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A court battle that traumatized everyone involved, an open wound that cannot heal so we bleed (a river)
A family feud. Stranger hurting my kid. A career gone wild. Stripped naked and exposed. Trusted friends revealing their true face; dangerous! The tramp of boots of the fascists.
Loneliness. Doubt (the winters are hard) A polarised mind, stretched out like a rubber band between red and blue.

The more I think about it the less I like people.
The more I think about it the less I like myself.
(and yeah yeah the world is my mirror ect ect OBJECTIVE FACTS are to be considered)
Shit happened and it wasn´t the good kind of shit.
I´m not saying we were innocent, I´m just saying that it happened.
The scars are for life.

These last seven years have been parchment thin.
There is reasson to our escape, there is reasons to our ideology and politics, our resistance and our struggle to find new kinds of ways. There is reason.


I don´t write a lot about the past. It still hurts (to feel: Shame. Regret. Anger)
But I´m changing a lot these days, too fast for myself, and so the past is too.
And the scars.
I don´t know what they resemble anymore.

We had the wildest storm, loose roof sheets, hail, thunder, hammering down, woke up in my bed because of raindrops in my face, it felt as if a whirlwind was swirling around my house, everything was shaking.

You see, the world is brutal, don´t close your eyes, take it in, deal with it, embrace it, find your grounding in the wind, that´s what I say, that´s my truth (don´t be afraid of thunder) (but then again I might be a thunder woman so don´t take my word)

Then dance on the roots of the trees that fell


and notice the green of the grass

Because life wants to live.

Life. Wants. To. Live.

Life goes on, always (you can´t stop it)

That kind of stubborness makes me happy. That kind of consistency gives me hope.
All those colors comfort me. All those sounds soothe me. I bathe in the world, I´m looking at the scars and then I kiss them.

9 comments on “Ressilience

  1. C says:

    Still in my personal Tsunami but looking forward to and hoping to get to that place you are descreibing on the other side myself. Thanks for writing about it, it gives at tiny hope ❤


  2. Dear andrea
    You are making, and have made, veiled reference to something i used to call “The Big Meatball”. seems that everyone, except for The Blessed, encounters it.
    That is why I quote the adage about the obstacles in the path are not obstacles, they ARE the path. Maybe The Blessed have one long yellow brick road in front of them, serenely waltzing along, but most people have the big terrible thing at some point in life that becomes a lesson, a test, maybe even like a knightly ordeal.
    The big terrible thing molds one’s character, for evil or for good. It is a personal struggle. For me it has reinforced a strong belief in karma, because the big terrible thing is often a playing out of other big terrible things. Very rarely do events have a beginning and an end, on which the door can be closed, fini, done, over with. It takes generations for some kinds of events to play out, for example the effects of war.
    All best wishes,
    ~ abigail


    1. I think you are right, Abigail.


  3. Kristine says:

    Hi Andrea,

    If “that kind of stubbornness” makes you happy. Then you will LOVE a book called “Anti-fragile” by Nassim Nicholas Taleb.

    Ressilience is when things dont break when life is rough.
    Anti-fragile is when something GAIN from disorder.

    So natural, so fundamental… so much like nature.


  4. Pernille says:

    Green for hope and for happy thoughts. I like the air after a thunder. Very clear and fresh. The nature is a good inspiration. I like your pictures, especially the one off the snaky worm. How can you come so close to it and not shake the picture? I know its not the dangerous kind but anyway I would definitely not have taken that picture from in a frog perspective. I just keep distance to this animal without feet.

    My daughter has just been hurt in school today by one of her best friends hat called her evil, they had been playing some ballgame and the friend lost. But my girl is never evil to others, and that is not only her mothers point of view. That word crushed her little heart, because she had just finished her friends project in wood shop for her, because she is allergic to the dust. Friendship can be a gift and hurt too. Now my girl sits in the kitchen and paint a painting for her room. The main colour she choose is turquoise. Blue and green together.


    1. Why doesn’t the snaky worm with no feet shake? You are so close and you are so enormous? God created the small to confound the mighty.


  5. Eumaeus says:

    The world is not brutal
    Only the world of man is brutal

    I argue with you
    So to not reveal my true face to myself

    We piss in the grass
    And I don’t know what to write about

    Or if I should write at all
    What if the flying Dutchman gives a fuck? or doesn’t?

    You disappear and the wind blows
    Maybe it blows cleaner with you gone

    The problem with reality isn’t the pain
    It is the fact that reality probably is not real

    I’m glad it’s freakin’ Friday

    I’d sleep outside
    But I get so tired afterwards

    Its much easier to lay in bed
    And be sucked in – to soft, luxuriant dreams

    It’s my own fault, you know
    That I don’t have time to sit in the woods and read letters from Lulu

    But this is about you
    Not me


  6. BeeHappee says:

    “It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”
    ― Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

    Andrea, hugs, and stay well.


