Alive beneath the violet skies

I haven’t taken the time to write in a while. There have been visitors, my sister joined me here in Barcelona, my days have been filled with work and writing and walks – of life in all its ups and downs. I’ve glanced at the empty sheet of paper on the kitchen table for what must be weeks now, every day pushing it a bit further until today.

Today I’m taking the time.

I woke up at 5.20, slightly before my alarm, still dark, a few stars glimmering in the sky while I got dressed. We took the metro to the beach, watched the sun rise over the sea, soaked in the new day glimmering on the surface.

The purple sky at dawn and dusk always brings me a sense of peace and belonging. Joy. Every day I stop to marvel at the changing hues of the sky, remembering all the dawns and all the dusks; flying through the ocean on a boat crashing into the waves, lying on a beach, sitting in the park, driving through the city. Twice a day my whole life seems to be an eternity of violet skies.

Now I am blissfully tired, the afternoon sun is wrapping me in a gentle cocoon. Blissfully tired not only from the early morning but the past weeks. It’s been a time of healing. Healing in all its different ways; long walks in nature, painting in the park, blowing soap bubbles, eating well, crying and laughing, remembering the past, dreaming of what’s to come, staying here, in the middle. Here. Present in life, silently following the strands of my life connecting, being sown into a whole.

Yesterday someone I went to school with reached out to me. We were in the same class for thirteen years and friends for most of those years. She asked about my spiritual path, the side of me that I back then so successfully hid from the world. A side of me she had no idea of.

I felt a wave of sadness thinking of the little girl I’ve been, so bravely trying to fit in, so forcefully hiding the magic, shutting it into a small box somewhere deep within, just to try to belong to something that was never mine to belong to.

It's a harsh world we live in, especially when you are different. If you don’t belong to the herd. Because all we want is to belong, fit in, be a part of something. 

wrote beautifully about having autism, being different, thinking differently, feeling different (you can read her brilliant, touching and soft writing here).

Reading her words, thinking of my own life, looking at the life around me and everything happening in the world made me wish we lived in a softer, gentler, more accepting world. A world where little girls do not need to hide their magic or tone down their enthusiasm. A world where we could allow all the differences, accept all the different rays of life.

It's a harsh world, yet there is so much beauty to be found. Despite it all, every moment is filled with wonder and beauty. We have sunrises and soap bubbles, the afternoon sun dancing on the wall and stars glimmering in the sky. There are beautiful people, love and belonging – soft encounters every day that brighten up existence.

Thinking of the girl I was, the brave little girl I’ve been, it fully hit me what a healing time these weeks have been. Beneath the wave of sadness and wishing for a better world there was a strong, mountain-high calm, a wave of belonging. Belonging to myself and my path. To the world just as I am.

And through this healing, this sense of belonging, sureness, braveness, new dreams have emerged, old ties strengthened, new paths opened. The world is more alive than ever, and so am I, with it.

Sailing into the new, gently, softly, lovingly.

Ida.