And We Keep Dreaming>>Dreaming IN Love

The multiple layers of the simple act of dreaming and the impact of dreaming in our lives becomes essential in our documentary. The results of this documentary will not only be the simple meaning of dreaming, but of dreaming and acting upon our dreams, <>. In the process of our documentary nothing was really planned or certain, nothing assured. We barely had a plan for the day. We only knew that our main reason for making such documentary was our awareness of the importance of cultivating dreams in the kids, the fact that they can well define their dreams so that their acts become subject of these.
There were certain aspects in our minds that we wanted to reveal in the documentary. The reality of our lives was our main focus. Real, true feelings, true events, meaningful ideas that came up along the process of creating this documentary were our scenario. We wanted to show that the compilation of genuine actions could really work in creating this film. We started by doing what we always do and what we enjoy the most: the interaction and the constant engaging in class, the talking, the sharing, the writing, the teaching and the learning. Our class interaction is always present; this is the constant on which we base our work at Phillis Wheatley.
One of our main goals in coming to Phillis Wheatley was also the fact that we could really create relationships with the kids so that the work became something meaningful and not something that seemed obligatory. Friendship was something that we knew would take a long time to make, but being patient was our wisest decision. By the end of our first semester at the school, we were greatly attached to the kids; we could really call each other “friends” by this time. And this was a very important aspect that we had to touch on in the documentary. Once friendships evolved, dreams evolved as well. We wanted to serve as inspiration to the kids, as role models, and as someone who they could trust and rely on. Once these relationships developed, we tried to accentuate dreams; their dreams. We knew that once their dreams were clear and acknowledged that their actions could really take a path towards meeting those. We tried to avoid racial segregation by the simple fact of our attendance to this school. Once we evaluated the school, we noticed that Phillis Wheatley was a highly segregated school, and so by creating relationships and by our mere attendance here, we were already breaking all of this lines that kept us apart. This was another aspect that was prominent in the documentary.
Our community involvement became relevant unplanned, as everything else. Harvesting collard greens and then going to Mrs. Kromer’s house (the school’s security guard) was not only a fun and unique experience, but it also showed us the importance of community involvement, the real meaning of engaging in a neighborhood, and for us; college students; the experience was exceptional, since most of us were not used to interacting with neighbors, especially in a black community. Phillis Wheatley students, college students, neighbors, family members, all of us together in a small apartment in the center of Overtown; this was the real coming together of races, of cultures, it was the breaking of any possible division that higher forces dictate. We broke boundaries, and it all emerged out of a creative thought of harvesting and cooking collard greens.

Sucked by the Black Hole

My elongated feeling of solitude
Escapes the black hole
Wins another victory
Because this is where I am,
And that is where you are,
And the air between us doesn’t know that
I am down here,
Or does it?
Acting like minute ants
We run, we jump and think
That it’s all about work,
All about us,
All about getting up
And acting robotic,
When the truth is that
We’ll soon be nothing
No----thing
Or a thing, not sure which one.
Supernova and ketchup
Relate, see?
There’s no beginning and
No end.
There’s this now
That could be time and space.
There is this silent
Crash between spirit
And matter.
So black hole get close
To me so that I can see
You, so we can travel
Forward and eat time
Or space.
Doesn’t really <>.
Incarnated into bones,
And soul,
And water,
I live
And walk not really knowing
My start,
Or path,
Or end.

DYING

I am still dying and this just feels so good.
Should I laugh?
Should I cry?
Should I want to die?
My eyes only blurry yellow see.
Only the yellow blurry of paranoia
Paranoia?
Reality?
Dying?
Surely unsecured
Saved by a word
By many words
By a sentence
By a song
A poem?
No
No poem
A story that is untrue
Untold
Undeveloped
My heart beating will not stop
My cold hands will turn hot
And yellow
Again
And disappear in the dark
And reappear in your eyes
Because you only see me
When I am not here
and when I am here
you destroy me
and now I keep dying
and laughing
or crying.
I’ve gone fat
See?
Full of worries and drugs
And poems
And songs
And some friends
That perhaps understand
But I am sure they don’t.
And I scream
But the voice is not strong
But not weak
It’s where you want it to be.
It left me
No voice
I cry
And die
And move my hands
Upward
And forward
And upward
And forward
And upward
And forward
Am I high?
Yeah, on life.
On vegetables and dreams
On love and more love
And more love
And more love
Because even if I wanted
This is what I can’t control
Love
Love
Love
Love
I keep dying
and going nowhere
because nowhere is where I go
and you keep not understanding
that I am yours
completely yours
veins
blood
beating
fast
I keep dying
Dying
And closing
And this is all I can give
And that makes me
Me
And you
And green
I keep dying
No
Don’t rescue me.

The Price of Memory

People don't breathe in all at once. It comes steady

through the day, like a focused bandit. Every moment

I see people with invisible bottles, vessels to carry

the concentrated air. They keep it by their side, waiting

for the proper moment to sip a bit, feel it in their blood,

live a moment,

while no one is watching-

I breathe you in. Immersed in your scent, I feel

the sensibility of your form skid across my pallete

and journey inside. Tough interior melts in your exhale

as my lungs curve to mirror your rhythm. You travel

into memory, touching the engram of our caress,

while I try to forget-

the bottles of breath that glide with the fog

of remembering, little souls left falling like shards

of broken clay, the soft imprint of lovers

saved like rations in case I'm left

here, caught between a sigh,

clawing to your breath like an infant.

