Sometimes often, sometimes rarely I bow till my head touches the ground, and I offer my heart forward, reaching out far with my hands in gratitude. Today is a day when I am on my knees, and bow. Hands and heart open.  Grace is so majestic, that it’s hard to capture it’s divine creature in the body of words. Still I try.

I see life as a big puzzle. And being able to see day by day a larger picture, and the way its rather unique parts finally find their place in it: is priceless. There are times when I believe this is the only reason why I am here, why I am alive. To see and understand things, as silent observer, going back and force in time – at least, in my lifetime, in this body, with this consciousness I call my own.

Gratitude is sweet like the shiniest and most appealing honey you desire to taste, it’s commanding, rewarding and heavy in the same time. Rich as the nourishing sunlight. I have no choice but obey, as its freshness brings forgotten springs’ blooming harmony into a winter day. It’s never too late. It never can be late to forgive, to accept, to acknowledge one person for his or her unique life-story, wherein for sure – FOR SURE – s/he was doing the best she could. 

I grew up. I am no longer the frightened child who believed she lost her father. (I didn’t). I grew out from the old stories – or rather, I have the distance finally, both in time and space to be able to look on them from safety. Which has the same result: I grew up and grew out from certain stories. It feels so healthy and free! Clean, like the morning sun with some soft wind after a stormy night. When it feels as if the whole world would have been wiped out and cleaned during the night.

2016 has barely started and I already feel so rich with this year, unchained and blessed with my family, that I bow in my soul, having one single expression: Thank You.

When I was around 11 years old (+/- 1-2 years), my father had a perforated appendicitis: it almost cost him his life. This I knew. What I didn’t know, and learned today, how my stepmother (his wife after my mom) and her older son supported him – with so much chance that depended on so many other uncontrollable things, that yes, it’s a miracle that he could have been saved, like an act of God. Which was possible to happen only with these people´s contribution, only through them.

It’s never too late to feel grateful. It’s never too late to let old stories go, and make space, to let the new “stuff” flow into our veins. Maybe there are also certain amount of stories/stuff we can keep inside at once, so time to time we need to get rid of some oldies. It’s never too late, whatever we believe we have no time for: when time and place is right and have come, and if we’re prepared – e.g. we have available space and can let change happen – healing may take place. We have our own part, but it dones’t depend on us entirely.
This is why it’s a blessing, a wonderful gift.

I just love this feeling, when finally every little piece is falling into its rightful place and I can make a sense of the story. That’s my moment. I love it. It makes me feel alive, in all my being, from head to toe.

Wishing you a blessed and amazing New Year for 2016 with some photos from beautiful Girona and the Dalí museum in Figueras. Happy 3rd of January! Keep your eyes (and heart) open! 🙂 <3