Thoughts on 2013: (paraphrases of my reflections)

Lately, I have been finding it difficult to articulate my thoughts with the clarity in which they arrive.  (This is a surprising deal to me because, usually, I am able to play around with the broken structure of the flow of words and puzzles of my mind).  Perhaps the aesthetics of their phrases are meant to stay un-sketched as a thought and not scribed for later visual perception.  One thing is clear, and that is the reflecting capability that they offer.

Year thirteen of this new millennium has composed some interesting reflections among many – for some it was a good year, full of life-changing events that propose much bliss in the future.  For others it was a challenging year, full of disillusions and obstacles that are yet to be overcome.  For many, it was the year of turning points and realizations; of new beginnings and sudden ends.  And, although some may wish it to be over in hopes of new beginnings, it is no secret that the change toward this new bliss begins with the awareness that it is up to us to make this transition become a reality.

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I am a firm believer that “things in life happen for a reason”.  Sometimes, these reasons come as naturally as time, and they arrive unexpectedly and in a surprising manner.  The recent city-wide black-out, caused by the late winter storm, made me question and analyze my current values and my learned beliefs…

There I was, sitting in the darkness of my cold apartment, (trying to reconnect with the voice of reason that once brought me peace in the moments of most need). What I heard offered me some sound advice but in a language still un-deciphered.  As I attempt to understand what it is that was just heard, there is a sudden struggle between the beauty of the silence that surrounds me and the depressive ideals that betray my calmness - all in remembrance of the beauty that came and discarded my hopes without a shadow of a trace.  There was left a feeling of emptiness that could not be filled by the lack of air that embraced my cold, deflated lungs.  Suddenly, 2013 was a bad year.

In my balcony, as I looked out to the darkness, I was able to conclude that I am not alone; there are others who have gone through something similar, if not worse.  We could all sit alone in our self-made darkness or seek the light within us.

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It is easy to forget what truly matters when you are feeling conflicted.  When you are being forced to come out of your comfort zone, it is how you react in that moment that will decide the short fate of your near-future, but it will certainly not label the path you are destined to follow.

What is important is to know the difference between your wants and your needs; to be true to yourself as you follow the code of their guidance, and to also realize that this is a very fine line that evolves with time as you go through life-changing experiences.  These experiences, though harsh at times, help you to comprehend what truly matters and what can be taken at face value.  You may not be granted the wishes that you hoped for, but in the end, you have your health and you have your life and the love of those that truly care for you – that, alone, is wealth enough, (the kind of wealth that we often take for granted).

If expectations were set high at the very beginning and the bars were not met quite like you had hoped, it is not because someone is desiring your deterioration, nor is it because of some ‘supernatural being’ that is trying to test your faith, (unless you fancy a religious/spiritual recourse to make sense of your situations), but it is perhaps just because the experience, (however long or short-lived), is meant to be a lesson that you need to learn.

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Once I was able to learn to put my pride to the side, I began to notice that I was richer than my self-inflicted misery led me to believe.  Though the idea of love was robbed of me, it is certain that my ability to love cannot be taken, nor my ideals for affection, as a hopeless romantic.

This year, I have loved and I have been loved.  I have hated and I have been hated.  I have hurt and I have been hurt.  I have laughed and I have been laughed at.  I have ridiculed and I have been ridiculed.  I have experienced.  I have shed tears.  I have cursed.  I have dreamed.  I have lost sleep.  I have fallen, but I have also risen back up.  And although life did not grant me what I wished for this year, it certainly left me with enough breath of gratefulness and just enough to look forward to – my moment of reflection.

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There is something to be said about this year, and whether it’s good or bad, one thing is for sure: Be grateful for the memories because they will carry you forward in the year to come.

To all my friends and acquaintances:  Thank you for being you – for helping me when I needed the most help, for challenging me to move on, for stressing and frustrating me out and showing me another side of my self.  In the goods and bads, the ups and downs, life is only easy because it is not – and it is only when we realize this that we are able to attain something that is more cherished than a moment in time.

Good luck to all in the new year, and live prosperously with the experiences that are to come.

