Safety & Freedom

"The mist was wicking up off the lake as it had almost 20 years ago. It looked inviting, but cold. What would happen if she dove in and tried to swim out, all alone? Would she stay inside the cordoned off swimming area? What was the point of that? The morning mists were further out, so were the depths. The whole point was to get in, naked, to get into the cold and swim like mad until it didn't feel cold anymore. To go far enough to actually swim and float in that mist. To know and feel the risk, and go anyway. 

She remembered the clear baby blue of seeing the morning sky through the wisps of gauzy clouds passing above her as she did her backstroke. She loved moving backwards, on her back with the crown of her head and the tips of her fingers cutting into watery space. Here she could stroke backward without the fear of banging her head or of having to stop this flow of freedom because of a wall. She could go and go and go. Gliding over the water she rested her mind and let body merge with the water. She could feel the strength and power in her arms. She could feel the pressure and volume of the water and its soft resistance in her cupped palms with each and every stroke. And as her ears slipped just beneath the surface there was muffled silence. Here was weight and weightlessness. Here was sound and soundlessness. This lake was a portal to a secret knowing, and a secret world.

It was there that she slipped into her body and the power in that body. She was choosing to risk, without a cover, morning after morning for the joy of it, the exhilaration of it.  She was breaking the cardinal rule: "don't swim alone." But it was summer’s end and everyone else was sleeping. 

Twenty years had passed since those secret swims. Now she had responsibilities. And priorities, people and work she genuinely cared about. And there wasn't really enough time to jump into the lake that morning, and still prepare the day’s lesson. It was a different lake. And she was a different person. But she looked, she looked long and hard enough to remember. She looked long enough for the flickering light and the still wicking mists to remind her of what freedom felt like. Though this gaze might have lasted only seconds it felt like it held an eternity. The light on the water was like laughter. She smiled and felt a pang of sadness. Who was that girl? Who is she now? Could she still go out in the lake, far out, alone and naked, knowing she could get a muscle cramp and maybe even drown?  Could she let the water touch her hair and scalp like fingers. Could she swim out alone, and in her own skin? How different she felt in her own skin. That was the feeling of freedom that the lake gave her. 

That is the beauty of water, and the beauty of the lake. It had changed her from inside. The water had woken her up to something. And she remembered. Once she had entered the lake, the lake entered her, and it no longer felt safe on the dock, or free on the shore." (www.carrieowerko.com)

These are the words of the wise yoga teacher, Carrie Owerko.  I had the privilege of being her student, and all I can say is that her playfulness, her knowledge, and spark is overwhelming.  Her classes are addictive, but with no danger of withdrawal.  

I'm not Carrie (I couldn't even attempt to be!) and who knows if this girl/woman on the lake is her, or if she even exists.  I share because it shook my heart, and made me think/feel "I am not alone". 

We can't stop time, we can't avoid the ticking forward, forward, forward-- just like we can't naturally avoid making our hearts beat.  

If I look back 20 years, like this woman does, I might be observing a 10+ year old girl, but it's not what the story I'm trying to tell.

For some reason I don't have to be older to comprehend the passing of time, and the opportunities of the now. I'm not bragging, and I might be a fool...

However, I do observe how sometimes we forget about freedom in its most precious expression, in the sense of fearlessness.  Which is not the same as being irresponsible. 

There is a moment when Fear kicks in, and this harassing undercurrent of Responsibility (maybe better read as the threat of consequences), takes over us and makes us prisoners.  Chained to what is Correct, what is "Safe", what is Expected of us, what we might miss if we live this moment at it's fullest. Chains. 

I have memories of laughing and dancing like the world would end. The abdominal pain was excruciating, just like the muscles of my cheeks almost intolerable.  Dancing with my eyes closed, feeling the beat, the rhythm, and letting my feet, hips, arms, head, and neck just follow.  

It's not losing, losing yourself or the god-forbidden Control:  it's being you to the core.  It's kissing with eyes closed, feeling each curve of his/her lips, is breathing together SO in-sync, that you know you are saying and listening to "I love you" with every movement. Giving in, not missing out-- and time is there, ticking like the pumping of your heart, rooting for what matters and hold us together: LOVE. 

Orchids

I just wanted to confess that out of all the flowers that light up this world, most definitely orchids do the trick for me.  I like flowers, all of them, with the exception of those fake dyed electric blue roses that seriously even smell like plastic to me. 

My pick for flowers is such a great analogy to my persona.  I either absolutely love wild little flowers: unpretentious, grown in a bunch, pretty sturdy.  Or I fall for orchids: eccentric, somewhat posh, expensive, singular. 
Extremes, as you may see. 

Orchids speak to me of elegance.  Of a certain strength in the stem like a nice long strong neck, and then up comes an explosion of beauty.  Soft petals, delicate allure, seductiveness. 

Times have been hard. Things haven't necessarily been easy for me. I'm sure everyone has faced tough moments where stamina and resilience have been put to the test. I'm not disregarding such a reality, but my life, to me (who is the one and only owner) has been in the darkness, in the void, in the sensation of meaninglessness and confusion. 
I now find myself an orchid.
There might not be much elegance at first sight, but it's my feeling of within. 

I withhold a little secret, a bubble of light, an oyster's pearl.  
It is inside me, yet it surrounds me.
It becomes my halo. 
I hold a little spark from the sun;
It chipped away from the giant ball of fire as I inhaled,
I swallowed it,
for it belonged to me.
This shining seed grows inside, 
as I kiss and twirl and and caress and hold
you.
Only you. 
I nurture my sun seed, yes.
I water it, yes.
Is this love? Is this what lovers feel?
Did women and men of the cave catch sparks of sun?
Do women and men catch flickers of fire?
I'm in love. 

