RITUAL

My daddy used to say,” if you don't have blistered, splintered; bruised and battered hands then you haven't lived long enough.” No doubt about that, but that's not good advice for a suicidal person. I wasn´t trying to kill myself that night; I was just testing, I guess.

Edith and I, (and God probably) were the only ones who knew about my desire to jump from the rooftop, which in the end proved just one thing; it wasn't my time yet.

All this series of terrible events fueled my inspiration. Daytime worked well as a catalyst for my work, and I must admit it was truly rare, since I preferred nighttime. Ever since I had to ceremoniously take my meds because I’m prone to respiratory diseases my biological clock has dramatically been reversed. It seems I made contact with the unconscious mind; when the world seems to be busy I relax.

It was winter anyway, around the first weeks of November. Rain kept falling; it was a habit of mine to go out and get soaked until I lost consciousness when I was little, now if I do it in these mean streets I would get caught. Only then was I able to open my senses and listen, feel and taste the grandeur of nature. I was hoping that maybe for a while I could gradually ignore the annoying sounds around me. Those were my rituals back then. But today, it´s all about the right music,

"I’m a rabbit in your headlights, scared of the spotlight. You don’t come to visit. I´m stuck in this bed."

I plunged my hands into a tray of Indian Red paint, the same way a child would play with mud and then I literally slapped the canvas; I felt I was pouring my heart and soul into this one, that at some point it triggered some repressed memories, and I…I fell down on my knees.

ADRIAN, ARE YOU TIRED? TELL ME.

“I was supposed to feel relieved after I did this, girl,” I said to Edith. “What do you think of it?”

OH ADRIAN, I…I´VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS, IT´S SO EMOTIONAL AND PASSIONATE…I´M SPEECHLESS. HOW DO YOU CALL THIS ONE?

"Ritual", I whispered. A white and black rabbit fighting each other, like opposite forces; the enlightened and the Occult and a Tree of Life traced with blood on a children´s playground, like they were playing hopscotch. How did I come up with that?