Geology of My Own Pain: From Magma to Basalt
Notably, the Geology of My Own Pain represents the map of my survival. From the cold diamond mines of Canada to the streets of Paris, I have learned how pressure turns magma into basalt. Indeed, this Geology of My Own Pain is not just about the past. Specifically, it is about finding Malachite Peace today. As a soul geologist, I know that every fracture is a place where new crystals can grow. For this reason, my journey belongs to the philosophy of soul geology.
The Tectonic Dance and Silence
In my veins, magma no longer boils,
the tectonics have finished their violent dance.
Now there is peace. A deep, malachite peace,
green like the moss covering the scars of the rock,
as I look at the world through a Parisian morning window,
certain that the abyss will no longer open for me.
the tectonics have finished their violent dance.
Now there is peace. A deep, malachite peace,
green like the moss covering the scars of the rock,
as I look at the world through a Parisian morning window,
certain that the abyss will no longer open for me.
The Scent of the Arctic Mines
I still carry in my nostrils the smell of that sweat,
the smell of stress, of mines, and Canadian snow,
the smell of a young mother fighting giants,
naive and brave, under the burden of a foreign sky.
It was too big a bite for such fragile shoulders,
that departure into the unknown, far from her own,
there where sorrow settles in layers,
until the heart slowly petrifies into stone.
the smell of stress, of mines, and Canadian snow,
the smell of a young mother fighting giants,
naive and brave, under the burden of a foreign sky.
It was too big a bite for such fragile shoulders,
that departure into the unknown, far from her own,
there where sorrow settles in layers,
until the heart slowly petrifies into stone.
The Choice of Resilience
If I could stand before that woman, in the silence of the mine,
I would whisper just one, bitter word:
Stay.
I would whisper just one, bitter word:
Stay.
There where they know you by name, not by diploma,
there where friends are harder than any granite,
where the soul doesn’t break in half,
in search of a gleam hidden in a foreign land.
there where friends are harder than any granite,
where the soul doesn’t break in half,
in search of a gleam hidden in a foreign land.
But the lava has cooled. It has become a pillar.
My female strength is not of a diamond’s shine,
it is of basalt, solid and dark,
taught to endure, to keep silent, and to last.
Today, I am just an observer, the geologist of my own pain,
in the city of light, I search for the shadows of those who left,
happy that the storm has passed,
and that, despite everything, I have reached my own shore.
My female strength is not of a diamond’s shine,
it is of basalt, solid and dark,
taught to endure, to keep silent, and to last.
Today, I am just an observer, the geologist of my own pain,
in the city of light, I search for the shadows of those who left,
happy that the storm has passed,
and that, despite everything, I have reached my own shore.
In conclusion, my story is proof that every delay is a preparation. Consequently, we are all part of a larger plan. Therefore, give yourself permission to heal. Truly, your internal architecture will become strong enough to hold your treasures. Finally, remember that your pain is the soil where your future diamond at 10 is growing.
La géologie de ma propre douleur : Du magma au basalte
Notamment, la Geology of My Own Pain est la carte de ma survie. Des mines du Canada aux rues de Paris, j’ai appris comment la pression transforme le magma en basalte. Cette vision fait partie de ma philosophie de la géologie de l’âme. Par conséquent, je célèbre mon passé.
La Danse Tectonique
Dans mes veines, le magma ne bout plus,
la tectonique a achevé sa danse violente.
Maintenant, c’est la paix. Une paix de malachite, profonde,
verte comme la mousse recouvrant les cicatrices de la roche,
certaine que l’abîme ne s’ouvrira plus pour moi.
la tectonique a achevé sa danse violente.
Maintenant, c’est la paix. Une paix de malachite, profonde,
verte comme la mousse recouvrant les cicatrices de la roche,
certaine que l’abîme ne s’ouvrira plus pour moi.
L’odeur des Mines Arctiques
Je porte encore l’odeur du stress, des mines et de la neige,
l’odeur d’une jeune mère luttant contre des géants,
naïve et courageuse, sous le fardeau d’un ciel étranger.
C’était un morceau trop gros pour des épaules si fragiles,
ce départ vers l’inconnu, loin des siens,
là où le chagrin se dépose en couches successives,
jusqu’à ce que le cœur se pétrifie lentement.
l’odeur d’une jeune mère luttant contre des géants,
naïve et courageuse, sous le fardeau d’un ciel étranger.
