These days I've been following Spanish revolution aka 15M movement. It all started a year ago as protests of "los Indignados" - outraged. Some people kept discussing the situation, possible solutions and people's participation in politics.
I don't claim to know exactly what they did, achieved or haven't. What I see is that some people feel like taking back the power of giving solutions to their problems. And no wonder they feel outraged seeing politicians looking for the solutions for the markets and the finances. The most important question for me is the real participation in decision making.
In my life I voted only once, in the European parliament elections a few years ago. I'm not saying voting is irrelevant but still it has no direct influence on the politics making. There are no guarantees that the party I vote will stick to their program. That's why I'm happy hearing alternatives to this imperfect system of illusory democracy for people who believe they live in freedom.
This weekend 15M movement was celebrating a year of existence on the squares of major cities uprising all sort's of reactions and analysis by intellectuals, specialists and media. So I also want to put my grain of sand.
Some criticise that the movement is going nowhere. Well gathering so many people from different ways of life and ages makes me think that it is a work in progress. The importance doesn't lie in the political achievements but in transforming people's attitudes towards politics. It's just a seed that have been sown and still politicians do seem to fear it. They are trying to limit the right to demonstrate and that's a big deal. By doing so they are criminalizing one of the few ways people have to show their opinion or disagreement.
My own experience of participating in marches and pretests made me reconsider the freedom I had as well as how easy it is for the media and the politicians to manipulate the events. Once marching next to a row of policemen I realized how their presence there made us enemies, just because we were exercising our right. Without being there any violence the menace of violence was in the air. I remember coming back from a protest just to watch on TV how the few people left turned it into a fight. And thus four or five hours of pacific marching where turned by the media into violent wrangle between a group of hippies and the police.The aim of 15M should be more than that to a big enough portion of the society.
Other expect it to turn into an organized political force. Well I don't see it happening, because that would mean to accept the rules of a game so many are tired to play. Which is the reason for the protests in the first place.
The movement is questioning the democracy we have and was sold to us as the best thing ever. Well it probably was at the time but society evolves, evolution makes us want something better. I hope for a better Democracy and a better society. I know, the idealist in me never dies.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
"Real change happens from inside out"
It implies to leave behind the person you were in order to become someone else. It's not like changing cars, or houses or countries. It happens inside you and you let go of what made you move forward, your ambitions and priorities. You let go what you felt for others. What was important is not any more. What scared you doesn't anymore.
I realized that my ambitions were not my own. That I pretended to feel what I was supposed to feel for others. When I let go I lift off a huge burden. Just then, when you don't have to pretend you become free.
On the way I had to break some attachments. Let go of an awful amount of anger and hate. I left nothing inside, at the same time nothing is so many things. Love in the wide sense of the word.
It implies to leave behind the person you were in order to become someone else. It's not like changing cars, or houses or countries. It happens inside you and you let go of what made you move forward, your ambitions and priorities. You let go what you felt for others. What was important is not any more. What scared you doesn't anymore.
I realized that my ambitions were not my own. That I pretended to feel what I was supposed to feel for others. When I let go I lift off a huge burden. Just then, when you don't have to pretend you become free.
On the way I had to break some attachments. Let go of an awful amount of anger and hate. I left nothing inside, at the same time nothing is so many things. Love in the wide sense of the word.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
one reading
today, I woke up and in spite of a sunny day, stayed in bed and read a novel, form the beginning to the end, no interruptions.
It didn't seem to me such a good novel as a piece of literature, maybe it's the translator's fault. The thing is that it brought back memories of my first serious novel, by a Polish writer Henry Sienkiewicz, 'Through the Desert and Wilderness'. That one counts the story of a boy and a girl, children of a Polish and a British engineers, kidnapped by Mahdi's followers and taken to Sudan. The novel transpires the colonialist views of Africa.
'Lyrics Alley' by Leila Aboulela, counts the story of a Sudanese merchant family in 1950's depicting the atmosphere of a country at the verge of independence form Britain and form Egypt. I liked the way it portrays the different aspects of Islam, and how it affects the lives of the people; how the women of the family deal with the oppression of the tradition. Maybe I'm imagining but it also talks wise words about living conditions that could affect any of us. Leila's voice is of an insider aware of the rules and intricacies of the life of the country.
The contrast between the two novels is great. The Polish novel is so naive about the way the children escape and find their way home, about the role of the foreigners in the country, and about love that links young Stas and Nell. He, few years older than her, kills the men who kidnapped them and takes care of her in the middle of the wilderness. They were my childhood heroes and that brings a smile and the memories of my own imaginary adventures in the wild.
In Leila's novel, Soraya can't count on her childhood love to rescue her and give her the freedom she desires. She finds her own way through education and marriage leaving behind the one she loves. Nothing is black and white, no one is completely bad or good. They are just people, doing the best they can, bind by their heritage, longing for their dreams. The wise bit comes when those dreams are crushed by Fate and they have to let go of what won't be. They are forced to deal with the blows and in a way those blows bring the best in them.
Curious enough both novels are set in times of political unrest in the area, just like now.
It didn't seem to me such a good novel as a piece of literature, maybe it's the translator's fault. The thing is that it brought back memories of my first serious novel, by a Polish writer Henry Sienkiewicz, 'Through the Desert and Wilderness'. That one counts the story of a boy and a girl, children of a Polish and a British engineers, kidnapped by Mahdi's followers and taken to Sudan. The novel transpires the colonialist views of Africa.
'Lyrics Alley' by Leila Aboulela, counts the story of a Sudanese merchant family in 1950's depicting the atmosphere of a country at the verge of independence form Britain and form Egypt. I liked the way it portrays the different aspects of Islam, and how it affects the lives of the people; how the women of the family deal with the oppression of the tradition. Maybe I'm imagining but it also talks wise words about living conditions that could affect any of us. Leila's voice is of an insider aware of the rules and intricacies of the life of the country.
The contrast between the two novels is great. The Polish novel is so naive about the way the children escape and find their way home, about the role of the foreigners in the country, and about love that links young Stas and Nell. He, few years older than her, kills the men who kidnapped them and takes care of her in the middle of the wilderness. They were my childhood heroes and that brings a smile and the memories of my own imaginary adventures in the wild.
In Leila's novel, Soraya can't count on her childhood love to rescue her and give her the freedom she desires. She finds her own way through education and marriage leaving behind the one she loves. Nothing is black and white, no one is completely bad or good. They are just people, doing the best they can, bind by their heritage, longing for their dreams. The wise bit comes when those dreams are crushed by Fate and they have to let go of what won't be. They are forced to deal with the blows and in a way those blows bring the best in them.
Curious enough both novels are set in times of political unrest in the area, just like now.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
El color del luto
Como hablar... si es un tema tabu. La muerte es mas cercana al mundo de la ficcion, reservada a los thrillers y peliculas de miedo. Pero resulta que es parte de nuestra realidad, una parte que logramos ignorar hasta que nos chocamos de frente con ella. En mi familia tuvimos la suerte de evitarla por muchos anos.
