 

I got to observe her, embrace her form with my eyes. 

She was not instantly ready to go, as we know, these processes are slow

and they take time, if you just have gotten out of this vulnerable state where

you could have died.

No wonder she was bleeding. 

There are so many parasites that can destroy the cocoon from inside out and eat the insect.

And there was also this spider web surrounding her, so if she did fly, she could get tangled.

There was a reason for me to be there.

I carefully took the spiders web away, so now the air was clear. 

She could go. But she still waited. 

She was not ready to go yet

but I was,

I got her message, it was there,

so so clear.

my heart exploded, did anyone notice?

Today, 

I opened my mouth,

and my heart exploded

Did anyone notice?

How I tried to control my composure,

not let it show how It 

shook everything in me

when i said something,

that can let them know how 

for so long my heart has been broken

just ticking, like a time bomb

waiting to be unraveled, right on time,

by someone who would know

how to hold it and

isn't afraid of my emotions

and what they reveal,

what they show

i try my best to hold everything in, organizing it to be on the right place,

but it's getting too much, 

and i need to get rid of it

so it won't collapse

especially in the moments when the focus comes on me and there is no where to hide, not even behind the books i bring with me

i just don't want to be too much too soon

even telling a little, i can see them be shocked and it's just one tiny piece,

not a good tasting treat

yet it's part of my story

and it's a part that has done a lot

of damage to the dearest parts of my heart, so that's why,

it is so so difficult to open up

so i won't and i keep my mouth shut,

at least as much as i can

control my words not

going there what really hurts

Swimming and floating

 I'm swimming in deep waters, going even deeper

The view is changing

and I can no longer go back, 

not even if I wanted to,

I can't reverse it,

so I keep on going,

even though I'm tired,

exhausted really,

but I know,

that drowning is not an option

I wonder where I will end up,

I hope I will leave behind something to examine, research, calculate,

wishing it's the thing that mattered the most,

but end can be sooner than I thought,

maybe there will be no longer swimming at all

But what do I know?

I look at the state of this world,

I watch some old TV

how many people let down their phone

and care to read?

In the old shows they are so much more articulate and silly

I haven't met many people who are fine with being silly anymore

and also;

How many find themselfs stopping,

flirting with boredom and then creating art out of it?

I hate AI slop

Please stop and create something

I don't want to be sucked into an artificial world,

everyone is looking for connection from it,

without real intimacy and soul depth

Now 

I am rebelling against the fast paced current

I won't let it take me

I am slowing down

Floating

Closing my eyes

Letting myself be in this state

where everything in me stops,

even when around there are twirls, tides and turns

This is the place where I exist,

in between three stages

swimming, floating and

resisting to drown

I know someone,

who can stop this all, with no words

Take me out of the sea

Change of scenery,

that's something I often value and need,

but here it's all the same

I've seen dreams so many times where I know how to fly,

and everyone around me is surprised

That freedom I feel when I go up,

I am disappointed to wake up

because it was something so casual,

so natural, to leave

this place,

because I know the things here are only half real

and there is something, a place, where words are not enough

to describe how much better they are

But it promises us this,

No sin,

no pain,

no tears,

no evil,

just state of peace and love

That's what I seek with this floating

I guess I'm just waiting

for it all to be over

but then I swim again,

because the swimming gives me things to experience, to feel, to think,

when I'm in that state where I measure what was it worth?

What did I see when I saw more of the sea and the earth?

Most often, more weighing pain

But it's a priviledge to experience, since it's only in this place

I remind myself when I look at the sky again

The moon, the stars, make me feel so small

and more careless about the things that only seem to matter when

I am building the wrong palace,

the one that turns into dust with it's rusting plates and pots

Seeking the things that are above,

they are all the things that are good, peaceful, something that brings more love

to these dark corners,

spaces that seem to enlarge

and sucking the life and the breath out of every room

Illness, a virus, it makes me seasick

and I don't like it's effect on me,

so I escape it

Character description

 I feel like I am invisible to some people,

and yet somehow so seen,
on the other hand, some kind of prize
that can still be put on a shelf
and left there to gather dust.
A superficial image,
and at the same time an old book
that cannot be read.
Pretentious, yet far too open,
and genuine in a way
that reveals too much of itself.
Sometimes like a parrot,
constant repetition, patterns— too loud

can you stay around?

do you know how to follow?

