Wednesday, 30 July 2014

There's Nothing In The Darkness © by Irina Serban

Illustration: Beauty and the Wild by Grivetart

I can't recall being particularly afraid of the dark when a child, still, I wasn't completely comfortable with it especially when imagination created strange shapes out of objects or shadows. And, I think, you all remember how, suddenly, the covers shifted into an unbreachable fortress keeping us safe from the monsters lurking under the bed.

Under those covers, I did my best at controlling my fear. I stared at those shapes until I figured out how they were formed, and what formed them. Then, what seemed to be the face of the bad witch ready to eat children alive, became the sinuous branch of the tree in front of my window. I noticed the little leaves moving in the wind, which up until then I imagined being her hair. I heard the wind playing through the branches, and the rustling ceased being the sound of the witch's long skirt, inducing me to sleep instead.

Growing up, I also grew to love the dark hours of the night with all the rustling, wind hissing, awkward shapes, and deep human silence. Yet, I found out about the existence of another frightening darkness: the one to which we all fall prisoners at one time or another: that pit filled with regrets, despair, second thoughts, disappointment, resignation, broken hearts and dreams, disillusionment. What cover can protect us from that ugliness of thought and emotion?

For me the same strategy as in childhood works: I don't pretend it's not there, I don't close my eyes thinking it will disappear, I don't run away in the arms of some safe harbour. Instead, I stare at its ugly face and let it dismantle my soul piece by piece until I get accustomed to its presence, to its strategy, to the pain inflicted. I get immune, and once I do that, I realize that the dark pit I'm in is not so scary, so endless, so resourceless as it tries to make me believe.

Darkness is afraid of us, too, and out of that fear, it creates monsters to keep us away from seeing the stair in the middle of it. That stair will help us climb up again.

Childhood taught me the best lesson: there's nothing in the darkness except for what we put in it because the shapes we see cannot be formed without light, as feeble as it may be. There's always light where there's shadow. Here it is! That's your stair!

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

I Found My Soul © by Irina Serban

Painting: Sacred Forest - oil on canvas by Vladislav Pantic 

          I found my soul hiding deep in the heart of a pine forest. He smelled like moss and humid clay. He had silver hair made of rivers waving down his shoulders and his fingers played an eerie song on strings made of moon rays. He was lost, unable to remember me. He was restless searching and searching. He thought he was alone. 

I was like him, too: lost and restless and alone. Instead, I smelled like sand and algae. I had blue hair made of oceans waving down to my waist and my heart sang an eerie song on strings made of longing.

I don't know what wicked god had us stranded: one on the shores, the other one in the middle of the forests, but I know of one magical god, who shared visions of him in one of my dreams. That's how I found out what the meaning of my search was. That's how I knew where he was. 

         Now, I'm dragging my sand being heavy with the water of the oceans, salty like tears, trying to find that forest where he dwells in solitude. If only he turned his gaze towards the sky for me to be able to see his light beaconing among the stars. I'll find him, and cheek by cheek, I'll tell him he has never been alone! 

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Paint The Sky! I'll Touch The Wind! © by Irina Serban

When eagles cry distressed, you paint the sky in hues of passion, and let it pour in our hearts consuming desire.

When fires burn, you paint the sky in hues of sorrow, and let it rain to cool our tormented thoughts.

When we lie dormant, you link the two distant worlds with threads of light, and make them burst into our souls, scattering them in fragments of iridescent questioning.

What is around us that talks in whispers and lures us to no-places where we don't need our senses to meet and know each other?

What is it that ties us and draws one filament after another until we're caught in spider webs of resignation?

What kind of painter are you who touches the unseen canvases and sows winds where nothingness once birthed only peace and quiet?

How can we walk through the tempests you create?

Why don't you let us live nowhere where we need nothing to be who we are?

Do you love battles? 

Do you love seeing us struggle, lost like birds carried by gusts? 

Do you love the torment of separation?

I'll touch the wind to feel you and hear you give the answers. How would you paint the sky then? I'm sure like no other for that's when your heart will pour down love to dry all our tears!

You, paint the sky! I’ll touch the wind, and we’ll meet in the crown of the trees, which guard the dreaming forests!

(A.N. The story was inspired by John Two-Hawks' song, Paint the Sky. You can find his wonderful songs on his website or on Itunes or check his youtube channel Thank you for everything!)

© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Thoughts On Paper by Irina Serban - #quotes #sneak #peeks

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