Monday, April 7, 2014

Acompáñame la Soledad



Algo sobre la Soledad que me ha acompañado estos últimos años. Te quiero. Ya no te tengo miedo, aunque a veces me matas, te adoro. Algo de ti me hace Vivir. Es esta Soledad que no es ni Soledad más que un espacio vacío pero lleno a la vez, lleno cuando me permito la locura de permanecer ahí. Esta Soledad, el sentimiento de sentirme contigo. La Soledad el vacío que, páseme lo que me pase, siempre será mío, y solo mío. Mio y de nadie mas. La Soledad el Silencio mas conversador…que te grita sin palabras pero con entonación. Es mi Paraíso Terrenal, mi nuevo Edén. Acompáñame a estar sola…juntos.



Friday, March 28, 2014

A Witness




You held me in comfort, wrapping me in warmth. You held me in rest, offering me a place for fleeting sleep. You held me in love, conspiring with two bodies in becoming one. You held me in pain, absorbing my tears and silent screams. You held me in refuge, defending me from the Thief in the Night. You held me in intimacy, a witness to my innermost unfolding. I hold you in me, writing you in my Truth.


In the courtroom of my Heart, you are the most ardent Witness of me. And today I call you off the stand.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

I found...


I found this morning that I am reading my favorite book.  I found that I cannot stop reading it and that I want to slow down so it doesn't end at page 461.  But it will.  Es El Amor en los Tiempos del Colera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I am reading it in Spanish, which makes it all the better.

I have got to put it down this Sunday morning. I have got to get to Mass and thank god for the gift of The Word.

I found it.

It sits next to mi Cama, junto a los Rosarios


 

Friday, March 21, 2014

Tu y Yo en Somos


Toda mi vida será así. Toda mi vida será la manera en que te busco, y la menara en que Tú me encuentras.

¿Cómo te digo con palabras, si las palabras no pueden atrapar el sentimeineto que me regalas, el que tejes dentro de mi. ¿Cómo le hago? ¿Y en dónde me encuentras? Te busco yo, y me encuentras Tú. Así es, así tengo definido tu lenguaje en mi…tu palabra que no es ni palabra…Tú, que no eres Tú ajeno a mi. Tú en mi. Y yo tan insignificante sin poder contenerte. En lo profundo de mi esencia estas, no eres ni Tú ni yo…¿será que Somos? Y es que Somos en todas las partes de mi Vida…Somos cuando me ofreces tu mirada que de Luz en mi oscuridad…Somos cuando soy fuerte, cuando siento el viento que Eres bajo las alas que Soy…Somos Vuelo. Y eres Tú también mi destrucción…cada vez que llegas quiebras algo en mi, destruyes partes de mi mundo, destruyes partes completas…me destruyes a mi….y en esta destrucción aniquilas el sentido de Mi para regalar el sentido de quien Eres en Mi. Y aunque matas, das Vida, aunque dueles, Sanas, y aunque quitas, Das.


Y estas Aquí, en mi, tan cerquita, toda mi vida…aquí conmigo. Y yo por allá buscándote en tantos. Y aquí estabas Tú, esperándome. Y aquí estoy Yo, Contigo.



Saturday, February 22, 2014

of Love,

There are a few days left in Love month. Love like in Lover Love. That Love, crimson red Love. A better red story. Love can be abstract and mysterious, like a puzzle with pieces floating around, like a maze with the garden at the center.

Love,
What would I do without your smart mouth
Drawing me in, and you kicking me out
You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down

What's going on in that beautiful mind
I'm on your magical mystery ride
And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright
(All of Me by John Legend)

I remember it not being so abstract. I remember what it felt like, sounded like, smelled like. I remember what it looked like and the intonation of its voice. Memory has stretched out an abstract notion of Love in my heart. Love became a voice inside my head, or my heart?...some non-existent Lover buried deep inside of me, like ashes lost in oceans. “He” became abstract, ideal, unreal, distant yet ever present. Flighty. “He” had a name and then another and then my name. And I liked “him” like that. I chose him like that...close enough in some emotional space that I could feel him, distant enough in some physical space so he wouldn't hurt me. And he wasn't “he”, “he” was Love.

Love,
You're my downfall, you're my muse
My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues
I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you

My head's under water
But I'm breathing fine
You're crazy and I'm out of my mind

But, Love, you already hurt me. You are like a ship in the ocean weathering storms, you are stories of give and take—and you keep taking from me: my sanity, sleepless nights, a thinking mind. Stop it. Stop taking from me, stop bullying me. You are not safe. No wonder we learn to love on the surface, no wonder we don't travel you deeper. No wonder, Love. I let you enter, and you hurt me more than anything has ever done. You have taken me to the edges, to uncharted territory, to depths beyond the surface I was barely living in. Why did I allow myself to Love like this?

