Dear Diary :: to the feminist in me...

Sometimes my spirit takes over and without violence shuts up the feminist in me. We could choose to label ourselves. Or we could choose to make room for something immeasurable. I’m certain that it all leads to two things: unlimited freshly baked bread and a big love. Our choices in our partners will always reflect our current state of of emotional affairs. 

And then for some strange reason we have a prototype of our lives. It’s always being tested. That’s why it’s a prototype. 

Love has very little place in a prototype of life. 

Love can only be possible when it’s a bond between spirits. Bodies fail us all the time. Spirit is a quiet voice. We have to quiet ourselves down so much to hear spirit. Otherwise, it’s all external. The truth, the fears, even the hopes and dreams. All molded by external noise. It’s like an orchestra. We hear the main melody, the harmony, the strings, the percussions without tuning in to a tiny bell that actually makes the whole melody shine. Without it, you just hear each part separately but not together.  Spirit is that bell. Without tuning into the bell, we miss the whole point. 

When two spirits meet each other in love, you can’t help but have moments of joy simply because this other spirit exists. Then, the feminist in me says ‘but you don’t NEED them.’ And then, the feminist takes a back seat, where every practical being belongs and let’s the spirit drive. Or fly. Let’s the spirit fly. 

And that surrender feels like heaven on earth. Even if just for a moment.