There
comes a time in which you’ve finally accepted it. The thing is start living
with it. I’m not sure if it’s my case yet, I believe, in spite of my acceptance,
there’s more to learn still, but I´m trying, and that’s what moves these words
to be part of a message; this message: I’ve said more than once there’re
several yous inside every person you
interact with, and that those yous
are not entirely made by yourself but the impression of – let’s call them – ‘carriers’
may have about you: friends, spouses, family, whoever you interact.
A sense of uncomforting shows up before your feelings when you try really hard
to look cool to the carriers; you role play a funny, tough, cool, burnout,
wealthy, and whatever archetypes you come up with to establish some sort of connection
with those people you care. I’m writing it again: those yous are not entirely made by yourself, maybe not made by you at
all. Time goes by, fast and slowly and you start feeling dumb, mocked, lied, and
don´t know exactly why because you try different, but then you begin to
understand. You’re not that funny, nor tough, nor burnout at all; wealth is a
political matter, at least here in Venezuela, therefore it’s not up to you, and
definitely: you’re not that cool. I’m not writing this to make anyone feel bad
about it. This is not a manifesto for rejected, no, it is not. This is a simple
exercise of consciousness with a simple affirmation: caring is a one way
street. When you care, or love, do it as you do have faith: with no
expectations. Feel free to embrace senses and enjoy them; not because of
someone, but because of yourself instead. Value grows high when you realize there’s
nothing to prove, and if it’s about improving, let it be as an inner command,
because inner commands make you better despite carriers’ images of you. It
seems to be impossible, and it is probably so. The concept of value tends to be
built, in part, according to the influence of the people around; again: friends,
spouses, family; carriers. I call them like that because they carry inside an
image of every person they know individually, just like you and me do. We’re
carriers ourselves, but not of ourselves, if you know what I mean; and I think
you do. Let’s picture a mirror, you see your reflex, but we’re talking about
the reflex according to image of yourself; I might not be seeing you the same way
regardless we both stand in front of the same mirror. The same happens to you,
and now I am easy at it: I don´t know how do I look from your eyes facing the
mirror, but I know for sure that’s not entirely me; therefore, If you’re sure
your are not those carriers’ yous,
You start focusing and begin to identify inner commands. The ones that tell you
it is fine to have a blog and post how you feel and what you may learn from it…
Blog dedicado a la redacción de escritos, en su mayoría originales. /Blog focused on original writings mostly
jueves, 10 de noviembre de 2016
jueves, 27 de octubre de 2016
A tiny tale for a big tale…
There’s
an interesting perspective when you see how some expectations work; for
instance at alcoholic anonymous meeting: those who don´t have full sordid
story, don´t feel right with themselves; such a thing seems to be the goal at
being there. A musician is participating in a festival and instead of feeling
like going to do the best, feels wrong at the fact of not being shown off
enough. A married girl, happily married girl, feels like she need to find
herself attractive by getting flirts from someone who’s not her husband; let’s
say the husband is an already conquered land and, at least in a way, she feels
she needs the chance of expansion, and expansion is also an issue, a teenage
issue; vestiges of the unsolved. I toke this from Douglas Coupland: “It's not healthy to live life as a
succession of isolated little cool moments. [Either our lives become stories,
or there's just no way to get through them.]” and this is probably what the
issue is about: we have not yet gotten through our little stories and there’s a
big tale nowadays which involves us all. We, the Venezuelans, must deal with
the fact that after almost twenty years gathering cool moments, there is indeed
a bigger scenario and it demands everyone do something for the country… Yes,
but what’s it? I mean, there can be a common thought; a collective idea of it,
but just that and it’s obviously not enough. Who’s going to step forward? Stand?
Lead? There are many, there are some, but that’s just potential and this is
what we should be debating in order to get through it: Postmodernism is gone,
little cool memories are no longer defining us, there’s more, there’s something
wider, for instance more important, and when such a thing finally gets inside
us all, we’ll make changes happen. But for now, let’s hope, expect, wait, support,
and stand for…
jueves, 6 de octubre de 2016
chauffeur with a car
Bridge in construction, that’s
what I read from the banner every time I go to Animus. I sleep for some dreaming and just then start the path,
flying low until finally I get to a cave: an entrance says Thoughts, and due to its size, not so high to me at least, I’ve got
to stop flying.
I take
a walk: my steps don´t settle enough because the soil is soft, like sand or
mud, I can´t notice. I feel myself willing to keep up; there’s no rush, time in
dreaming is patient, so I just wonder with my hands and sense some texture,
grab a little of it and try to see, to take a closer look: it was gray but out
of my knowledge. I could imagine that’s how moon sand might look like but it is
because what I’m carrying in my bag (I forgot to say I carry a bag every time I
dream) I usually fill this backpack with names: I like to think I dream with
real people but really I ignore, or maybe I’m the ignored one, I haven´t
figured it out the scope of my desires. For now, let’s move on over this soft
and gray (neutral) soil. Yes, because it is free from any judgment.
