Being kind. Of all the lessons I had maybe the most important one. It changes everything. Events, circumstances, people. Every person has their own truth. What is happening, is outside. How we are experiencing it, is in us. The kindness is what can help us, change it, make it easier, more beautiful.

Being kind to one another. “THINK before you speak: is it True? Helpful? Inspiring? Nice? Kind?”

But even more, being kind to yourself. Which is sometimes even harder. We blame ourselves. We call ourselves names. We punish ourselves. Judge ourselves.

Some people have hard time being nice. We all have hard time being nice sometimes. We work harder to be kind to others. We forget about ourselves… We comfort others and blame ourselves for the same thing. But I am You and You are me. My relationship with myself and with you are connected, intervened. Your relationship with me is a reflection of your relationship with yourself.

Be kind. World needs it. I need it. You need it.

Alenka H., 2021

We talked.

And She said “I understand you are angry because he lied to you. You are disappointed.”

And I said “No, I’m not angry at him. I’m angry at myself, because I trusted again.”

And I cried and She said “He hurt you.”

And I said “I cry, because I hurt myself.”

Alenka H., 2021

Ironic. I, the one who talks about power of words, must admit: I am a bitch, when I’m angry. I swear. And without a blink I say “Fuck you!” Not always a loving wish for pleasant activities, no. Sometimes it’s genuine angry, frustrated, leave-me-alone, you-asshole, fuck off.

Oh, how hurt He was, when I said it the first time. “I would never say something like that to you!” He swore.

He still says that He loves me. I don’t. I avoid lying. So should He. Because words of love don’t mean a thing if actions declare indifference.

I do not need midnight I love you’s. I need midday I’m here’s. I don’t need a kiss goodbye, if all I get when you are here are moody glares and annoyed hisses. Just… Fuck off.

And the most ironic part of it all? It’s when I stop saying “fuck off” – that’s when I gave up. I don’t care anymore.

I’ve stopped saying it, yes.

Alenka H., 2021

Sometimes I ask Wholeness to show me what I can not see. Sometimes I ask for advice, guidance, clues. Help. Support.

So I asked. And I got my answer. The Old has to die for New to be born.

But it’s not that easy, is it? Even when old is poisonous, hurtful, empty. Oh, we ask for something else, something different, something more. We want change. Yet, confronted with the fact that the old must die, that we must let go, do the cut, that we must change, act, when any of this is to be done, we freeze with fear.

And not the fear of death of the old. No. We fear what the new will be. We hope, we wish, we want, and being unsure if it will really be like that, we are afraid. What if it will be even worse? What it will hurt even more? Sure, the old hurts. But the pain is known. It became part of us. What if the new one will cut us where we haven’t been cut before, and deeper?

We learn we should know the depths of the water we jump into. But do we ever really see the depths of life we dive into? Can we ever know if it’s safe? The water might heal or kill us.

How can we overcome the fear of New, when the Old must die?

I feared each and every time. Jumped. Dived. Survived. Each time with new bruises, new scars. Each time more afraid…

I wish I had some hope. I wish someone would jump with me. But we always jump alone…

Alenka H., 2021

Poems are like tears. Not to be forced. Not to be stopped. Just… To let be.

Sometimes I write, because I cry too much and poem is the last tear I cry, the one that calms me, because finally all is out.

Sometimes I write, because I cannot cry and poem is the first tear that opens the path to others.

Alenka H., 2021

“Do you want to hear the answer?” I asked Her. “No, not really,” She answered.

The questions we ask to show we care… If only. Too often just said, not really meant, just given because it’s polite, it’s right, it’s supposed to be, it’s a sign of good upbringing, it’s what people expect. And it’s expected to be answered the same way: politely, nicely, not really honestly.

“How are?” I’m in pain. “How do you feel?” Awful. “What can I do?” Hold me and listen and just let me speak. “Did I offend you?” Yes, you did. It hurts. “What do you want to say to me?” The truth. “Reach out for me, when you need me, ok?” I need you now.

Can you imagine this? No, rather not. It’s not nice. It’s not polite. It’s not by social standards. And no, nobody really cares.

How wonderful it would be, if people would be honest not only when answering, but also when asking.

Alenka H., 2021

I’m getting weaker again. I feel it. I knew it before, I know it now.

Illness is lonely thing, even when there are people around. Every step in my life cost me friends, until nobody was left. Still, I have family. He doesn’t care. She does, but it hurts Her too much and I can’t do that anymore.

Maybe… Maybe the reason I give is to forget I myself need it. Or maybe the reason is hoping it might return to me. Either way, it seems I am selfish. I give, because I need.

In reality, I know it won’t change anything. I still remain alone with my pain.

How can I convince my heart to stop wanting, needing, craving?

Alenka H., 2021