-Shane Johnson

Mi Ego Te Ama

Me imagino que no te percatarás de lo que te escribí.
Y puede que este sea mi ego hablando, pero él comprende.
¿Ves como me acabas de abandonar?
¿Ves que en realidad estas en lo incorrecto?
La realidad es que si en verdad fueras lo que dices ser, me ayudarías.
Aunque no estoy segura de quien necesita mas ayuda en estos momentos.
¿tu?
¿yo?
Ni idea
No importa.
En realidad, y no se si es la realidad (pero es la mía), no entiendo.
Y de esto se trata mi camino.
¿De no entender, te cruzaste?
¿Que pasó con tu melodía?
¿Que paso con el querer de mi alma, si tú. ALMA?
Hay un ALMA. Y un ego también, pero ese sólo tu ves.
Eso es lo que buscas, y si buscas lo encuentras. Ya lo has encontrado.
Que pena.
¿Es que me morí? Si, si. Eso. Me morí.
Pero en realidad pensé que me querías. Lo recibí. Abrí mis manos y mi cuerpo.
Me abrí a ti. No, no espinas.
¿Viste?
¿Sentiste?
Puede que si.
Puede que no permitiste.
Pero si te quise, oye, demasiado.
Y te quiero.
Y quiero mostrarte todo lo que escribo.
Y quiero llamarte cuando no entiendo.
Y quiero ser tuya cuando te anhelo.
Y quiero que me veas, como soy. ¿Cómo soy?
Ya lo deberías saber, pero no.

IN

I want to let you know that this is me.
I want to let you know that I can’t stop loving.
I can’t stop sensing.
And breathing,
And feeling more,
And loving more,
And the intensity of my actions strengthens,
And with them my memories,
And my force,
And I feel completely IN,
IN this circle of awakened people,
Still waking IN the process of intentions,
Waking souls,
Waking while living,
While dying,
While involving even those,
Who are hurt by the system?
Damaged souls.
Bip- Bip- Bip- Bip- Bip
Time to wake up!
And feel what I do,
And want more.
And insist on revealing the true essence
Of what I’ve become.
A leading puppet of my own wants,
A subject of stepping firmly and passionately
Intensively
Unconditionally being me,
Loving the results of love,
Seeing the fruits grow,
Seeing how connected a dream and an action are,
A dream,
An action,
An action upon a dream,
My third eye,
My moving hands,
My different mind full of innovation.

So this is what you teach,
You teach dreaming,
And I teach learning,
And we teach becoming one,
Without limits,
Without superficial colors,
Without a drawn line,
No line.
Only a hug and a collard green
IN our hearts,
Only our hands united covered by roots IN the city mud.
Only our bodies dancing to the songs of freedom and regeatton.
Freedom.
Regeatton.
One song.
Moving mode.
Running electricity from bone to bone.
Running thoughts
Of desired extended minutes
Inside the new face of room 8.
The room of emerging discoveries,
The room of unison, chaotic circle
Where we loudly recite our mantra:
“One for all and all for one”
And again,
“One for all and all for one”
And this is where I scream,
And raise my hands up high,
Believing,
In one for all,
And IN all for one,
Believing IN holy moments like such,
Believing IN the circle that we are part of,
A circle of dreamers,
A circle of gray love.

And I want to let you know that this is me.
I am IN.
IN the circle
Of many scenes,
That we’ve put together
Not really knowing how to connect cables,
But knowing what to show.
Maybe the reality of what we do,
Or perhaps the breaking down of our moves,
We know what to show.
Because it has already been shown.
See it?
It’s here.
This is the documentary of what we do.
And what is it that we do?
This is what we do.
We share the poem of love,
We sit on the dreamer’s chair and discover that dreaming is real,
We write,
We sing,
We improvise our lives,
We shake our booties to the rhythm of our unorganized plan,
Our real plan,
Of doing what we love,
Of jumping when we want to,
Of following the camera’s lens
And not being afraid of showing our faces.
And we stir it up!
And liberate ourselves from the outside world,
Remembering that we keep dreaming,
Dreaming IN love.

Vuelvo/ quiero creer que estoy volviendo
Con mi peor y mi mejor historia
Conozco este camino de memoria
Pero igual me sorprendo

Hay tanto siempre que no llega nunca
Tanta osadía tanta paz dispersa
Tanta luz que era sombra y viceversa
Y tanta vida trunca

Vuelvo y pido perdón por la tardanza
Se debe a que hice muchos borradores
Me quedan dos o tres viejos rencores
Y solo una confianza

Reparto mi experiencia a domicilio
Y cada abrazo es una recompensa
Pero me queda/ y no siento vergüenza
Nostalgia del exilio

En que momento consiguió la gente
Abrir de nuevo lo que no se olvida
La madriguera linda que es la vida
Culpable o inocente

Vengo de buen talante y buena gana
Se fueron las arrugas de mi ceño
Por fin puedo creer en lo que sueño
Estoy en mi ventana

Vuelvo con esperanza abrumadora
Y los fantasmas que llevé conmigo
Y el arrabal de todos y el amigo
Que estaba y no está ahora

Vuelvo/ quiero creer que estoy volviendo
Con mi peor y mejor historia
Conozco este camino de memoria
Pero igual me sorprendo.

