I LIKE THE WAY...

I like the way the wind finds it's path through space.  How it suddenly sneaks in from behind, from the side, might even give off a playful unexpected whip on...let's say...someone's neck. 
Or how it can softly caress and arouse the entire body as it licks the skin of my back. 

I like the way the wind travels and creates movement.  I like the way the wind is the true antagonist of rigidity, of predetermination. The wind is bold, an intruder. 

I like the way the wind is governed by change, ruled by the very thought that there isn't an endpoint...that's it's all in the everlasting search.  

I like the way the wind can sound like ocean waves or a divine whistle.  

I like the way the wind is fearless to touch, how it can come so close, come inside you, make you close your eyes, and make you feel so alive.  
I like the way the wind is so sexy. 

I like the way the wind teaches me to trust the invisible waves of light and love.  All of a sudden I feel a part of something, something that is pure that has an unknown, mysterious, wisdom and logic.  
I like the way I can surrender and just feel...
if I follow you, light...
if I honor you, love...
I'm suddenly found in spirit. 

I like the way the wind and the birds speak the same language.  How they dialogue, kiss and swim together in open air. They give and take, they lift and carry each other, no one really in charge. 

I like the way the wind makes me dance.  I can twist and turn, open my chest and arch my back in your honor.  

I like the way I find safety and pleasure in the wind.
I like the way the wind takes my breath away...

Fearless

3:06 am.
That's where I'm at. 
Breathing and listening to the birds welcoming a new day.  The sun is not even close to rising from the East, but there is a fearless faith that it will come, and offer new opportunities. 
There is something about the stillness of this hour.  No mental, complicated noise yet.  It's just nature taking it's course, flowing-- just like the endless waves that hit the shore. 

Fear. 
I walked by the shore, hours ago, in the island of the Dominican Republic, trying to capture every second of what was in front of me: the feeling of the humid air and heat of the sun enveloping my skin; the millions of grains of sand under my feet, my body slightly sinking as I walked; the occasional brushing of the warm water caressing my ankles; the unbelievable landscape of turquoise water hitting the yellowish-whitish sand, thin long palm trees slightly slanted along the shore, insanely numerous beach chairs facing the water, and radiant hotel façades that peeked through the trees...
and just like now, I just breathed...
and then thought of fear.

What makes us fear? All living creatures fear...right? Yet there is something so beautiful, honest, and clean about animals. They seem to embrace fear, problem-solve, and then let it go. Seems so healthy and wise. 
We.
We dwell on fear.  
We search for fear.
We anticipate fear.
We run from fear.
We fear fear.

I walked and thought: at some moment in time, someone, (maybe a group of people), or some particular event in history transformed this natural state of being a weapon. A weapon to control, a tool to enforce power over another...and the dynamic of fear, punishment, and shame was born. Crucifying us...

I try to teach, offer, or at least try to provide a space of fearlessness. 
I celebrate the risk, encourage boldness, and truly admire the courage of action. We are here to act. Live in neon colors.

We inhabit this environment governed by anticipation, anxiety, correctness, and fear. Our participation is weak.
We don't come to this world to fuck up.  We come to connect and give and share and receive and feel. 
Fear paralyzes.  
Fear creeps on us. It whispers softly in our ears, and seduces us to "not dare", to forget about experiencing, it tricks us to play it safe, to  hopefully not feel, to succumb to a greater, terrible (yet non-existent) overwhelming doom that lies ahead of us.  
Fear permeates in our skin, takes over our brightness and makes us dull. 

Now in Santiago I think of fear again.  
You made me think of fear again. 
I say: I'm not complying to the monster.  I won't play it safe, I will be real. As real as I can be.
I want to be just like the birds this morning-- bold, open, faithful to the rising sun, to new opportunities, to feeling, and the beauty of being alive.

THE HEART

Writing bursts out of me, like bubbles, when I'm in a state of peace, when I find some kind of alignment between my external world and my subtle body. 

Throughout these past weeks I've found myself in dis-ease.  I've felt shaken, broken, crushed, and crumbled.  I've worked hard towards the goal of awareness, of un-veiling the --oh so many-- false identities and attachments we are drawn to. 

We believe we are where we work and what we do. 
We believe we are what we wear or how we look.
We believe we are how much money we have, we earn, and how much we can attain. 
But the hard, yet simple truth is that we are not. 