The Backup

The happiest smile with an ending of blissful tales

And the dimmest sleep in the darkness of their demise;

When the unspoken word is the loudest

And the unwanted is oblivious to their game.

To trust in fidelity where ghosts are none

But the passage of the past that still rumbles through

The crowd that stands still in the ovation of an idea,

And the end of all instincts when all is proven well.

If intuition had a speech of its own,

And if time were to translate all that wanders,

Then pain would be avoided when hearing to caution:

“Do not date one who has not let go of their past.”

The calls and the hopes, the heart’s lament had spoken

But none should have it heard between the crying passions;

For only a back-up could try in solitude to bring it light

And still feel alone in the crowded space of the one desired.

Be the plan to succeed and overcome the obstacles that appear,

Overwhelming all impossibilities and hopelessness of truth;

The matter of all that stands between the concrete and the ideal

Are the facts that you might just be “plan B”.

In truth it be told that all is swell in the cold,

That beauty lies in the depths of illusions

But darkness falls in the abyss of the broken hearted.

Trust your instincts, trust your heart, trust your soul.

No Longer Interested.

I am not interested in what you have to offer,

if what you now offer is not what I want or what I need.

I have admired your will to try and I can respect that you had to let me go;

but now that our roads are forked in different directions,

there is no need to force them to meet.

This is the true beginning of "good bye."

I have now washed away the salt that you placed in my open wound;

you are but a stranger to my past,

(a memory in the shadows of my existence),

with lessons and fatigues that taught me the value of self-worth.

I am not interested in your own stresses, nor in your inabilities to share a common dream;

you need to deal with your own demons and I need to deal with mine,

and to continue to believe that there is hope in love still alive,

(even for the jaded).

It was good while it lasted, it was nice to live the lie;

it was great to realize that somewhere out there another shares my spark.

But now that it’s all over it makes simple sense to say "good bye."

I am no longer interested in what you have to offer,

because what you now offer is not what I want or what I need.

'Til I no longer love you

Let my anger wash away the pain with its riddles,
And the memory of your image be tarnished by lament.
You will not silence my gestures of commotion,
You will not take away my grinless emotions.
You will not, you shall not!

I will bathe in the assumptions of your indecisions,
I will learn to hate you and rid me of the hope that lingers.
And soon the traces that at once remain of your existence
Shall be as alive as the voluntary amnesias of my every day;
Until I no longer love you.

I had barely finished drying my tears and you were already dancing with another...

Time for space and the gifted laments;
Of tears and tantrums not readily forgotten,
And the wants and needs of fools that bathe in the sun.

It was too good to be true.
Too shortly lived and too often mistaken;
The drama of sparks too intense to be burnt out.

Freedom was heard desired by the playful;
The unknown path of risks and fears,
Too stuck to the past to assume a present role.

So distance was forced by the single word,
And passive hatred in between a pool of disillusions;
Cried the river that flowed into an empty abyss.

Fake tears were falling through the nights,
While remorse was indulged in the eve of days;
And who could be to blame for its sudden indecision
Simply to realize the desires of unburdened infidelity.

The heartache,
The disillusion,
The stages of mental revolution.
All part of the well played game.

In the end, you were just like any other.

Love is being Vulnerable

This couldn't have explained it any better...

Para mi corazón basta tu pecho - Pablo Neruda

Para mi corazón basta tu pecho, 
para tu libertad bastan mis alas. 
Desde mi boca llegará hasta el cielo 
lo que estaba dormido sobre tu alma. 

Es en ti la ilusión de cada día.
Llegas como el rocío a las corolas.
Socavas el horizonte con tu ausencia.
Eternamente en fuga como la ola.

He dicho que cantabas en el viento
como los pinos y como los mástiles.
Como ellos eres alta y taciturna.
Y entristeces de pronto, como un viaje.

Acogedora como un viejo camino.
Te pueblan ecos y voces nostálgicas.
Yo desperté y a veces emigran y huyen
pájaros que dormían en tu alma.