-Mario Benedetti

El Miedo de Cruzar

Me molesta la luz que brota de mis ojos.
Me molesta porque no la miras, no la entiendes, no respira.
Me molesta la vibración de mis manos que no te alcanzan,
No te tocan,
No te llegan.
Mis manos cortas, mis ojos saltan.
Mi cuerpo se levanta,
Y el amanecer lo alcanza, tú no.
Tú lo rechazas.
Me molesta la separación de mi cuerpo y de mi mente,
Me molesta el verte
Sin ganas de moverte,
De aquí hacia allá,
De la luna al sol,
Del fuego al resplandor,
De la luz a la sombra,
De madera a loza.
Me molesta el pensar,
Lo innecesario,
Cuando corro y salto,
Cuando escribo y canto.
Me molesta el no entender porque
Te miro con mis ojos,
Y respiro por mis poros,
Y escucho el amanecer
Y me levanta el anochecer
Y no entiendo lo que debería entender,
Pero aún sé,
Sé que quiero verte feliz,
Sé que quiero sonreír,
Sé que quiero amar a mi Lala
Sé que quiero un mundo con alas,
Sé que puedo intentar cambiar,
Sé que puedo ver más allá,
Y escuchar tu silencio,
Y entender tu miedo
De cruzar
La línea que nos han trazado,
De negro impuro,
Negro grueso, cálido
Pero incierto.
Me molesta tu disimulo,
Tu pasar sin valorar,
Tu andar sin escuchar
El ruido del caracol,
Con señales de creación,
De humanidad,
De lo que fuimos,
De donde nos mostramos,
De lo que vivimos,
Y sentimos.
Me molesta el sonido de tu alma,
Me molestan tus lágrimas,
Me molesta tu voz incompresible,
Tu calor que me quema,
Me molesta tu mano que no me alcanza,
Me molestan tus dedos que me arañan,
Me molesta tu mirada descontrolada,
Incapaz de llegar,
Incapaz de encontrar camino,
O destino,
Sentido,
Recorrido.

Morning Battle

My left eye opened, following the unconscious movement of the right one. I could sense the acid from the pillow, the sour of my dreams, the sweetness of the morning. They were all different, but the same.I then hear your thought trying to reach me, I listen to my happiness carefully, it calls for your name. While my head tilts forward, time stops, the vivid green walls now scream, they scream my name. But my name it is not, it is not about the melody of its sound, not about the letters that comprise it, not about the simplest meaning of the me it embodies. It’s just about a name, like any other, like any other you could’ve said. Green walls no more; Esperanza no more. No hope for the clarity of my actions, no hope for you seeing me as I am, as I have always been.
No connection.
No hope.
No esperanza.
No future. Only a present that has already vanished, only this second in which I think about your thought, only this instant in which you are not mine anymore. Everything could only be part of a disillusion that you initiated. How can you be so fragile and yet so strong?
How can you think and not think and make me think of your thoughts. How can you not know that I exist? Only if that morning would’ve been real, like every other, you would’ve gotten to feel like I felt. But you weren’t thinking, you weren’t thinking of my thoughts like I was.
The walls turned metallic against my face, against my heart. I cannot feel anymore, so I ran. Did you stop me? Did you think about my thoughts?
No thoughts.
No feeling.
No looking after.
No transparency.
No mirror.
No will.
No hope.
No esperanza.
Why didn’t I ask for more? I ran. Why didn’t I tell you that I could be yours forever? I ran. Why didn’t I open my eyes to the morning that was ours at the moment? I ran. Why didn’t I tell you that I loved you? I left. I escaped and you opened the walls to let me go.
No words.
No lyrics.
No sense.
No destination.
No esperanza.
My head shivers to your indifference. Can you look at me? How is it that everything is lost after building up to so much? Where’s that song that I took as mine? Where is that poem that I helped you embrace? Where is life without you? Where am I without life? Only a moment, only that instant in which I ceased being yours, only that morning that you refused to believe, only a piece of time that ran away with me. I gave you my thoughts, but you never received them. I gave you myself; I gave you life; I gave you the moon painted in black, I gave you a present, I gave you this instant in which I write, I gave you a word, a song, an eye. I gave you my lips so that you could sing; I gave you a smile after a look; I gave you a silent secret, then you blushed. I gave you more than I could give; I gave you my opened arms, my chest, my sense. I gave you a morning wrapped in me; I gave you my sound, my tone, my voice. The walls turned blue. My life turned into hue, my path no more.
No me.
No us.
No moon loving you.
No tree.
No green.
No streets to be free.
No luck.
No trust.
No air.
No hope.
No will.
Esperanza no more.

Contando Pasos

Con el tiempo que pasa y que no llega,
Con el agua salada de la costa aún no descubierta,
Con un cielo azul y verde,
Con la energía de un planeta que me baila,
Con la riqueza del pasado y la soltura del futuro,
Con un camino hecho de magia y santería,
Con la dulzura del seno de mi madre,
Con un héroe al que aprendí a llamar mi padre,
Con el aire que levanta mi cuerpo,
Con mi cuerpo que flota libremente,
Con mis brazos que no dan mas en el aire,
Con una cara y dos y tres,
Y una ceñida que me cree.

MistakenReality

I want to stay here forever,
Where my mind is isolated,
Detached from the irregularity of mistaken actions,
And from all of these memories that are once more invading my reality.

I want to detangle that threat of vigor,
Of ironies and adversities,
That keep me consolidated,
To this world of misery.

I want to stop the coordination of my walk,
The acceleration in my dance,
The sophistication of my thoughts,
That are pure, electric, twisted

I want to be me again,
Hit myself against the wind,
Fly up high and grab the stars,
Die and fall in the lucid sea,
And reincarnate once more time,
Knowing that it is me,
Knowing that I can fulfill,
The empty corpse that embodies me.

Meant To Be

This was meant to be.
This day of craziness and chaos,
And playfulness and serenity.
This was meant to be.
This you and me,
And the tree
And the naked sea,
And the moon flowers,
And the time that should not go by,
And the grass that lies under my feet,
And the inspired poet crying
Under the humidity that satisfies the night’s needs.
This was meant to be.
Everyone talking about their dreams,
Searching for unknown things,
Looking at destiny with an eye,
With that third eye,
With crucial intensity,
With undeniable energy,
With your heart, and mind,
And spirit, and essence.
Life was meant to be
A beautiful piece of something.

