I almost didn’t write today. I almost allowed my distractions to get the best of me. I almost felt like giving up was the answer. However giving up is never the answer. So I came back to the page. I came back to the place of hope. I came back to try again. I came back to say, I’m still here. I’m still writing. I’m still trying.
In the words of Toni Morrison “Freeing yourself was one thing claiming ownership of the freed self was another.” If nothing else I claim myself worthy of being free. I claim myself worthy to come again and again to the page.
when rain speaks she has no shallow dexterity she holds the bosom of skies in peaceful mothering’s broken drops of purpose, going back before the days of moses,
she smells familiar, like the beginning, a leaping exodus, barring wide -stirrings
billows, openings and moaning’s to songs of mercy ditty-breaks, of breathing rain, heaving -heavy her chorus, of holy wonder, dimensions and multitudes will look upon her… she is poet, and prophet, falling with the sunrise, and rising with the night sky.
How grateful I am to come here. To be in the realm of gratitude. To become so aware, where love thrives in every soul. I’m so thankful, to be given each moment. What a precious gift of life. The sound the heart makes, without any help from me. To wake up in the beauty of gratitude. A taste of gratitude in the morning. To encounter the spirit of gratefulness, rising in a new way. That I am alive, to feel this. Grateful to navigate the waters of my soul.
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.