Proudly Humble

Silent screams, the inaudible murmurs of those who ask for help from themselves.

There are days when trying to see the sun is useless; the black storm clouds do not dissipate. Rain falls on our faces in the form of tears, and painful lightning strikes our chest. No matter how much wind the storm seems to bring, it comes without air, an air that is missing with every breath of our being.

The sun continues to shine up there, and I know it; I see how it shines around me for so many people. Even if it doesn't shine for me at the moment, I am happy that at least it can illuminate others. Perhaps this is one of the few things that leave me feeling something positive in this moment of my journey, knowing that at least the sun has not stopped bringing light to some people.

I know these are strange times, times that none of us have experienced before, times without comparison to anything we have lived here. Trusting without seeing the future, being forced to be here and now, being patient and tolerant, and having faith that everything will be better one day is the true meaning of the word hope.

The universe has planned a meeting with myself for me, possibly at the most inconvenient time, and even though it will be an enormous and solitary challenge, I will have to accept it and fight to hold on, even trembling with extreme exhaustion from so many things that have hurt me.

I am like a wounded warrior, almost without energy to fight, almost without strength to hold the sword, much less to strike some kind of blow in this immense pain that is in this open wound that I carry.

In battle, companions come and go, a friendly word, a terrifying silence, a hug that doesn't come, a light that stubbornly turns on and off at all times. A dehydrated soul in an arid and dry desert is shattered by intermittent power outages combined with extreme fatigue.

I am not a victim, and I do not complain about what I go through, but perhaps only those who have to be strong all the time, without a moment to sleep or rest, can understand the exhaustion that absorbs my entire being.

I don't want to give up; there is a voice that whispers in this airless wind: "Give up; it will be so easy; lay the towel down; surrender..." The rain that falls on my face in the form of salty water speaks to me in contrast: "don't give up; you can't; hold on; you are strong...". Half of me carries the other half, like a soldier carrying another wounded one. Half of me, with infinite courage, carved in the purity of the essence that I am, carries the other half of me, sick with so many deep wounds. The pure essence believes in healing; it believes in everything that the open wound has long since stopped believing in. One carries God in the heart; the other lives without a heart.

Only on a bad day do I try to convince myself, like so many bad days before, that it will pass and it will come back—hell, heaven, the bottom, the top. Welcome to life. Welcome to the illusion. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine that the sun is shining. Tomorrow is a new day.

Thank you for delving into this excerpt from "Lost in My Soul: Conversations With the Deepest Parts of Me." If these words resonated with you, I invite you to embark on a transformative journey through the pages of my book.

Grab your copy now and set out on a path to connect with the most profound parts of your soul.