Sighs.

I cannot say,

what am I?

In some depths of thought,
I am something.
Do I want to know
whether what I am means anything?

I would like to know more
about what I am in the eyes of God,
but even if I knew, and I've been told

It is good
when such knowledge keeps a person humble.

The image I have of myself, though,
is nothing but a mixture of colors,
brown and ugly,
sometimes colorful like a rainbow.

For a moment, I admire it's existence on the rainy days.

I let both exist
and fight for their place—
the muddy weather
and the rainbow rain
At least then I know how to stop
imagining and striving for too much every day,
when I know that I am a battlefield
between two states,
both of them subjected to the Spirit,
and my life nothing but a whispering wind.

It's been a year of unraveling the darkness, trying to find a way out

A year spent in fear, like a shaking animal, stuck from the terror that came with the wolf. 

How does a lamb fight back?

I've learned to notice, maybe too much, maybe something that isn't there, 

but then it always pops up

so now I question everyone who seems too good. 

Yesterday I got told I'm a faithful daughter, and I replied "really?" and i sounded so sincere. Because I truly was suprised. Were they lying? Did they have an agenda? Did they hear God? Or did God really find me faithful in the midst of my battle with these preying beasts. I don't know. 

But there was one woman, with fierce eyeliner, looking straight at me, 

telling me about the visions I've had. 

A prophecy unfolding.

The prayer also touched me, in a way that made me tremble and I wished it

had continued until all of the marks from the scratches on my heart would be healed

and I could move on,

but no,

it wasn't the time for complete walking away from the pain I was left with.

The pain is a paintbrush, using my tears as the paint. Creating something that won't only

be healing to me, but for someone else, who is licking their wounds, completely alone (they think) but no. 

There is someone, who they don't yet know,

rising up slowly from their hospital bed, 

leaving her tracks to follow, so they can also, one day, get up, but take it slow

Healing is a process, if we try to speed it, we end more wounded.

Our wounds bring us the closest to our Maker,

who hang on that wood, pierced, so we could make it. 

The february

That night, I was shaken as if struck by lightning. A cutting gust of wind passed through, found its way to me, and whispered its own riddle into my ear.

For some reason, I was the one chosen for this encounter, to meet the deadly cold never-ending shallow emptiness gaping open in the abyss, without an equal.

Because I could not find an ending to that pit that stared right at me, I screamed, and my scream echoed and echoed. I couldn't hide my fear.

And when that emptiness touches a person, and has touched them, one has no choice but to try to fill it, so as not to feel oneself disappearing, sinking into the darkness, with no idea how to find a way to return, because rarely no one ever does 

We treat emptiness like balloons, searching for a pump to fill them, even though we know that little by little, with a soft hiss, they will empty again, and sometimes burst with all their force, frightening the person beside them who is blowing balloons up with them, startling them into seeing what we are really doing, it's all a waste.

You are the first person in my life who decided to give up on this process of filling the emptiness and you jumped into it and I could not jump after you, even though sometimes I thought I wanted to (not enough, though, not truly enough)

The events of your life were like a scene from a airplane falling down, where you, among all the others, were the only one who refused to put on the oxygen mask that had fallen in front of you.

You knew destruction was coming, and you did not want to continue the descent. If only someone like you could be protected—and there was a possibility that, perhaps, yes, but then again, no—you wanted to fly, even though you did not want the flying to happen inside an airplane but there was no other choice.

Was that the heart of it? The problem: once again, those boundaries, once again, the directions and runways along which a human life travels, and once again that part of us that wishes we had wings like birds.

Oh, how I too sometimes wish I could fly away, but here I still need a parachute...

But if I were a bird—I allow myself, for a moment, to imagine it—how I would wake with wings on my back, and no one would stop me from flying away, far from the surface of the earth, watching everything become distant points that I could no longer quite make anything out of. Maybe then it would not hurt. Maybe it would not mean quite so much as it does down here, where everything is intertwined with everything else in a way that cannot be undone.