Llego. Una persona amada ya no esta. Ceso de respirar, su corazon se paro. El calor, el amor, la alegria, el dolor abandonaron su cuerpo. Al tocarlo senti el frio, la nada. Su cuerpo lo pusimos en la tierra, vestida de blanco. Y sin embargo en cada rincon de la casa esta su presencia, en el jardin su cara, su risa, su voz. Todo el amor que nos dio esta presente y no me explico que no este. Una parte de mi aun no lo aprehende.
Siempre pense en la muerte sin drama, casi con objetividad. Es el final de la vida.
Creo que cesamos de ser quienes somos. Creo que algo de lo que fuimos permanece, quizas algo sigue viajando hacia adelande, quizas sigue un camino que ascapa a nuestra capacidad de comprender. Fuera de las limitaciones de los vivos. Mas bien no creo en el cielo o el infierno como destinos finales del alma. No se si la persona que muere sufre, me gustaria pensar que no.
Al margen de lo que creo, duele. No le encuentro explicacion al dolor. Duele porque todo lo que ella fue para mi ya no tiene su propia voz, porque no puedo decirle que la quiero, porque no estuve alli. No se porque duele. Quizas por puro egoismo. Porque lo que me entrego es tan precioso...
No se como llevar el luto porque el negro no expresa ni por asomo todo lo que pasa por mi mente. El negro de tranquilidad, elegancia y glamour me parece el menos adecuado para la ocasion. A mi me duele como una puesta de sol de estas impresionantes que uno mira ambriento consciente de que es unica e irrepetible. Como la vida de una persona. Su olor sus particularidades que aprendi a comprender, sus sacrificios, sus errores, sus juicios.
El color de luto es pura belleza, belleza crudamente vivida. Tan sobrecogedora que deja mi alma abierta de un corte largo en el centro de mi misma. Vulnerable, huerfana.
Como hablar... como explicar que la persona que mas me quiso del mundo ya no esta.
Ya no me reprendera por cortarme el pelo o por llevar un tatuaje. No preguntara porque no me haya casado. No sera bisabuela. Duele porque la quiero y no esta a mi alcance darle ese amor.
Ojala ella sintiera su vida llena de amor que nos ha dado.
Ojala este libre del dolor y pena y de las limitaciones humanas.
Ojala este libre... Ojala eso ser signifique libertad.
Ojala haya paz infinita en el no ser.
Ojala nosotros sepamos honrar la memoria.
Llego. Una persona amada ya no esta. Ceso de respirar, su corazon se paro. El calor, el amor, la alegria, el dolor abandonaron su cuerpo. Al tocarlo senti el frio, la nada. Su cuerpo lo pusimos en la tierra, vestida de blanco. Y sin embargo en cada rincon de la casa esta su presencia, en el jardin su cara, su risa, su voz. Todo el amor que nos dio esta presente y no me explico que no este. Una parte de mi aun no lo aprehende.
Siempre pense en la muerte sin drama, casi con objetividad. Es el final de la vida.
Creo que cesamos de ser quienes somos. Creo que algo de lo que fuimos permanece, quizas algo sigue viajando hacia adelande, quizas sigue un camino que ascapa a nuestra capacidad de comprender. Fuera de las limitaciones de los vivos. Mas bien no creo en el cielo o el infierno como destinos finales del alma. No se si la persona que muere sufre, me gustaria pensar que no.
Al margen de lo que creo, duele. No le encuentro explicacion al dolor. Duele porque todo lo que ella fue para mi ya no tiene su propia voz, porque no puedo decirle que la quiero, porque no estuve alli. No se porque duele. Quizas por puro egoismo. Porque lo que me entrego es tan precioso...
No se como llevar el luto porque el negro no expresa ni por asomo todo lo que pasa por mi mente. El negro de tranquilidad, elegancia y glamour me parece el menos adecuado para la ocasion. A mi me duele como una puesta de sol de estas impresionantes que uno mira ambriento consciente de que es unica e irrepetible. Como la vida de una persona. Su olor sus particularidades que aprendi a comprender, sus sacrificios, sus errores, sus juicios.
El color de luto es pura belleza, belleza crudamente vivida. Tan sobrecogedora que deja mi alma abierta de un corte largo en el centro de mi misma. Vulnerable, huerfana.
Como hablar... como explicar que la persona que mas me quiso del mundo ya no esta.
Ya no me reprendera por cortarme el pelo o por llevar un tatuaje. No preguntara porque no me haya casado. No sera bisabuela. Duele porque la quiero y no esta a mi alcance darle ese amor.
Ojala ella sintiera su vida llena de amor que nos ha dado.
Ojala este libre del dolor y pena y de las limitaciones humanas.
Ojala este libre... Ojala eso ser signifique libertad.
Ojala haya paz infinita en el no ser.
Ojala nosotros sepamos honrar la memoria.
Laundry time Compassion
Some time ago I set a goal for myself: to dig down there and do the laundry. So I did. Past present and future that make each individual needed a good reevaluating and reframing. The wounds that didn't heal needed attention so needed the expectations I had for the future. The present was like an untidy room, I couldn't use anymore. It's been around a year since I started laundering, I'm not done yet.
I can't even start telling what have happened during this time, a long time and a fruitful one. It turned out that I started hearing mySelf. I could explained it through different spiritual dialects, but here I have a commitment to find my own words. Getting to know oneSelf was difficult. I was my own obstacle on the way. I wanted to be this or that. I wanted to fulfill certain criteria. I wanted to achieve... Instead, I just needed to Be.
To Be is a difficult task: to be hear and now, to be who you are not who you are supposed to be. It takes time to accept the imperfection of oneself. To Be is a daily exercise. I find myself in the middle of a spinning world and I stop for a minute "hey, here I Am". I'm still the one who wants the world to be in a certain way and the things to work in an order but I stop myself to Be at least sometimes. I've discovered Compassion. I don't even fully understand what it is but IT is, an understanding: to understand and to be understanding?
Now it is turn to understand the other Selves. Those people around who do crazy things, sometimes hurtful and disrespectful. Some of them don't even know themSelves. But there they are, a part of this world, all walking universes that collide with mine more or less gracefully. The fact that we are part of the same Thing doesn't make it any easier to accept their differences and their impact on me.
Com - pa - ssion
I can't even start telling what have happened during this time, a long time and a fruitful one. It turned out that I started hearing mySelf. I could explained it through different spiritual dialects, but here I have a commitment to find my own words. Getting to know oneSelf was difficult. I was my own obstacle on the way. I wanted to be this or that. I wanted to fulfill certain criteria. I wanted to achieve... Instead, I just needed to Be.
To Be is a difficult task: to be hear and now, to be who you are not who you are supposed to be. It takes time to accept the imperfection of oneself. To Be is a daily exercise. I find myself in the middle of a spinning world and I stop for a minute "hey, here I Am". I'm still the one who wants the world to be in a certain way and the things to work in an order but I stop myself to Be at least sometimes. I've discovered Compassion. I don't even fully understand what it is but IT is, an understanding: to understand and to be understanding?
Now it is turn to understand the other Selves. Those people around who do crazy things, sometimes hurtful and disrespectful. Some of them don't even know themSelves. But there they are, a part of this world, all walking universes that collide with mine more or less gracefully. The fact that we are part of the same Thing doesn't make it any easier to accept their differences and their impact on me.
