Soy un latido en el Universo 
me verso en tus raices 
Soy arbol, agua y viento 
sonando en tus entranas cada noche
 cada momento que se resuelve en tu consciencia
 escucha 
escucha ... 
se van las horas
 segundos 
y mirando hacia el horizonte esta aquella nina, 
aquella mujer hilando las respiraciones en cada instante 

Soy un latido en el Universo y el corazon mi fuerza interior 
cada latido es una sonrisa en el Universo 
Cada gota de sangre
 mi legacia

Victimhood

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.

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.

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.

My Mother's Dance

I didn’t want my mother to be my buddy, I was thinking back in times of resentment and anger, as a teenager. I wanted her as my mother, as the umbrella that protected my growth, as the one who would kiss my wounds when I barely could stand on my own and I fought her and the world when she didn’t meet my expectations. What is a mother anyway? How do I define her? mama, The IE root for MA, MAMA, MAMMALIA and MOM is ma-mother. The American Heritage Dictionary declares, when presenting the Indo-European root, that MA is 'an imitative root derived from the child's cry for the breast (a linguistic near-universal...) From breast in latin, a breast is the organ of containment, a container of nourishment, close to the heart, both breasts side by side of a heart who vibrate into this liquid of nourishment.
The baby is born, it is screaming into life to announce its arrival and seeks the comfort of the mother’s heat, to be nourished, to be fed, to be had with the essence of mother’s milk.

When do you leave the nest? The nest of this nourishment, when do you begin to fend for yourself, is there a time limit when mother is no longer someone who you reach for. Share with, tell each other stories. Not to long ago I layed my head on my mother’s lap, I am 47 now, I was laying on the floor near her and I felt like a child. She gently touched my cheek with her hand, brushed my hair away and told me that everything would be ok. It’s a moment in time I never forget, those moments that remain within you for a lifetime, always there to remind you of the gentleness, of the bond that two human beings can share.

So where did we separate? When did we become separated? When did I start searching for something that was already within me and relentlessly torn from every fiber that came between us.
It seems it all started when I was born. I was not suppose to happen and nothing was in our favor in those days. She was 15, ready to experience life in a different way than pregnancy.

What happens if the baby is barely held, barely if not at all breast fed, do we spend a lifetime seeking that heat, that closeness, that mother’s breast of warm, sweet milk that fills the baby’s entrance into life.

What if that hole is filled and the heat is generated within oneself. The heat in a dance, as the body move and warms into the rhythm of sound waves that invites the joy, the passion of existence. The stillness then settles in and becomes part of this reality and I can accept her loving hands as they embrace what I am today. Each time my mother comes close, I accept. Each time she touches my face I accept the love she has always wanted to share and didn’t know how before.

My mother moves with determination as the years go by and perhaps now I don’t need to explain everything that I am ready to fight with her about. Now is a time to gather in a family that has not known about gathering, it had been innate in the past but other energies intruded and distorted what was right and was wrong. We accepted all that came our way.

Now love is leading the way and we are opening doors to the freedom of our hearts. It takes a village to move our consciousness, even those strangers on the other side, even those strangers who speak a foreign language, it is no longer relevant because we are speaking from the language of the heart.

John Hardy: My green school dream | Video on TED.com

John Hardy: My green school dream | Video on TED.com

My Concept of God

It is an energy that flows within the Universe
the one that animates the wind,
that fires the heat,
that dances among each body
and the transformation of sounds so we can hear.

It is the language of the heart
that speaks to me the most,
The Spirit that accompanies all experiences,
survival, transformation and wellness
It is the one waiting while supporting growth
waiting patiently,
through each heartbeat,
for growth and evolution,

It is a God that supports my nuggets of awareness
as they move into my awakening and
supports my movements into taking action as I amend
and give you my truth into the totality of beingness!

It is the union of peace and harmony in my heart and the calling
I am claiming to be part of my tribe,
to contribute further healing.
To contribute towards our joy together into this planet,

My concept of God has changed and I have open my heart
to be in this light and in the love we all share.

Intuition

Intuition feels like a conversation with the Universe
like messages in the sky
like a feast of hummingbirds celebrating in flight
and the heat rising from the heart’s desire to be free.

my friend calling on the other line
how are things she says?
Things are great,
lots of gratitude
dancing in grace
as I let myself be embrace by it all,
as long as it is harmony, peace and lots of joy.

She is a painter
and shares her art and joy,
how she studies and plays
while letting go of a nicotine addiction,
who overtook and lead her life.

Now she is free
connecting the new dots
and living a life
connected to her heart
I tell her I agree we’ve been survivors
for too long,
now its time,
its time to thrive!
i look up at the sky
as if something gently lifts my chin,
and there is a dance in the sky,
a red-tailed hawk
being followed side by side
by two crows,
the hawk smoothly flying
expanded
in agreement of an open door to thrive,
that is it,
they slowly disappear into the sky
until their dance only remains
in our words,

my friend agrees,
she tells me then about the
story of her knowledge of crows and eagles.

a story of its own later to be told.

For the Addict Mind

It is very slick and slivery
gliding through the cities alleys and
back entrances like a thief

its a body full of tricks
a magician in its trade
luring you with goodies
and sweets of all sorts

they last a few lollypop surrenders
until the last chew just to sticky to be true
and then immediately another one
just like that
at your disposal.

It is always waiting,
most times uninvited
oh so seductive
accommodating
wiling to go to any lengths

The seductive body
dresses in black
and rarely shows its face
but its swirls of addiction
correlates with your downfall

So take the back sit
please,
lets stroll in this new sobriety
where we can both be lured
into the hearts pleasure
where your insatiable hunger
can be replenished
and satisfied.

Breathing

The Earth breathes and moves mountains, it seems at times, or swirls into joy with great waves in the oceans to greet the walks I take to soothe my feet.
The wind blows right next to my window to wake the other breath in me, as I breath it seems to respond by brushing through the plants and trees.

I've been awake a long time this morning, wanting to rest inside yet moving from and to different rooms in this beautiful house. The air is cooler as fall approaches and the new moon begins to settle in .
What new callings to be placed among the space and time of this reality? What new vibrations other love to be evoke among the tribes and community of this global encounter.

I saw many movies this past month from documentaries, comedies and steamy romantic films. Injustice, challenges, evolutionary change and passion. The young women in Ethiopia shunned by the injustice of shame, humiliation by losing their child during childbirth: A walk to Beautiful...worth watching, just on the other side of the globe. An "People of the Wind" of the Bakhtiari journey into the Zagro mountains of Iran, if your migration seems challenging and doubtful at times try watching this last one.

I look over to the winding on my right where a beautiful small tree guards my room and on its branch sits a hummingbird ever reminding me of the joy in life and sustain this mood into the unknown.