PABLO NERUDA 

Temo que aún no te dejo

Veo aún los rastros de tu presencia sobre mi cama;
Tus cabellos finos y ondulados,
se esconden bajo las arrugas de mi frazada, y
se enlazan entre mi cuerpo para ser apreciados
y acariciados por mis dedos al amanecer.

Huelo aún el aroma de tu esencia que
esta ya impregnada en mi almohada
y entre la memoria de mi olfato
y de tu ser.

Toco aún las huellas de tu alma que
me visitan de noche
y soñaban por las mañanas.

Siento aún el sabor de tus labios,
de tus manos,
y del frío de tus pies enredados entre los míos.

Aún mi cuento no terminó con tu salida,
ni mi esperanza
morirá con este forzado despertar.

Soñaré más fuerte con tu ausencia,
y respiraré el aire pesado de mi renacer
el cual me regalaste con tu breve presencia.

Temo que aún no te he dejado de amar.

And since when does one truly know when to let go before it’s too late?

Sometimes, we put ourselves in the line of fire for a special someone because we are led to believe that by showing how persistent we can be, that person will understand that we care for them and that they should give themselves the chance(s) to get to know your worth.  But sometimes, by putting ourselves in that very same line of fire, we (indirectly) deny our very wants and needs and become oblivious to the realization that the person who we’re so very intrigued by does not want to be fought for.

Perhaps you already know this and you’re just refusing to accept it as truth – you’re hopeful and optimistic, (characteristics gifted to you by experience?).  Perhaps you want your efforts to be acknowledged – after all, would you really put forth so much effort if you didn’t care about this person in the first place?  It is safe to assume that no one who is worth your time could be considered unworthy of your dedication or to be a waste of your affection and attention.

You sometimes enter into the given situation wearing a blindfold because you determine, (after close inspection of the nature this person displays), that all this person needs is to remove hers (or his) own “blindfold of fears” so that s/he can learn to acknowledge your efforts and lower the tall defensive walls that impede you from moving past their mystery.  You trust that this person has acknowledged your presence and needs some guidance – you become convinced that only you can offer that service; or rather, you place that responsibility upon yourself and promise to follow through with your conviction.  You learn the meaning of patience, though you do not grow virtuous.  You are not intimidated by this person’s fears and indifference.  You see a light at the end of the very long tunnel, despite the feeling of emotional distance that you experience; despite the bittersweet incommodities that keep you awake at nights.  You disregard your doubts with excuses for the person’s behaviours and forget to entertain your own wants and needs.

There comes a time when one must learn to say ‘enough is enough’ – (you have thought about it many times before, have you not?).  Walking away from something that becomes fruitless is easier in thought than in progress, but trust me when I say that it is not impossible.  When you plant a seed, you water it and keep it company, hoping that time will allow you to see its results.  And yet, sometimes, when the seed refuses to sprout, it is then when you must re-plant the seed on new fertile grounds, or simply leave it to be.  Not all roots grow a stem; neither do all the firm-looking flowers have steady roots.

There is no perfect being out there; just imitations that reflect our desires and the image of our ideal mate.  The one you think is perfect would not make you wait around in between unanswered questions.  The one you think is perfect would not test your patience or leave you to drown in a pool of doubts.  In fact, the one that you think is perfect would never ask such a thing of you – in the end, it is your own decision to stick around that will make you feel doubtful, refused, and alone.

Surround yourself in solitude from time to time and meditate on your actions.  Because, (if science has proven useful to the hopeless romantic), for every action there should be an equal, opposite reaction.  That is not to say that you should give with the hopes of receiving, but do ask yourself the following:  Does this person show as much interest or as much enthusiasm as you do?  If the answer is unclear, meditate some more.  If the answer is ‘no’, then do what is right for you and move on.

With that said, it is never easy to throw in the towel, especially when your heart has become so very attached to the essence of this person.  Sometimes we are so passionate about our ideals that we refuse to see things for the clarity that they show.  We see them in a different light because we are hopeful.  We see them in a different light because love, (or deep infatuation), can be blinding.