Com - pa - ssion
Monday, February 7, 2011
No place called home
These days I feel like there is no place called home. How did it happen?
Once, I dreamt of being a traveler who would discover the world out there. Out there was anywhere away from the place that I remember like in a dream. The perfect playground to enjoy the elements, to feel the wind throwing rain in my face. Wind playing in the mighty trees, murmuring the news from far away. I just listened to that call and when I had the opportunity I left. I didn’t know what it meant to leave behind the place called home and I didn’t know that I would be a foreigner. But it didn’t matter to me because I felt a stranger anyway.
I did discover the world, love, disappointment, trust. I became that stranger who walks the streets of anywhere as if they were my home town’s streets. I look inside those people, strangers who know where they belong and I see the same fears and dreams I have.
I never belonged to anywhere and I don’t feel I've lost the places I left behind.
I've been discovering the world but I am just starting to discover myself. I am proud of where I got and of the human being I became. I couldn't say if the travel changed me or if it allowed me to become myself. I got here and I wouldn’t go back. There are closed chapters. For good or for bad. I know there is a way in front of me and it’s just waiting to materialize.
Right now my fight is to be myself, and to give what I have to offer to people. Maybe then I can find a place I belong to.
Once, I dreamt of being a traveler who would discover the world out there. Out there was anywhere away from the place that I remember like in a dream. The perfect playground to enjoy the elements, to feel the wind throwing rain in my face. Wind playing in the mighty trees, murmuring the news from far away. I just listened to that call and when I had the opportunity I left. I didn’t know what it meant to leave behind the place called home and I didn’t know that I would be a foreigner. But it didn’t matter to me because I felt a stranger anyway.
I did discover the world, love, disappointment, trust. I became that stranger who walks the streets of anywhere as if they were my home town’s streets. I look inside those people, strangers who know where they belong and I see the same fears and dreams I have.
I never belonged to anywhere and I don’t feel I've lost the places I left behind.
I've been discovering the world but I am just starting to discover myself. I am proud of where I got and of the human being I became. I couldn't say if the travel changed me or if it allowed me to become myself. I got here and I wouldn’t go back. There are closed chapters. For good or for bad. I know there is a way in front of me and it’s just waiting to materialize.
Right now my fight is to be myself, and to give what I have to offer to people. Maybe then I can find a place I belong to.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
“Life is a dream and dreams are dreams”
My last journey is being a real challenge. I went deep down myself. I am walking my own insides. The person who I am: a dreamer. I found anger and love, peace, war. I deceive myself about my own life and the person who I am.
I am the one who builds my own false paths and tries to find the truth. I trap myself and open doors to set me free. Too often I forget that the ground under my feed is unsteady. Like Alice in wonderland growing and turning small, scared, insecure. Who to trust and worse if to trust myself.
I want to make peace. I want to let go the old wars, the ones that were fought in my name. I want to let go the hate that has never been mine and love that didn’t nourish. I want to let go the pain, hurtful words, silent screams. I want to leave behind the bad dream that brings the fears I don’t want to see. Past.
So I dreamt of a path I could take. The illusion I temporarily built, was a trap for myself. There is no one to blame. I forgot how easy it is to get lost without even realising. The need to adapt yourself to the requirements of the world around places us in front of a mirror with a model already drawn. I find it difficult to erase the way my life should be and make my own path.
I am the one who builds my own false paths and tries to find the truth. I trap myself and open doors to set me free. Too often I forget that the ground under my feed is unsteady. Like Alice in wonderland growing and turning small, scared, insecure. Who to trust and worse if to trust myself.
I want to make peace. I want to let go the old wars, the ones that were fought in my name. I want to let go the hate that has never been mine and love that didn’t nourish. I want to let go the pain, hurtful words, silent screams. I want to leave behind the bad dream that brings the fears I don’t want to see. Past.
So I dreamt of a path I could take. The illusion I temporarily built, was a trap for myself. There is no one to blame. I forgot how easy it is to get lost without even realising. The need to adapt yourself to the requirements of the world around places us in front of a mirror with a model already drawn. I find it difficult to erase the way my life should be and make my own path.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Love letters
Imagine... imagine that someone is writing love letters and bringing them to the postman with no other address than "anyone". The postman sends them to the people around. Some of them will say "it's not for me". Others will open it and their heart will jump, because there is someone who is talking TO THEM. Then sometimes the one who wrote the letter and the one who received it will meet each other. Each of them will leave their loneliness at home and say hello. And they will say "I know you" and they will kiss...
Do they know each other? When the one who sent the message: "I want to love YOU", who did s/he mean? And the YOU who received a letter addressed to anyone, who is s/he?
The words are wrong and so the feelings get... confused. YOU- one word that refers to anyone - are different from any other you, and I don't really know who YOU are. when I say "I love you" I refer to myself, but you don't know me. I could be anyone. So when I say "I love you" I'm cheating twice. Once, because I'm not really telling you who I am, twice because I pretend that I know who YOU are.
More than words: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9CeNo4Q7p0
Thus, when I find out that the one who says "I love you", doesn't really know me, I feel deceived. But I am not without guilt: I didn't tell him who I was.
The words, which meaning we take for granted, deceive and lie. We are the performers and the victim of our own lie.
Words are powerful weapons. You take one and throw it into an open heart and you cause damage. But it wasn't me who you threw the word-grenade at. It was just anyone. I'm not there to suffer because you don't know me.
And so I'm back to my loneliness. I feel safe and I decide not to send any letters for a while.
Do they know each other? When the one who sent the message: "I want to love YOU", who did s/he mean? And the YOU who received a letter addressed to anyone, who is s/he?
The words are wrong and so the feelings get... confused. YOU- one word that refers to anyone - are different from any other you, and I don't really know who YOU are. when I say "I love you" I refer to myself, but you don't know me. I could be anyone. So when I say "I love you" I'm cheating twice. Once, because I'm not really telling you who I am, twice because I pretend that I know who YOU are.
More than words: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9CeNo4Q7p0
Thus, when I find out that the one who says "I love you", doesn't really know me, I feel deceived. But I am not without guilt: I didn't tell him who I was.
The words, which meaning we take for granted, deceive and lie. We are the performers and the victim of our own lie.
Words are powerful weapons. You take one and throw it into an open heart and you cause damage. But it wasn't me who you threw the word-grenade at. It was just anyone. I'm not there to suffer because you don't know me.
And so I'm back to my loneliness. I feel safe and I decide not to send any letters for a while.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Snowy days
Small flakes flow around innocently till the city is covert in magic.The brown leaves left behind their due date, felt on the white streets producing an unexpected colour scheme. It's an early surprise that brings forward Christmas atmosphere.
The cold hits my face, wakes me up in my inner refuge where I wintered during summer. Sometimes it seems almost necessary to go deep inside and then come out again. I'm still sleepy, a bit lethargic, barely aware of something coming up. Something that have been growing and taking shape. I don't know yet what it is but it has the mysterious colours of autumn and afternoon sunshine reflections. And I'm dying to paint it, sing it and dance it in a ritual that will let it free.
I just dreamt a dream and even if I don't remember the details I'm enjoying its taste in my memory, still half asleep.
