The endless yellow
fields of blooming sunflowers are like an invitation for flight and
inspiration. They are like a reflection of the sun as a materialised
infinite faith and optimism. Yellow speaks so loudly that I obey
without hesitation. The sunflowers have bent
their heads down, but not as a sign of obedience.
When the
sunflowers bend their heads, it is because they can
not bear the weight of the sun they carry. It is because nobody alive
can meet the look of sunflower emitting the
sun. No mortal can stand to look directly into the eyes of the small
yellow sun. When the sunflowers
bend their heads, it is not because they are conquered and defeated,
but because they are full of love and mercy
towards the neighbor. A mercy not to burn it,
but to protect it, and to remain alive.
I am a biological state, open to the
new, different, to the change, open to love in all its
manifestations. But I am free of all this. I am ready to start from
the beginning, ready to reflect the sun-yellow fields that will
distract the darkness in me.
You tell me that I am
already developed and that there is no hope
for me. You're trying to tell me I'm developed
wrongly so I can only fit into your world
where you're the master. You tell me that everything in me is already
over and it is not possible to be developed in a direction that leads
to my liberation. You do not see for me a direction of development
that leads to my freedom. And you call this love.
You want to instill me this in order
to depend on you in everything. To depend on you my pain, my
suffering, my joy and my hopes. You want me to think I'm broken and
only you can teach me how to be whole and independent again. Because
that's what I want - to be whole and independent. To be like a blank
sheet on which I can write my life again. To be like a sunflower with
a head upright.
That's why I told Him.
Allow me,
God, to go back and write my story again. Help me, God, to write
myself, my life and my dreams again. Without the mistakes. Without
the tears. Without the pain. Help me to become like a newborn blank
sheet, where the mistakes and the corrections are missing. Life
without errors, corrections and forgiveness, is it possible? God,
let's make a deal. May my present life be a draft for the next one.
Do you accept the deal, God?
Give me a new name, God, to begin
with.
He told me he had given me already a name. And that my name
is what I did from it. It is up to me to cover it with honor or with
shame, with meanness or pride.