We cannot separate ourselves from one another. We share the same cells. We touch each other, even if we never touch even once.

And someone considers the beginning of romance to be an exchange of saliva through twisting tongues. I would argue otherwise. I would argue that it begins long way before that.

We have left our marks, before we even realize it, and when we do realize it, we try to conceal the evidence behind us, but we can't. It all shines from our faces, everything we try to hide. Everything that has meant, and still means something is there in plain sight, so bare and naked that sometimes I just want to scream: there it is, that exposed place everyone can see, but no one points out, because they are afraid and because I am afraid, and I tremble when I face it, while at the same time feeling relieved that we are not alone in this interaction even though we lie as if we could not see anything. But we can, we just don't want to. Opening your eyes to what is happening can make one jump into the abyss if it's just... too much and there is no one left to hold onto.

henkilökuvaus

Tunnen olevani joillekin niin kuin ilmaa, silti niin näkyvillä, toisaalta jonkinlainen palkinto, jonka voi kuitenkin laittaa hyllyyn ja antaa sen pölyttyä, pinnallinen näky ja samalla kirja, jota ei voida lukea, teennäinen, mutta kuitenkin liian avoin sekä aito tavalla, joka näyttää liikaa itsestään, joskus niin kuin papukaija, jatkuvaa toistoa, kaavoja, pysytkö kujalla, osaatko seurata? 

huokauksia, en osaa sanoa, mitä minä olen?

olen joissain ajatusten syövereissä jotakin, tahdonko tietää, merkitseekö se mitään mitä minä olen? 

tahtoisin kyllä tietää enemmän siitä, mitä minä olen Jumalan silmissä, mutta vaikka tietäisinkin, se on hyvä, 

että se tieto pitää ihmisen nöyränä

oma kuva itsestäni kuitenkin pelkkää värien sekoitusta, ruskeaa ja rumaa, joskus kirjavaa niin kuin sateenkaari, hetken ihastelen sitä sateisten päivien rinnalla

annan molempien olla ja taistella sijastaan, kuravelli säätä ja sateenkaari ilmaa, silloin ainakin osaan olla kuvittelematta ja tavoittelematta joka päivä liikoja kun tiedän, että olen kahden tilan taistelutanner, joista kumpikin on Hengen alainen ja elämäni tuulta vaan.

se helmikuu

Sinä yönä, hätkähdin kuin salamaniskusta, viiltävä viima kulki, löysi tien luokseni, kuiskutti korvaani oman arvoituksensa.

Jostain syystä tähän kohtaamiseen valikoitui minä, tapaamaan tappavaa kylmyyttä, kuilussa ammottavaa tyhjyyttä, vailla vertojaan, en löytänyt sieltä rotkosta loppua, huusin, ja niin se kaikui vaan kaikumistaan. En voi esittää, ettenkö pelästynyt.

Ja kun se ihmistä koskettaa, ja on koskettanut, se tyhjyys, niin sitä on pakko yrittää täyttää, jottei tunne itsensä katoavan, vajoavan pimeyteen, vailla tietoa miten palata entiselleen. 

Kohtelemme tyhjyyttä kuin ilmapalloja, etsimme pumpun, saadaksemme täytettä, vaikka tiedämme kuitenkin, että vähitellen sihahdellen hiljalleen se kuitenkin tyhjenee jälleen ja joskus poksahtaa täydessä voimassaan, säikäyttää vieressäolevan puhaltajan siihen mitä teemme.

Olet ensimmäinen elämässäni, joka päätti luopua tästä prosessista.

Sinä luovuit täytteen etsinnästä, hyppäsit tyhjyyteen, enkä voinut hypätä perässä, vaikka joskus luulin tahtovani sitä (en kuitenkaan tarpeeksi, en kuitenkaan liian oikeasti)

Elämäsi tapahtumat olivat kuin kohtaus tippuvasta lentokoneesta, jossa sinä, muiden keskellä, ainoana, et suostunut laittamaan eteesi pudonnutta happinaamaria. 