How many times do I have to tell you
Even when you're crying you're beautiful too
The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood


For the first time in a long time, I want Love to be concrete again. I want to see its face, hear its voice, smell its scent...I want it to be real again. The deep kind of good real. I asked it to be honest, even if it hurts. I would rather have it be a hard truth than a soft lie.


Love,
Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections

Give your all to me
I'll give my all to you

You're my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I'm winning

Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you



Love Hurts. It's a Scary, Wild, Unsafe...its unsafe. Its uncharted territory, every new time. And there is nothing better than it. Sometimes Love hurts. Sometimes Love heals. Always, Love is all of it. Love laid its cards on the table. I lost. And I won.

Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts
Risking it all, though it's hard

Sunday, February 2, 2014

The Uncomfortable Comfort of Silence





She has nothing to say and that bothers me. Why does she have nothing to tell me? Her...my Past? Why? Why do you have nothing to say to me? What are you scared of revealing? That there is nothing? Nothing...there is nothing to hide and tuck away in this writing? Are you done hiding in this exposure? Where did you go? Why is there nothing?

Did the Past consolidate itself in the Present? Where did the Past go? What happened to the waves of Grief that would crash me against the artifacts of my Past forcing me to weave them into my Present?

The Past does not “go away” without first being heard and once its heard, it does stops talking. I don't hear her anymore because I already did.  Everything just wants to be Heard. "I'm Listening" is powerful, when it's real.

Its quiet...I'm not comfortable with the comfort of a quiet Past. I had grown accustomed to the loudness of her asking me to hear it, to validate it, to not ignore it just because it hurt me, to remember it, all of it, to hear all of its acts: the good, the bad, the ugly...to hold it. To hold it and face it: the fear, the sadness, the hurt, the love, the life, the death.  To hear what she kept telling me while I begged her to turn down the volume of the Hurt and the Painful....she said: Don't Forget You, go back for You. 

You can't let go of something you refuse to hold, and you can't let go if you hold on too tight. And I have done both. But I have also done the third, Letting Go.



I can hear the silence of the past resting in peace. 

And when the Past is quiet, when its parts have been untangled out of the ball of yarn they had been, weaved into the fabric of my Present, what then do I hear?

In my moments of hearing the Silence of the Past, I am wonderfully distracted by the Sound of my Present...and, my friends, it is Beautiful Music.

I was worth going back for.





Friday, January 17, 2014

de Yoga y Yo

Hay una postura de Yoga que se llama Tadasana. Tadasana es el nombre en Sánscrito, el lenguaje antiguo de la India. En termino moderno, es la Montana. Se ve y se siente así:

Me paro sobre mi tapete de Yoga morado adornado con las flores onduladas por una esquina. Planto mis pies firmes en la tierra, concentro la fuerza de mis piernas para sujetar mi cuerpo. Respiro. Otra vez. Una vez mas. Respiro. Con cuidado atento, alzo mis brazos despacio hasta tocar las palmas de mis manos sobre mi cabeza. Estiro cada músculo, uno por uno, para que alarguen mis brazos hasta tocar el cielo. Siento la extensión salir desde el punto mas bajo de mi espalda. Cada movimiento de mi cuerpo calculado para sentirme plantada a la tierra mientras me extiendo hacia el cielo. Santa energía que toma. Pero lo hago, y sujeto mi cuerpo en posición…plantada sobre la tierra, hacia el cielo. Y cada vez, Tadasana vale la pena.

Tuve una semana rara. Me he sentido super cansada cuando salgo de mi trabajo. Es que hay mucho que hacer....y miedo. Miedo de lo que no se hacer. Miedo de fallar. Miedo de que no se todo lo que tengo que saber en mi trabajo, que me falta tanto por aprender…de no ser suficiente para tantos niño que se les pierde la voz desfilando en comportamiento "no adapto" en escuelas sin tiempo ni perdón, de no saber contestar preguntas, de no saber que hacer en algunas situaciones..Y parece que esta semana se acumularon todas las situaciones posibles que todavía no se hacer, las preguntas que todavía no se contestar. Esta semana fue una de esas. Había demasiado fuera del alcance de mis manos. Y para encontrar el valor de estirar los brazo un poco mas para ver si alcanzo, toma tanta energía. Y me canso. En medio de mis días, recuerdo la postura de Tadasana,  sabiduría de Sánscrito y de mi cuerpo: Plantar sobre la tierra, extender hacia el cielo, desde lo mas bajo de tu espalda, Respira.  Recuerdo la energía que toma la postura, recuerdo que requiere atención y calculo. Y cada vez vale la pena.

Este fin de semana largo, lo pasare extendiendo los brazos…en Yoga y trabajando en casa.  Me hace falta un buen masaje, pero no hay manos de tal privilegio, y en su ausencia, las mías escriben.