First, please understand that do not speak English as well I would like, but I will tray to tell you my story.
And this is something about me.
THE TRUE STORY OF A WOMAN WHO ONCE MAYBE FELL FROM FIG TREE
Something about me? There is a wide concept – something. What defines me, what do I dream, if I dream, what do I hope to, if I hope? In every human being it is at least one strainger. Will I ever get to know them remains to be seen.
It is certain that I am proud self hater. Self hater – a word that covers a space between self-criticism and a misanthrope. Every honest self-critic must admit that despite all efforts, he makes mistakes that can hardly be justified by any arguments. But only a fanatic or seriously disturbed person can submit to misanthropy.
I was born as a very young and because it was very long ago, and very traumatic experience, my mind completely blocked this important, not to say a significant event in my life.
When I myself became a mother, I saw those eyes that for the first time see the world and all the wisdom of pure existence in them. I’ve seen that yet not covered soul and sensed the honor which is shown to the world – that act of arrival, and then I remenbered, at some unspeakable level, my oun arrival, but the purpose is still unknown to me..
The first memory! That would be when I was around two years old and I fell from the second floor and hung on the fig tree. I remember the flight, final and exciting at the same time.
Later, I asked my self for years the question who has planted the fig tree, whether providence have something to do with it, if there is a place where everything is known in advance ?! Even today I have no answer, only a conviction. But what does the conviction worth? Only one more star in the night sky,nothing more.
The first picture! “The Little Match Girl”. Selection of my older sister. Good or bad? I’ll be brave and say –
good! Although I have spent the rest of childhood for which I’m not sure when and if it is completed, trying to reconcile these two opposite attitudes. Compassion and humanity against reason and self-sustainability. This is a big dilemma for the young brain. For more experienced is far easier; always praise yourself, and your quality and swear to justice and fairness, but grab everything that you can and walk boldly over the corpses. Simple! But one thought remained until today, to slyly lurking on my every decision, in every my conclusion, I can say to my every thought. This one note: Consolation of death! When all fails, when we are all issued, it remains only this one note to vibrate in the depths of my own bone marrow!
The first book! The stories of Greek mythology! I devoured everything in ancient Greece wrote, completely convinced that all this is so true and that only stupid people think it’s all made up. Pomposity I watched unbelievers surprised with their ignorance and ignoreing the possibility of brave warriors and powerful gods, as if the world can even function without the courage and miracles. In my mind I was laughing to the day when the gods appear again and then it will be: wham and ka-pow and then everyone will see that I was smart all the time. Then I will be choosen for the queen of the world, and I will with my royal powers abolish all orphans with matches and destroy all the weapons of the world so that only heroes can fight with armor forged by Hephaestus. And then we’ll see who will not borrow me an eraser, bastards!
My middle age I spent in my own Benedictine monastery without order reading the books from my sister’s library. Little of Balzac, little of Ćopić, a little Hesse, a litle bit more Huxley. his place found Marques, then back to Pushkin, and Bayron, then Yesenin (if I coud catch that bastard who drowned puppies, damn it!), Then the Krleža with sentences that could circle the world at the equator. Has the man heard of full stop remains a mystery, but it is certain that he was addicted to the comma, the purpose of which, indeed, can not, truly, really, to conceive, in any, writing, text. Then a little bit of Dostoevsky ( you never know). Think of expression of a child of fourteen when starts to read House of the Dead “!). All these written statements and allegations hovered my head, then tired settled where they arrived and where there was room. Later, I had to re-read all the words, and tried to understand the meaning. Of course I wept because the Little Prince, because it was fashionable, angry because Captain of the sand bank (but in myself, because it was not fashionable).
The new era of my life, a revolution, a new order!
That would be when I realized that for 10 years I suffer from sclerosis multiplex and that it really and truly will not pass! Someone like me can only remain astonished by such impudence by its own antibodies. Where do they get this idea to attack the body whose downfall mean their doom? I conclude that my antibodies watched too much television and saw the human race in an organized attempt to self-destruction. No longer do I allow my antibodies to watch television. When they start to behave normally, we can talk, but onlyabout the appropriate content.
Do not get me wrong. I can be tragic. Drama’s in my blood. All of this is in the end only a theater. I learned all the right phrases in my Benedictine monastery of the greats. I can strike a chord of overwhelming sadness. Why? The people likes to grieve. This gives importance to otherwise meaningless lifes. Am I a cynic?
Whell then! According to my beliefs nothing is coming by accident, and you are, attributed to curiosity or cursed fate appeared in my world. Do I have anything to say? That’s debatable, is it not? Certainly, I want to get to know the stranger inside. I know he lives in silence deeply buried, and yet ubiquitous as shadow intangible, but inexorable. I hear the queen of the world of my childhood that is not satisfied. Self hater writes another notch in favor of pride! In my mind is eternal party.
The theme is therefore, unfortunately or fortunately, because waking up is painful as well as the birth itself imposes. Due to illness I have, for which there is no cure, no help, I have found myself decorated with civil disobedience. It has been proven that cannabis helps with this, and many other diseases. I tried to contact the Ministry of Health, to get me medicine – nothing. That we purchase raw materials that I try to make the medicine myself ?- No, begged permission to plant more plants alone so that I could make a cure . No!
The first thing that occurred to me after all these rejections is the following:
how it became acceptable that if a cure is not out of the factory of pills, then people have to die, because people are dying and what now?
At which point I became property of the state and if soo where is the declaration of goods on me, if I am already a commodity?
When is my country decided that I am feeble minded, soo they must be custodian in any decision?
Where is the right of choice of each individual, if the individual is willing to take responsibility for their actions?
So I planted hemp and reported to the police by myself. My slogan (assertion) “Better be alive illegally than legally dead!” Is now proverbial and of course used in all sorts of purposes. No, it does not mean that you may rob a bank so that you can buy the medicine in the Netherlands! The meaning of this statement is to live in slavery is not an acceptable option. But I’ll take responsibility, because I did not elaborate, deeming it unnecessary.
Selfhater here can hit the notch of naivety! At my age ?! Disgrace!
We can accuse and Brainiter, but does not comes to my mind to give it as much importance.