There are walls that separate, constrain, delineate boundaries and limits, but there are also those, with the height of our chest, that invite a good conversation, interspersed with hearty laughter or, sometimes, sad laments as well.

Were in conversations like these, by the wall that borders the building where I live and the house of my neighbors, that I learned what generosity and love for the land, animals and plants is. I discovered the joy of family reunions washed down with good house wine and, with them, the abundance of those who live creativity with an open chest and courage.

There are walls that shelter us in the simplicity of the mornings, when we allow the heart to speak louder, without fear, welcoming imperfections with affection and, thus, we feel more human.

There are walls that serve as a mirror and reveal our own limits so that we can become true. And it was in this game of reflexes that I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of the colors of my soul and learned to love myself, a love that was born in the innocence of sincere conversation.

We love ourselves as a mother or father loves his children. We love with compassion in the face of our ephemeral humanity, a passionate, pure and generous love that is the light of our eyes — our own divinity. And so, our spirit crystallizes in us in the compassion we cherish for ourselves and the respect we cultivate for our journey, our history, our ancestors. Its crystals are the precious wisdom that we harvest and remember, they are the consciousness that we expand in us with a subtle pleasure that ascends and makes us vibrate with the delicate joy of the chords of an inaudible music.

Love for ourselves allows us to share and create with each other in love, at all levels, with awareness and responsibility, without longing for more recognition, support, approval, appreciation — love. Now, we are able to embrace the abundance of living, the benevolence of a sun that germinates the earth with its warmth and light.

And even if creation finds its rest in the moonlight of the night, we can release our dreaming compassion like a breath to warm and awaken, resonating in each sleeping heart its own spirit, its own love, its own dawn.

There are walls that are portals with our names engraved on their doorposts, because they recognize us in our deep intimacy. There are walls that wait patiently for us to draw our hearts intertwined, like keys to a memory that eternalizes us in a larger heart called Gaia.

With affection and gratitude to Mr. Arno and Mrs. Lourdes Konzen.

Maristela Rohenkohl

March 03, 2021.

Image: Climbing Rose, public domain image.

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