Victimization - Victimizacion
Deletreado diferentemente pero el mismo personaje, ya sea en ingles o en español. Uno de los tantos personajes del ego. La victima se presenta con su quietud o en su tormenta de personaje arrasando con todo lo que viene en su camino. Ya sea silenciosamente o con una gran ira hacia el mundo. Siempre el mismo dialogo: ¿Por qué yo? ¿Es que no se dan cuenta lo que duele, el sufrimiento que he sostenido? Nadie me entiende realmente. El personaje se aprovecha de la soledad, del cansancio, del hambre.
Existen árboles victimas de su condición terrícola? Cayeron en manos de los humanos y crecieron torcidos hacia el cielo, se quejaran los árboles. Se manifiesta la victimización en sus ramas, vibra a través de sus frutos? ¿Se pasaran culpando al vecino árbol de su condición?
La victima es solitaria, no se rie y no le gustan los grupos de gente, es algo que le asusta porque no tiene su centro, arma sus propios escenarios mentales. Escucha cosas al pasar cerca de la gente. Arma sus propios ataques. Es solitaria, no puede exponerse por que en la luz queda al descubierto.
Su sobrecama es la queja, es un llanto casi creíble y sus pequeños primos los adictos llegan casi siempre a acompañarl@.
Within the same Word, even if spelled out in different languages, Victimization is the same. One of the many characters of the Ego. The victim presents itself in its stillness or its own thunderstorm of character wiping out everything upon its path. Either within its stillness o with its great rage towards the world. It is always the same dialogue: Why me? Doesn’t anybody know how long I{ve sustained the pain? No one really understands me?
The character takes advantage of its loneliness, tiredness and hunger.
Are there any victim trees wondering in their earthling condition? Have they fallen upon human hands and grown crooked towards the sky? Do they complain? Does the victimization manifest through their branches, their fruits? Do they spend their time blaming their neighbor tree of their current condition?
The victim is a lonely being, does not laugh and dislikes groups of people, gatherings is something that frightens it because it does not have a center then; it arms itself with mental scenes of the future and the guilt of the past. It hears things as it picks up phrases or whispers from the crowds. It prepares itself with imaginary attacks. It is lonely and can not expose itself because in groups or in the light it is exposed.
Its comforter is Complain, an almost credible cry among the woods and its small cousins are the addicts that come uninvited, sneaking in through the window faking to accompany her or him.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
A Coral Heart
A coral heart. It was perhaps 1989, we had decided to reunite, my exhusband and I and our child Jean Philippe. We chose an island, in Rangiroa, Tahiti. It was a lustrous pinnacle of a get away. An island beyond the main island in Tahiti.
Our child would wonder naked around the island, free and marveled by the clarity of this unbounded water. We would feed the fish as we approach and gave little pieces of bread. It was a hot summer but the juices and fruits and food was abundant, the Earth is always generous.
We wondered like flickering stars around the island. Living to the fullest in those days as we touched our love from inside, our smiles were dancing everywhere, learning about a new culture, happy to be together once again, after some years of separation.
We made love like never before calling for another child. It didn't take place then, the calling was for each one to grow further before bringing another child. But we called anyways, we called because the island welcomed the passion, the love, the full body of this romance.
Jean-Philippe wore a straw hat, perhaps too big but the sun was not forgiving and this protected him while he strolled naked along the beach.
We walked together one morning, leaving the small cabin and heading towards the water. The road was full of coral, shells and small pebbles...
I looked at Jean-Francois, he reached for me and gave me something he had found, I look what he had placed in my hand, it was small coral shaped as a heart. It was an expression of our love.
Twenty something years later, today I carry that heart everywhere I go. I hold it close to my heart and know that even though we are not together anymore, physically, energetically we have loved, yes there has been an incredible and through which a child was born.
Gratitude it is.
Our child would wonder naked around the island, free and marveled by the clarity of this unbounded water. We would feed the fish as we approach and gave little pieces of bread. It was a hot summer but the juices and fruits and food was abundant, the Earth is always generous.
We wondered like flickering stars around the island. Living to the fullest in those days as we touched our love from inside, our smiles were dancing everywhere, learning about a new culture, happy to be together once again, after some years of separation.
We made love like never before calling for another child. It didn't take place then, the calling was for each one to grow further before bringing another child. But we called anyways, we called because the island welcomed the passion, the love, the full body of this romance.
Jean-Philippe wore a straw hat, perhaps too big but the sun was not forgiving and this protected him while he strolled naked along the beach.
We walked together one morning, leaving the small cabin and heading towards the water. The road was full of coral, shells and small pebbles...
I looked at Jean-Francois, he reached for me and gave me something he had found, I look what he had placed in my hand, it was small coral shaped as a heart. It was an expression of our love.
Twenty something years later, today I carry that heart everywhere I go. I hold it close to my heart and know that even though we are not together anymore, physically, energetically we have loved, yes there has been an incredible and through which a child was born.