I just want you to know that your patience is most likely very much appreciated by the other person, even if it is not verbally expressed at times.  It is certainly not their direct intention to hurt you.  We all need physical or emotional connections; despite how jaded we grow to be due to the incessant hurts that continue to lecture us about our ideals of romance.  And yet, given the benefit of the doubt, the only one thing that can cause you continuous frustration will be your choices.  After all, you are responsible for the life you lead.

Sintiendo tristeza sin entender porque...

Si el viento pudiera quitarme la inexplicable tristeza que últimamente esta sintiendo mi corazón, le agradeceria a las tormentas de la naturaleza que se enfrentan a las ramas inquietas de mis pensamientos nocturnos.
No hay manera discreta de como relatar la sensación de abandonamiento que uno siente cuando la nube cubre la luz que antes sirvió de guía, aún cuando su pasado fue corto.

Que incómodo que es el frío que siento bajo mi pecho; el que amenaza el ritmo duro de mis latidos.  Sangre fría que me protege suena más dulce que el submergido enlace de tiernos momentos que viven puros en mi jóven memoria.

Si fuera fácil deducir que eso pasará, el tiempo no importaría, y los celos que me devoran la humanidad se calmarían tras el simple saber de que volveré a renacer - y si no por primera vez, con seguridad que sigo aún endormido por el dolor de sueños inexplicables.

Los inexpresados y estimados consuelos que acariciaban mi esperanza ahora me servirán para enterrar, (en mi pleno luto), todo lo bueno que tenía ya pensado y narrado bajo los cuentos pintados de mi valor.
La fé diluida lleva menos de los puñados que ayudaban a mi bien querer - no existe la esperanza para aquel quien lleva como destino el título de amigo.

A dozen years of patience

The man you loved is changing
As life would jade his truth;
He's faded into shadows
And painted bright his youth.

A dozen years of patience
Would test his love for you;
Although your heart's now plighted
His dream's a hopeful blue.

The man you knew is growing
Now twisted by his pride;
He's morphing into madness,
And cloaked by modern strife. 

Your silence has him waiting
Your absence leaves no clue.
So close and yet so far, again
Thus virtues seem untrue.

The man you knew is leaving
Perplexed by your detachment;
He waits a dozen years
But now your eyes bring sadness.

A dozen years of patience
Would test the lovers' youth;
And now that age is granted
This game seems far too crude.

The man you loved is changing
And you would jade his truth;
He's fading into shadows
Will you paint bright his youth?

"Te amo porque todo el Universo conspiró para que yo llegara hasta ti."

Quiero jugar un partido de amores prohibidos;

En los cuales me encuentre perdido entre dos aguas

Sumergido en tu alma al enlazar tu cuerpo con el mío.

Pues no todo lo que hago tiene sentido,

Ni tiene razón o alterno motivo;

Pero te daré el sueño eterno que he prometido,

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero perderme en el sonido de tu voz dulce;

Apoderarme de tus pensamientos, tus latidos, y

Aprovechar del tiempo que me has permitido.

Pues tengo entendido el temor de tu historia y

Del tiempo que ha dañado a tu memoria;

Pero yo aquí me quedare para liberarte de aquel castigo,

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero sentir el aroma de tu cabello;

Enredarme entre los lazos de su rebelde crecer y

Emborracharme con la sobredosis de tus dulces caricias.

Pues le agradezco al Universo por plantar aquí una semilla;

De tenernos en cuenta al cruzar nuestros caminos y

Por sorprenderme al aprender que te quise antes de conocerte;

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero amarte sin condiciones,

Aliviarte de promesas falsas,

Y sin el temor que ahora nos separa;

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

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"...Los pájaros nocturnos
picotean las primeras estrellas
que centellean como mi alma
cuando te amo."

- Neruda

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Easier Said than Done…

Sometimes, the hardest advice we can follow is the one that we graciously offer to others – because, as illogical as this may sound, “the grass is always greener on the other side.”

We unconsciously, (or subconsciously), disregard common sense when infatuation blindfolds us and leads us to walk on a thread of uncertainties and incommodities.  The feeling of pleasure that we obtain from daydreaming traps us in a made-up world of fantasies and desires that sterilizes our ability to be critical and realistic.  We become paranoid, self-conscious, selfish, and discontented with solitude.  Yet, the constant sighs and displeasures of sleeplessness are not enough to make us realize that the best thing to do is often the one option that our hopes and desires refuses to accept as reality.

