Saturday, April 2, 2011

I am entitled to a beautiful existence.


All of us are, every child of the stars. We were born of mystery and deep change, and we can watch the worlds spin and see that change is the dance of being, and see that we are swaddled in beauty every moment. Pain weaves through the waft and wonder but we are born and we are entitled to beauty.

I dreamt of loss unbearable; I spoke with a mother who has looked into the abyss of her life without her son and holds his impossibly small hand as they skirt the edge of that black hole. I listened to the song of a mother who must have screamed so loudly her voice should have broken but is still more powerful in its sorrow. I am filled with life and love and pain and beauty.

Ella Leya: American Jazz by Way of Azerbaijan.

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