Strong anonymous women

We go forward. We go back.

The excruciating physical pain that a woman feels when trying to push out of her exhausted body a dead fetus – that unborn child who already has a monochrome-printed profile and a name – is exceeded solely by the preternatural sorrow (and unutterable rage against the Gods above) of seeing the stillborn weighed, measured, tossed into a plastic waste bag, placed carelessly in a cardboard box and labelled “miscarriage”. Nobody makes the sympathetic effort of shielding you from the haunting image of the deformed seven-month-year-old lacking the nasal pyramid or performing the sordid medical procedures outside of your purview.

How do you keep from going insane after a truculent experience like this? How do you grow the courage of ever carrying another baby in your womb? How do you manage to come up with a minuscule grain of trust when addressing doctors who disregarded your condition, ignored your suffering and explained nothing of the phenomenon that left you non-mother?

Hope, faith and an intimidating character strength are the only answers I was given by the friend who recuperated after this unsparing episode. I don’t even need a miracle, just a little bit of attention. And if, eventually, I don’t get it, I’ll just adopt. That is what she told me, tears welling up in her inane eyes, body convulsing with painful memories and chagrin. She is right, of course. She just needs a moment of God’s time, when he does not turn his head away, but caresses the lives at stake. She needs just a little devotion from her gynecologist and some hints of humanity from the medical staff in the delivery room. A few moments in time, that’s all. Less than a drop in the infinite ocean of Time.

Somehow, because you believe it is still possible, because you want your dream of motherhood and you want to feel a baby in your arms, because you hope it will go right this time, because you know God has done it before for others, because you wake up the next morning, trembling and aching, but you make it through the door, because there is a husband who holds your hand, a family and some friends who hold your arm while limping up the stairs, you DO get over it. You do not forget. You cannot forgive. You do not understand. You dream. You pant. You panic. You cry. You collapse. And then you whisper.. but maybe, this time.. Please! .. and in the shadows, among the volcanoes of your disheveled spirit, you open your eyes again and push ahead.

We go forward.



Image source :



endless fields of white

lie before me

covered in hope –

there is little fright:

am I able to see,

am I going to cope

with what askes to be seen?

will I know what they mean

when words walk by

accross the field

of white paper?



When you are determined to loose some weight and you cannot live without having some chocolate close at hand, when you decided to no longer buy sweets or have any choco bars in the household, you find yourself purchasing… chocolate masks for skin cleansing !!

There were olive oil masks and apricot masks on the shelf but my body directed itself in a brusque fit of automatism towards the chocolate ones. My hand reached and grabbed before my brain could even compute the desire. I have no certainty that I am going to use those cocoa masks I bought (I applied such skin treatments 3 times at most in my 31 years of life), but the concept of chocolate looking me straight in the eyes from the right side of my desk seems to set my appetite at ease.

Unsure if this is craving, obsession or guilty pleasure, I merely hope it works to temper down my chocoholism !



I was afraid of my dreams. I ran away from them.

I tripped and fell. I bumped into somebody else’s dreams.

I found myself following that somebody’s dreams.

They took me so far away from my own dreams

that I am now unsure I have ever had them.

I am trapped.

I fulfill dream after dream, getting farther and farther away from happiness.

I am so far gone I am afraid to stop for a breath, too afraid to turn or stomp my feet.

I hold on to one last single hope:

I hope I trip again. I hope I fall over and bump into myself. Into my dreams. 

A personal illusion is better than somebody else’s dreams.

Final questions

SherwinJames The Beginning And The End  21975

The moment gone

the minute passed

life lived in half-measures.

Too late to rethink,

too late to restart.

What hope is left?

What dream counts more?

Which victory the greatest?

What name is left?

What word sums up

the one that was?

Image source >

On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations

by Robert Frost


You’ll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drought will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn’t reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.