Tiesit tuhon tulevan, etkä tahtonut jatkaa syöksymistä, voi kunpa kaltaistasi voisi suojella ja mahdollisuus olikin, että, ehkä, kyllä, mutta ei kuitenkaan, sinä tahdoit lentää, vaikka et tahtonutkaan lennon tapahtuvan lentokoneessa, sekö se oli asian ydin, se ongelma, jälleen ne rajat, jälleen ne ihmisen elämän kulkusuunnat ja kiitoradat ja jälleen se osa meissä, joka toivoo, että olisimme lintuja, voi niin minäkin välillä toivoisin, että voisin lentää pois, mutta minä kuitenkin tarvitsen laskuvarjoa...

mutta jos olisin lintu, sallin hetken itseni sitä kuvitella, kuinka heräisin siivet selässä ja kukaan ei estäisi minua lentämästä pois kauas maanpinnalta, katsoa kuinka kaikki muuttuu kaukaisiksi pisteiksi, joita en enää niinkään hahmota, ehkä silloin se ei sattuisi, ei merkitsisi niin paljoa niin kuin täällä alhaalla, jossa kaikki ovat punoutuneet toisiinsa tavalla, jota ei voi rikkoa, emme voi erottaa toisiamme toisistamme, jaamme samoja soluja, koskemme, vaikka emme koskisi kertaakaan ja joku pitää romanssin alkua syljen vaihtona, väittäisin jotain muuta, väittäisin, että se alkaa jo kauan ennen, olemme jättäneet jälkemme ennen kuin huomaamme ja kun huomaamme, voimme yrittäää peitellä todisteita perässämme, mutta silti, se kaikki loistaa meidän kasvoista, kaikki, mikä on merkinnyt ja edelleen merkitsee jotakin, on esillä, niin paljaana, että joskus tahtoisin vain kiljua, että siinä se on, se paljas kohta, jonka kaikki näkevät, mutta kukaan ei sano, koska he pelkäävät ja koska minä pelkään ja vapisen, kun kohtaan sen, samalla ollen helpottunut, että emme ole yksin tässä vuorovaikutuksessa.

familiar sound

i woke up and heard a familiar sound

an excited scream, with a hint of suprise

for a moment, i thought i had again locked myself in my childhood bedroom like a typical teenager that needed space

and i heard the voice of my older brother

i was back to that memory,

where they were downstairs,

probably watching some sports

maybe icehockey

shouting at every goal lost, every win

but no,

i didn't wake up in my childhood home

i took a nap and woke up in my adult body

in a different place and it was the voice of another, that distantly with it's familiarity,

and maybe my little dizzy, 

"im almost in a dream" kind of head

brought me to this memory,

i never realised to bring me comfort

and safery with all the eventful things and sounds that took place within it's walls all those years when we still existed there,

when now mostly we are all scattered to be loud elsewhere

for most of my life

i have been and was too young, too stressed, too worried, too caught in my own head,

my own rush to get ahead to realise that

i miss my family; my older brother

who i thought was so distant, but i guess connection can hold little words and still exist with this hidden red line that touches and connects us all even when we do not realise the impact

and i think now, with this distance,

i see my brother and i want to text him, 

call him, he is still very much alive,

but what would i say?

all i know i haven't been present

and we haven't really been there

in each others life

but what am i doing on my part for

it to stay so?

im still young,

but old enough to know 

how fast thing pass by and

it's already autumn and it feels like a week ago it was the new years and i was telling myself the things i was going to do differently and it has already been over a year when someone dear to me passed away and that's how it goes,

you soon look at your hands and truly 

see you are growing old

and really think what are the things

that makes one's life truly 

something that is worth living

worth being alive

and i think for me to even think these things is, because i can not just let it pass by me, while i sit and watch my own life from a television like a zombie,

i can't and i won't 

thanks be to it to you, God,

because you don't want it to be so,

and now we can agree, it shouldn't be like this and maybe there is more to this,

one of them is how important is

the family, and the people you were

trusted to love

will you be the first to cut the distance

that has been created by centuries of pain which is now so evident between us all?