Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.


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Slivers (Rewritten)

In the beginning, it was a rough block of marble standing in the middle of an empty warehouse. Only darkness and silence was around and some small shards of dust kept it company, shimmering from the dim light that came through the small windows on the ceiling.

But one time, the heavy door of the warehouse slowly opened with a creak and heavy, blinding light filled the space. That light was gentle and warm, and dazzlingly bright at the same time. Had the block had eyes, it would definitely have squinted, and maybe it would even have put its arms in front of its face if it had any. But had it done so, it wouldn’t have seen the silhouettes of people appearing in the light. It would have not seen them walking all around it, nor would it have felt some gentle hands stroking its surface, leveling its sharp ends. Slowly, it became rounder and smoother.

Later on, another, strange shape peeked inside from the light. A small and playful one, followed by another and another. A group of little children crowded inside. At first they did not find interest in the shapeless substance, they made their own playground of the warehouse filling it with delightful laughter. But soon enough, on a whim, they decided to make a little friend of their own out of that big and hard ball. They began coloring and shaping it and sometimes they just ran off to chase those glittery shards floating around. When the time had come, they said goodbye to their contorted little friend and left it alone in the dark.

Thereafter a new day broke on the dark building. This time it was different.  Not so glaring but warm and peachy instead. New, unknown people came, each unique in their own ways, different from the previous ones. Some stopped abashed by the sight of the doodles that covered the shape, while others found their long forgotten toys in the scattered colorful piles. Now, they were not only playing with it; some of them talked to it, others cleaned the paint off of it and began scraping it while they were crooning softly. It was not shapeless anymore but started to resemble its visitors; a pair of arms and legs and a round face framed with long and wavy locks. Those gentle hands even put a light linen dress on it.

The weather turned wintry outside and the night breeze frosted onto the hair of the statue like white little flowers. A dim light approached, a young man came with a torch in his hands. He stayed longer than anyone else before. He put the torch on the ground, it filled the warehouse with warm light. He was staring at the statue bewildered while he was slowly walking around it. He was truly surprised that something like this could be found at such an abandoned place. Then, he gently grabbed her arms and put her in a sitting position and tilted her head high up. He smoothly put some wandering hair behind her ears revealing her lovely face and knelt down and smoothed the creases on her dress. Now she had become a very picture of a gracious young lady.  Had he been looking upwards, he would have seen that the statue was looking down at him with a smile on her face. Just as if he had sensed it he looked up right in the eyes of the statue. Eyes wide open he smiled back at her and put her hands in her lap. They were looking at each other like this for a long and long time. He was mesmerized by how the light of torch flickering in the statue’s eyes.

But just like for everyone else, the time for the young man to leave had come. Just like everyone else before, he put the chisel down and turned toward the entrance. He made sure not to leave the door open this time. As he left, the draft stirred up the shimmering shards in the storage and – unbeknownst to him – put the torch out.

By the time the dust settled, only the shape of the girl remained there, kneeling on the ground, holding onto the scattered slivers.


Read the original chunk here.

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Regrets – Writing 101 Day 3

Though I’m pretty young, I already have many regrets. For example the thing that I wasn’t confident enough when in my childhood I wanted to learn to play the violin and (only) one teacher said no. I regret not being able to stand up for myself despite the fact that I knew very well what I wanted and what my spirit needed. After all, almost twenty years later my love for the beautiful sound of the violin is still as strong as it used to be, if not stronger. I think, now I would be someone different, richer in spirit if that didn’t happen to me. Sometimes I even think I wouldn’t suffer from panic disorder either. I also regret abandoning playing the piano on a sudden whim that ‘it’s not violin’. There was a time when I felt I would start my life all over again just because of these.

Although, I firmly believe that everything has its own reason. 

I believe there is a point of all the struggles I had to went through and what I am going through even right now. There is a meaning behind my own inconfidence that made me losing my path. There is also a meaning behind the uncertainity and the constant urge to do something valuable that would not let me rest and sit patiently waiting for a miracle that would never happen on its own. For some reason, I had to switch my road to a rough one to finally find, by travelling longer, what I was created for. I believe I need(ed) all the pain to learn how to appreciate myself and more importantly, learn how to listen to the inner voice that is never wrong.

And last but not least it is important to learn to let go all of the fears and those exact inconfidences that were and still are present in my life. To let go all of the anxiety, the pressure I subconsciously put on myself and everything that binds me, prevents me from being myself hiding behind the well-made mask of panic disorder.

So, in the end do I regret all these things I listed above? Sometimes I still do, after all I’m just a human too.


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Labyrinth Chase

Steep concrete road leading somewhere high, so sleek I couldn’t find a handle that would help me climb. On the sides of the road people were cheerfully chatting no one desired to help me and I insisted on remaining unnoticed. Finally reacing the top there was a huge nice house so big and compound I couldn’t decide where to enter.

First, a little wooden house greeted me with its neatly arranged simple but warm design. The only one room it contained seemingly served as a doorman; greeting those who wander there and lead them inside to one room after the other. It was pretty and inviting yet an emptiness designed its aura.
The backdoor led to a calm and beautiful little forest, as if I was taking a trip with my classmates. Leaving the woods behind the scenery and the atmosphere changed dramatically. There were no woods any more, no trace of life could be felt anywhere, except the distant sound of the people at the entrance, their joyful chatterings as if they didn’t even know what a strange phenomenon lies right aside their feets.