Gratitude it is.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Walks with my brother Carlos
He is my younger brother, Carlos, nine years younger to be more specific, so even knowing this piece of information, another piece of the puzzle of lost memories.
So you remember us as little children? I ask him
No, I don't remember. He answers.
Those words resonate like magnified in a solar system within, louder than other vibrations.
I have simply stopped repeating “I don’t remember” since I began the breathwork Pranayama and leave the door open to what it is that we can recall.
I propose walking rapidly, since we have so much to do and we left a pot of garbanzo beans simmering in low heat at the house, we agree that it will be a 20 minute walk. The day is hot, tropical hot, just early enough not to boil, just hot enough to stimulate you.
Carlos, I say, you know how great movement is, just half an hour of walking does the body wonders! He agrees, with a smile on his face. Thirty years without knowing each other, without walking together.... I am beginning to feel his innocence and separate the dark sexual energy that makes me cringe when we get too close. I let go of fear when I hug him now and trust.
Yes, he says, I can feel the sweat as we walk up the hill and the sun is sharp today.
I have a memory while I was in bed, the knowing that it was going to be a very hot day even before I opened my eyes.
We go walk around the missionary school of priests nearby, it is sort of calm and I spot a series of papaya trees, mango trees and plantains along the way. Thinking to myself, details, these are the details that enrich our walk: the sun, the wind, the fruit trees along the way and our longing to share stories.
Just before the end of our walk, he says, I remember being in grandmother’s house, alone with Katty our sister and the lights had gone out, we had to light a candle and placed it on top of grandfather old radio, do you remember that radio?
Of course I tell him, that big old monument in the kitchen, that was one of our landmarks in that house, it was an extension of my grandfather, two great knobs on each side and a beautiful light brown covering over the main face of the speaker. We didn’t have a TV for many years, so the radio was our link to the outside world and to many dances of my grandmother.
Then, Carlos says, the candle fell and it started burning part of the radio until we quickly turned it off. We were so young, you know, and left alone. All we feared at that moment was Adela, their aunt, my mother. We stared through the door and since I must of been so little that the only thing I could see was the hairdo of Adela, bouncing up and down as she approached down the block, among the houses stuck side by side together. I call her : el gorro del verdugo (the executioner's hood)
and what happened afterwards, I asked, although I could imagine knowing her outbursts of rage what had happened but I waited for his answer.
He says, I don’t remember after that, but I know that we had covered the radio with a laced cloth for the time being to spare us from the fright of what might happen
It feels like all these years we have been covering life with a pretty laced cloth and now its time to take it off without fear.
So you remember us as little children? I ask him
No, I don't remember. He answers.
Those words resonate like magnified in a solar system within, louder than other vibrations.
I have simply stopped repeating “I don’t remember” since I began the breathwork Pranayama and leave the door open to what it is that we can recall.
I propose walking rapidly, since we have so much to do and we left a pot of garbanzo beans simmering in low heat at the house, we agree that it will be a 20 minute walk. The day is hot, tropical hot, just early enough not to boil, just hot enough to stimulate you.
Carlos, I say, you know how great movement is, just half an hour of walking does the body wonders! He agrees, with a smile on his face. Thirty years without knowing each other, without walking together.... I am beginning to feel his innocence and separate the dark sexual energy that makes me cringe when we get too close. I let go of fear when I hug him now and trust.
Yes, he says, I can feel the sweat as we walk up the hill and the sun is sharp today.
I have a memory while I was in bed, the knowing that it was going to be a very hot day even before I opened my eyes.
We go walk around the missionary school of priests nearby, it is sort of calm and I spot a series of papaya trees, mango trees and plantains along the way. Thinking to myself, details, these are the details that enrich our walk: the sun, the wind, the fruit trees along the way and our longing to share stories.
Just before the end of our walk, he says, I remember being in grandmother’s house, alone with Katty our sister and the lights had gone out, we had to light a candle and placed it on top of grandfather old radio, do you remember that radio?
Of course I tell him, that big old monument in the kitchen, that was one of our landmarks in that house, it was an extension of my grandfather, two great knobs on each side and a beautiful light brown covering over the main face of the speaker. We didn’t have a TV for many years, so the radio was our link to the outside world and to many dances of my grandmother.
Then, Carlos says, the candle fell and it started burning part of the radio until we quickly turned it off. We were so young, you know, and left alone. All we feared at that moment was Adela, their aunt, my mother. We stared through the door and since I must of been so little that the only thing I could see was the hairdo of Adela, bouncing up and down as she approached down the block, among the houses stuck side by side together. I call her : el gorro del verdugo (the executioner's hood)
and what happened afterwards, I asked, although I could imagine knowing her outbursts of rage what had happened but I waited for his answer.
He says, I don’t remember after that, but I know that we had covered the radio with a laced cloth for the time being to spare us from the fright of what might happen
It feels like all these years we have been covering life with a pretty laced cloth and now its time to take it off without fear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)