Friday, January 19, 2024

Patria Mía, Patria Amada

 Patria mía, Patria amada•


Patria mía, patria amada

A veces pienso en ti y se me caen lágrimas

A veces pienso en ti y se me encoge el alma

A veces pienso en ti y en mi mente sigo allá.


Tierra mía dime ¿Cómo se vive despatriada?

Ven y abrázame con tus colinas 

Recuérdame el olor a canela

Despiértame con el gallo que hace de sirena.


Tierra mía dime ¿Cómo no extrañar tus entrañas?

Quiero correr por tus praderas

Bañarme en tus ríos de agua fresca

Reencontrarme con el océano y sus orillas.


Patria mía, patria amada

A veces pienso en ti y se me caen lágrimas

A veces pienso en ti y se me encoge el alma

A veces pienso en ti y en mi mente sigo allá.


Tierra mía dime ¿Por qué no me dijiste de tus purezas?

Viví embriagada y entumecida por tu belleza

No pensé en detalle en tu inmensa generosidad

Estuve ajena a todo lo que diste y que, si vuelvo, me darás.


Tierra mía dime ¿Sigues siendo mía en la distancia?

Porque yo sigo viniendo de ti y nada lo cambia

Tu comida, tu gente, tus tradiciones y tus lenguas

Juro por Dios que aun canto el himno con vehemencia.


Patria mía, patria amada

A veces pienso en ti y se me caen lágrimas

A veces pienso en ti y se me encoge el alma

A veces pienso en ti y en mi mente sigo allá.


Tierra mía dime si puedo volver a ti uno de estos días

Me cansé de diambular por tierras extrañas

Vuelvo a ti para volverte a conocer entera

Tierra Madre, re-encuentrame y reconóceme siempre tuya.


Sunday, September 24, 2023

Drowning systems


I sat down with my helplessness because there was nothing much I could do.

I sat down with my anger,
with my impotence.
I just sat down and let it sink.
I let it overtake me. 

I cried and prayed.
I prayed and cried, trying to collect myself
because I felt this pressing need to help her,
to lend her a hand and
I couldn't do that while broken because of an erroneous system.

I could only help her while being in control, at the very least, of myself;
and to be able to teach her the same.

Not to let her fall in desperation,
to be able to find her a door... even if they seemed to have closed them all. 

Sunday, July 3, 2022

On children’s generosity

Photography by Madelaine Bustamante

Some days ago I was sitting down in a green space and this little girl came to me and placed these flowers in my hand. That’s it... she didn’t say anything, she didn’t look back, she didn’t ask them back either, she just put them in my hand and left. She couldn’t be more than 4 years old.

I am sure she was just being her usual self, being a kind soul, but for me, that gesture was so big that it made my day. This is something that happens regularly when I am working with children and that’s why I enjoy working with children so much.

Children surprise me on a daily basis, most of the time in good ways. Children remind me that it is worth it to keep trying and thinking about others’ rights because they deserve a nice place to grow in. Children give me hope about humans aren’t as bad as the news shows them. Children push me to be a better version of myself as a professional, but also as a human being; and like this, they help me to grow, and they show me the beauty of life and God through them.

I wish that every single child in the world will always have someone to protect them, appreciate them, and love them, but as I know this is not what happens in reality I will advocate for them, I will try my best with them, and I will pray for them always. I hope whenever you raise a prayer you will do it too.

“No one has yet realized the wealth of sympathy, the kindness, and generosity hidden in the soul of a child.” (Emma Goldman) 

Monday, May 9, 2022

Not from here, from there

I am not a fighter. In fact, from the beginning, I have been a quitter, always ready to throw in the towel. Never ready for the battle, always scared, always running away. Many times I admit defeat even before even trying, I am too frightened to even try.

I have given up on life from the very first day, always waiting for the worst to come, smiling at all times though... always smiling. People say I have a beautiful smile, I wonder if it has anything to do with having a sad soul. See, people many times seem to misunderstand what a sad soul involves, what sadness involves, I believe sadness is not just sadness, it is dept, it is immensity, sadness is its own form of joy, and I live it like that, therefore maybe that's what people grasp when they see me smiling.