For some of us, the idealist mentality – which we mistake as “being optimistic” – impedes us from seeing through the opaqueness of a situation and we underestimate the origin of questions such as:  Why long for someone who does not want to be longed for?  Why suffer in silence while waiting for an opportunity that will never make its way to your doorstep?  Why make excuses for behaviours that are so obviously drastic and unjust?  Why put up with someone who disregards your feelings for the illusion that they will come around one day?  Most of us have gone through these thought processes at one point or another and have been unable to see the clarity of the answers, (which are as obvious in their solutions as are the gambles of the heart).  Perhaps it is our human nature to want to suffer unnecessarily.  Perhaps it is our hopeless romanticism, or some form of desperate measure to avoid loneliness, which makes it easier for us to over-analyse the suddenness of situations.  Whatever the scenario may be, it is most always certain that those who have always worn their heart on their sleeve, (or those who have become quite deeply invested in their dreams), are the usual victims of their own mental wars.

But to offer sound advice to oneself is something that only the truly disciplined can achieve.  We fall prey to our own discourse and our hearts stop beating the moment they learn to think – and by this point, the mind has learned to over-think.  Trying to stand in front of a mirror and reverse the code of impermeability of thoughts in order to believe that the impossible is merely preposterous is like playing a game of chess in solitude.  Perhaps this is why we agree to seek advice from external voices – because our inner voices are the echoes of emotional issues that stem from disappointments and the innate desire to make sense of the senseless.

We offer peaceful reasoning to those we love because we do not want to watch them suffer – and, sometimes, our ability to articulate these phrases are put together by the sounds of experience, which have given us a permit to understand the colour of their lament.  By the end of the supposed lecture, their gratitude is far less rewarding than the honest fact that we were able to speak and let go of whatever we kept bottled inside.  However, as perfect as the advice may be, it is sometimes impossible to tame it as an aid in recreating our own reason – meaning, we sometimes cannot separate our own fantasy from reality, and listening to a record of our own voice is not as welcoming as our will to want to engage in a moment of sadness, (if only to remember what it is to be happy).

We all want to find that happiness that keeps us feeling complete, and yet we all fear taking a step towards it at some point, (in youth and in age).  Is it the past that immobilizes us, or the uncertainty of the unavoidable future?  Whatever the case, the answers are always there, right in front of our adaptive logic – it is only a matter of opening our eyes, and, (if only for a moment), learn to detoxify ourselves, of heart and of mind.

"Your worst battle is between what you know and what you feel."

The Scribble that sent an Echo from the Past

The young artist had learned of the importance of inspiration - it was as meaningful to him as a dream is to those who sleep.  And for him, who had learned to walk alone, she became the freedom of expression; much like the nature of spontaneous creativity is to an artist's imagination.

But like every light that cannot exist without its shadow - and like every summer that grows to be dependent on its winter solstice – it so happened that there was an immediate change surrounding this new breath of fresh air.

"I still want you in my life,” she wrote “… in one form or another." 

He had only begun to read the surface of the lines when he felt a dagger poke his insides.  Like the heavy weight of wet clothes that anchor themselves to the limbs of the desperate who reach for the surface, so was his struggle against the tentacles that protruded from his thoughts, threatening to drown him in a luxury of doubts.

Awakening him from the prolonged daydream that blinded him since the day of their acquaintance, the jolt of reason attempted to soothe his madness:  “Maybe you are over-thinking things again…” it said.

“Yes,” he replied, “I do tend to create my own wars.”

“And you always lose in the end.”

“But what’s it to you if I cannot help it?”

“You are no more an echo of that which she just mentioned.”

“And you truly favour peaceful efforts in a heart’s race against time?”

“There is truly no rush if it is meant to happen.”

“I guess you’re right…”

The young man had reclaimed his senses for the moment.  And now, staggering in between the cobblestones of public paths, he echoed the sounds of the past and wondered if this time he would be able to abide by her rule.

