At night I escape from time. In these moments of grace I feel its silent sweetness; it is then that I give shape to words which rise up from the far depths. They become more close, more authentic, more simple.
When I was weak, I wanted to appear strong.
But when I am fragile, I recognize myself.
My life as a deportee seems so far away that, at times, I feel as if it never happened.
When I was lying in a hospital bed, I realized that the suffering, anxiety, fear, and joy that I felt were truly mine, and I agreed humbly to embrace them within myself. That day, for the first time, I experienced compassion toward myself. Meeting this bruised self liberated me from an inner slavery, and the journey toward myself began.
I rise slowly. My steps are more confident because it is toward You that I am going.
When it is You inspiring me, words wait silently to be written in a moment of grace.