Desperté

Al lado del mar caliente me senté y sonreí.
Al lado de un mar que me acompañó al sufrir,
Al lado de fuertes ondas de energía yo sentí
Mi espíritu levantarse en sí,
Y corrí hacia el sol,
Donde encontré inspiración,
Donde encontré el dolor
De una infancia que ahí está,
El dolor de mi existencia,
El dolor de mi sentir,
Y lloré,
Y pedí que volviera a suceder,
Y pedí temer,
Y pedí encanto y placer,
Y construí mi propio mundo
Con una estrella y un sol,
Y vi una vida que ya terminó,
Una vida completa,
Encontrada,
Satisfecha de haber pasado por mi razón.
Una vida que acaba de empezar
Y continúa su camino hacia el despertar.
El despertar de mis sueños,
El despertar de mi mente,
El despertar de mi fragancia
De niña perdida e inconciente.
El despertar de una vida que acaba de empezar,
Y que me elevará de nuevo,
Y que me enseñará a volar,
Y a recorrer el mundo entero,
Y a conocer mi andar,
Y a entregarme con ojos cerrados
Al territorio desconocido que es la felicidad,
Y a vivir,
Y a amar sin condición, sin razón, sin temor.
Amar a todos los corazones que por ahí vea.
Y a curar mentes dañinas, desconsentidas.
Al lado de un mar salado me senté y desperté.
Desperté y abracé al sol que me acudió,
Desperté y me liberé una vez más,
Y sentí mi vida pasar,
Sobre las olas del mar,
Una vida que en este momento acabó,
Y esfumada subió al sol,
Y este la borró,
Entregándome una nueva ilusión
De vivir,
De sentir,
Del porvenir,
De mi esencia,
De mi existencia,
De mi ser equivocado,
Entregado al mar salado.

Respiro Libertad

Aire que juega con el destino desconocido,
Y que entra y sale y se contradice,
Y que desconfía a las paredes que se imponen,
Que cree en la libertad del instinto,
Y en la riqueza del alma,
Y en la audacia de la mente,
Y en las cenizas del pasado,
Y en la magia del presente.

Aire que entiende los hechos de la ignorancia,
Y que envuelve ideas complejas y revolucionarias,
Y que me toma de una mano,
Y sostiene mi esperanza,
Y cubre mi cuerpo desnudo de frescura e intimidad;
Y me devuelve la esencia con el toque de su ala,
Y me hace descubrir motivos para otra revolución, revolución de ilusiones.
Y me inspira a encontrar la verdad,
Y a razonar lo irrazonable,
Y a pintar mi libertad,
De forma espiritual,
Inconciente en el andar,
Y sin miedo de encontrar,
Mas aire que golpes da,
Golpes de libertad।
-Un poema de aire para Hanuman

SomeThingsICannotForget

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond our measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves who want to be brilliant, gorgeous, and talented and magnificent? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same as we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberate others.

Berenjena

Eggplant o berenjena
Que complicación.
El mismo tema, el mismo sabor,
Dos palabras
Sin explicación.
De comida a vida,
De vida a persona
Y de ésta a yo,
Que no sabía ni entendía,
El significado
De esta expresión,
Castellana-inglesa,
Graciosa y cómoda y capaz,
De hacerme dudar y pensar
En otras cosas que me gustan,
Como un día en primavera,
O un beso en el pecho
Y en la boca,
Y una caricia melosa,
Y una canción triste o alegre,
No importa…
Porque el hecho es
Que como mi berenjena
Con ganas de seguir comiendo,
Y de seguir viviendo
Una vida hecha para mí,
Alocada, desmesurada,
Como el aire sin cadenas,
Como el tiempo que no llega,
Como el sol y las estrellas.

Canto

Canto para no llorar y no sentir que te vas,
Canto para expresar el nivel de alteración en el que estoy,
Canto para conectar el mundo Chi y la realidad
Y el color de la libertad,
Y la dulzura del melón,
Y la amargura del callar,
Y el tiempo pasado y el presente,
Y el porvenir que no viene,
Y la luna que mira y calla,
Y la playa contemplada contigo y conmigo
Ahí sentados cantando y ahogándonos en nuestras propias voces
De colores rojos y amarillos,
Que son calidos y húmedos y candentes.
Canto para no ignorar mi voz que sobresalta,
Y que vibra con las ondas de sonido y de viento.
Canto para trasladar mi cuerpo ligero a otro lugar,
Donde mi canto vale oro,
Donde se escucha mi gritar.