“…in one form or another.”

Beware the Shooting Stars

The stars were falling from the sky, flashing their smile against the darkness of the night.  They spoke phrases without words, pronounced sentences without tongues, and their lips chanted the perfect formula of delight in the stillness of thoughts.  And these thoughts were swimming through and through, floating in the air like loose threads that danced with the brisk, cool air that sent shivers down his spine.  The songs of pain and deception coloured the silhouettes of hope that only his innocent impulsivity had created.

Growing within him were the scars of jadedness that ran deep under his skin – these threatened to open their wounds with every breath he took of the scents that invaded his painted landscape.  But when he gave in to fear, he thought no more of the aches that slowly devoured his insides.  He became pale and every breath filled his lungs with desperate sighs at the idea of a new promised map of treasures that led to a land of mysteries.  And yet, he took his compass and embarked on the journey to find himself among the emptiness of thought; driven solely by a cardinal of wants and bliss.  Intuition supported his heavy steps spelling out ‘c-a-u-t-i-o-n’.

Fear now had a strong hold on him.  It paralyzed his active limbs and immobilized his insides – And it was just then, when his heart stopped beating, that he realized he was alive.

Star Language

It has been a while since I last stopped to admire the prestige of the night sky and noticed the countless fireflies that decorate its darkness.  Moreover, it has been a while since I last made the effort to find the vocabulary necessary to formulate a tasteful dialogue out of the puzzles of my various thoughts - they are scattered, always, like the stars above my naked inspection, forming an image that's guided by the alignment of the first stars.

This speechless speech I seek is neither sophisticated nor simple, and yet the dots are organically interconnected to bring a silhouetted shape to the overall madness of my early time of day... The discomfort of this illusion has me losing track of time and space.

Once more I am reminded of the beauty that surrounds me; and in a gasp for fresh air, I begin to realize my mortality -- And so I write...

Forceful awakening of Things to come

My image was sequestered in a second's note of surprise;

Taken into submission by unrepentant claws that dragged me into the darkest of alleyways -

And all that could be seen was the clear of my eyes, contradicted by fear and excitement;

Kicking and reaching for a branch of empty air, unable to scream for help

And scaled by the unsettled gasps of uneven thought.  

It was a dream like none too pleasant - and all too unrealistic to be tamed by uncertain immortality;

Being dragged by suspicion, laying blames by the dark.

It was the day of the night - when dreamers are awake and lovers sleep tight;

Emptying devotion to hopelessness, practising lone walks in the park.

Had not the cold sweats of shock awakened me from this dark reveille, I would have figured out the destiny of my forsaken mistakes.

What Fake teeth you have, Grandma! What Fake eyes you have, Grandma! And what Fake words you have, Grandma!

Sometimes, words have a power to describe the unconscious... And in between their lines lie the falsities of their expression - the unmasking of their true meaning is a pointless journey if not endeavoured.

The letters were composed for my eyes to view, and they devoured each sentence; paraphrasing them, almost immediately, in the back of my head.  And I smiled at their make-up.
Had it been known already that this was bound to be brought up?  Certainly!
And how useless they were to the brief sense of relief for their essay contained nothing more than old tales.

These words have been written and re-written many times...I wonder how long until they behave and come to be proper to their age.  No more lies, no more fairy tales, no more edited notes.  Just truth -- and truth is, these blank statements are a mere echo of future laments to come.

Surely, they may be fulfilled to their extreme; as it is fake and to its necessity, for self-confidence's sake, may they be proven logical over time and not just another narrative to be claimed.

The fruit has yet to blossom.

With the Sun at my disposition, I am lost in a trail of warm thoughts

I can't help but wonder if you've finally matured.

How far has life taken you, and where are the manners that you once had lost?
Surely, you contemplate as much under the Sun as I do under the Moon.

It is possible that time, which stands lost in the abyss of your insecurities, has done nothing but remain still - inept, unavailable, and unfaithful to your wants and needs.  But then, you were never clear about your childish desires; unable to distinguish between reality and hopelessness - rather refusing to make peace with your inner and outer self.  So time never moved more quickly than when you were absent from grace.