The cold hits my face, wakes me up in my inner refuge where I wintered during summer. Sometimes it seems almost necessary to go deep inside and then come out again. I'm still sleepy, a bit lethargic, barely aware of something coming up. Something that have been growing and taking shape. I don't know yet what it is but it has the mysterious colours of autumn and afternoon sunshine reflections. And I'm dying to paint it, sing it and dance it in a ritual that will let it free.
I just dreamt a dream and even if I don't remember the details I'm enjoying its taste in my memory, still half asleep.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
"No se manana, se de hoy"
One of those days in July I woke up slowly becoming aware of the sounds around me. The coming and going of the trains. I imagined the roar of trolleys and people saying goodbye or hello.
I slowly became aware of the softness of the mattress as I lied curled in the middle of a king size bed. It smelled of a hotel room but it wasn’t the hotel I work at. I was alone in bed. I cried, just for a moment I felt lonely and I missed something. Then I let go the love and the dream. The man who left the room earlier that morning was not part of me anymore. I didn’t go with him to the station to say goodbye, and I didn’t want to keep his presence in the city I lived in now. I let him go.
It took me a couple of weeks to realize that I was free. As I was listening to Rosana “no se manana se de hoy”. “Hoy no es amor, no es ternura, no es odio ni amargura”. That morning someone I was ready to start a life with few months earlier became a stranger.
I slowly became aware of the softness of the mattress as I lied curled in the middle of a king size bed. It smelled of a hotel room but it wasn’t the hotel I work at. I was alone in bed. I cried, just for a moment I felt lonely and I missed something. Then I let go the love and the dream. The man who left the room earlier that morning was not part of me anymore. I didn’t go with him to the station to say goodbye, and I didn’t want to keep his presence in the city I lived in now. I let him go.
It took me a couple of weeks to realize that I was free. As I was listening to Rosana “no se manana se de hoy”. “Hoy no es amor, no es ternura, no es odio ni amargura”. That morning someone I was ready to start a life with few months earlier became a stranger.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Changes never stop happening
A year have past since I started to make changes to my life. Changes never stop and are still happening, sometimes I feel I'm loosing the ground under my feet and the winds are taking me somewhere without asking me where I want to get. Sometimes I spread my wings and enjoy the air on my face.
A year ago I learned to break certain laws governing a conventional existence. I let go ties to stability, to conforming with good-enough-to-survive live. I risked and won but I just found out that there are more ties to break.
Ties to familiarity and a home that doesn't have a location, just the smell of candles and wood and home made food. Life just doesn't fit to the written scripts. It's surprising, mysterious and sometimes scary.
Sometimes I freak out, the little girl in me rebels against the uncomfortable challenges. Why should I adapt, renounce and loose control!? Well, life. I decided about a new path and I am sticking to it. Today life is like a puzzle with pieces that doesn't match each other. Tomorrow, let's see.
A year ago I learned to break certain laws governing a conventional existence. I let go ties to stability, to conforming with good-enough-to-survive live. I risked and won but I just found out that there are more ties to break.
Ties to familiarity and a home that doesn't have a location, just the smell of candles and wood and home made food. Life just doesn't fit to the written scripts. It's surprising, mysterious and sometimes scary.
Sometimes I freak out, the little girl in me rebels against the uncomfortable challenges. Why should I adapt, renounce and loose control!? Well, life. I decided about a new path and I am sticking to it. Today life is like a puzzle with pieces that doesn't match each other. Tomorrow, let's see.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Another Storm
It’s been a month since my last post. I haven’t stopped writing. I just didn’t have time to edit the material and post it. Today I am starting a new chapter. I won’t be able to write about last month’s events in real time but I hope I can still transmit the storm I have just sailed through without major damages.
Still, we don’t know how to give support to each other and there is no easy way to say I love you. Few days after they left, she called me to give her opinion as if a mother’s opinion was just that. It hurt again, but now it doesn’t matter because I know she loves me and I love her.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Pandora's box
So what came out of Pandora’s box once I opened it? A bit of guild for being selfish, for betraying a man rather than betraying myself; for taking a revenge; desire of being loved and wanted, actually seen, known and accepted; being loved... unconditionally.
I fell in love with a pilgrim. Someone who left behind his profession, lifestyle and belongings. Just like me, he was trying to fix something in his life.
One evening watching the sunset from a cliff I saw you, and I know you saw me.
It was before I fell in love, before I really thought of making love with him. We saw each other without the surface and context. We had a conversation during which I felt completely naked in front of someone I knew for a couple of weeks. It struck me how he could know so much about me. Finally, I could let all the walls I constructed around me fall down. The scaffolding of appearances and defenses that made me feel so oppressed and stopped me from growing.
(Today, showing myself is still an every day fight, but I try to remember how deeply unhappy it made me to hide behind the walls.)
The problem was that we fell in love without knowing anything about each other’s live and it made it extremely difficult to put up with the surfaces, as well as insecurities we had left at home. So when we decided on this common project and as consequence ended up in a foreign country where the cultural differences struck and put each of us under different pressures we turned into enemies. Sad and definitely I would expect more from myself. But then I didn’t know something I would learn soon.
When you see someone you have just met, what do you see? A face, a smile. What do you ask him or her? What are you interested in? What do you expect to find behind the surface, do you even bother to look there? Well, if you are reading this blog probably you do. Before you really see someone, you need to dismiss the surface, this spiderweb of information about someone: profession, hobbies, origin, made of their car... and thousands of objects, facts and people that surround this person. And just then you can look into her/his eyes and see.
That was the way I saw my grandma in December. We went to the hospital and there she was, coming to our encounter, a bright smile lightening her face, her blond hair plaited on both sides, the light in her eyes... I saw the young girl she always was in spite of life because life never broke her... Of course her heart was seriously damaged, betrayed, hurt by so many wounds but always warm and generous. She was full of energy. It struck me how was it possible that this woman may die during the surgery planned within days.
I knew her all my life but until that moment I haven't seen her...
The tree of us, my grandma, my mother and me in a hospital room we shared something that winter evening. I didn’t understood it there and then, it came to me later, after coming back to Brighton, after the surgery went well and she was recovering. This was my Christmas present, she made it and it didn’t matter we were far away, she was with me, while I was alone, surrounded by strangeness, far from home, with no job and my heart broken again.
What the three of us shared there, was the unconditional love a mother can offer, and all the things we have done or said in the past, when we hurt each other, now where gone. That is what unconditional means: “whatever happens I’ll be there for you, no matter who you turn out to be when you grow up, I love you" (this also goes for a special woman who is growing up and becoming wiser).
When I understood this simple meaning of love - love that can get you out of hell, and I’d like to think it can also repair a damaged heart- I realised that being loved in that way, made me feel special and made me strong enough to make it out there in the uneven world. I was not scared of the strangeness, not scared of being alone and without any security about my future.
Was I wrong to expect that kind of love from a man, a partner?
I fell in love with a pilgrim. Someone who left behind his profession, lifestyle and belongings. Just like me, he was trying to fix something in his life.
One evening watching the sunset from a cliff I saw you, and I know you saw me.