Una vez en mí

Comprendamos como funciono. Mi ser interno
Una vez en mi mente, notaras las extrañas reacciones que surgen. Esas acciones sin sentido, esos deseos sin motivos, esos momentos donde en el limbo estoy. De esto se trata el yo interno, de ambigüedades, de complicaciones, de desentendimientos; porque nada tiene sentido, nada concuerda y al final, todo surge. Sin querer, soy demasiado expuesta, demasiado confiada, demasiado liberal. Esto puede que sea bueno en ocasiones, pero en otras, salgo herida o malinterpretada. Esa última no es buena. Soy cariñosa, a veces seca y amargada, en ocasiones tímida, en otras impulsiva, curiosa, alegre, triste, pensativa. Me gustaría volar, me gusta escuchar, me gusta tener atención. También me agrada ayudar y ser ayudada y a la vez comprender a los demás. Siento cierto placer cuando me dan las gracias, al igual que cuando recibo un beso o un abrazo sincero. Soy una idealista, metas y retos me atraen, de esta manera siento que progreso intelectual y espiritualmente. Mi familia es mi tesoro mas preciado, ellos me hacen sentir viva, mi devoción es mi planeta y mi apoyo es la naturaleza la cual pienso que es un regalo de una fuerza mas fuerte que cualquier otra. Las mañanas soleadas me devuelven el alma, me llenan el espíritu de numerosas posibilidades. También encuentro apoyo en mis amigos, a los cuales le debo sonrisas pasajeras, estudios bacantes, sinceridad y entendimiento. En mi cuerpo también encuentro apoyo, mediante gestos, mediante mi tono de voz, mediante vistas de mis ojos, mediante yoga, meditación y ejercicios diarios. Me gusta aprender cosas nuevas diariamente, lo que me aburre lo tiro antes que llegue a mi cabeza. Me gusta lo interesante y riesgoso. Me gusta estudiar, igual, solo cuando me parece interesante.
Mírame de afuera. Mi ser externo
Siempre he pensado que mis ojos continuamente han existido en la tierra. A veces pienso que ya he vivido mucho, que he visto demasiado, aunque en realidad me falta el resto del sistema energético (el mundo Chi) por conocer. Mis ojos evalúan el resto de mi cuerpo constantemente. Son dos puntos de energía que perciben e imitan las ondas sentimentales de mi corazón y del resto de mi cuerpo. Su forma cambia según mis emociones. Cuando estoy triste se curvean hacia abajo, cuando alegre, sobresaltan y brillan con la luz del sol. Mi pelo ha cambiado mucho de color. Cada etapa de mi vida ha sido caracterizada por un color, o un estilo diferente, aunque el color predominante y natural es el marrón oscuro. Mi pelo expresa mi libertad, aunque la mayoría de las veces esta atado, siempre cae libremente sobre mi rostro. Mis labios determinan mi expresión. También me parece que son el vínculo para acercarme a otros, para comunicarme, para entretenerme cuando estoy aburrida también juego con ellos. Mi piel es blanca, talvez demasiado blanca pero me agrada. Me gusta como se sienten las vibraciones de sol en mi piel. También como mi piel es transparente, dejando a todos ver el verdadero yo en todo momento. Mis piernas son finas y extendidas, como queriendo llegar y alcanzar todo tipo de extremos. Pudiera decir que mi silueta es una botella de coca cola, siendo mis caderas los extremos mas anchos de esta. En mi manera de vestir soy curiosa, atrevida y sencilla a la vez. Me gusta sentirme cómoda con lo que llevo. Me gusta ser original también, y tratar de dejar mostrarme en todo momento, sin mucha cubierta alrededor.
Mi pasión y devoción. Preferencias y favoritismos
Me gustan los amaneceres claros y mis caminaditas diarias del estacionamiento a la escuela donde puedo recoger flores moradas, repartirlas y colocarme una detrás de mi oreja. Me gusta observarlo todo detalladamente. Me fascinan las diferentes culturas con las que convivo cotidianamente, de mis amigos principalmente aprendo mucho sobre esto. He encontrado a Laura mediante la poesía, a la cual le dedico un 99 por ciento de mi tiempo. Pienso que en todo hay poesía. Me gusta escribir todo lo que pienso, tengo un tesoro llamado notebook, en el cual escribo pensamientos, poesía, y todo lo que se me ocurre. También tengo unos cuantos libros que han marcado mi vida y que me han dejado un mensaje radical, estos incluyen: 1984, Beloved, Great Expectations, Brave New World, Ismael y el último The Fifth Sacred Thing. Este último ha sido mi inspiración para muchos de los progresos y pasos que he dado en mi vida. Pienso poder llegar a ser algún día una maquina de comunicación. Quiero transmitir a todos mis ideas, y todas las ideas que sean necesarias. Quiero poder llegar a ser inspiración y si es posible poder dejarles saber a todos que vivimos en un mundo de amor escondido, que existen motivos para vivir que no son necesariamente superficiales o materiales. Quiero que se vea el buen de nuestro planeta, el amor con el que nacemos, el lado lindo y sutil de nuestra historia. Para esto quiero ser periodista y en esto se emboca mi carrera. Me gusta correr, me gusta la playa, la música que me entra por los poros, la navidad, el Honors College de Miami Dade, mi mesita de estudio, las flores moradas y gentiles, los amaneceres soleados y alegres, mis amigos, mi familia, mi perrita loca, mis maestros, mis uñas cuando arregladas, mi cuadro, mi planeta, mi país, mi norte y mi sur, las estrellas cuando hay, mi corazón cuando late fuerte, mi tono de voz, mi forma de expresión, mi conocimiento, mis batallas contra lo injusto, mi amor por Lala y por todos los niños de la escuela primaria Phillis Wheatley, mi admiración y apoyo por mis maestros de ingles, mi ropa que me expresa, mi reloj despertador, mis gritos de alegría, mis lagrimas de dolor. Amo vivir intensamente al compás del ritmo de vibraciones supernaturales. Amo la fuente de esperanza que existe en mi corazón, y amo poder dormir y despertar cada día con una luz de optimismo. Encuentro inspiración en religiones como el Hinduismo, donde los dioses me hablan y guían con frecuencia. Pienso que esta es una de las religiones mas completas del mundo, y pienso que sus morales equivalen a una posible paz mundial.

Feeding Energy

He healed me.
He healed me with those demanding hands of his.
He gave my skin the essence needed to survive,
He sensed the need, the flavor, the vapor.
He then controlled the missing parts that kept me far, high…
And then he lifted me up again, somewhere there where the only things I could hear
Were my voice and his linked together, singing and crying and moaning.
And my voice and his, and the light of his hands getting into me,
Satisfying me, filling me up to the peak.
And up there, somewhere unknown to my eyes,
He became the man in me, and I became the woman in him,
And we became our own healers,
Our own seduction,
Our own core.
And then, I understood.
I understood the movement of his lips that came from that place where I could feel it
I saw the pain that was already gone,
Gone with his own hands,
Healed by his own spirit,
Because at that moment,
His spirit was me.

Remembering a First Love...

I’ll lend you a piece of myself so that you can think of it,
I’ll tell my heart not to contract when you hurt it.
I’ll close my eyes and dream of you loving me,
I’ll stay alive only to be part of your life.
I’ll die in your presence so that I can reincarnate in your skin,
I’ll cut my hair, free it, oppress it, and hate it.
I could sing a happy song and paint the sky with bright colors,
I could look in your eyes and again think that I am in heaven.

