Rambling at a place of finite.

There’s a moment in the middle of the night, in the city where I live, when the streets are calm. You can almost see no cars or buses. It is beautiful then, but like any other quiet city, sound asleep at night. But then, there are these trucks, and they go very slowly, stopping every once in a while. These trucks are full of water, and the people in charge go around washing the sidewalks. Nothing spectacular you may say. But then the smell of wet earth, it takes me back to my home in the country-side, it takes me back to nature.

How amazed I am by our minds! At one point we are in the middle of a crowded city, and triggered by a smell, or a noise or some sensation or feeling and we are in the middle of a field, watching the stars up in the sky, wondering about our existence, or maybe about love; or who knows what. It is incredible how we can be at terrible places, enduring the worst situations, and by just some small inflection in the surroundings, in time and space, we can get elsewhere. We can go wherever we please, do whatever we want, and even become someone else entirely. We can be whoever we want, at the warmth insights of our minds.

So I’m back at the main street of the city. Maybe I wasn’t feeling so well, or maybe it was just another usual day, distant from being an important day, and I get this spark, the lightning strikes and I know I am nothing in the universe. But I can also see the connections of it all. And I get it, regardless of whatever may come our way, and whatever may happen, everything is going to be OK, because everything is going to keep being.

Existence is as vast as inexistence. Infinity turns into nothing and is re-made. It doesn’t matter if you love opera for example, or if you hate it, because it is everywhere, and so is rap, blues, or the type of music you like and hate. And not even types matter, since one is everything and everything is one. It is only a matter of finding the connections and let them be, and twist them, break them, forget them. It is a matter of letting yourself be, and letting yourself fall into oblivion. Let yourself go and exonerate everyone of your ideas, and then share yours and theirs.

Our minds are infinity and finite. Duality reigns; even more… multiplicity does. There are as many “yous” as you want, nothing will define you and everything will. Life and death are nothing, they are a part of existence and inexistence, and whatever billion things come in-between. Convincing your mind, or getting your mind to convince you to be whatever you want. And molding perception the way you want; entering the gates, or staying at the threshold, are all possible ways. And it is not even a decision you’ll have to make, it doesn’t really matters, it is no longer about give or take. It never was.

Now I’m going back to the wet streets again. Everything is so serene, and truthful. The decay of the night is soon to start becoming, and the awareness of the day kicks in. But it doesn’t matter, because the light of day can also be the sound of the rain. It can also become a humming bee or a mocking bird. And the cars of cold harsh steel can turn into shame, become disgrace and then grandness. It doesn’t matter when, where or where, once the trigger is set. Help the mind through the many gates of awareness; guide it into decay, like the night, and the singing of the mocking bird. You are nothing, you are two, you are everything, you are finite and infinite, and you will soon cease to exist… like me. Like forever is stuck at a moment of silence, of resilience, sitting quietly by a white fence. All faces gone, all of mentality fades.

Divagando en un lugar finito.

Hay un momento en medio de la noche en la ciudad en que vivo, cuando las calles quedan en calma. Casi no se ven autos u ómnibus. Es hermoso ese momento, pero tanto como sucede en cualquier ciudad que duerme profundamente en la noche. Luego, aparecen estos camiones, que van muy lento por los bordes, parando cada tanto. Éstos están llenos de agua, y la gente a cargo camina de un lado a otro lavando las veredas, nada espectacular. Pero entonces el olor a tierra mojada me lleva de regreso a mi hogar en el campo, me lleva de regreso a la naturaleza.

¡Es increíble cómo funcionan nuestras mentes! En un momento estamos en medio de una ciudad superpoblada y luego, provocado por un olor, o un ruido, o alguna sensación o sentimiento, estamos de regreso en medio de un campo, mirando las estrellas, preguntándonos por nuestra propia existencia, o tal vez preguntándonos sobre el amor; o quién sabe qué. Es increíble cómo podemos estar en lugares horribles, en las peores situaciones, y a causa de una mínima inflexión del entorno, en el tiempo y el espacio, podemos estar en otro lugar. Podemos ir a donde queramos, hacer lo que queramos y hasta convertirnos en otra persona o ser totalmente diferente. Podemos ser quienes queramos en el cálido interior de nuestra mente.