It was before I fell in love, before I really thought of making love with him. We saw each other without the surface and context. We had a conversation during which I felt completely naked in front of someone I knew for a couple of weeks. It struck me how he could know so much about me. Finally, I could let all the walls I constructed around me fall down. The scaffolding of appearances and defenses that made me feel so oppressed and stopped me from growing.
(Today, showing myself is still an every day fight, but I try to remember how deeply unhappy it made me to hide behind the walls.)
The problem was that we fell in love without knowing anything about each other’s live and it made it extremely difficult to put up with the surfaces, as well as insecurities we had left at home. So when we decided on this common project and as consequence ended up in a foreign country where the cultural differences struck and put each of us under different pressures we turned into enemies. Sad and definitely I would expect more from myself. But then I didn’t know something I would learn soon.
When you see someone you have just met, what do you see? A face, a smile. What do you ask him or her? What are you interested in? What do you expect to find behind the surface, do you even bother to look there? Well, if you are reading this blog probably you do. Before you really see someone, you need to dismiss the surface, this spiderweb of information about someone: profession, hobbies, origin, made of their car... and thousands of objects, facts and people that surround this person. And just then you can look into her/his eyes and see.
That was the way I saw my grandma in December. We went to the hospital and there she was, coming to our encounter, a bright smile lightening her face, her blond hair plaited on both sides, the light in her eyes... I saw the young girl she always was in spite of life because life never broke her... Of course her heart was seriously damaged, betrayed, hurt by so many wounds but always warm and generous. She was full of energy. It struck me how was it possible that this woman may die during the surgery planned within days.
I knew her all my life but until that moment I haven't seen her...
The tree of us, my grandma, my mother and me in a hospital room we shared something that winter evening. I didn’t understood it there and then, it came to me later, after coming back to Brighton, after the surgery went well and she was recovering. This was my Christmas present, she made it and it didn’t matter we were far away, she was with me, while I was alone, surrounded by strangeness, far from home, with no job and my heart broken again.
What the three of us shared there, was the unconditional love a mother can offer, and all the things we have done or said in the past, when we hurt each other, now where gone. That is what unconditional means: “whatever happens I’ll be there for you, no matter who you turn out to be when you grow up, I love you" (this also goes for a special woman who is growing up and becoming wiser).
When I understood this simple meaning of love - love that can get you out of hell, and I’d like to think it can also repair a damaged heart- I realised that being loved in that way, made me feel special and made me strong enough to make it out there in the uneven world. I was not scared of the strangeness, not scared of being alone and without any security about my future.
Was I wrong to expect that kind of love from a man, a partner?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Everyday life
One of my readers told me that this blog is not like others he read. It’s not about everyday life so I hope I won’t disappoint him cause today I’ll give you a bit of routine.
6.30 am, I leave and as I’m walking down my street I see the horizon of city roofs with St. Peters tower standing out. Behind the city, the strip of the sea. Depending on the weather the roofs and walls are dark or bright when they reflect the sun. Also the colour of the sea changes but I haven’t deciphered the meaning of its changes yet. I’m dragged down the street by the gravity and the urge to arrive on time. Supposedly 5 minutes before my shift starts. I don’t have five minutes to loose at work! My dreams keep me pretty busy. Anyway, black uniform, shirt and trousers. No, I don’t want to wear a skirt.
I arrive at the hotel, change my shoes in the messy and smelly staff room. Every time I go in there I think what kind of people am I working with... Well basically people of all sorts. Young people and students at the reception and restaurant, older in the kitchen. It’s more or less fun to work with them. The work is easy, no responsibilities. I like my part to be done, my every week pay on my account. I do like some of them, but I’m not naive, few may become friends.
On my way back I walk along the North lane, the alternative one. As I walk, I let the work issues fade away and I relax. Sometimes I go into one of the shops just to have a look, there are still couple of them I haven't seen. I like the one with funny T-shirts: “sex, drugs and sausage roll” - very British; or the kid on a mountain of chairs trying to reach the moon. I know someone like this kid, trying to get to the moon...
I used to live near mountains but I must say that I’m loving the sea more and more, It’s mysterious and unpredictable. It is a strong element and gives this place a background of a fisherman's town that became something completely different now. Now it’s a gay capital, which I deduced, means that it can’t be boring, and it is not. This Sunday there was a naked bike ride. It’s a pity I couldn't see it. Instead I had couple of matches to play. There was a beach volley Hawaian tournament and surprisingly our team made it to the semifinals! I’m playing since February and I love it. My specialty is diving in the sand so I end up sandy, but also tanned and relaxed. Then comes the good part, a beer and conversations, some good laughs. Life is good.
So, here I am leading a very normal life, pretty busy but more or less steady. I follow the path of my dreams however my baggage is not very light.
Have you ever, after coming back from a journey, left your bag unpacked till the next day? And the next day you have to take everything out, the dirty and clean clothes mixed together... I know, it’s a bit disgusting. My emotions are like a bag of dirty clothes I forgot for a couple of days, and now I have to do the washing. For a while I did as if they didn’t exist but there is no way to avoid them. I‘d better do the washing before they stink!
6.30 am, I leave and as I’m walking down my street I see the horizon of city roofs with St. Peters tower standing out. Behind the city, the strip of the sea. Depending on the weather the roofs and walls are dark or bright when they reflect the sun. Also the colour of the sea changes but I haven’t deciphered the meaning of its changes yet. I’m dragged down the street by the gravity and the urge to arrive on time. Supposedly 5 minutes before my shift starts. I don’t have five minutes to loose at work! My dreams keep me pretty busy. Anyway, black uniform, shirt and trousers. No, I don’t want to wear a skirt.
I arrive at the hotel, change my shoes in the messy and smelly staff room. Every time I go in there I think what kind of people am I working with... Well basically people of all sorts. Young people and students at the reception and restaurant, older in the kitchen. It’s more or less fun to work with them. The work is easy, no responsibilities. I like my part to be done, my every week pay on my account. I do like some of them, but I’m not naive, few may become friends.
On my way back I walk along the North lane, the alternative one. As I walk, I let the work issues fade away and I relax. Sometimes I go into one of the shops just to have a look, there are still couple of them I haven't seen. I like the one with funny T-shirts: “sex, drugs and sausage roll” - very British; or the kid on a mountain of chairs trying to reach the moon. I know someone like this kid, trying to get to the moon...
I used to live near mountains but I must say that I’m loving the sea more and more, It’s mysterious and unpredictable. It is a strong element and gives this place a background of a fisherman's town that became something completely different now. Now it’s a gay capital, which I deduced, means that it can’t be boring, and it is not. This Sunday there was a naked bike ride. It’s a pity I couldn't see it. Instead I had couple of matches to play. There was a beach volley Hawaian tournament and surprisingly our team made it to the semifinals! I’m playing since February and I love it. My specialty is diving in the sand so I end up sandy, but also tanned and relaxed. Then comes the good part, a beer and conversations, some good laughs. Life is good.
So, here I am leading a very normal life, pretty busy but more or less steady. I follow the path of my dreams however my baggage is not very light.