By day, you were the aesthetic painting of perfection; so ready to be available, seeking acceptance under the embrace of stranger bodies.  By night, you embodied the wishes of escape; so incapable of loving what was granted, seeking distance under the umbrella of comfort due to inaccessible fears.

You had time to practice the discharge of cold, crocodile tears.  And now I wonder if your honesty has rewarded you, or if your many lies have finally taught you important lessons.

And then again, you could still be the one who seeks the fountain of youth; though your aching body demands immediate attention, (if not affection).

Spoken like a True Drunk

Amused by the words I gargled,

Intoxicated by the contradiction of my words,

I’m entangled by this wet drought of inception,

And the moment of madness that had me lost in her thoughts.

The warmth, the coldness, the intrigue of strange flares,

Lost in translation but without a doubt

An adventure to be assumed;

Not presumed, as I’d venture in my drunken world

To have her reach out for my hand

And entertain my illusions for one frame of time too long

To be noticed.

Scribbling a story of our own

It is told by the nature of silence,

Come to life by the disillusion of reality

And the wrinkles of napkins that are torn or lost

In the pockets of strangers among the dark.

Where are the drawings of my misconception?

Are they kept in hiding for all to wonder,

Or do they tremble under earth,

Unwinded, unvisited,

Disoriented by a degradable sun?

But I remain by my seat,

Alone with the breath of my madness,

To implore my thoughts a rest,

To quiet down the naughty of its desire;

Though it detests keeping calm

Under the origins of secrets that need to be claimed

And revealed by the dooms of truth.

Déjame contarte lo que aprendí en aquella distancia

Ví una luz caer sobre el area de mi destino,

Y sin querer queriendo,

Fuí guiado a su brillante resplandecer.

Ví el reflejo de mi futuro dibujado por las manos de mi mente,

Y de un sueño traducido por el arte de un bien querer;

Ví también el poema escrito por mis dudas

Y de letras aún inexpresadas por aquel idioma secreto

De seres que hablan lenguas sin saber.

Talvez fué el misterio de aquella imagen;

Talvez fué el sonido de su amanecer;

No lo tengo muy bien entendido,

Pero si tengo cierto en mi poder

Que en la distancia aprendí del sentido

De un cuento inolvidable

Y de un amor que apenas quiere nacer.

If "truth is out there", where am I?

"My fake plants died because I did not pretend to water them." 

- Mitch Hedberg 

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The lines were played and replayed in my head - "...I did not pretend..."
Maybe I should have allowed myself to pretend that these new illusions were real.  Maybe I should just continue to walk through the blue pastures set before me; to run along the jelly brick roads beneath me, between the space of my feet and the air that levitates me; to climb the lamp posts of nocturnal limbs that bring me closer to touching a star with their bright, blurry dust.  Or maybe, just like the fake plants, I should let myself succumb to the notion of waking up to face the world outside my vision.

What exactly is my reality? I asked myself. Contemplation could not go unnoticed.

An epiphany was found lurking between the lines of a comedic concept.  It exists - bare and vulnerable - among my silly pretensions, where the imagination plays a role in keeping the surreal alive.  But just as quickly as my idealist truths were created, so, too, were they discarded by my inability to sustain their flow - and I had myself to blame for the disillusion of outcomes that offered nonsense to my reality.

If "truth is out there", where am I?

That time when I saw true colours...

It is said that when a man has done an awful deed, his shame is reflected in the mirror.

"That night I saw my demon's face.  He stared at me with indifferent eyes - he was neither analytical nor threatening.  It was hard to define what his eyes tried to explain to me as my focus jumped between trying to make a firm image of his ghostly and blurry facial contours, and avoiding a stare for too long.

This much I knew:  Even though I could not fully make sense of his façade, I knew it was me, (or rather, the true essence of my shame escaping all reason, playing a dark and treacherous joke to the strange calmness I felt after leaving the scene of the crime).

