Word of Heart

12341530_909591692422558_9169881466588863195_nThe concept of “word of honour” – the same, for me, as “movement of honour” – has always been dear to my heart. And it´s, in fact, a question of heart. Because my honour resides in my heart and when I deliver – write/dance- a word, I deliver my heart in & through it.

For me, words – or dance – are not intellectual – or physical – entities but my heart in the shape of characters, words, dance steps; messages. I don´t just write, or dance, something – I offer you the purest part of my heart when I do it. Dangerous adventure, a child trying to jump over a pond filled with crocodiles she knows will eat her alive. How much more imprudent could I get?

Being VULNERABLE has never scared me more but, hey, I don´t know how to do it any other way. Letting myself bleed in public; exposing the joys and the sadnesses with the same easiness; opening my womb to the crowds. Ah, woman! You´re asking for it. 


A rare full moon is up and shining; Christmas is still hanging from the trees, family is around but today I managed to create a space of private terror and sweet silence. Though scared to death (it is also a question of death), I return to my book.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide – although that´s exactly what I feel like doing. Completing this book is nothing less than completing myself or the self I once was; completing it is honouring my word – I said I´d do it so I have to – and, more than that, honouring my heart by healing it, sharing it and expanding it through the telling of a real life story no one will believe it ever happened.

Aromatic candle lit; coffee by my side; holding my breath, waiting to jump, once more, into the Ocean from where nobody returns the same. Or at all.


There´s no depth without darkness. What a drag! I´m a Light kind of girl forced to go down the rabbit hole (so damp, dark and frightening). Here we go:

Writing Time.

P.S: Nobody told me the book I´m writing would become a demanding husband, the one I´ve always run away from. Not a lover but a husband, a jealous and overwhelming husband who wants me all to himself, leaving no space or time for distractions. I think I was tricked into a marriage. HELP!


Back to the Womb, the place where all Creativity sleeps, waiting to be awakened by the intrepid hand of a mad Person.

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