What does a woman feel when, plunging, deepening into herself, she touches her inner freedom? To the possibility of the soul soaring like a bird? The ability not to depend on any circumstances? Even from death .. Reviving like a Phoenix bird - to be above death.
... when the great wind devastates your house and garden when the children die the cattle will eat, and the bread will burn and shaking his head, fate she’ll be afraid of her actions, and thinly in the sky yearn for a bird over a rickety nest, a lilac bush through the warm pipes of human roofs ... Downed, what will you find support without letting mind and gaze fade away? How can you resist? But you can stand it.