anthills

If there was one simple question, to which only one answer could be right; it would be spread, shared and secreted about.

See, my grandma always says, stop searching underneath ants for boogers.

So I stopped trying to look for answers where there would only be opinions and beliefs, because in the end, I could always make those up myself.

But when I start to think that words can fade, prayers dissapear, and faith is too dependant... I remind myself to stop turning those goddamn ants around to look for boogers and simply admire those little creatures holding up huge green leaves to take home.

There is always a time when things bubble inside, when your logic is in some hidden corner completley taken up by irrationality. When things change, time is slow and you feel alone. In those times I act with no concent of consequences, I simply do. Yet in that doing there is a why, and in that why there is a question, and in every question there is a hundred answers.

But again, I´ve learnt to stop looking for the answers underneath ants, and simply focus on the question.

Doubting, not trusting, not believing, not no to knot a knot.

Funny, how many times you can tie a tie, before you realize it´s just a simple knot.

See, a no is basic, its a foundation. It´s easy to say, so it´s easy to think, to be.

But a yes, it has one of the letters which doesnt even really make sense, a Y.

So why use Y when you can answer ´no´.

There! there is the booger right there! Because the trick of unanswarable questions is, to simplY ask whY and within that question there is your answer. Your answer is because you asked. Because you want to know. Because I want to change my instinctive No, for an easY why.

In those times of irrationality, of loneliness, of doubting, dont search for answers, look at the fricking ants and see the question.

Together, we dance between the shadows.

A melancholic stillness whispers silently through the trees, sharing secrets with every passing tree. When it reaches the dormant lake, it mirrors the mountains above with every drop of water. Absorbing the reflection of the green shades of colour from the leaves, they make the perfect replica for us to wonder which is real. The only reassurance is the immensity of the embracing blue sky above that gently pushes a few white clouds through its naked openness. It becomes the bed on which the sun lays, diffusing the blue to mix with its spreading light. The cold spring wind awakens the thought with its touch, enveloping it with the shuffling sound of the brushing leaves. With the help of the constant calm movements of the lonely trees, the sun breaks its light to imitate their outline as shadows on the rocky ground. It’s not noticeable at first, to see the puzzle of light and shadow follow the pace of the wind. But the more the view is admired, the more the picture is detailed, the more the place is inhaled, it becomes obvious that in every silence beauty dances to the rhythm of moment. Underneath our crammed feet, an unstable rock protects us from the water. We had jumped from the shore to land above it, letting the shallow deep blue water surround us. A stream of sunlight emerges from the barrier of trees behind, as our standing bodies imprint their silhouettes on the bare surface of the lake. Our coordinated breathing unify with the whispering breeze, inviting us to become part of the imposing scene. Every detail participates with equal importance to merge the pieces together: the sun hitting the towering trees, the aging trunks and clapping leaves leading their shadows to conceal the rocks and grass through their path, and finally reaching the sleeping immense body of water where we stand stupefied by the overwhelming picture around us. “I feel so little,” she mumbles softly, not directing her thought at me but allowing her voice to speak out. Each of us drawing in her own admiration separately, yet a perpetual bond was gifted to us through our common feeling of aspiring fragility. “It’s like time is frozen still,” I feel my mouth contribute to her past thought. Allowing my voice to continue, I say, “It’s letting the picture put its pieces together”. Her sigh answers agreeing, and again we are absorbed into the moment. “Remember when we first started being friends?” She asks. Without expecting an answer she continues, “It’s funny to imagine how fast we’ve been thrown with time to land in this exact instant”. With a nod of agreement I answer, “Maybe we’re realizing now, even if we already cared for each other before, how grateful we really are”. We stepped away from the suspended rock and slowly walked away from the scene. “I know it might sound bad, but I appreciate you a lot more now,” she says. I turn my head to face her as my hand reaches in my purse to find my cigarettes. “I feel the same way. Want one?” I answer, offering her a smoke. We were making our way back, leaving the perfect shared moment suspended like a dream on the lake and between the trees. Silently smoking, we let it become part of our past while we walk away. Yet the memory of our mutual realization as the surrounding beauty strengthened our friendship will always remain within me. The importance of appreciating each other while admiring the moment is what makes her my best friend, my sister.