Estoy de nuevo en la calle principal de la ciudad, tal vez no me estaba sintiendo muy bien, o tal vez fue otro día usual, carente de importancia, cuando siento esta chispa, este rayo me golpea y sé que soy nada en el universo. Pero también puedo ver las conexiones del todo, y lo entiendo, sé que no importa qué pueda estar en nuestro camino, qué pueda pasar, todo va a estar bien, porque todo seguirá siendo.

La existencia es tan vasta como la inexistencia. El infinito se convierte en nada y es re hecho. No importa si amas la ópera, por ejemplo, o si la odias, porque está en todos lados, y también lo está el rap, el blues y cualquier tipo de música que te guste o que odies. Tampoco importan los tipos, ya que uno es todo y todo es uno. Es tan solo cuestión de encontrar las conexiones y dejarlas ser, y doblarlas, y romperlas, olvidarlas... Es cuestión de dejarte ser, y dejarte caer en el olvido. Dejarte ir y exonerarte de todas tus ideas, y compartir las tuyas y las de ellos.

Nuestras mentes son finitas e infinitas. La dualidad reina; es más, la multiplicidad lo hace. Hay muchos “tús” como quieras, nada te definirá y todo lo hará. La vida y la muerte son nada, son parte de la existencia e inexistencia, y del millón de cosas que pueda estar en medio. Convencer tu mente o hacer que tu mente te convenza de lo que quieras. Moldear la percepción en la forma que quieras; entrar en las puertas o quedar en el umbral son todas posibilidades. Y ni siquiera es una decisión que debas tomar, no importa, no realmente… no es sobre dar o tomar. Nunca lo fue.

Ahora estoy en la calle nuevamente. Todo es tan sereno y verdadero. El decaimiento de la noche se comienza a crear, y la conciencia del día se hace paso. Pero no importa, porque la luz del día también puede ser el sonido de la lluvia. También puede ser el zumbido de una abeja o el canto de un ruiseñor. Y los autos de acero frío y severo se pueden convertir en vergüenza, en desgracia y en grandeza. No importa cuándo, o dónde, una vez que la provocación esté en movimiento. Ayuda a la mente a través de las muchas puertas de la conciencia; guíala al decaimiento, como la noche y como el canto del ruiseñor. Eres nada, eres dos, eres todo, eres finito e infinito, y pronto dejarás de existir… como yo; Como la eternidad está atascada en un momento de silencio, de resilencia, sentada junto a una cerca blanca. Todas las caras ausentes, toda la mentalidad se diluye.

THE BED

(short story)

Every day was extremely hard to get out of bed. Waking up wasn't a problem, maybe falling asleep was, but not waking up.

Every day, school or even work was set aside, in order to spend just a few more minutes lying there, inside the warm sheets and blankets, inside that extremely comfortable bed.

The bed was really beautiful; it was an antique that her parents got for her when she was a child. The header was made of thin sticks of iron, curved to give beautiful shapes. At the end of the sticks, always a flower, although some of them looked more like some kind of talisman. And in the middle, a faun; rather chubby looking fellow, nude as it would be in nature, child looking creature. Always the faun would look down, right to the head of whoever is sleeping in the bed, and her grandma always told her that the faun was her guardian angel; taking care of her while she slept.

And as I said before, sleeping in that bed was the best thing in the world, the most comfortable place ever.

Every morning, in her school years, her mom would wake her up for her to go to school. And every morning it was hell to have to go out of bed, especially when it was to go to school. Sometimes even preceded by the most inventive excuses; excuses that her mom wouldn't believe for a second. Her mind was like a Pandora's box, and when needed, the most wonderful stories would come to help.

When she grew older, she moved away, to live by herself, but she took her beautiful bed with her. Every night she would go to bed, with some book, and lay her head on the header, right where the faun is, the faun helping as support.

She always had a notebook on her night stand, and usually would write for hours, the most bizarre stories before actually falling asleep.

Sometimes, even asleep, those incredible stories would enter her thoughts and become dreams, sad maybe nightmares.

When she was a university student, she would take her texts to bed, and read until late all the subjects she was taking. But never ever she could get out of bed early in the morning, and never ever without spending some awake time in her bed. This started to affect her academic work, since she was missing the morning classes all the time. And it became quite a problem for her, but she couldn't figure out what was wrong. She just couldn't get out of bed. Once, she even spent a whole day in bed. She wasn't sick at all, nor depressed, as some people might think, she was just enjoying her bed.

But at some point, all the stories she had on her mind all the time went darker, and scarier. And the sweet dreams she once had started to become all nightmares. She was OK by it though, as she thought it was a great resource for her writing. And for some time, IT WAS OK. But then, all the nightmares started to follow her in her conscious state, awake.