Still, I feel like a spoiled brat crying at all times for the sake of crying, just for life to come all giving to offer a bunch of gifts to encourage me to go on, and I, in spite of all these offerings, go on with my tantrums. My tantrums of a spoiled brat because I keep on thinking I want to leave, I continue feeling I want to leave. I don't like parties, and I, certainly, didn't want to come to this one. But here I am, remaining in this state of time, while the host showers me with attention and presents from which I, most of the time, feel undeserving.

I want to call home and ask to be picked up, but I lost the phone number and I am stuck in this place full of noise, people, smells, life... I am on an infinite quest for my way back home. I am researching in a thousand books, religions, minds, and hearts, for those answers that would, finally, lead me back to the center. That would bring me back to the Absolute I came from.

I wasn't created here, in fact, I was born there. This is nothing but a cheap copy of myself. My real home is broader, complete, whole... and I yearn for it.
00:10
MiL

Friday, April 29, 2022

The Fall

 

Photography by Madelaine Bustamante

Today I tried breathing again but it was pointless as I noticed all the air had gone away. I looked at everybody around me in despair, it couldn't be possible that everybody was acting so calmly while lacking oxygen.

Big was my surprise when I noticed a sort of respiratory machine around their heads, it seems I missed the announcement about wearing them. It wouldn't be my first time missing it. What should I do now? I was holding my breath as people do underwater, I had nothing but a few minutes, but my despair continuously increasing would tell me that I have nothing but counted seconds, making it unbearable.

I thought about the people I could ask for help... Asking for help. I have been working on asking for help for the last couple of years, and I could reach out my agonizing hand to someone for help. But who? Also? What should I say? How can I explain myself if I can not talk? I believe I will lose my ability to think soon enough as well. Oh God, I am starting to feel dizzy.

I started looking around me more carefully, to find a familiar face, or even a friendly one. Everybody seemed so busy, I didn't have the courage to disturb anyone's day; I wouldn't like anyone interrupting mine, especially in such a brusque way, asking for air, desperately. No, I needed to find a familiar face as soon as possible. Somehow moving started becoming heavy and difficult.

A known face! I tried to run to it if what I did can be considered running because even if in that very moment it felt like that, in my memories it is played as a pathetic attempt of moving. He couldn't see me, couldn't hear me, couldn't feel me. The only known face around me was miles away from me. I started sobbing, I couldn't hold my breath any longer.

People continued moving around me, while I faded away, slowly, painfully, sadly. Oh, my dream of becoming invincible finally comes true. I wondered if it was the right time to let it come true. I would have hated anybody seeing me in such a state of fragility, therefore I guess it was okay. But then again, I didn't ask for help because I couldn't speak! My intentions were others. I wanted to say: “Help me!” “I can’t breathe,” “Where did you get that respiratory machine?”, “When was this change announced?”.

I felt how, while I faded away unhurriedly, my anxiety was growing visibly. I was wondering about my loved ones, about the people that would start looking for me at some point and wouldn't find me, I thought about the ones I cared the most about, and I hoped, from the bottom of my heart, that'd give me one last shot of strength to try one more time. But I was hopeless, my body wasn't responding anymore, even my brain seemed further and further away from me, I wondered if my heart was also decreasing the intensity of its beats.

Everything was useless at that moment. Everything was valueless. As my last drops of consciousness got ready to leave me, I did, once again, what I have learned would always be the only exit door that would lead me to the hallway of containment. I raised a prayer, not to get more time, or solutions, or salvation, nor anything that would involve more efforts. I just asked for a good ending; so that even when my life was pure chaos, my death would be peaceful.

Saturday, April 2, 2022

First Day of Ramadan

Photography was taken by Madelaine Bustamante


It is the first day of Ramadan and I am at ease. See, in my constant search for understanding many times, I forget to recharge my batteries. I forget that my heart and soul need to be fed more than knowledge. I forget that I have a strong need of God in my life. A need for God that isn’t minimized to a few reminders here and there, or to a bunch of studies, but in truth, to a real relationship, within my current capacity with God.