I now find myself an orchid.  Singular. fed by light, water and love. 

Te molesto...

Te molesto un poquito. Escribo "te molesto" y ahora no puedo sacarme de la cabeza la canción de Silvio Rodriguez..'te molesto, mi amor'...

En todo caso te molesto porque tengo un nudo en el centro de mi pecho. Un nudo que tiene cierta movilidad--lo cual es fantástico-- pero que también se está manifestando muchísimo en estos días. 

Siempre me he considerado una persona de búsqueda.  Quizás suene mejor decir una 'aventurera'.  Ha sido difícil para mí estar quieta o, más bien, dejar de moverme. 

Reconozco en mí un alma sin muchas raíces, de carácter itinerante e híbrida. Provengo de una familia clase-media chilena.  Nacida en Chile, pero insertada en una burbuja de "nowhere land" llamada Nido de Águilas. No hay que mal interpretar: gran colegio, que me brindó mucho, aquél colegio de entonces muy internacional, no extenso como hoy y con una gran misión educativa. 

Llegaba a casa confundiendo el inglés del español, dormía en casas de la embajada de Israel, comía con el gerente general de la Coca Cola, y me servía el almuerzo una diplomática de Palestina.  Después llegaba a casa a comer chocapic con leche, a ver tele en la pieza de mi nana Ade. 

Una mezcolanza atroz. 

Quién soy? Creo que ha sido la pregunta fundamental de mi vida. 

Me he dado costalazos del porte un buque buscando la respuesta...o creyendo que mediante un sistema metódico podría encontrarla. 

Me he estrujado hasta el agotamiento, llegando a ser puro hueso, no queriendo ahondar en la pregunta, muriéndome de miedo...como si la respuesta fuera ser terrorífica, monstruosa u horripilante. 

Me perdí en los deberes, pensando que si "cumplía" y me destacaba en aquellos, ESO me definiría como algo/alguien de valor.  

Abandoné mi querer. 

El quererme. El querer, ya ni siquiera sabía si quería algo o no. El querer a otro.

La pregunta me asalta aún hoy. Ha tomado otra(s) forma(s), añadiendo: Qué quiero ser? Qué me hace feliz? Qué quiero?

Me persigue, me acecha como un fantasma...pero en realidad quizás es un ángel.

Estoy con los sentidos abiertos, sigo con lugares sin recorrer en mí, pero mi nudo se mueve y sé que es un buen momento. Pero algo va a pasar...

Debo temer?

Fía. 

Forgiveness

How many times have I heard my voice in my mind saying "your fault"?  
Many.
Name the times I went over the words "I messed up...again" in my mind? 
Many.
The default sensation that I wasn't good enough, could've done better? 
Many. 
Maybe the discomfort of wishing you were different or had done things differently? 
Many. 

Why?

I've lived amongst those that breathe through, for, and with shame.  Feeling shameful, just shameful. 
I inhaled the air thinking it was fresh but became stale as it entered my lungs. Apologizing for exhaling. 
I felt unworthy, deservingly isolated, with the obscure thought that maybe if I was not here things would be better, or easier. 
I recognize the punishing monologues that crush you to the ground, where even silence is unbearable. 

It's not eternal, and it's not doom. 
No one is doomed, no matter how true you might feel it so. 
Every single living creature has the seed of being art--the best it could be. 
Where best is just "being you". 

I now listen to the hymn of beauty and light, and believe in my strength. No one taught it to me, I discovered it, for it is my song and before me no one has sung it. 
Worry not.
Be not afraid. 
Fear not.
Fear lives like ice: within cold, freezing, bitterly chilly lands.  A little light, warmth, and it will drain and drip through your skin. 

The seed of your best. It lives, and will be the last thing to extinguish and abandon you. 
Forgive yourself, and smell like flowers. 
Read ahead:

Love

Struggling to sit down and writing.  Getting distracted by others, by just doing "things"--whatever they may be.  But truly and deeply is being distracted inside, having this quivering feeling, close to some strange kind of fear, about the idea of sitting down and writing. 

Writing my thoughts, my feelings, fearing that the words on this page were tiny blades and cuts that will split my veins open and pour my blood out.  With no intention of gore images, I think that every once in a while it's good to let the blood flow and dye a stale surface. 

In a world where the should's and must's are so hurtfully embedded, where the boundaries and limits are so finely delineated, and the free unjustly crucified...here I stand, turning the wheel towards the opposite direction. 

Feeling and desiring is so human and beautiful.  Holding and embracing is so delicately exquisite. The touch of skin so deliciously worthy. 

There are many things that I run across that shake me to the bone: a dad holding the hand of his son as they cross the street, the joyful dance of my niece as she seems me walk through the door, an elderly couple sitting in a bench holding hands as they look at each other.  
In the language of love there are many things I don't understand, that I haven't experienced yet (and maybe I never will), but one thing I know is that I believe it is not a privilege.  It does not pertain to some and not all. It is not a reward for some kind of proper behavior, or that we are given certain love tokens which expire or run out. 

The true feeling of being in love, is what I believe in, live for, work for and fight for. 
Great demonstrations of strength are born from the spark of love.  Love creates energy, love pumps blood, love vibrates skin, and pulses heart. 

- Fía.