I write spontaneous letters to myself.
\nTo ladies and children.
\nI do not send them to men of the world.
\nTo sportsmen.
\nTo soldiers of fortune.
\nMerchants.<\/p>\n
Once I wanted to be a soldier,
\nto be brave, fight for a cause,
\nprotect and command.
\nThen I wanted to be an actor
\nand play out all the roles
\nlife could not give me.
\nAnd then a priest or prophet,
\nthough that lasted only a moment.<\/p>\n
And the letters accumulated,
\nwere thrown away,
\nforgotten,
\nand I returned to where I began,
\nto the mother soul,
\nto the child,
\nto the innocence of nature.
\nTo life and death.
\nTo bells ringing in the heart.
\nTo tears appearing out of nowhere.
\nTo dancing.
\nTo following comets in the sky.
\nTo waking up and letting the world
\nintroduce itself differently every day.<\/p>\n
And then writing a letter,
\na poem,
\na kiss put on paper.
\nNot to be read,
\nbut to acknowledge how much
\nlife is worth its moments,
\nand owning things is giving
\neverything away,
\nto make room inside,
\nfor more,
\nladies and children first.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I write spontaneous letters to myself. To ladies and children. I do not send them to men of the world. To sportsmen. To soldiers of…<\/p>\n