se spune adesea ca opusul dragostei este frica. Sau ca in spatele violentei sta frica; in spatele agresivitatii sta frica. Si in spatele comentariilor rautacioase, a ironiei si sarcasmului se afla o incercare de a ne apara, care in esenta implica tot o forma de frica.
Roxana imi spune ca o iau cu mine, de la cei din jurul meu. Ca nu stiu sa o las acolo unde o intalnesc, ci o iau dupa mine. Problema e ca uneori nu mai stiu nici eu ce sa fac cu ea. Nu-mi amintesc mereu sa ma uit la ea si sa o transform in iubire. Sa ii zambesc si sa o transform in iubire. Sa o ating cu blandete si o transform in iubire.
Uneori o las sa se adune in spatiul dintre coaste, uit de ea si ma trezesc ca nu mai am unde sa respir. Ca ce spun nu se mai transforma in cuvinte. Ci mi se opreste in gat si "afara" nu se mai aude decat un fel de tuse.
Am (re)gasit azi un text superb, al Mariannei Williamson (din "Intoarcerea la dragoste"), atribuit adesea lui Nelson Mandela – care l-a folosit doi ani mai tarziu in discursul inaugural. O sa-l las in engleza, deocamdata…
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
You are
a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is
nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel
insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were
born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just
in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we
unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are
liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates
others.”