Some Concerto Grosso by Corelli was playing and I was just getting out of bed for the very first time today, it was hard, my menstrual cramps were very certain on wanting to envelop my womb in their invisible thorns and they would not stop trying. The pain was an agravative to the overly emotional and pessimistic mental state and these things themselves were products of a naturally emotive mind. I got up, drank my coffee, couldn't really decide what kind of music was the best for me at that moment, so I just let Corelli do his thing.
Baroque music always had a special effect on my psyche. Even with my lack of religiousness, it's sound feels like walking trough divine lands, walking into the sublime. Art is one of the only things that have the capacity to do that, and that is what I understand as real, even palpable, power.
“Impalabili Tacce Dal Cielo"(Impalpable Tracks from Heaven), by Roberto Ferri.
Art has been my handmaid goddess whenever I had to face a moment of pain and struggle, and I do not only mean physical pain. An immeasurable amount of people can relate to that, I know it, and it only brings me closer to believing that art is the closest we'll ever have to a walk through real and sublime beauty.
Having just drank a damn good cup of coffee, I had that little charge of motivation to be productive, so I stoped to ponder a little about what I wanted to spend my energy on. My first thought was the idea to get into some artsy DIY style craft or something like that, because I was also thinking of making something nice as a Valentine's Day gift to my partner(In my country, Brazil, Valentine's Day is on June 12th), but even though I had the motivation, I could not find the inspiration for that. For a moment, I was taken by a wave of frustration and self-loathing, because these last days have been hard when it comes to inspiration. I couldn't write anything that made me feel satisfied and couldn't feel like playing the piano, so it was just standind there, lonely, in the living room.
By this moment, I had changed from Baroque Music to something russian from the Romantic Period, Prokofiev, I guess. Of course, anything from the Romantic Period has capacity to make emotions bloom even harder if they're already blooming hard, but sometimes it's the only thing that makes me feel like my emotions are not so exaggerated and far from reality.
In the end, we are emotional creatures.
My second way of coping with my own sadness was to mentally list the things that make me happy and fulfill my little voids in life. Through this, I always remember the basics: I have a partner that makes me immeasurably happy to be with him and spend my time like this, a stepdaughter that came into my life like a blinding light of lightness and poetic value, a family that has been supporting me through my hard times with my own mental states and struggles.
Most of all, I have myself.
I'm still walking down the path of self-acceptance and understanding, even though I still have times when I feel like my mind is broken and lost in darkness. When you stop to really analyse yourself, the way you behave, the way you think and the way your mind works, you see that everything in your life is connected and there is no question with no answer. I'm not saying that trying to answer questions like "Why am I the way I am?", "Why do I fear what I fear?" or "Why do I feel bad about [...]?" will always bring you positive answers that will make you feel heppier about your life, that's not the case.
In the end, I think that we should not only learn to let ourselves be happy, but also to survive the moments when we're not. It might be even impossible for us to fully understand ourselves and the world we live in.
"Narcissus", by Roberto Ferri
Maybe it's impossible to find meaning to life, but...should it keep us from living?
The journey of trying to find meaning or creating your own itself is meaningful, it is living.
"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in the suffering."