I keep
walking; see some questions spread and several answers hanging: doubts of my
reality, of my certain future. Future is not uncertain, uncertain are facts
when they’re sudden and it depends, because sometimes Present leaves pieces as
a warning that a bit of a whole will be completed and that the time for awakens
is more sensed than in dreams’; therefore, impatience might come from outside,
unlike this patience, that comes within.
I
read When, Why, Because as well, but
the rest are just ellipsis.
I
open the bag and grab some pronouns; the first clue for the questions spread.
Doubt is like opportunity; both have issues with people just like the names I
bring onto my dreams. It’s not necessary to say them loud, the voice of the
dreams has its own language, anyone who sees someone sleeping knows it when
this asleep talks; it is some kind of no translatable dialect.
I
start wondering inside the cave: why she?
When you? Why we? The wind blows and pushes the answers, I assume a You towards me is an I, so the answers lies on me but I don´t
know what to say. I check the bag again but get sort of nervous; I’m afraid not
to pick the right name (yes, random and chance are strange while you dream on)
I finally prefer the doubt and wake up…
Nothing
special, just a day full whys and whens, for example: why so much traffic,
so many critics, so stupid fundaments? There’s not a single because for any of my whys but, well, let´s wait until tonight…
It
is said (better than known) Love reflects itself in many ways, for instance: a
metaphor related with time, about love I’m talking, might be how long the beloved
one takes to reach your eyes at knowing you’re waiting at the entrance to her
home. If it’s the same home for both, well, I’m not sure (I guess there’s more
than a why) Reasons varies and love
(as I just said it) reflects in many ways.
I was
a lucky; I could fly a little more before going back to the cave, before running
away from widow questions and orphan answers. I go on, open the bag; Animus is a bridge, a bridge inside a
cave: this big is this cave, these many are my doubts. I wake up…
I
forgot to say I’m a chauffeur with a car of his own: take me there, pick me up,
and yes, just when I was about to pick her up, Boom! I crashed the car. Another
day with whys…
Moon
sand got wet but hands were no longer my path, I’m barefoot, one doesn´t know
how’s looking while dreaming. I sense a shore, a silvered sea with some few waves.
I stepped on from answers to windows, windows without transparency, like frames,
like a gallery, a gallery which frames look like stars and as stars enlighten.
I see some like my face, yes, through these windows. I didn’t just see my face
through it, for example: I saw myself stroking the legs of an important name I
always carry in my bag; it is the name of my present, a present which will be
future, for now. Through other window I saw me as a child; as an animal through
another, an unknown animal. There’s a windows, old, blurred; the texture of the
weather is strange but I figured it out by a pair words written with a finger
on it, just like someone else would have been here before, someone who got
bored, tired. The words were: Silence
and Oblivion. This, along with the questions,
looks like an afterthought. Since there’s some antagonisms in the bag, I may do
some conjectures: why don´t I forget?
(For oblivion) Or when this silence? Because I remember you, and from the noise I… I wake up…
There
is a certain feeding for waking up on a bad mood when sleeping with doubts;
some people dream with things they can’t have, some others with things they can’t
understand. That explains the reflects in the morning, those moments in front
of the mirror trying to accept ourselves, to accept that there’s just a shaving
machine, a makeup set. The day promises to be the same, but today I don´t work,
I’m without the car, so I’m just taking a walk…
Curiously
doubts fade away with the steps, and unlike dreams, there’s sort of a comprehension
while keeping up on the sidewalks. Perhaps it’s just oblivion and silence, and next
dream remember…
It
was a beach at night, a beach inside a cave with moon sand and a bridge, and
the windows, the words, the memories, everything making noise while I go on,
and I’m again in the same dream. Probably pronouns are no longer needed because
the only one here is me, it means I am: I’m who walks and doubts due to sensations
and uncertainties of everyday and there’s no more sand, nor sea for my steps.
There’s just a banner at the end of this path: Bridge in construction.
Versión
en español: aquí
miércoles, 5 de octubre de 2016
aren't words actually more dangerous than actions?
Imagine
this, like The Martians Chronicles, that reading books were as playing a
musical instrument: we lay our index finger above a book's word sentence
and we move it on along with our voice reading; like playing a trumpet, a
flute. Words come out in synchrony with the dance of our finger: it might be
great but it won’t just be like that. There's a little beyond, and it's that
thoughts will also come up from it. So playing book reading will not only be
for feeding our spirit (like music does) but getting some knowledge as well. This
could mean that at some point people might be empty of ideas, so they'll need
to play book reading... In a way, I
guess, we all need some book reading but there can be a kind of danger, and
it's that what words are going to be read, what sentences, what ideas. Words
may become more dangerous than actions, and that's my doubt for this sharing
piece: aren't words actually more dangerous than actions?
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