i follow rivers

The puddles bounced the light raindrops, letting the watery surface wrinkle to their touch. It was either early morning or late noon; the memory of the blue purple haze became undistinguishable in her mind. But the silence, the feeling of isolated calmness remained in her mind for years after that day. She let herself remember sometimes, and when she did she felt a piercing wind shake her bones.
Her naive curiosity had led her to such incomprehensible actions. She followed it without precautions until that day. The remains of the harsh rain she had heard from inside now laid on the ground, forming bodies of shallow puddles which reflected everything above. It was as if two worlds separated themselves through the blue door she had decided to cross for a breath of fresh air. Her naked wet feet led her to the nearest reflection of herself. She stood next to the puddle, looking at her own blurry image be distorted with every landing drop of rain. They seemed so strange to her, the raindrops, as if they were teasing her by blocking what she thought was the real image of herself. But she still felt them land on her bare shoulders, slowly dripping. They were comforting in a way, stroking wet her skin. She felt surrendered to their revelations and with trust let her surroundings guide her into the realisation that would instantly change her life.
Every step she had taken to arrive to that specific moment, every decision she had chosen, every possibility she had rejected. Curiosity might have been her guider and the biggest reason why she was standing in her gala dress outside the emergency exit of that building. It was that same familiar place where she would spend hours searching for that man which seemed profitable enough to spend the night with. It was the freedom she had once thought it gave her. But that instant in which the raindrops became her only reassurance, she instinctively ripped off the dress which she had been given.
The wind pinched her skin as it went by, emphasizing the cold in wetness of her body. It was clear to her now, after years, that she had lost all saneness in that moment. She stood there until the night’s darkness hid her reflection in the water. Yet those hours which she had spent immobile had stripped her naked from what she had been hiding: The guilt, the regret and the necessity of any kind of security. The rain brought down with it a new perspective for her to absorb, and washed away her old self. There was no need to pity her past and excuse it with unreasonable actions. Her distorted reflection had for once made her see the beautiful soul which only raindrops could expose.
She still remembers now, as she walked away in the night with a blank canvas in her mind. She remembers the muted lonely trance with which she was left after, never feeling as reassured of the person who she knew she could now become. Looking up and thanking the sky, she knew she had been reborn with the help of every raindrop.

hay una razon

Porque las fuertes curvas en tus brazos envuelvan mi espalda otra vez, y al hacer contacto, se queme e inunda cada nervio en mi ser. Tal vez, respirando, nos dejemos una nube de calor que humedezca la invisible distancia entre nuestros labios. Y así, algún día, los fragmentos de luz se volverán visibles en el reflejo de nuestros ojos como aquella vez.
Por ahora viviremos, siguiendo nuestra sombra pie por pie. Tratando de tocar lo que no alcanzamos, estiraremos los brazos y nos subiremos de puntas para lograrlo obtener. Así aprenderemos, reiremos y sufriremos. Pero algún día, paso por paso, nuestra sombra nos seguirá a nosotros tambien.
Cuando se caiga encima todo lo que quisieras alcanzar, cuando tu sombra empiece a correr y a huir, cuando tus brazos ya no se quieran estirar y tus pies ya no quieran soportar, el secreto es no olvidar. No olvidar la razón por lo que luchas, sigues, continuas luchando. Y no solamente te dará fuerza, pero también te recordara que la razón también tiene su razón, y esa eres tú.Como esperanza, como deseo y sueño también, nunca me esconderé. También estaré en mi propia pelea, la batalla de ser. Pero mientras me persigo y me estiro para alcanzar siempre estaré volteando para verte llegar.
Si te deje ir, es porque sé que algún día me encontraras.