It's scary to embrace this fact for it is unknown, and it has no guarantees nor measurements.  There is no recipe either on how to reach an answer-- if there ever is AN answer. 

Faith.  That's what guides.  
Faith sometimes creates resistance because it is related to religion and dogmas. 

"Ishvara Pranidhana": surrendering (pranidhana) to a higher source (ishvara).
Words such as 'devotion', 'trust', and 'humility' speak of this concept. It is the grace of practicing the giving in of what is greater than us, surrendering to the grace of being alive. 

Connect with your heart.  Align your thoughts with your actions.  Understand that there is no one else just like you, and that we are all extremely special and worthy. 

My troubles come when I can't find that alignment.  When I get blurred away with clouds of fear. My senses become numb with doubt and insecurity.  I'm caught in a whirlwind.  I'm in a sand storm. 
I paralyze. 
I cry.
I never thought I had so many tears.
I lose ease.  
I'm in dis-ease. 

I'm slowing down, I'm sleeping, I'm breathing, I'm beating. 
My heart center is healing.

I'm intense. 
I'm sensitive. 
I need not to think this has to change, or that it's a hindering aspect of my Self. 
I need not to think there is something wrong with me.

Intensity is a part of me.  
I must nourish and foster my intense heart. 
My lion heart. 

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.

What will it make you?

Haven't written much, and it hurts a little.
I go through intense moments when all i want to do is stop--stop the world and just sit down and write.
Whether it is an idea, an image, a sound, a feeling, a desire, or maybe tell a little story.

Life has been touching me deeply.
Deeply, and in new places.

I love to feel alive.
I love to feel.  It's scary, and I scare myself as well.  Moments of true courage, of no refrain, of losing control.  Allowing yourself to burn, hurt, laugh, shout, dance, scream, squeeze, soothe, caress.
We have been brought up to be so proper.
"Proper will bring goodness."
"Be proper, be good."

 Proper will lead you to success. Proper is what you must, will and have to be.

I say: dare a little.
Give a little.
Be deaf a little and yet hear with your fingertips.
Listen with your lips.

Dare.
Dare, knowing the dare.
Take charge, which is not the same as saying: "be in charge".

If you gave in for a second. If you act, respond, react to this unspoken law. What will it make you?

RESOLUTIONS

"People change because their minds have been opened or their hearts broken"...
Just came across that quote, created by who knows who.  I'm at a loss.  Do I believe this? Something makes me hesitate to agree fully with this affirmation.  Haven't quite discovered it yet--which probably is not entertaining for a blog entry, since I guess it is to write about discoveries or some kind of epiphany, or something!
I've noticed--which i love -- that I usually have sat in front of the screen with my ten fingers placed in the position, ready to type, and then having absolutely no idea what to write about. 
It's just writing for writing: for the desire, the need, the curiosity. 
Anyway, I digress. 
"People change because..."  I think that is the part I don't quite agree with, or am not fully seduced with. I think i'd rather say people grow.  Growth requires mind cracking and/or heart shattering. It's not the same thing as change.  I can change my pair of pants.  I can change my hair style. Change my home, my nail polish, even my fashion, but it does not necessarily mean growth.  
I'm talking about growth here, fundamental growth.  And yes, of course there must be change involved, inevitably. 
I couldn't care less about this quote, and now feel somewhat turned off about this whole analytical ordeal. But my true intention and my thoughts are that people should strive to grow.  Work on it, work for it. 
I've noticed that. I'm an observer. I can say that passionately. I'm crazy over it.  Watching, noticing, spying.  And through this watching I notice how little people really look.  Marching soldiers from point A to point B, abandoned bodies who travel with no awareness.  This is harsh for me to say, and I'm a bit of a jerk to generalize.  I walk through streets and see the focal point of my fellows-- down, almost always down. I sit and watch, and there is uneasiness of being with themselves, alone. Whether it be iPhone, Smartphone, headphones, smoking.  All to distract, all to avoid, all to escape. 
I admire, I am dumbfounded, head over feet, rejoiced when I encounter someone that has cracked open.  Who is working, struggling, questioning, even wondering about unveiling...just unveiling--themselves, the world that holds them. Big questions, big shifts, big challenge, facing fears of all fears.  Be available to crack, break. 
As an actor I was trained for details.  Trained to specifics. 
Yoga has exposed me to questions, yoga has brought me back to my breath.  Take off the veil of habits, false identities, fear.  Unmask the phony belief that we must work to produce, to obtain and reach for something external that will guarantee us and classify us as successful.  The void of happiness.  Coca-cola. 