If I have to be completely honest, the past two years have been a big challenge for me regarding understanding many things in the spiritual realm, and I felt lost, confused, overwhelmed, and scared many times. But not once did I turn to the divinity without feeling protected, recovered, stronger, motivated, and recharged. Still, I have this terrible habit, just like most of us, to push away my spiritual needs and overload myself with teachings, books, and writings; and don’t get me wrong, I have learned a big deal and I am nothing but grateful. But, only God knows how much I missed this feeling, this inner peace, this calmness. This sensation of being able to breathe in this air seems so asphyxiating sometimes.

Many times I wonder how we make it. I wonder about the reality of my fortitude because I always find myself so weak. I can’t face things on my own, because I find myself so small, I find everything huge! And it is just when I turn to Allah and I am able to see my own power through Him that I feel I can do it. I can do it because I am part of Him, I can do it because there are still thousands of worlds and mysteries for me to discover; and if my frailty, accompanied by cowardice doesn’t allow me to go on, my curiosity and my deepest feelings that I can’t even name will always do the job.

I was not born imperfect. I was born the exact way I was supposed to be born, and it is up to me to navigate this life and find in this sphere and others the many gifts God has put along the way for me. Just as He has done for all of us. I hope you are all suffering and enjoying life as much as I am. I hope we are all alive enough, to revive to the death call every single day.

Thursday, March 17, 2022

Hijos míos

Cada cierto tiempo descubro que no tengo hijos. Y lo digo así porque la mayor parte del tiempo paso adormecida, ausente, muchas veces desconectad. Ajena a todos, ajena a todo. Me alejo de esta realidad donde no me casé, donde mis hijos nunca llegaron, donde nunca los vi crecer, donde estoy solo yo. Mis libros y yo, es una imagen tan triste que casi me saca una lágrima.

Pero mi entumecimiento me mantiene controlada, me mantiene anestesiada. Estoy atada a una camilla de hospital, que es este mundo, y me mantengo con vida gracias al suero, que es la obtención de entendimiento, y gracias a mi respirador artificial, que es la divinidad. Estoy completa. Estoy completa. Solo me quitaron el vientre, no es gran cosa. Entonces ¿por qué sigo internada? ¿Por qué duele pese a toda esa anestesia? Los niños que cuido deben ser mis paseos al jardín, ficticias dada de alta donde me siento la madre que nunca fui. La madre que nunca fui, ni seré, porque me caen encima los años, y esos mis soñados, anhelados, amados bebés, se alejan más y más y su suave “mamá” se va transformando en un eco, cada vez más lejos, más bajo, y menos mío.

Mis hijos se desdibujan, desaparecen, se pierden... y yo los dejo ir. Porque siento que les he fallado, que me ha tomado demasiado tiempo, que he desgastado demasiado mis fuerzas, y no tengo nada que ofrecerles.

Hijos míos, su madre venció a la depresión. Ya no llorará y llorará para pesar suyo.

Hijos míos, su madre consiguió otro título, está más cerca del más alto.

Hijos míos, su madre encontró secretos, ya no está fijada en la superficie del circumpunto.

Hijos míos, su madre ya puede cuidarlos.

Hijos míos...

¿Hijos míos?

Mis hijos, señores, ¿dónde están mis hijos? ¿Alguien los ha visto? ¿Los han escuchado? Mis hijos que aun no llegan a este plano,

mis hijos que aun no se forman en mi vientre,

mis hijos que aun no ven con sus ojos perplejos este mundo.

Mis hijos, mis hijos amados.

Hijos míos, no sé que tan sabio de mi parte sería traerlos a este infierno.

¿Qué tan egoísta de mi parte sería darlos a luz solo para poder verlos?

Hijos míos, su madre aun no ha aprendido a lidiar con los dolores de este mundo.

Duerman entonces, duerman hasta que ella encuentre la manera de reencontrarlo, porque ni esta vida, ni ninguna otra me ha permitido olvidarlos. Los llevo aquí, en mi pecho, en mi inconsciente, que está consciente de que los tengo. Y de qué me tienen. Me tienen y siempre me tuvieron. Soy aquella que nunca dejo de buscarlos.






MiL