"...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


29.6.17

Favus distillans: Ursula virgo est


A dripping honeycomb was the virgin Ursula
Milk and honey under her tongue


Like a fruit ladden garden and splendour of flowers
She gathered a throng of virgins around her


Therefore rejoice, daughters, in the noblest dawn







A personal selection of Hildegarde von Bingen's Favus distillans, from 11000 Virgins: Chants for the Feast of Saint Ursula.


20.6.17

Preacher in the Grey Cap y la cuarta dimensión


¿Qué es la meditación? Fue lo primero que dijo después de que me pidió permiso para sentarse en mi mesa -tan llena de mí-, sacándome del éxtasis creativo en el que me encontraba sumida.

En medio de la confusión sobre las intenciones de ese desconocido, I thought that the question could be addressed through an array of answers, a very wide color spectrum: but No, he said, No, la meditación es, y grábatelo bien: and then something I should remember very clearly and do but not in words: the journey through the self to some absolute truth which, in my opinion, is both absolute & absolutely relative: so many truths to learn, so many guises and shapes and sounds that make up an infinite number of different melodies through which that one truth manifests itself.

Being an absolute relativist myself, and having been trained in post-modern philosophical thought, I felt very uncomfortable with the word Truth, con su mayúscula tan imperativa. Still, I have never quite grasped that stuff about the 4th and 5th and 9th and etc. dimensions, something he did not promise to explain but kept talking about as though I understood it all: Reality is the fourth dimension. Piensa, repiensa, reflexiona, y... actúa? or another couple more non-negotiable instructions, which I unfortunately forgot rather soon, la sobreintelectualización being uno de los males de los cuales intento deshacerme en los últimos tiempos.

I do believe, though, he was right about something: Love is not a word, it is a fact. Factum, non verbum, haciendo gala de su erudición. Elaborando al respecto: Love is not love which makes a sound that does not reverberate. Anzi, Love is not a sound: it is an act. Como diría ese sabio y afamado cantante, El amor, amigues míes, es verbo, no sustantivo. Maybe, if I am misinterpreting correctly, the fourth dimension could be the dimension of the Reality of Love.

Aprende a amarte para que puedas amarnos: de todas las cosas que me ordenó que me aprendiera de memoria, ésta es la única que recuerdo con absoluta claridad.


12.6.17

Still I will harvest beauty where it grows


Her the inhabiter of diverse places
Surmising at all doors, I push them all.
Oh, you that fearful of a creaking hinge
Turn back forevermore with craven faces,
I tell you Beauty bears an ultra fringe
Unguessed of you upon her gossamer shawl!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

10.4.17

Un huerto

Murmura al ras
lo que gesta en secreto

Piadoso
mira lejos

Hacia la 1 y 1/2 de la tarde
pinta
forjando el camino del pájaro

Abriendo los ojos
ya durmiendo
rodó sus ruedas de horas ovaladas

Todos los días
                         el calendario

El muro de agua de los ritos

Su engranaje se diluye
pues es su magia algo diferente:

la existencia llevada a cabo
en la porción del ritmo
en el pulso de lo visto
entre el deshielo lampo del instante
que parte
arde
da cuanta forma la forma necesita

En las palabras de los mares
hay lluvia que acompañe su silencio

Andando por ahí
se llega al centro
de algún modo

veredas se transitan en los ojos
                                                   un huerto
                                                   un colibrí
                                                   un pavo real

el vaivén de un sauce
que se ríe sobre el arroyo


Palabras rescatadas de Josué Ramírez's Muda de raíces

21.2.17

Silver


                                But she's just like lightning
                                She goes right through you
                                Then you know you'll never
                                Be the same

                                 - Mazzy Star, "She's my baby"



Mustard. Mustard and black. Mustard and black and silver.

Silver.

Her silver hair.

She is just like lightning.
Her whole self
it does go right through you
Pierces you
                        Leaves you breathless
                        Whole
                        Expanding

As she walks away
                      past you
                      behind you

But also beside you
Right beside you

Mustard and black. And silver.

Her silver self
Traps you
As she walks home, alone.