This year i've learned a lot.  I've faced fears, I've been brave.  This designated date of end/beginning, of turning over, is beautiful. It's not easy to stop and reflect, analyze and feel. Challenges to encounter, walls to break (or at least to begin chipping through).  Let us all crack our minds a little open, and allow our hearts to break. 

Fía. 

Topsy-turvy

There are not many moments when I feel IN my skin. I mean withholding the sense of stopping time—the inner ticking—and then have a wider, more wholesome awareness of just being here. 

Here, not there.

Here.

It is a peculiar moment. It is of mindfulness, yet a contemplation of the past.  What I have done, where I have been, explains where I am now.  Having that in mind, feeling it within every pore, every inhale and exhale, knowing it in every interaction, every intention—physical, emotional, sexual, psychological. 

Do what you feel, gear your chariot, say what you mean or shut up.

Children, animals, nature, act upon such simple-straight forward laws.  When did it all become so tangled and double-sided?

Ease, dis-ease.

Want.

Need.

Birth, growth, death.

I sometimes get overwhelmed with hidden meanings, detours and subtexts.

I get burned and stabbed with lack of humanity, all in favor of personal greed, ambition and acquisition. 

Isn’t it a bit sad how, when definition of “acquisition” is defined by a dictionary as: buying or obtaining an asset or object: Western culture places a high value on material acquisition.

Work, fight, moan, grin, show your teeth (grrrr..) for acquisition.

Acquire, purchase, obtain, WIN!

“I have this and this and THIS…oh, now I’m XX”.

Something in that equation makes my system collapse, makes my nerves twitch, and I am left with the great question: what the hell am i?

In all directions, to all coordinates I scream: I have no idea, and maybe I’ll never fully know.  But I’m here to try to figure it out.  Somehow, someway. 

The searching, the finding-the getting lost, the loops, the topsy-turvyness.

I’ll dance away,

My body might cease, but I’ll always dance…

For me

For me.
For me, and only me.
For me, myself and I.

For me,
a choice,
a decision,
yes.

A constant variable in the equation,
equation of my soul,
life,
heart.

Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do I wanna?
listen,
listen,
listen,
talk, say it, say it til you listen and react.

The catalyst of love,
the copper thread that shares, speeds and escorts.
Run through me,
let it gallop by and by,
rush, electrify.

Do you wanna?
tell me.
Do you?
Do you?
Do.
you.
Do I wanna?
Do I?
Do.
I.

Assaults
me
so.
This question.
FOR ME.

Fibonacci

0-1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21-34-55-89-144....

I don't know how to name it, I don't know how to even explain where exactly it is located.
There is a wheel, spiral, i am feeling inside of me. In my center.
It is not exactly on my chest, but more on the lower part of my sternum.
It is somewhere between my diaphragm and that key place in my body where the costal ribs are born.

In a specific soft part of my body.
Untouchable, 
I feel you.

I feel you, energy.
I feel you, essence and force of life.
That place, that gets touched when I suddenly sense your smell that seduces me.
That place, that rises my temperature when i can feel your skin just a bit closer, 
but not touching.
It is that place, that pulls me inevitably millimeters closer, almost unnoticeable.
I timidly advance, pulling, 
pulling, 
pulling in. 
And you might not perceive my pace.

I feel you, elixir.
Elixir of life.
When you leave me out of breath as I look you in the eye,
as I follow the dance of your lips,
as your neck invites me
and 
makes
me 
water.

I feel you, spiral.
The shift you provoke.
The twist you explore,
Spinning me.
Spin me,
Spin me.
I am dizzy, but so found.

The birth of a star is inside me.
The explosion in the middle of the galaxy
is also me.
Fibonacci in the sky,
Fibonacci in the ocean,
Fibonacci in my spirit.

You spin me around.
You twist and squeeze,
swivel and twirl,
you 
you
you.

And i love it. 

Tell me why?

I sit here...and i wait.
What is waiting? But maybe some missed opportunity of action.
Action, decision, control and courage.  Active thought, active feeling, active faith.