the journey from toes to head

El viaje de pies a cabeza, vena por vena, me recorro a mi misma desde adentro. Es una constante discusión, una parte defiende y otra juzga. Mi sangre inunde primero mis pies, y dos pesados pasos después, estoy huyendo. Dejándolos atrás, sin poder voltear y amarlos con justicia e igualdad. Poco a poco mis venas llenan mis piernas con el ardor de no ser lo que los demás buscan, de nunca ser encontrada. Y solas mis caderas se quedan, se mueven con el ruido, con la distraccion de no sentir por sentir demasiado. Agitado al dia despues, el remordimiento de actuar sin reglas ni control forma mi estomago y pecho como un hueco. Tantas obstrucciones y distracciones que me separan de la belleza a mi alrededor. Las nubes y la preciosa vejez en las ruinas, queriendo que con confianza les abra mis brazos, cubren mis huesos con piel. Algunas noches, mientras mis pies arden por huir y mis piernas tiemblan por ansiedad, el silencio de la noche calma mi mente. El poder ver el tiempo recorrer sin dependencia ni miedo, solo admirándolo mientras el mundo duerme, hace que el hueco en mi pecho se infle esperanza. La hermosura ami alrededor forma mis manos en esas noches, dedo por dedo, me inspira a describirla. Esos instantes, al no temerme ami misma, dejo que mi alrededor me envuelva. El parpadeo y el brillar de las estrellas forman sombras para adormentarnos, pero tambien iluminan la noche para observar y cuidar nuestros sueños. Asi mi cuello y empiesa a detener mi cabeza, y mis venas alzan su presión, al fin cada parte de mi cuerpo se une. Cuando puedo flotar entre sueños y esperanzas, que en todas las personas son honestos al dormir, encuentro la belleza que llena mi mente de palabras e imágenes para compartir. Esos momentos se vuelven tesoros, en este viaje interior, el mas dificil que eh recorrido. La seguridad que me mantiene en busca de la esperanza a mi alrededor es el amor por mi familia. Son los dos seres más completos, llenos de sabiduría y compasión. Avecez mi negación es por no causarles preocupación, al solo sentir su amor me dan reafirmacion, no quiero que aguanten todo mi peso por mi. Mi amor y gratitud es eterna para ellos, este viaje es momentario.
Esos instantes en los que mis manos escriben, la inspiracion me comparte y la noche solitaria guia mis palabras, dandome a ver lo que algun dia deseo alcansar. Cuando mi corazon dirija el balance en mi misma y mi mente se aclare, podre corresponderle al mundo esa esperanza que algun dia todos necesitamos. Aun no se si con colores o vocales, pero quiero poder ensenar lo que eh aprendido, y algun dia poder hacer que otro corazon se llene al realizar su enorme capacidad.

Timeless, weightless, regardless of what has still to come, I will live full of hope.
With white, purple or paragraphs, I will try to inspire you.
It is a reward,
The beauty, the love and the gratefulness
After the journey within yourself.

The world slowly wakes up, noise by noise, while I try to capture it with my eyes. The lights behind me reassure me I'm at home, bragging their warmth and inviting me in. Yet I'm still sitting on this balcony, hanging my legs and my feet resting on the old tile roof. I'm distracted and attracted by the feeling of the night.

When everything seems to hold its breath and time disappears for the arrival of a new day.

When the stars seem like a thousand suns, giving that small amount of light that keeps our dreams safe.

Even the quick flashing Christmas lights, tinkering brightly on the balcony of the dormant house in front, are overpowered by the true glow of a single star. The street lights beneath the rooftops light the roads for those who won’t walk but stay asleep.

Pigeons start making their first sounds, rustling in the holes were their wings rest and their eyes close. Disrupting the silence, their wings flutter in the still air as they fly to and from there.

A slight brush of daylight peaks behind the tall church, only making its outline and shadow visible. The shapes of dark clouds start appearing from their contrast with the rising sun.

My ears are rapidly filled with the vibrations of the sudden ring of the churches’ bell, a constant reminder of the reality of time.

It feels as if yesterday and today are magically combined as I look up to find missing stars. Yet one remains, left behind to savour the last moments of serenity. Soon the noises will open the worlds’ eyes, and finally awake a new day will begin.

and miles to go before I sleep

There will be thousands of people that will cross roads with you. Some might give you browns and grays that will darken you painting. Yet some might turn to be the brightest, warmest colours. The trick is to remember that for there to be light in you painting, it was to have shadows. And if there's a time when you think it's getting too dark, remember: you're the one holding the brush.

And life is your canvas.