Pleasant Misery

While you anxiously glance at the time in your watch,
I’ll make sure I make you happy.
But then the look in your face,
The red, tiny, minute veins that extrangulate your eyes,
Maybe the whiteness in you artificial skin,
Or the misplaced hair in your beard.
Maybe, you don’t want happiness.
Now you take your corrupted eyes off your watch,
You glance at me,
I feel the desire, I feel the necessity,
And now you act as artificially and predictably as a robot,
You’ve fallen into the conventions of contentment.
My eyes turn against your presence,
They’re afraid of your actions, afraid of your repugnance.
But you still desire, ignoring the tear from my eye,
Ignoring the cry, turning it to a confused moan,
Criticizing my corpse, harming my lips, corrupting my aroma,
Consuming my soul.
Now the watch grabs your eyes once more,
But you’re not anxious anymore.
You glance at me,
You feel my pain, but not really.
You only pretend to feel my pain,
And while you get ready to destroy my life,
I want to make sure that I make you happy.

Her Dream

"When I grow up my dream is to become an actress and a pediatrician and become wealthy. I want to encourage others that they too can be successful in life. I also want the other people that if they believe that they can do something, the dream will be accomplished if they try really hard. My dream can come true if I stay in school and get an education. When I grow up I will be wise and educated."
-Lala

La Mano Oculta

Sitting in Economics...

Walking in the direction of the endless hall of the second floor of the campus feels worthless. The bright incandescent light, the white parallel walls that don’t say anything, the coldness in the building…it is all organized, manipulated, stated; I don’t belong here. The class begins. The teacher starts talking about how the Fed has cut interest rates in order to impose an expansionary fiscal policy that would create money, put money into the economic system, which in cause will slow down or stop the recession that we are going through. He said it was pointless though, because apparently he is an expert. But now my pencil falls, in the middle of the class, in the middle of nowhere, where we are. The reaction hits, I put all my vigor in the thought, I compete against my own will, go down, and seize the pen, which was waiting for the right occasion to escape. My head then falls against one of those miserable walls. The wall rejects me, the pencil too. My eyes start to impose, they don’t like hearing all of this nonsense talking, they dislike the feeling of being tough unimportant things, lies, and they don’t like to be undermined.
So I wait for the right occasion to liberate my mind, to fly somewhere else where the walls aren’t white and parallel and straight and tall. I go to that part of my mind where there’s no reason, where things don’t necessarily make sense. And here I stay, I see the person that’s sitting behind me here, she seems to be in the same state of mine, I am relieved. She pulls out a notebook and starts writing, she vigorously writes, so intensively. The power in her hand takes over her; she struggles, but keeps writing. The blond hair on her face now blows against her black-painted eyes, cupid eyes. She looks at me, and smiles. I return the smile, and believe her. I believe her passion, the power of these true things, these true feelings. And she believes me too, she also believes how inconsiderate and repugnant supply and demand could be, how the consumer surplus is a total waste of people’s energy and time, how the allocation of resources is so unfair since not everyone really gets the same amount of anything, even though we’re all living in the same planet, under the same natural resources. And she blushes, she reddens because the feeling is mutual, because we both think that the ideals of economics go against our own, and we cover it with intelligence, knowledge and some self-control. Now my pen falls again, only that this time I don’t care. I let it be.
The teacher talks. He forcefully says: “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, of the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from the regard to their own interest” –Adam Smith. He says how the so-called “father of economics” put all of these words together, but how everyone could’ve done that. And I believe him too. He wants change and I can tell. But the change starts from within, and he is unhappy, he lies to himself because of all of these nonsense views about the world, the false perspective that economics is a social science that carries morals, because I truly believe it does not.
After navigating minds, I come back to my sit, where everything was just as I left them. I look around, my pencil on the floor, the impacted faces of everyone that eats the lecture, the presentation that just ended. I look back, the girl glances at me, she is back too. I get up, grab my pencil, and head to the door.
Life isn’t always fair…suck it up! – L-C

"This is the time to rejoice and praise the earth, because today we have planted our freedom".

Intrigued by all of the possibilities, I see myself restlessly waiting for this day. The day in which I dedicate my severe will to the earth, the day in which I will come together with everyone else and understand that fifth sacred thing that I seek for. The work was hard, the planting was unique, the coming together with these kids, the Phillis Wheatley students was a never ending experience. All that the kids wanted was to contribute to the cause in some way or another. I remember the sweat on all of our faces; I remember the looks that we gave each other accompanied by a genuine smile of hope, a lungful of air, a smile that stood for optimism. And Lala would ask me every now and then: “Am I doing a good job?” and I would respond to that: “ Lala, you are only doing what I am doing, being one”. And she smiled at this, not really understanding what I was saying, but trying to act as if she did, and she just kept working right beside me. I felt so connected with the earth, I enjoyed the sun right on my face, the drops of sweat that only said “passion”, the water that was given to the plants, the love that emerged from the planting, the process of being so united, so closed together in every aspect. I felt the power in my hands, they could do anything at that moment, and they could reach the sky. The laughing, the pictures, the talking, the sharing, the jumping…all of these things were the center of the day. Our hands spoke for who we are, our hands had all the power in the world, our hands planted, constructed, felt, touched and contributed to a tremendous day of human equality, freedom, and good will.

"Remember this story, remember that one act can change the world".- Starhawk

"Only our bare hands, eager to build something new"

The eye of knowledge, the eye that leads me to the imagination, to the deepest part of me, to the soul, to my spirit. We all have that third eye.

The Radha-Krishna amour is a legend of all times. The relationship of Radha and Krishna is the embodiment of love, passion and devotion. Radha's passion for Krishna symbolizes the soul's intense longing and willingness for the ultimate unification with God. Krishna is the soul of Radha, and Radha is definetely the soul of Krishna. She is the undivided form of Krishna. She will remain a mystery, unless one can know inexpressible divine elements.