Have you ever, after coming back from a journey, left your bag unpacked till the next day? And the next day you have to take everything out, the dirty and clean clothes mixed together... I know, it’s a bit disgusting. My emotions are like a bag of dirty clothes I forgot for a couple of days, and now I have to do the washing. For a while I did as if they didn’t exist but there is no way to avoid them. I‘d better do the washing before they stink!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Back to basics
I am a different person now. It’s hard to explain the exact difference. In question of months I understood plain things about the life and family and love. I guess I just learned to walk.
Walking is something we just do, most of the time it’s a nuisance we try to avoid by taking a bus or driving a car. But it’s a simple basic action everybody learns. We don’t realise the importance of it, just like breathing, no need to think about it. But when you have over 800 km in front of you, the next albergue (hostel) is 20 something kms far, and you carry all you think you need on your back, you become conscious of every step taken. In the age of technology, video games and virtual reality I choose to make 800 kilometers to prove myself. The day before I started I didn’t know what to expect and I didn’t expect to learn to walk, to feel with the senses and to see with my heart.
The first thing I felt was pain. The blisters on my feed and the weight on my shoulders made me calculate every step I took and the effort I was able to do along the day. It made me reconsider what was expendable in my backpack. After a week I got used to the 7- 8kg backpack and the approximately 20km every day distance. And I realised that what was weighting was the emotional baggage. I remember the moment after a day of walking when I was sharing a table with other pilgrims. I laughed and a big grin appeared on my face. I though that I haven’t smiled like that for ages, not the courteus smile to answear a polite question during an empty conversation, but a real expresion of joy. There was something seriously wrong with my almost perfect life, I thought.
Since the first day, in spite of the pain I was aware of the beauty around me. Far from the city, its blinding noises, odours and lights, my senses started to wake up. The smell of the forest and the sea, the sound of the wind, the pure beauty of the landscape touched me deeply and made me be there in the moment. One afternoon, in Comillas, sitting on the beach i played with the sand, I simply existed without running and worrying about the future or moaning about the past. Present moment was all I needed and all I wanted to enjoy.
Some of the pilgrims would wake up even before 6am and hurry up to the next albergue. I would meet them in the afternoon laying in the bed and contemplating the ceiling or the matres over their head. Well, I guess everyone meditates in their own way. I preferred to enjoy a swim in the sea or a nap at midday. Or I just walked at my own pace so I wouldn’t get injured. Somehow getting a bed in the hostel was not so important. Once, I spent one of the most beautiful nights under the protection of sky with Maciek and Justyna, a polish couple I met on the Camino. Knowing that 38km in a day were to many for me I decided to stop in a town. I found them exhausted so we decided to stay near a beach and had an improvised dinner together. When everything got dark, lying in my sleeping bag, I could see the sea of stars. No way you could see something like that in Madrid! In the morning we climbed a hill to see the sunrise, and then before starting again I used one of the beach showers to wash myself, it was freezing. After walking uphill for half an hour I stopped to feel the warming sun on my face.
That’s it. There was plenty of resources to use when needed, and I know for sure that a shower in a hotel, and a comfortable bed would never make me feel so alive. I was feeling with all my senses awake, there was only one more to be used.
Walking is something we just do, most of the time it’s a nuisance we try to avoid by taking a bus or driving a car. But it’s a simple basic action everybody learns. We don’t realise the importance of it, just like breathing, no need to think about it. But when you have over 800 km in front of you, the next albergue (hostel) is 20 something kms far, and you carry all you think you need on your back, you become conscious of every step taken. In the age of technology, video games and virtual reality I choose to make 800 kilometers to prove myself. The day before I started I didn’t know what to expect and I didn’t expect to learn to walk, to feel with the senses and to see with my heart.
The first thing I felt was pain. The blisters on my feed and the weight on my shoulders made me calculate every step I took and the effort I was able to do along the day. It made me reconsider what was expendable in my backpack. After a week I got used to the 7- 8kg backpack and the approximately 20km every day distance. And I realised that what was weighting was the emotional baggage. I remember the moment after a day of walking when I was sharing a table with other pilgrims. I laughed and a big grin appeared on my face. I though that I haven’t smiled like that for ages, not the courteus smile to answear a polite question during an empty conversation, but a real expresion of joy. There was something seriously wrong with my almost perfect life, I thought.
Since the first day, in spite of the pain I was aware of the beauty around me. Far from the city, its blinding noises, odours and lights, my senses started to wake up. The smell of the forest and the sea, the sound of the wind, the pure beauty of the landscape touched me deeply and made me be there in the moment. One afternoon, in Comillas, sitting on the beach i played with the sand, I simply existed without running and worrying about the future or moaning about the past. Present moment was all I needed and all I wanted to enjoy.
Some of the pilgrims would wake up even before 6am and hurry up to the next albergue. I would meet them in the afternoon laying in the bed and contemplating the ceiling or the matres over their head. Well, I guess everyone meditates in their own way. I preferred to enjoy a swim in the sea or a nap at midday. Or I just walked at my own pace so I wouldn’t get injured. Somehow getting a bed in the hostel was not so important. Once, I spent one of the most beautiful nights under the protection of sky with Maciek and Justyna, a polish couple I met on the Camino. Knowing that 38km in a day were to many for me I decided to stop in a town. I found them exhausted so we decided to stay near a beach and had an improvised dinner together. When everything got dark, lying in my sleeping bag, I could see the sea of stars. No way you could see something like that in Madrid! In the morning we climbed a hill to see the sunrise, and then before starting again I used one of the beach showers to wash myself, it was freezing. After walking uphill for half an hour I stopped to feel the warming sun on my face.
That’s it. There was plenty of resources to use when needed, and I know for sure that a shower in a hotel, and a comfortable bed would never make me feel so alive. I was feeling with all my senses awake, there was only one more to be used.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Connections
Today I'm in get-out-of-my-way mood. No specific reason. It just seems that everything is going wrong: the weather won't be sunny, the Internet connection won't work at the cafe and the coffee I bought there was awful. Everything is out of my control and even if I remind myself that this is the way things are, I'm angry with the world around me. I know there is no point in it and I know at least in part I'm just trying to protect my emotional self, the part of me which I try unsuccessfully to keep under control. And there is no way I can control what affects me, and pretend I don't feel anything about people I meet and things that happen.
These days my unconscious is playing funny games with me, I guess I deserve it. If I'm waiting for a night out, I forget my keys at home and get just what I wanted: an adventure night. I also have funny dreams with people I don't intend to think about.
Some dreams are completely absurd, like the guy I danced with and just kissed because I was quite drunk. In my dream he would become a waiter who didn't want to give me my dessert! That was really mean, even in a dream, and I can still remember the taste of the vanilla ice cream that so desperately needed to be topped with hot chocolate!!!!
Or a dreamt conversation I didn't have with someone who I wanted to be friends with, but I guess was not up to it.
Why some people get through to me? I won't think about them for a long long time, and years after, suddenly, I would remember a night spent together, a kiss, a conversation. Like the moment I had speaking about life with John in a Chinese restaurant in Barcelona. I was looking into my cup of jasmine tea, where two leafs where dancing around like two dragons just before the force that bound them together in a flight disappeared slowly and they fell to the bottom of the cup. I was thinking about my relationship at the time. Now behind me, I dreamt about him having a new girlfriend, a posh one, just what he used to say he didn't like. Just as he used to talk about other things but in the end he actually wanted something else. Conning himself or me? I guess it does matter to me, even now after months.