Once, in the middle of the night, she woke up, immerse in cold swept. She couldn't remember what was happening on her dream, but apparently it wasn't nice. When she tried to reach the light switch she noticed she couldn't move. She was paralyzed; and she could feel that there was someone, or something looking at her, from the side of her bed. This lasted a few seconds probably, but it felt like an eternity. She was too scared to close her eyes, she was too scared to even breath. She felt even mentally paralyzed. With great effort she started praying, even when she couldn't even remember her prayers, she did the best she could. After a few minutes it all vanished, that moment, that tension, the atmosphere, everything, and it all went back to normal. She couldn't sleep for the rest of the night though.

All this time spent in bed, little by little grew bigger. What was once just a few minutes were now hours. And as she lived alone, nobody really noticed.

Sometimes she would stay the whole day in bed, only getting out to get some food or go to the bathroom. She would write insanely, or watch things on her computer, this went on for hours!

She had that awful dream from time to time, and the longer she spent in her bed, the more often she would have that dream.

Now the presence by her bed was gaining some form or shape, but it was still a blur. And she noticed once that as she exhaled, the presence would inhale, and when she inhaled the presence would exhale.

Everything was OK when the morning came. And all the crazy thoughts would vanish. She was convinced she was having some sort of hallucinations, and so she sought help.

All kinds of pills sat still on her night table. A glass of water half drank, gathering the thin dust suspended in the night. She tried for a few months with the pills, but everything was getting worse. She told her doctor, and he suggested some more aggressive treatment. She was committed, willingly, as she was now desperate. All this weird thinking was separating her from reality, and it was more than she could take.

She was there, at the clinic, for a whole six months. But all the time she was there, she was rather ok. She did had the occasional night terrors, but not as often, and the hallucinations were going away. When she was discharged, her doctor was convinced she would be ok. But he was terribly mistaken.

On the first week she went back home, back to sleeping in her so missed bed, the night terrors were back, and this time the escalation was tremendous. After one night of the most horrible, paralyzing fear, she called her doctor, who was really surprised with her call. And as she insisted, and sounded extremely exited, she went in for a consultation. She told the doctor what had happened, but as any doctor would think, the assumption was that she was scared of coming back, and so her mind was tricking her. "Many patients have these type of feelings when they go back home, but you shouldn't worry, it will take some time but you will get used to being at home again. But let's do this, I want you to take these before going to bed, it will help you sleep."

She would now sleep much more than needed. And she appeared to be even dead when she slept. Strong medicine the doctor gave her. The rest of the day was normal.

"Come back next week and we'll see how you are adjusting by then ok?"

And with the promise of returning by that time she went home. She was scared, but the doctor had given her the confidence she needed. That was the last time the doctor ever saw her, "next week" never happened. She never went back. She never got out of bed after that one week of heavy sleeping.

The last time she had that terrible nightmare, she managed to open her eyes. The figure by her bed was clear now, it was the faun, who had taken all her life and made it his own. Every night he would watch her, helping her at the beginning. Loving her, enjoying her company every moment, even when she wasn't awake. Every night the faun would guard her dreams, and make the bad ones go away. His love for her was immense, so much that it became envy, jealousy. He started ignoring her dreams, and the bad ones started to kick in. Until one day he discovered that by her nightmares, he could get a piece of her mind or soul for himself. He could make it his own. He grew bitter every time, and evil. He took her life away from her bit by bit, and when she noticed something was wrong, as usual, it was too late.

The last time she opened her eyes, the faun was real, and looking at her as usual, but from a real flesh and blood body. And now there was a grin look on his face. His loving being was forever gone.

The last time she opened her eyes, as she saw the faun, she started to fade. And the figure in the bed was now a little girl, with a sad face, looking to the side of the bed.

16 junio 2012

Hoy me yergo ante la multitud
tratando de ocultar mi rostro
con la desnudez propia del alma
que llora y grita en el silencio
de la austera noche

Hoy me abruma la existencia
abominable y cautivante del deseo
y la prepleja inocencia
de mi una vez niña
se torna desasosiego y desesperación

el terror se apodera de mi mente
cuando el loco interior
muestra sus tenebrosos dientes
soy su presa y su maestra
pero aún me aterra

Las voces del aura me llaman
me invitan a su lugar
dulce brisa, comienza a mover
mi alma hacia donde están
pero ella se aferra con fuerza
a mi presente carnal
y mi conciencia, siniestra
no la quiere ayudar
Lucha mi alma serena
lucha por su lugar
que voy a apagar mi razón
y así poder olvidar.
Vuelven los ríos de vida
vuelve mi sangre a correr
al regreso de mi alma perdida
al olvido de mi ser.
Toman los vientos mi cuerpo
jubileo del cosmos vendrá
se tornan mis brazos la alas
de algún extraño ser
y baten la densa materia
y tuercen mi parecer.