The Reason for Being Who I Am

Hay que ponerle caramelo al Eleguá pa’ que se esté contento. The invisibility of her words has been bouncing in my head and all I capture are futile words, full of air, carrying no weight, confining no essence. I remember the trembling of my hands, the sophistication in her voice, her big round eyes full of brown. She was passionate about the little solid statue, the little “Niño” (how she used to call it), que le abría los caminos y traía prosperidad. This is the story of my mother, a story that later came to be mine. She adored this creature. This piece of rock, with down sloped caracoled eyes that stared at our lives; a rock that could only stare at us with nothing to say, nothing at all, because it was just a religious symbol, the orisha that my mom would protect more than anything in the world, it was part of her, her obligation, her faith. The icon was real (at least for her). It still is. It was the center of the room, where every Saturday afternoon she would light up candles, set up her mystic corner, and pray. Pray until the orisha listened, pray and pray until it recognized her words. This was her excuse for spending so much time with her ritual: “esperemos que se despierte mijita” as she used to say. Food, and liquor, and water and shelter were given to the Eleguá on a regular basis, with only a purpose: it had to light up our lives, open our paths, liberate us from malice and hatred and many other good things that my mom would usually make up with the purpose of making herself believe that all of these were true, even though the Eleguá would only sit quietly and watch her mind run for itself. My mom really wanted all of these things. She was going through a lot of pain. At this point in our lives, sometimes she wouldn’t have enough resources to cook us dinner, sometimes we didn’t have water, or electricity, or any other basic things that were necessary. My mom wanted freedom, even if she didn’t know it. I wanted it too. She was forced to rely on this orisha, and on many other orishas only because she needed a sense of hope and understanding, because she thought that she could not do it by herself. Like my mom, many other people who I grew up with were attached to something else that was not their own spirit in order to progress in any way. This spiritual reliance is the cause to many of the beliefs that I was tough as a child and that were naturally incorporated into my behavior and into my life in general.
And here is when the story of my birth became an anecdote that neither my mom nor grandma could avoid telling visitors and everyone else whenever the chance emerged. “A esa niña la salvó La Virgencita de La Caridad”. They couldn’t give reasons or explain in any other way the fact that I was saved, cured from illness, resuscitated from death. This usually happens when medical and scientific explanations aren’t enough, when faith becomes too strong and penetrates into your spirit, soul and will. “Sagrado Corazón”, the hospital where I was born was the throne to religious conviction, to rays of faith, and moans of praying. This was the place where dehydrated, I stayed for a month, interned in the hospital with no hope of living, embraced by the arms of a deadly disease, Amebiasis, a parasitic infection that was introduced to my body because a mistake made by the nurse assisting me .She collocated one of the aerosol tubes incorrectly, she put the wrong medicine in it, causing this disease. My lungs full of liquid; my tiny, newborn corpse carried neither strength nor spirit. This is how this medical place, the hospital, became to be the place where my grandma constructed her religious display. It was also, according to my grandma, the place where I was born twice. My grandma loved me too much to let me die, but even more she loved her faith, her pure spirituality, and her mysticism. As soon as she had the chance, she brought all of her statues and icons which of course included La Virgen de la Caridad, which later became my second mother, and to whom, according to my grandma, I owe my salvation. Tears run through the already wrinkled face. My grandma was so focused on her ideals and so integrated into her religion that there couldn’t possibly be any other reasons for my well being. “Te salvé mi princesita”. That’s what I am to my grandma “una princesita”, and this makes me the happiest human being on earth. And to this I owe my life, I say. To her wanting good for me, to doing everything that she could so that I could be well. At this point, I separated love and affection, from everything else that made my salvation possible. And I did this because I believe that it was her unconditional love that saved me, aside from any medical or spiritual curing that went on during my illness. This was the division of what I call religion and faith: the separation of corruption, dishonesty, and fraud with holiness, mysticism, and pure faith. At this point I realized what I was getting into. I realized that I was saved because I had made my decision, that crucial decision that I had be intrigued by for so long. What should I choose? What have I been brought up to and what was born with my character? And this is the difference between a fraudulent soul, and a liberated one. I am free, free because of these teachings that were incorporated into my way of thinking, this tradition and wisdom that is carried out in my country and therefore in my family. From here I chose who to be, what to follow, and who to believe. Que dios te bendiga y la virgen te acompañe. For God’s Sake how I love this phrase! This is a blessing; it’s the spirituality, the faith, the conviction that saves my essence, my existence and my spirit. This is what I chose, not the corruption and distortion of an unfulfilled religion, but the clarity and peace of a sacred devotion; the divine belief in a supreme entity, in a superior being, free of bribery and malice.
Today I am the essence of what I chose to be. I am the symbol of a breakage in tradition in the history of my family, I am that one girl that is not like the others, that responds to you when something is wrong, that thinks critically, that goes against restrictions and false convictions. And I am sure that my grandma is glad for this, I am sure that even though she does not realize it, she is glad that I have found my path. For everything else I am satisfied. I am pleased to be able to use my mind and my heart in their pure state, uninvolved with religious issues, with hatred, with falsity, and corruption.

The pupils of life detangle themselves,
The accordion plays a sad song,
The teachers teach, no one knows why,
The illness penetrates, it harms;
Happiness responds,
The aspiration emerges,
The will sustains,
The hope remains,
The sun reflects.