It made me wonder about the way the connection happens. I meet many people these days and even if I don't know how the things will turn out I can see the instant connection or a lack of it. Sometimes a conversation with a stranger becomes more meaningful than the exchanges I had with people I used to spend time with back in Madrid. That's the difference between connecting and just spending time with someone without affecting each other at all.
During the Camino, a fellow pilgrim asked me what would I change in my life and it could be only one thing. There were many changes I wanted to make but the one I decided then was the people around me, or rather the way I was relating with people, safely unconnected, keeping the important thoughts to myself.
I'm giving a thought to my friendship relationships. Some of them are very loose, because of the distance or just because the way I am, always keeping lots of space for me, or avoiding to get too close. I use to protect myself with layers, that at the end only oppressed me and made me sink.
So now I promised to show who I am and not push away people I appreciate. It's a struggle I believe is worth making the effort.
Yesterday I was showing some pics from the blog I wrote when I was in US. I realised that it was exactly 3 years ago when we said goodbye. It seems an eternity has passed, so many things have changed, other remain the same. Finally I got to the last post with Mika’s song “happy ending” in a way it’s a goodbye song for my friends there. I still feel some of them very close and I wonder how is it possible to feel so close to someone you haven’t seen in a couple of years. Instead just some messages, sometimes online conversation, but you still have so much in common or rather so much to share. Probably what we had in common was the sense of adventure and the willingness to go for it and discover that strange country. We lived together the discovery of the unfamiliar culture with so many extremes and different things mixed up together. Just like us, a mix of nationalities, faces and dreams. When I think about my friends there is no one group, it is this mixcure of origins languages and experiences. No one is like the other, they are unique in one way or another. It's good to be one of them.
These days my unconscious is playing funny games with me, I guess I deserve it. If I'm waiting for a night out, I forget my keys at home and get just what I wanted: an adventure night. I also have funny dreams with people I don't intend to think about.
Some dreams are completely absurd, like the guy I danced with and just kissed because I was quite drunk. In my dream he would become a waiter who didn't want to give me my dessert! That was really mean, even in a dream, and I can still remember the taste of the vanilla ice cream that so desperately needed to be topped with hot chocolate!!!!
Or a dreamt conversation I didn't have with someone who I wanted to be friends with, but I guess was not up to it.
Why some people get through to me? I won't think about them for a long long time, and years after, suddenly, I would remember a night spent together, a kiss, a conversation. Like the moment I had speaking about life with John in a Chinese restaurant in Barcelona. I was looking into my cup of jasmine tea, where two leafs where dancing around like two dragons just before the force that bound them together in a flight disappeared slowly and they fell to the bottom of the cup. I was thinking about my relationship at the time. Now behind me, I dreamt about him having a new girlfriend, a posh one, just what he used to say he didn't like. Just as he used to talk about other things but in the end he actually wanted something else. Conning himself or me? I guess it does matter to me, even now after months.
It made me wonder about the way the connection happens. I meet many people these days and even if I don't know how the things will turn out I can see the instant connection or a lack of it. Sometimes a conversation with a stranger becomes more meaningful than the exchanges I had with people I used to spend time with back in Madrid. That's the difference between connecting and just spending time with someone without affecting each other at all.
During the Camino, a fellow pilgrim asked me what would I change in my life and it could be only one thing. There were many changes I wanted to make but the one I decided then was the people around me, or rather the way I was relating with people, safely unconnected, keeping the important thoughts to myself.
I'm giving a thought to my friendship relationships. Some of them are very loose, because of the distance or just because the way I am, always keeping lots of space for me, or avoiding to get too close. I use to protect myself with layers, that at the end only oppressed me and made me sink.
So now I promised to show who I am and not push away people I appreciate. It's a struggle I believe is worth making the effort.
Yesterday I was showing some pics from the blog I wrote when I was in US. I realised that it was exactly 3 years ago when we said goodbye. It seems an eternity has passed, so many things have changed, other remain the same. Finally I got to the last post with Mika’s song “happy ending” in a way it’s a goodbye song for my friends there. I still feel some of them very close and I wonder how is it possible to feel so close to someone you haven’t seen in a couple of years. Instead just some messages, sometimes online conversation, but you still have so much in common or rather so much to share. Probably what we had in common was the sense of adventure and the willingness to go for it and discover that strange country. We lived together the discovery of the unfamiliar culture with so many extremes and different things mixed up together. Just like us, a mix of nationalities, faces and dreams. When I think about my friends there is no one group, it is this mixcure of origins languages and experiences. No one is like the other, they are unique in one way or another. It's good to be one of them.
Friday, May 21, 2010
a journey
My life is a journey, I can’t just define myself according to my origin country or my host country. I’m a nomad (an immigrant) and I learned to adapt to any place I lived in. When one arrives in a foreign country the whole world of differences clashes agains one’s identity. Some people find the world out of their accustomed familiarity an inhospitable environment but I just feel in my element. When I came to England and saw the strange world around me I breathed in and felt that this was my thing, not necessarily comfortable and easy but it was like the fresh air in the face. The journey implies transformation of the self. I let the differences impregnate me and I make them mine. It’s the constant creation of oneself in contact with the world around and the self is a work in progress not a stable entity defined and delimited, limited by the definition.
A pilgrimage implies the idea of transformation along the way even if your motivations on the Camino are not religious. Most of the people I met did it for many other reasons. I read a sentence I used to repeat almost every day, when the emotional luggage made the walking difficult: “A pilgrim is anyone who walks with a free soul, a light baggage,
a heart full of solidarity, but above all, the pilgrims follow spontaneously the path of their dreams”.
I decided to change my life in Valdedios, a beautiful valley with few villages and a monastery with IX century church. I walked alone that day and left behind some of the people who were taking the route through Gijon. Few days before I met a woman from Poland who was going in the opposite direction and she told me about this special place so I decided to stop there and then continue to Oviedo. It is definitely a special place, silent and peaceful. It felt as if the valley kept the beauty of the life through the centuries. Maybe the monks filled it with prayers or maybe the valley inspired them to live there. It definitely inspired me. That afternoon thousands of thoughts where storming through my mind and I knew that the experiences on Camino were shaking my assumptions and my plan for life. When I arrived there were no more beds free in the albergue. Thanks to the bed rolls some pilgrims lent me I slept comfortably after a long day’s walk. The following day the sun was filtering through the morning mist and the first part of the track was all the way uphill. When I started to walk I knew I would risk the stability I had for the search and the adventure. I started climbing the hill with light heart that morning. My soul was free and I was walking on the path of my dreams.
I left behind good and bad things, I left behind people who meant a lot, but I don’t look behind anymore. I look forward and see all the uncertain possibilities in front of me. I feel completely alive and happy.
I spent 14 years in Madrid and I became an adult there but at some point I got stuck. I used to think that I just needed to find the right place and then I would be able to settle down. These days I think I was wrong. I don’t want a place to live, I want to live the World. And there is a new project on my mind ;)
A pilgrimage implies the idea of transformation along the way even if your motivations on the Camino are not religious. Most of the people I met did it for many other reasons. I read a sentence I used to repeat almost every day, when the emotional luggage made the walking difficult: “A pilgrim is anyone who walks with a free soul, a light baggage,
a heart full of solidarity, but above all, the pilgrims follow spontaneously the path of their dreams”.
