Emma
Katyslany
January 22, 2012
explorations into the art of quest
In his introduction to The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho, asks why, after disinterring our dream, is it important to live our personal calling:
Because, once we have overcome the defeats—and we always do—we are filled by a greater sense of our hearts, we know that we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. Intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until, one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from bitterness, and it stays with us for the rest of our lives.
January 16, 2012
“On bad days I talk to Death constantly, not about suicide because honestly that’s not dramatic enough. Most of us love the stage and suicide is definitely your last performance and being addicted to the stage, suicide was never an option – plus people get to look you over and stare at your fatty bits and you can’t cross your legs to give that flattering thigh angle and that’s depressing. So we talk. She says things no one else seems to come up with, like let’s have a hotdog and then it’s like nothing’s impossible.
She told me once there is a part of her in everyone, though Neil believes I’m more Delirium than Tori, and Death taught me to accept that, you know, wear your butterflies with pride. And when I do accept that, I know Death is somewhere inside of me. She was the kind of girl all the girls wanted to be, I believe, because of her acceptance of “what is.” She keeps reminding me there is change in the “what is” but change cannot be made till you accept the “what is.”
― Tori
January 14, 2012
wishes
I still wish on stars, sometimes.
When one is not enough I wish on constellations;
(I wish on entire galaxies.)
You can have my wish tonight. I’ll wish it for you.
I wish you passion that slips in through your skin and wakes you, before you’re ready.
I wish you hope that surrounds you and tucks you in at night.
I wish you quiet when you don’t seek it, and noisy when you need it. I wish you a song that slides inside your hips and won’t be still. I wish you a laugh that throws your head back and refuses to be contained.
I wish you your eight-year-old smile, escaping, in the middle of your important, grown-up day.
(I saw it once peeking out, before you put it away. I know it’s in there.)
I wish you wistful wanting that goes unfulfilled…for awhile.
I wish all your jagged edges washed smooth by tears that come from laughing too hard and too long; from beauty that makes them spill out without your permission.
I wish you forgetting. I wish the ink of your old hurts faded, weathered by the sun, until you can’t read them anymore.
I wish you a dream that sinks its teeth into you and won’t let go. That interrupts your plans. That keeps you up at night.
I wish you a heart that aches from stretching in undiscovered places.
I wish you more, and again more, and yes still more: love.
Kate Bartolotta
Salastia 