The Ambiguous Storyline

I am afraid; afraid of letting go, afraid of taking in, afraid of maintaining. That is the anxious vivacity that consolidates my life, the years in it, the months, the days in the months, the nuclear hours in the boundless days, minutes and immeasurable secondsI am afraid of loosing because I have already lost. Fear and passion altogether, the collision of these two brings torment, anguish and the unpredictable agony in which my life is based on. Every now and then we realize how fantastic, unpredictable and unique our minds could be. Inside our fist-sized brains, neurons and brain cells are directing us to do things that we might no want to do, to have thoughts that we are not supposed to have, to behave not exactly as we “are” and many other particular things. From this idea this quote came to mind, “This is who I want to be today, that is who I have been for the past ten years”. Could we really do this? Could we consciously or unconsciously predestine who to “be” or decide how to cope with life? We all have our own personal mystic or realistic ideas about our character, our beliefs, our destiny and our past/future. Now, what about our present? Can we deliberately control our perspective, our inner self, and our soul? We spend a vast amount of time fixing, managing, and coordinating our lives because we can change them. Our lives are flexible; they are there to be directed by us, to be handled by us. That is how the idea of our ambiguous storylines comes to place. Storylines are those aspects of life that tell the person that you are. A storyline can get so attached to me that it actually becomes me, or sometimes not. Sometimes a storyline does not represent who I am, and this is when I detach myself from it. Sometimes I am even aware that I am playing something that I do not want to play, but I am so compromised with it and with everyone around it, that it is hard to detach, and this could bring problems. In my past love relationship I was displaying many of these storylines that I talk about. I was embraced in many of this, only because of conviction, and at the end I realized that this was not who I really wanted to be, it was just a compromise that I did not want to break. I was the helper, trying to help this other person obtain legalization in the United States. I was also the wife, the women that had to report every move, the starter of the matrimonial relationship. At the same time, I was a student, only trying to do her best, trying to keep up with all that involves a student life. All of these storylines and many more were involved in this relationship, that at the end, did not even resemble the person who I truly wanted to be, it did not reflect my personality neither did it identify myself. It was extremely hard to detach myself from it, because once I was in it, it was even hard to realize that I was. But at the end, I came to mind; I thought of my life as a whole, I thought about this attachment and of how damaging it had been to my life. Then I felt extremely free, free of all of those things that tied my life to an unworthy entity, and now it is just me and the wanted storyline. The truth is, we are here to make our own destinies, our own selves, and we could mystically or ideologically detach ourselves from this identity that comes to manipulate our souls. That identity is probably far from being who we really are.

The Mace, the power of knowledge. It dazzles and intoxicates, the stupefier-of-the-mind.

'The beauteous sight', the discus, represents the limitless power which invents and destroys all the spheres and forms of the universe.

The lotus symbolizes the universe, the flower that unfolds in all its glory from the formless endless of the casual waters. Purity.

The conch is the symbol of the origin of existance. When blown, it produces a sound associated with the primeral sound from which creation developed.

A genuine smile turned my world all around

Contracted in the four pale walls of this unknown place, I find myself anxiously waiting to be someone, to be part of someone, and to believe in someone. It feels pointless, and even if everyone says that it is worthy, including the teacher, I still think that all that they have is the will, perhaps I do too, but there is something else missing. But I sit and wait; I wait for the kids, for their happy faces, full of hunger and desperation. Perhaps I feel the same way; even if I felt different (because I did) I am the same, the lack of true happiness behind my eyes, the fake, bogus smile packed of unsaid things, full of mystery and uncertainty. And this is the beginning of the journey, the journey that ended but that continues altogether. The notebook was the first step to our infiltration into their world; the object that resembles one’s identity, the obstacle to hiding your true feelings, the life behind the life. This was a good step, I thought, it doesn’t look that unworthy, this way the kids are going to be able to have something that is theirs, that no one, not even misery will ever detach from them. By the third week, their notebooks were packed of reflections, full of courage and potency. These kids were able to bring life into the paper; they displayed their sentiments and brought out their thoughts. This was genius. It was not so much about the notebook, but about how these kids are subject to freedom, how they seek freedom and go after it whenever they get the chance.And this is what we offered to the kids. The freedom that they lack at the school where teachers are diagnosing their performance at all times, where they’re tested on their intelligence and knowledge based on a three-hour test where they’re tortured until they realize that the material in the test is too complicated for them. This is not how it works with us. As soon as the kids enter the room, they realize that it’s different. They don’t understand what is different perhaps, but they do know that it is. Here, they are able to write about an entry on their notebooks, they could do as they wish with the entry, they’re not timed, graded or any other insane way of torturing kids. Then we may draw, paint, we do insightful things such as paintings that represent our feelings about other things etc… The kids are not used to exercises like this, where they can really speak for themselves and actually say things as they feel it, but they realized that this was the place to do this. At this point in my life, the development of my mind is at its highest point. The reflection on every subject brings true meaning to my actions, the analysis of these kids enhance my analytical thinking and I become an expert on educating these children on how to be free, on how to let their thoughts flow and be present at all times. This new world that I entered has ended, but not at all and this is because that stage of my life has ended in time, but my spirit is still attached to it, like the storyline that becomes one’s self. This storyline is that one that is not present but only because of other things, but it still remains as a lecture, the lecture that has changed my mind in many ways.The knowledge that I acquired from this experience is indescribable. I understand about the crucial segregation that still exists in today’s schools and how this racial segregation affects these kids on a regular basis. Not only the school, but the neighborhood as a whole is also subject to this segregation. This brings scarcity, poor advancement and deterioration of mind and spirit in all cases. This “black school” in this neighborhood has potential in regards to the students. Most of these kids are brilliant, they are smart and their only problem is the problem that the system creates itself. There is insecurity in them, there’s low self-esteem and this is only because those ridiculous standardized tests say so, only because the grades based on a spelling insurrection says so and this is not fair. The true knowledge and appreciation of things comes from the soul, from the will and hope and exists in one’s body. Without these, these kids are just wondering around, waiting to be mandated by teachers, subject to slavery and maltreating. My class was life heaven. My peers were exceptionally devoted to the class, as I was. This brought the potential of all of us together, our will united, and all of our good intentions to make the class feel like the best possible environment. This experience is now part of me, it is a new endeavor that I accomplished and that became part of me, it was one of many storylines that I play, and that even though it is physically over, the spiritual side of it is still a storyline that represents me.