Fear of what I saw that night kept me awake, and ever since I have been dreamless.  Ever since that time, I have become conscious of the eyes that stare at me in the mirror.  The same eyes that sit next to my bed invading the surreal world of subconscious thoughts."

Que lindo dueles, mujer

Será el sueño mismo, o mi realidad entera, que no es más que un Oasis de valor;

¿ Serás tu, mi bella dama, la que causa mi lindo dolor ?

Fue así que salió la verdad de mis palabras medias dormidas;

Y aquellos secretos que fueron traicionados por la mirada de ojos románticos,

Ojos angélicos de la dama que lleva su distancia ajena,

Me robaron de la desconexión que existe entre el cuerpo y el corazón.

Pero que lindo dueles, mujer.

Que lindo arde tu cuerpo al ser movida por mis cuentos infantiles,

Al ser tocada por mis ojos curiosos,

Acariciando el contorno de tu belleza con mis sentimientos de loco.

Será mi locura, que despierta alertamente durante las horas de un risueño, cuando el gallo canta y la Luna se esconde detrás de este lindo amanecer;

¿ Serás tu, mi bella dama, la que causa mi lindo dolor ?

Realmente, o idealmente

En mi locura,

No hay manera de describir

Lo lindo que dueles, mujer.

This year, Be Like Water

“Empty your mind.  Be formless, shapeless, like water…  Water can flow or it can crash.  Be water my friend."   -   Bruce Lee

Water, known as the “primal liquid”, has the ability to take on any shape or form – it is diverse and can be representative of the contemplative moment of the inner self.  It is seen, by some cultures, as one of the most important of all the Earthly elements; imperative to the survival of all biotic organisms in this world.  It is mysterious and influential with a manner of character unpredictable to the tempers of the season.  It is creation and it is destruction; it is the sea and the rains.  It is freedom.  It is independence.  It is transformative – as with time and growth; always changing…always adapting.

An epiphany comes and goes when you are given the opportunity to be alone with solitude and the chance to expand on the inconvenient thoughts that make the brain hollow.

This year, be like water. 

My Thoughts on the New Year - on a slightly sober note

It is our tradition, as reflective human beings, that we become quite contemplative during the last few days of the year and look ahead, (with hopeful eyes), as if we could foresee the near-future events that lie ahead.  Regardless, the mixed message is in place - some are bitter about the year that ended and wish for a better tomorrow, while others are grateful for the wonderful surprises that they were given throughout and wish (or pray) for the continuation of such goodwill.

Every year, someone sends a general message (with good intent) where hopes are unselfishly desired for the other person: "May all your wishes come true in this new year," "Cheers to happiness and good health," "May this new year be wonderful and nothing but positive," etc etc. - some good, positive B.S. (half of these people don't even mean what they say!!).
Then, of course, there are those who are selective in their message, sending good vibes only to those beings who were lucky enough to be in the right (or wrong) place at the right time...(These would become known to them as "true friends") - but are they really?
To answer this question one must first inquire as to the events that took place - and for this, some time of reflection is required, of which I want nothing to do with.

Most people tend to reflect on the year that passed and write their thoughts as a result of such recollection of memories (both good and bad).  I will admit that I began to do this as a way of figuring out my imperfections and my successes so that I could conscript my brain to create a list of resolutions that I would uptake in the new year.  I gave up on the idea as a whole, simply because I did not want to be held up by looking too far back in time, nor to teleport too far into the future without acknowledging that I was breathing the clock as it ticked away in the present time - it does the soul little justice to dwell too much in the past and forget to live.

And then, just as I became more frustrated by the idea of sending good thoughts to those I care about and remaining silent as a personal protest against the idea of hallmark wishy-washiness, I read something that really caught my eye:

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called "Opportunity" and its first chapter is New Year's Day."

With this thought fresh in my mind, I copied and sent the usual "cut + paste" salutations and embarked on a path toward beginning the New Year in my own way.  This year, like any other, is a book with blank pages waiting to be filled by the scribbles of experience.  Whether I title it "Opportunity" or something just as vague will depend on the sentences of each of the 365 days that are to commence with the ringing of midnight and the sunlight of a new day.

Cheers to all.