  7. Nanna Mercer says:

    The Algonquin Cinderella

    There was once a large village of the MicMac Indians of the Eastern Algonquins, built beside a lake. At the far end of the settlement stood a lodge, and in it lived a being who was always invisible. He had a sister who looked after him, and everyone knew that any girl who could see him might marry him. For that reason, there were very few girls who did not try, but it was very long before anyone succeeded.

    This is the way the test of sight was carried out: at evening-time, when the Invisible One was due to be returning home, his sister would walk with any girl who might come down to the lakeshore. She, of course, could see her brother, since he was always visible to her. As soon as she saw him, she would say to the girls:

    “Do you see my brother?”

    “Yes,” they would generally reply – though some of them did say “No.”

    To those who said that they could indeed see him, the sister would say:

    “Of what is his shoulder strap made?” Some people say that she would enquire:

    “What is his moose-runner’s haul?” or “With what does he draw his sled?”

    And they would answer:

    “A strip of rawhide” or “a green flexible branch”, or something of that kind.

    Then she, knowing that they had not told the truth, would say:

    “Very well, let us return to the wigwam. “

    When they had gone in, she would tell them not to sit in a certain place, because it belonged to the Invisible One. Then, after they had helped to cook the supper, they would wait with great curiosity, to see him eat. They could be sure that he was a real person, for when he took off his moccasins they became visible, and his sister hung them up. But beyond this, they saw nothing of him, not even when they stayed in the place all night, as many of them did.

    Now there lived in the village an old man who was a widower, and his three daughters. The youngest girl was very small, weak and often ill: and yet her sisters, especially the elder, treated her cruelly. The second daughter was kinder and sometimes took her side: but the wicked sister would burn her hands and feet with hot cinders, and she was covered with scars from this treatment. She was so marked that people called her Oochigeaskw, the Rough-Faced-Girl.

    When her father came home and asked her why she had such burns, the bad sister would at once say that it was her own fault, for she had disobeyed orders and gone near the fire and fallen into it.

    These two elder sisters decided one day to try their luck at seeing the Invisible One. So they dressed themselves in their finest clothes, and tried to look their prettiest. They found the Invisible One’s sister and took the usual walk by the water.

    When he came and when they were asked if they could see him, they answered: “Of course.” And when asked about the shoulder strap or sled cord, they answered: “A piece of rawhide.”

    But of course, they were lying like the others and they got nothing for their pains.

    The next afternoon when the father returned home, he brought with him many of the pretty little shells from which wampum was made, and they set to work to string them.

    That day, poor little Oochigeaskw, who had always gone barefoot, got a pair of her father’s moccasins, old ones, and put them into water to soften them so that she could wear them. Then she begged her sisters for a few wampum shells. The elder called her a “little pest”, but the younger one gave her some. Now, with no other clothes than her usual rags, the poor little thing went into the woods and got herself some sheets of bitch bark, from which she made a dress, and put marks on it for decoration, in the style of long ago. She made a petticoat and a loose gown, a cap, leggings and a handkerchief. She put on her father’s large old moccasins, which were far too big for her, and went forth to try her luck. She would try, she thought, to discover whether she could see the Invisible One.

    She did not begin very well. As she set off, her sisters shouted and hooted, hissed and yelled, and tried to make her stay. And the loafers around the village, seeing the strange little creature, called out “Shame!”

    The poor little girl in her strange clothes, with her face all scarred, was an awful sight, but she was kindly received by the sister of the Invisible One. And this was, of course, because this noble lady understood far more about things than simply the mere outside which all the rest of the world knows. As the brown of the evening sky turned to black, the lady took her down to the lake.

    “Do you see him?” the Invisible One’s sister asked.

    “I do, indeed — and he is wonderful!” said Oochigeaskw.

    The sister asked:

    “And what is his sled-string?”

    The little girl said:

    “It is the Rainbow.”

    “And, my sister, what is his bow-string?”

    “It is the Spirit’s Road — the Milky Way.”

    “So you have seen him, “ said the sister. She took the girl home with her and bathed her. As she did so, all the scars disappeared from her body. Her hair grew again, as it was combed, long, like a blackbird’s wing. Her eyes were now like stars: in all the world there was no such other beauty. Then, from her treasures, the lady gave her a wedding garment, and adorned her.

    Then she told Oochigeaskw to take the wife’s seat in the wigwam: the one next to where the Invisible One sat, beside the entrance. An when he came in, terrible and beautiful, he smiled and said:

    “So we are found out!”

    “Yes,” said his sister. And so Oochigeaskw became his wife.

    World Tales. Idries Shah. Pages 242 – 246


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