C’était un morceau trop gros pour des épaules si fragiles,
ce départ vers l’inconnu, loin des siens,
là où le chagrin se dépose en couches successives,
jusqu’à ce que le cœur se pétrifie lentement.
Le Choix de Rester
Si je pouvais me tenir devant cette femme, dans le silence de la mine,
je ne lui murmurerais qu’un seul mot, amer :
Reste.
je ne lui murmurerais qu’un seul mot, amer :
Reste.
Mais la lave a refroidi. Elle est devenue un pilier.
Ma force de femme n’est pas de l’éclat du diamant,
elle est de basalte, solide et sombre,
habituée à endurer, à se taire et à persévérer.
Aujourd’hui, je suis l’observatrice de ma propre douleur,
heureuse que la tempête soit passée,
et que, malgré tout, je sois arrivée sur mon propre rivage.
Ma force de femme n’est pas de l’éclat du diamant,
elle est de basalte, solide et sombre,
habituée à endurer, à se taire et à persévérer.
Aujourd’hui, je suis l’observatrice de ma propre douleur,
heureuse que la tempête soit passée,
et que, malgré tout, je sois arrivée sur mon propre rivage.
Geologija vlastite boli: Od magme do bazalta
Značajno je da je Geology of My Own Pain ili geologija vlastite boli mapa mog preživljavanja. Od rudnika Kanade do Pariza, naučila sam kako pritisak pretvara magmu u bazalt. To je temelj moje filozofije geologije duše. Doista, ja sam danas promatrač svog rasta.
Tektonski ples i tišina
U mojim venama više ne ključa magma,
tektonika je odradila svoj siloviti ples.
Sada je mir. Malahitni, duboki mir,
zelen poput mahovine što prekriva ožiljke stijene,
dok gledam svijet kroz prozor pariškog jutra,\ sigurna da se ponor više ne otvara za mene.
tektonika je odradila svoj siloviti ples.
Sada je mir. Malahitni, duboki mir,
zelen poput mahovine što prekriva ožiljke stijene,
dok gledam svijet kroz prozor pariškog jutra,\ sigurna da se ponor više ne otvara za mene.
Miris arktičkih rudnika
Još uvijek u nosnicama nosim miris onog znoja,
miris stresa, rudnika i kanadskog snijega,
miris mlade majke koja se borila s divovima,
naivna i hrabra, pod teretom tuđeg neba.
Bio je to prevelik zalogaj za jedna krhka pleća,
taj odlazak u nepoznato, daleko od svojih,
tamo gdje se tuga u slojeve taloži,
dok srce polako u kamen ne okameni.
miris stresa, rudnika i kanadskog snijega,
miris mlade majke koja se borila s divovima,
naivna i hrabra, pod teretom tuđeg neba.
Bio je to prevelik zalogaj za jedna krhka pleća,
taj odlazak u nepoznato, daleko od svojih,
tamo gdje se tuga u slojeve taloži,
dok srce polako u kamen ne okameni.
Obećanje i pobjeda
Da mogu stati pred tu ženu, u tišinu rudnika,
šapnula bih joj samo jednu, gorku riječ:
Ostani.
šapnula bih joj samo jednu, gorku riječ:
Ostani.
Tamo gdje te poznaju po imenu, a ne po diplomi,
tamo gdje su prijatelji tvrđi od svakog granita,
gdje se duša ne lomi na pola,
u potrazi za sjajem koji se u tuđini skriva.
tamo gdje su prijatelji tvrđi od svakog granita,
gdje se duša ne lomi na pola,
u potrazi za sjajem koji se u tuđini skriva.
Ali lava se ohladila. Postala je oslonac.
Moja ženska snaga nije od dijamantskog sjaja,
ona je od bazalta, čvrsta i tamna,
naučena da podnosi, da šuti i da traje.
Danas sam samo promatrač, geolog vlastite boli,
u gradu svjetla tražim sjene onih što su otišli,
sretna što je oluja prošla,
i što sam, usprkos svemu, do svoje obale došla.
Moja ženska snaga nije od dijamantskog sjaja,
ona je od bazalta, čvrsta i tamna,
naučena da podnosi, da šuti i da traje.
Danas sam samo promatrač, geolog vlastite boli,
u gradu svjetla tražim sjene onih što su otišli,
sretna što je oluja prošla,
i što sam, usprkos svemu, do svoje obale došla.
Podijelite ove stihove sa svakom ženom koja je preživjela teret tuđeg neba i stigla do svoje obale.