I decided to change my life in Valdedios, a beautiful valley with few villages and a monastery with IX century church. I walked alone that day and left behind some of the people who were taking the route through Gijon. Few days before I met a woman from Poland who was going in the opposite direction and she told me about this special place so I decided to stop there and then continue to Oviedo. It is definitely a special place, silent and peaceful. It felt as if the valley kept the beauty of the life through the centuries. Maybe the monks filled it with prayers or maybe the valley inspired them to live there. It definitely inspired me. That afternoon thousands of thoughts where storming through my mind and I knew that the experiences on Camino were shaking my assumptions and my plan for life. When I arrived there were no more beds free in the albergue. Thanks to the bed rolls some pilgrims lent me I slept comfortably after a long day’s walk. The following day the sun was filtering through the morning mist and the first part of the track was all the way uphill. When I started to walk I knew I would risk the stability I had for the search and the adventure. I started climbing the hill with light heart that morning. My soul was free and I was walking on the path of my dreams.
I left behind good and bad things, I left behind people who meant a lot, but I don’t look behind anymore. I look forward and see all the uncertain possibilities in front of me. I feel completely alive and happy.
I spent 14 years in Madrid and I became an adult there but at some point I got stuck. I used to think that I just needed to find the right place and then I would be able to settle down. These days I think I was wrong. I don’t want a place to live, I want to live the World. And there is a new project on my mind ;)
Monday, May 17, 2010
A Walk in the Clouds
Everything we do is question of faith. Every decision made, every step on the way it’s based on the believe that this is the right way to go. If you doubt every single step becomes harder.
Couple of years ago I made the worst thing one can do, not taking a decision. And then I went along the marked path, I started a life doubting now and then that it was the right one. For a long time I was unable to see what was wrong. The consequence of not being strong enough to do what I really wanted was hurting myself and the person who was next to me.
I started my pilgrimage in Irun, a town on the frontier between France and Spain. I was full of expectations and fears. It was a challenge of 840km and I was going to give it a try. The simple action of walking taught me some basic truths about life. I don’t pretend them to be universal I just saw things in my life under a different light.
At the beginning of the pilgrimage, going through the Basque Country, I got lost couple of times and I was worried about following the signs, the yellow arrows that mark Camino de Santiago. Every night I would read through the description of the following day’s track, I would try to remember the towns on the way. But sometimes you miss a sign and then for a while there are no more signs and you don’t know if you are on the right track. Every step might be leading you in wrong direction and you don’t know if to go back or continue.
For the first few weeks I was worried about getting lost but little by little, I found out that no map was better than the directions local people could give and my own build in GPS, as a priest I met in Guemes called it. The build in GPS is a mix of orientation and intuition, together with the certainty that there is no fixed path you are supposed to take. So if you get somewhere else than where you were supposed to get that is because it is your way to go. I started to use my GPS when I stopped worrying about things like where I was going to eat or sleep at night. Simple and difficult to do, but it made my pilgrimage a walk in the clouds. I believed.
My life was full of yellow arrows, things I was supposed to do and achieve. And in spite of my rebel nature I kept following them. I had a good job, I had a stable relationship, a nice place to live and a car. But was it really my way? Sometimes the signs on the Camino, where guiding the pilgrims along the roads while there where alternative paths along the coast. Sometimes few more kilometers made a wonderful walk along the cliffs. My life in Madrid was like walking on the right road but on one that was hurting my feed. So why did I follow it? Only because it was supposed to be the right thing to do? Or because I was too scared to risk, to worried about loosing comfort and security?
In the last few months I felt I grew up years. I let the earth disappear under my feet and I opened my wings and started a real flight. No matter what have happened I met the challenge and accepted the risks. I put an end to my “safe” life in Madrid, and I started this adventure... It didn’t turn out to be what I wanted but it is more than what I expected. I keep my faith and keep walking in the clouds, this time seeing more clearly than ever. Thanks to all of you who have been part of it, pilgrims and friends.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Changes happen
The present moment is the result of what have happened since last summer, eight months ago. That means that telling about now implies going back to my personal roller-coaster journey from Madrid to Santiago de Compostela, back to Madrid, briefly to Alicante and to UK. I passed through many places but the most important changes didn’t take place in the geographical space, but in the personal, where everything happened at the velocity of light and shook me all the way out of the lethargy I was living in. I won’t begin at the beginning of the journey, I will just go back and forth in order to talk about what is relevant to the Present. Because, one of the lessons I’ve learnt is that live happens now, not in the past, not in the future. I can feel it right now and I feel real happiness. It has nothing to do with my live being perfect, all the contrary, it’s an authentic mess.
I’m sitting in the kitchen with the view to the hill filled with terrace houses of different colours, just as one I live in now. It’s a blue house on the top of a hill, near the city center. There is something in this city that makes it different from the other places I’ve been to. This place is full of energy and liveliness, with people of all possible kinds but without going to extremes of American freakiness... well maybe there is a big amount of strangeness in the British culture as well. The light is different here, it’s brighter, it’s changing all the time turning the city into a kaleidoscope of urban shapes, colours and natural elements. The light plays games on the buildings, turns the colour of the sea from after storm lead gray to blue of all shades or dirty greenish. The afternoon sun on the real pure spring green of the trees and the walls of St P
eter’s Church. It’s the city of light. Here things just happen. People keep walking the streets, the lanes where you can have a look at the second hand vintage shops, cafes that close before seven and pubs open till late.
For me it’s the land of Merlin and fairy tales and here I’m living my own fairytale that started when I fell in love. Then it turned into a nightmare of a broken dream, just to let me discover what was actually meaningful in live. And I know I needed it to overcome my fears. So here I am with my wings wide opened, the wind in my face and courage to be who I am...just to be happy ...
I'm in peace.
I’m sitting in the kitchen with the view to the hill filled with terrace houses of different colours, just as one I live in now. It’s a blue house on the top of a hill, near the city center. There is something in this city that makes it different from the other places I’ve been to. This place is full of energy and liveliness, with people of all possible kinds but without going to extremes of American freakiness... well maybe there is a big amount of strangeness in the British culture as well. The light is different here, it’s brighter, it’s changing all the time turning the city into a kaleidoscope of urban shapes, colours and natural elements. The light plays games on the buildings, turns the colour of the sea from after storm lead gray to blue of all shades or dirty greenish. The afternoon sun on the real pure spring green of the trees and the walls of St P
eter’s Church. It’s the city of light. Here things just happen. People keep walking the streets, the lanes where you can have a look at the second hand vintage shops, cafes that close before seven and pubs open till late. For me it’s the land of Merlin and fairy tales and here I’m living my own fairytale that started when I fell in love. Then it turned into a nightmare of a broken dream, just to let me discover what was actually meaningful in live. And I know I needed it to overcome my fears. So here I am with my wings wide opened, the wind in my face and courage to be who I am...just to be happy ...
I'm in peace.
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