The longing, the stretching of an impulse, and the beating of a desire. 
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?

The fear that has ran through all of us. 
Fear of not being the one.
(is there one?)
Fear of losing,
(what?)
Fear of hurting,
(it's not enough).

As clouds surrounding, drowning, caressing the vast sky,
I look at the sun in rapture. 
Excited, aroused, euphoric, in ecstasy.
Your rays hit me hard,
give me a little shake,
give me a little quiver,
jiggle.

Do not wish to be common,
do not wish to be flawless
(cuz i'm not).

My colors to sparkle,
my light to penetrate through you,
fearless.

Fearless and active.
Why sit when you can stand?
Why hold when you can run?
Why fear when you can love?

Fía.

HEART

I am known to be stubborn, headstrong, maybe a little obstinate...but really I like the word "willful". 
It is the beautiful mix of being quite idealistic, sentimental, passionate and romantic (this goes beyond love affairs) with being very practical and oh-my-god following what and where i have set my eyes on. 
Stand away, because if necessary i'll push you, scratch you or out-wit you until I get it/there/you.

I think about this, and yet there is an element that I know is key to my determination.  And that is my heart.  As I type this out I hear a squeaky disturbing voice saying here you go again with the heart business.  But it is so utterly true and important, that I apologize to all of you hard-headed people. 

Heart that guides my way.
Heart that makes me jump,
spin,
swirl,
cry,
laugh,
long.

Heart, it is for you,
because of you,
to you
that I am me.

A beats that startles,
a beat that paralyzes.
beats that rise when making love.

Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you.

I pledge for your honor,
for your safety,
for your strength.

I kneel down.

Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.

The warmest feeling to lay on top of you,
and feel YOUR heart. 
Our hearts. 

The laying beside you, 
watching you,
your neck 
slightly 
moving 
to your beat.

Heart, i love you.
Heart, i feel you heart.

Play a Record.

We all have certain songs that touch our souls, that make us a little bit more sensitive,
that make our necks curl a little, our pores reach out, our temperature rise or fall...

Music is touching souls, just like it might be a soft lip encounter, a projectile look, a playful touch.
Music is intense as dark chocolate, a rich red wine, a clutch, a take hold of, a passionate grip of another body against yours. 
Music is free-ing, as a window-opened road trip, a mountain, a view from the heights, the wind. 

The combination of sounds, rhythm, frequencies, silences make us travel. 
Travel,
Travel to places we like, we yearn, travel to places we fear, and yet are mysteriously attracted to. 
Fatal attraction of what is forbidden, where the impossible might just be able to squeeze in--and it haunts us from time to time, slipping in for a fraction of a second, making us tremble. 
Tremble, 
Tremble at the thought of it taking shape, for granting it even a possibility.
Possibly, most definitely shaking us a little, making us lunatics, thought-less, yet so incredibly powerful. 
Powerful,
Powerful of devising this malicious plan, deliciously mischievous, which has no desire to harm or make anyone/anything break.
Break,
Break the abstraction of time, create a new dimension with no limits, for a second, a tiny tiny second.

Music does it all.
Close your eyes and shake, tremble, stretch...stretch that thought.

Drink a whole case of wine of you,
Play a whole game of looks,
Take hold of you close and strong.

What record do you have on right now?

-Fía.

JUICIO

Sin juicio,
sin PRE juicio,
en realidad sin muela del juicio.  Ése es mi status actual. Sin una, la superior-lado izquierdo.  
Un reverendo hoyo en la encía, zurcida con un hilo obscuro.

Lado zurdo de la cara levemente hinchado, dolor punzante, malestar en el área del ojo hasta el mentón. 
En conclusión: tengo todo ese lado tomado. 

Es increíble lo limitante que puede ser la molesta consecuencia de una extracción molar.  Y yo, a mis treinta años, sacándome algo que en realidad pareciese ser correspondiente a una etapa adolescente-púber. 

Desde lavarse los dientes, succionar cualquier cosa (yo, ávida consumidora de un rico mate matutino), sonreír, hablar con full expresión, tirar un beso, cantar una canción, saltar, bailar, correr, andar en bici. 
No, no, no, no.

Y por qué muela "del juicio"? Claramente conozco más los casos de la gente que nunca ha tenido juicio (pues no le salieron), y otros que tuvieron y como buen dentista-gasfiter se lo sacaron de una. Creo no conocer a nadie que tenga sus buenas 4 muelas. 

