"...to enclose the present moment; to make it stay; to fill it fuller and fuller, with the past, the present and the future, until it shone, whole, bright, deep with understanding."

Virgina Woolf, The Years


But there is still such beauty

What was lost in the collapse: almost everything, almost everyone, but there is still such beauty. Twilight in the altered world, a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream in a parking lot in the mysteriously named town of St. Deborah by the Water, Lake Michigan shining a half a mile away. Kirsten as Titania, a crown of flowers on her close-cropped hair, the jagged scar on her cheek-bone half-erased by candlelight.

Fragment of Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel.



Quisiera volverme hiedra,
y enredarme en tu cintura.
- Carmen Paris, Savia nueva

And it was worth it
After all
Settling a single pillow under both of our heads
We had no need to say anything at all

(And indeed, there was time for you and me)

Revisiting Elliot's Prufrock.


Les mots IX - Articulate with the tongue of all the world

Into the golden vessel of great song
Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast
Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;
Not we, -articulate, so, but with the tongue
Of all the world: the churning blood, the long
Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed
Sharply together upon the escaping guest,
The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.

Longing alone is singer to the lute.

Fragment of a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay


Moments of Being VII - Vast, nude space and the unheard music

I walk in accidentally. The room is vast. The space is vast. It didn't look particularly attractive seen from the hall, but when I peeked in, I was awed by the light of the stained-glass windows, by the vastness of the nude space. A couple danced in it. A man in a t-shirt, short pants and sandals led a tired body: a woman in similar attire who rested her head on his chest, her face hidden, as though she could hardly find the strenght to keep on going. He kept waltzing her, he did not want to let her give up, it seemed, but he did so tenderly, slowly. She let her body be waltzed to the music that only the man was able to hear. From a short distance, a boy in a cap and a little girl in a wheel chair looked at them. Mesmerized. Moved. Or waiting, perhaps. Or wanting attention. You're not allowed to dance! The little girl finally broke out. You're not allowed to...! I heard her shout in the distance, as I quickly walked away for I had to rush, in my mind the insidious image of her parents dancing to an unexisting vals, of her parents ignoring their little girl's selfish demands, the image of her parents clinging to that unheard music, to that moment they were stealing away.


The Nightingale Doth Sing VII - Innocence

Some kind of innocence is measured out in you.
- Hey Bulldog, The Beatles

There is a thread
subtler than silk
subtler than memory
or longing
or hope

There is a thread
thin as a spider's web
pearled with dew
Just as beautiful
Just as strong

and sunlight
dance on it
showing something dormant
something that cannot be dead
since it's never been quite born

There is a thread
If I follow it
it can almost take me back
to who you were

If I follow it
I can almost become
who I never was

Who we were
Who we never were


Les mots VI - ¿Puedes darle un nombre?

Graógraman calló largo rato.

- Señor -dijo luego-, ahora sé que mi muerte da la vida y mi vida da la muerte, y que ambas cosas son buenas. Ahora comprendo el sentido de mi existencia. Gracias.

Se dirigió lenta y solemnemente al rincón más oscuro de la caverna. Lo que hizo allí no pudo verlo Bastián, pero oyó un ruido metálico. Cuando Graógraman volvió, llevaba en la boca algo que puso antes los pies de Bastián con una profunda inclinación de cabeza.

Era una espada.

De todas formas, no parecía muy magnífica. La funda de hierro en que se alojaba estaba oxidada y el puño era casi como el de un sable de juguete hecho de algún viejo pedazo de madera.

- ¿Puedes darle un nombre? - preguntó Graograman.

- ¡Sikanda! - Dijo Bastián.

En aquel mismo instante, la espada salió chirriando de la funda y voló literalmente a sus manos. Bastián vio que la hoja era de luz resplandeciente que apenas podía mirarse. La espada tenía doble filo y se sentía ligera como una pluma en la mano.

- Esa espada -dijo Graógraman- estuvo siempre aquí para ti. Porque sólo puede tocarla sin peligro quien ha cabalgado sobre mis espaldas, ha comido y bebido de mi fuego y se ha bañado en él como tú. Pero únicamente porque has sabido darle su verdadero nombre te pertenece.

Fragmento de La historia Interminable, de Michael Ende.


The Garden V - Agua viva y santa

En un jardín te he soñado,
alto, Guiomar, sobre el río,
jardín de un tiempo cerrado
con verjas de hierro frío.

Un ave insólita canta
en el almez, dulcemente,
junto al agua viva y santa,
toda sed y toda fuente.

En ese jardín, Guiomar,
el mutuo jardín que inventan
dos corazones al par,
se funden y complementan
nuestras horas. Los racimos
de un sueño -juntos estamos-
en limpia copa exprimimos,
y el doble cuento olvidamos.

Segunda canción a Guiomar, de Alberto Machado.


The Gardener VI - Lluvia

Las flores se encienden
y alegres se abren
al beso del agua,
como manantiales.

Llueve y llueve esta tarde.

Fragmentos de "Llueve", de Juan Ramón Barat, en Poemas para gorriones.


The Nightingale Doth Sing VI - Blanks (versión censurada)

One day it will happen
One day it will all come true
One day when you're ready
One day when you're up to it.
I can feel it.
-Björk, One day

...even now, as the slugs begin their sluggish
withdrawal - each complete in love and lust;
each mother and father to what they've made
together; each alone, content, and free.
-Conversation with Slugs and Sarah, Jennifer Chang

I had a dream.
We were ourselves. We were not ourselves.
We inhabited our bodies.
They were possessed. By ancient eyes:

I am here. You are here.
Your lips steal an ancient longing from my lips.
Your mouth speaks of old yearnings to my mouth.
Your tongue feeds that never forgotten thirst on my neck.
Your hands press long kept desires unto my body.

I open up.
I let you summon me.
I let you shape me
into who I want to be:

Flesh that feels your flesh
Flesh that feeds on your flesh
Flesh that nests your flesh

I have you. You have me.
I hold you. You hold me.

We remember.
We wonder about a past
that could've been a mutual future.
Yet we prefer the now.
The many pleasures of the now.

When I woke up the first time
I knew you were still there
So I smiled before I opened my eyes:

You tuck me in
Before you leave.
Before you leave
I reassure you:
You are free.

The second time I woke up
I had new memories of you.
To fill in the blanks.


The Garden IV - Rosas como estrellas

¿Que es esto? ¡Prodigio! Mis manos florecen.
Rosas, rosas, rosas a mis dedos crecen.
Mi amante besóme las manos, y en ellas,
¡oh gracia! brotaron rosas como estrellas.

Y voy por la senda voceando el encanto
y de dicha alterno sonrisa con llanto
y bajo el milagro de mi encantamiento
se aroman de rosas las alas del viento.

Fragmento de El dulce milagro de  Juana de Ibarbourou