My journey to the myterious complex went on silently like a thief when sneaks into a house to rob the treasures of those who are sleeping sound. But instead of a dark nightly feeling, the sun shone brightly shedding light on my steps to places unknown.
Rooms lied ahead of me, empty and lifeless waiting for someone to explore their secrets.
Behind a huge old and decayed door deathly silence prevailed wherever my steps took me. After some neat but plain rooms with disused furnishing narrow tunnels led me to an even older room. To get there a hidden door opened in front of me to see dust and useless scraps dancing with the holes on the walls. I had a mate on my journey, a shapeless self foloowing me as a shadow, and both of us knew well where woul lead us our next steps.

But then as we decided on going deeper we could hear the angry noise of the earlier joyfully chatting ignorant people. We hid behind a tatty sofa and tried our best to flee through another hidden door. Opening a door there was another little and shadowy room with no exit only a little window to go through. We crawled and then arrived at a dusty and dark place, this time there were even no windows. Stepping a few ahead thin but long wooden rods were lined up with huge emptiness around them and beneath light and clear air prevailed.
Hearing the people getting louder we crawled on the rods and let us fall down.

Landing on a wooden a floor I realised that now I was completely alone. Self disappered somewhere without me noticing it. But it didn’t really bother me because the place I finally reached was an incredibly empty, abandoned yet peaceful area. It was the temple, the heart of the labyrinth. The temple was all wooden and had no furnishing in it. No tables, no statues or painting on the walls. Yet the back wall was full of glass letting the sunshine in. There was no entrance of the temple only sliding doors on the side of the glassy wall leading to an abandoned, once lovely garden. Sometime in the past one of the sliding doors was left open and through time the dry leaves were swept in making them the only inhabitants of the temple. The angry noise of the people got louder and louder with every step I took further. For some reason they didn’t want me to see what was in the empty labyrinth. Yet I wanted to be there. I stepped out into the garden to see the old-fashioned garden furniture deemed to fade and a nicely constructed little pool with beautifully crafted tiles. All of them were dusty, dirty and the patterns of them started to fade away. A little pond was also there with lively fish inside and nobody knew how they anaged to survive for this long time. Dead leaves covered them as if they were their guardians trying to protect them from the harmful effects of not being taken care of. And finally I was there.

Interestingly enough, the temple opened to a huge and outer space, from the hill where my journey started nothing of these could be seen. Getting my time running out all the people out there were close to the hidden room that led secretly to the temple. Except me, everyone knew, where to get inside. Except me everyone knew where to get outside. The garden I was in did not lead anywhere. I came in through hidden doors losing my sense of time and place along the road. The people were hammering at the door and yelling. Against my will, I finally found another uphill, this time it was soil and wet really really hard to climb. It took me to the entrance, the little wooden house that greeted me when I entered the palace. The little passage avoided the concrete road that led me inside.

On the sides of the road people were cheerfully chatting no one desired to help me and I insisted on remaining unnoticed. They were the same people, the same who chattered, the same who yelled and chased me out. And right when I got out I realised that I completely forgot the way I took to the temple, and even forgot about what I’ve seen there.

Pic from Pinterest

Pic from Pinterest


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Blogging 101: Try Something You Never Did Before

The reason I mostly write stories is because through them I can gain a better knowledge about myself.

I’m currently fighting panic disorder and this is something that helps me the most. During the past few years I suppressed my feelings as nobody understood me and lots of people told me I’m just whining and imagining things. I became more and more self-constrained to an extent that in the end I managed to deceive not only people around me but even myself that everything is fine. I became emotionless, couldn’t smile truly and even wasn’t able to cry. But at university I was taught that every artwork we create, let it be music, painting, writing etc, represent our deepest fears, desires, basically the subconscious. So I began writing thanks to another university course.  But so much for the history lesson.

This post was inspired by David Long’s post A Secret in the “Self” Issues. Check out his blog what he does is awesome!

So if you are in a situation similar to mine, and you are interested in my method here are some useful tips that can come in handy.

At first, write a story, let it be long or short, fantasy or any other genre it’s up to you. Now, how to analyze them?

  • Scenery and Location: Is it deserted, dark or shining and peaceful? Do you resonate with it? How do you feel about it? For example generally, oceans and forests represent the soul of the writer, does the same go for you too?
  • Characters: What are they like? May they be based on yourself or someone you know? Do you like them? Try writing from the view of the opposite sex, it can tell you a lot about yourself. E.g. Children said to be representing innocence, purity and hope.
  • The Plot: May it refer to your current situation or even a problem you are afraid to face?

If you don’t know where to start or you feel like you are out of inspiration, you can still do it:

Make a list of places that pop into you mind and describe them. Do the same with the characters. Find a complication your character has to solve and bang it’s done! Actually, you can make a game out of this, just have some of your folks who are open-minded enough and together expand the lists mentioned above, then agree on one of all and the result will be eccentric and most likely funny, believe me! 😉

Actually, my doctor said that this is called imaginative psychotherapy. It’s funny I did something I never heard of. 😀 I have to tell I’m not a therapist, so I cannot help you analyze it but if you feel like you’d give a try to what I do, feel free to share it, I would gladly read about your experiences and discoveries, but of course it is also up to you. 🙂