Vivo, por primera vez vivo
vuelo, respiro el aire puro
que Éolo envía para que pueda
desplegar mis torpes alas.
En los momentos más cercanos a la muerte
mi alma se aferra con fervor a mis entrañas
y no osa partir
Como Ícaro, me balanceo torpemente
pero mis alas no son de cera
están adheridas a mi,
son parte de mi
son el porqué respiro.

I am outside of what you may consider life
I am here, I am breathing, I am next to you
you can see me, feel me and touch me.
I can see you, feel you and touch you,
but I am still not here.
I am beyond control, and beyond boundaries
I'm far off of what's expected.
I am agonizing with every breath.
I am soaring.

My mind leaves, and travels
and flows with the world
and I am soon elsewhere
in a place of nature
in my mother's bossom
in my friend's memory
in my dog's eyes
in the grass and the flowers
and everywhere I want to be

All the amazing things
you were once able to do
are gone forever
are stuck wherever was sent
out of your conciousness
out of relation with yourself
All the amazing things
you once were able to forget
are now forever in your mind.

Death is always in my mind

the constant friend and alienator

choking on my throat

pressing on my lounges

But yet distant, behind a veil

the only truth, yet unknown

the flesh that gets rotten

the fetid fumes that eventually fade

....

It is the most extreme sadness

tears my viscera as it goes through my mind

I wish I could happily enjoy drunkenness

but life gets in, reality hits the soul

and not even the amber nectar washes it away

and so is death again, as always, most aware.

....

A great part of my self died today

as I go through life

all sort of pieces have fallen from me

some I lost along the way

but most remained attached to me, dead.

A constant reminder

weight that I have to carry always

wight that's almost to heavy for me to take

but even if more is added

I can bare.

On the verge of falling down to the ground

on my weakened knees

and succumbing to my own horrid dead weight

and if I could see myself from some distance

with all my dead parts on me

I'd probably see myself dragging these parts

but trying, desperately trying

to appear OK to the inquisitive eyes

and I would cover my nudity

even when it is all that remains

....

And poetry is my saviour

and the breath I cannot grasp myself

it is the most sincere reality

and it is also the most terrible pain

and it is also mine

it's mine to take.

and it also fades...

All the nights perrish,
and they all remain
in my own awareness of the day

Hoping to see friends that never were
to talk to them and see how they are
and how they were

I wished for something I still don't know
For something beyond thought
and the memory of the wish remains,
but not the wish itself

The unforgiving, all mighty truth hit me
it hit me hard in the face,
but a strike of reality, other than lies, is best

Hard as it may be, and as much as I want out
I should for some time stay
and try harder to be, and keep breathing, and better not forget

One hundred new moons in the sky
await for me, while the horizon crashes
and the sun sits still at dawn

Hearing the call of nature
I will set myself to fly

Moon darkens the sky
no bumblebee flies
sing the sea to my lies
birds compulsivly cry
wind glitters the grass
green, yellow and blind.


Sing the sea to the wind
that cries, compulsively, cries
shines water in creek
dies creek in the ground

Hush the frogs that sing in the fields 

as their sing is cry and their cry is fear

Hush them all as they cry for thee

as they cry for us, as they cry for me.

Dry the dew that caress the grass

with that softened touch which once was mine

Dry the tears that the frogs brought back

as it adds dead weight onto my back

A weekend of sorrow

A weekend of expectation

A weekend to remain in the dark

A weekend to turn

a weekend to metamorphosise

Waste your intellect

and loose yourself in perception

and see if you can stop

once the weekend's dead

Turn, turn, turn

into the arms of perception

Turn, turn, turn

into the arms of perception

waste your way

fall into alienation

Fade, fade, break

fall into the void

fall to your back

disappear your lack

of estimation

Blind yourself

take your common eyes off

and use the ones fear lends

Get away from life

if you don't live it to the fullest

Endure.