Y aquí estamos, des-juiciados, comiendo papilla, compota, helado...hinchados como ardillas.

En todo caso me ha hecho pensar en hartas cosas: algunas bastante superficiales. Pero mi primera reacción a mi malestar actual-- cómo habrán sufrido aquellos parientes míos desde la época de las cavernas con un dolor de muela, y después extirparla a cuero-pato! Batallando con infecciones, hinchazón, comidas no muy aptas (o sea, cero licuadora, mini-pimmer, procesadora). 

También pienso en la palabra juicio.  Se utiliza con varias acepciones: 
JUICIO (Del lat. iudicĭum).

1. m. Facultad del alma, por la que el hombre puede distinguir el bien del mal y lo verdadero de lo falso.

2. m. Estado de sana razón opuesto a locura o delirio. Está en su juicio. Está fuera de juicio.

3. m. Opinión, parecer o dictamen.

4. m. Seso, asiento y cordura. Hombre de juicio.

5. m. Pronóstico que los astrólogos hacían de los sucesos del año.

6. m. Der. Conocimiento de una causa en la cual el juez ha de pronunciar la sentencia.

7. m. Fil. Operación del entendimiento, que consiste en comparar dos ideas para conocer y determinar sus relaciones.

8. m. Rel. El que Dios hace del alma en el instante en que se separa del cuerpo.

Leed con atención.  Y es bastante complejo el término.  Desde "enjuiciar" hasta fomentar el juicio, confiar en el juicio natural humano-- que yo creo corresponde a la generosidad, compasión, amor, comunidad.

Seré ingenua? Quizás. 

O muy idealista? Tal vez.

Pero creo en la bondad y en la belleza.  Y sé, creo y siento el poder de la energía positiva. 

Estar despierto, estar presente, actuar. 

Que el juicio no sea sólo un concepto mental, una idea sin cabeza ni pies ni corazón.  Que tengamos conciencia de nuestro poder y del don de tener juicio. 

Lo digo con una muela menos, en pleno dolor. 

Es así como pienso también que éste pequeño dolor (que me afecta muchísimo, pero ni se compara con otros dolores de alma o dolencias físicas más impactantes)...éste dolor me regala el momento de tomar conciencia, de utilizar mi juicio y simplemente agradecer.  

Es en éste contexto donde me encuentro ahora: recostada, baja de energía, con un foco de dolor, un leve desgano y sensibilidad de alma.  Así estoy, y lo siento y lo quiero sentir. 

Gracias cuerpo, gracias mente, gracias corazón.

Gracias juicio.

Fía.

Soar

A song sang by two.
A breath of two.
Voices that create a heartfelt tune. 
The space between.

Life.
Death.
Living. 

Sinking into each other,
falling slowly,
swimming in flight.

When eyes close and it's not black.
Giving in and giving out.
Discovering all the corners.
Fingertips.

A recipe of life:
1 ounce of pain,
5 tablespoons of desire and lust,
1 cup of smiles,
half a teaspoon of fear (optional)
mix, blend, beat with memories.
Spice with lips, hugs, caresses.
Fingertips.

This all sounds very amusing, this all sounds very clever, but what is the true recipe of life and living? My biggest fault has been trying to figure it out; sprung out from the mind,  the rationale, and what I have been taught to follow as a life.  
A life of what? A life of success? To whom? To what? For what? For whom?
Recipes, steps, instructions, dots to connect, lines to fill, answers to circle.

Moments of clarity, those moments when you are just flowing. And you feel it.  Feel it with the wind, with the sun, with your hair, with your neck and your hands.  There is no struggling, there is just game. Playing the game, surfing, traveling, rocking, singing, dancing, shouting.  

The butterfly of life and death. Both wings carrying you through. The limit is so subtle, so preciously frail, delicate. It flutters together, and this capacity of living is the same capacity of dying.
Live a little, die a little.

Live fully, die fully. It is absolutely inevitable.  
               Yet, soar.  
                    Soar.
                          Soar.
                                 Soar.
Take flight, lift up, and fly to the sun to get burned. 

Melt your skin,
ache to the bones,
and become fertile ash, bountiful soil, food for newcomers.

Soar.