21.7.11


Dear Tucson,

My heart is heavy from you, my heart is lifted by you. Tucson, you have found so much of me. I’m embarrassed that you had to see me sit in a box for such a long time in the beginning, but only with your corners and your petals could I have elevated. Because you slowly and patiently lured me out of a cave to feel the rays of the living. You gradually gave sight to a fool; a maturing fool. You have handled my sensitive soul during unfitting times, but you’ve also given me feelings that flew me to the tips of the peaks. And I love that those are the ones highlighted in my memory. You’ve shown me what love is my dear Tucson and you’ve given me loves to have. You have been in front of me, opening doors and it was only my doing that closed them or walked by because I was too wrapped inside my own mind. So thank you Home for being open for me, and thank you Self for watching the Sun rise rather than set. I love you for all the little places you carry on your back and I love you for all the water you’ve poured on my dry soul. Forever Tucson you are embedded in the shape of my heart for you were the one who built the delicate frames that the rest of my life’s veins grow upon.

Sincerely,
A trying spirit
07212011

20.7.11

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want you to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

I doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
BIG phrases in LITTLE books:

I see the moon
And the moon sees me

Row row row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
Life is but a dream

I often sit and wish that I
Could be a kite up in the sky,
And ride upon the breeze and go
Whichever way I chanced to blow.

There are so many poems in the pit of my stomach that have not yet surfaced, there are so many phrases in the fire of my mind that have not yet been verbalized

18.7.11

The Creative Process
By Paulo Coelho

Every creative process, be it literature, in engineering, in information technology - and even in love - always respects a same pattern: the cycle of nature.

a] field plowing: at the moment the soil is plowed up, oxygen penetrates where it was not able to reach up to then. The field gets a new face, the soil that was on top is now underneath and what was beneath turned into surface. This inner revolution process is very important, for just as the new face of that field will be seeing the sun for the first time, and be dazzled by it; a reassessment of our values will enable us to see life with innocence and no naivete.

b] seeding: every creation is the result of a contact with life. The creating Man can not lock himself up inside an ivory tower; he needs to share his human condition. He will never know what will turn out to be important in the future, so that, the more intense his life, the more possibilities he will have in order to find an original language. Le Corbusier used to say that "while Man wanted to fly imitating the birds, he was never able." The same happens with the artist: although artists are translators of emotions, the language they translate are not entirely known by them, and if they try to imitate or control their inspiration, they will never reach the goal they wish to achieve.

c] maturing: there is a time in which a work of art writes itself into the author's soul - before the artist ventures to manifest it. In the case of literature, for example, the book is influencing the writer and vice-versa. It is to that moment that the Brazilian poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade refers to when he says that we should never collect the verses that go lost, as they do not deserve to see the light of day. I know people who take notes compulsively of everything crossing their mind during the maturing stage, not respecting what is being written in the unconscious. The result is that those notes, outcomes of the mind, end up disturbing the results of inspiration. The creator needs to respect the development, even though they know - just as farmers do - that they just have a partial control over their field. They are exposed to droughts or inundations. But if they know to wait, the stronger plant, which resisted to the entire inclemency, will come to light with all its strength.

d] harvesting: this is a moment in which Man will manifest what he planted and left to mature, on a conscious level. If he harvests too soon the fruit will be green, if he harvest too late, it will be rotten. Every artist knows to recognize the arrival of this moment. Although certain questions have not matured enough yet and some ideas might not be clear and crystalline, they organize themselves as the work of art is being created. With discipline and no fear, artists understand that it is necessary to work every day until their works are complete.

And what should we do with the results of harvesting? Again, we look at Mother Nature: it shares everything with us. Artists who want to keep their works to themselves are neither being fair to what they were given in the present moment, nor to the inheritance and the teachings of their forefathers. If we leave our seeds stocked in the barn, they will end up decaying, even if they have been harvested in the right moment. When harvesting is done, the moment in which it is necessary to share one's own soul, with no fear or shame, has arrived. That is the artist's mission.


I had a dream last night.

I was strong. I allowed others to go in front and ahead of me. Because it didn't matter to take the most efficient way, I wanted to trail off on my own. To feel my own strength to take me to my destination. To make good quality time with the breeze against me. I carried a heavy load on my back but all of it was bare necessities. I was holding onto veins and making my way through the darkened roots. I fully trusted myself and forgot the existence of. . . .doubt, is it called? Yes that, it didn't occur to me what that was. I went because I knew I should, that it was the only way. I dodged teethed demons at every obstacle, they tried, but I succeeded them. Drops of fear in my blood flow only supported that I should push myself even more. It only lived so that it could remind me I was living.

And when I woke I felt accomplished, I felt so utterly good about myself. I felt that I was brave.


I felt my potential.