72 hours
“Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps. And that is how we’ve got to live” Haruki Murakami
They say that in any emergency the first 72 hours are critical, in case of an injury, in case of a rescue operation in case of an emergency earthquakes, tsunamis, fires, accidents the first 72 hours are the ones where no service can reach individual needs so you need to prepare to be on your own until then.
A cornucopia of advice out there, great instructions on how to be prepared if there is no power, no food , transport or telecommunications, how to treat an injury on those very critical 72 hours.
The first 72 hours are also important for some other more positive or hopeful events, the critical first 72 hours of a new born baby or the first 72 hours for those embarking on rehab, or trying to quit smoking. Tips on how to assess what to expect and what to look for to prevent any mistake or disasters than can risk the new project or the new life.
At 72 hours of this storm it is impossible to see what preparations precautions or signs to look for. Are we preparing to receive a new born dream? or to survive the effects of another tsunami of rejection, self doubt, hopelessness and cynicism?
Where is the advice when the unexpected shows its face in a seismic event of the heart, where the connection flows in waves electrical and powerful as the fiery lightning in the storm and the hopes and fears blow at once like winds of a hurricane, when the defences lay broken and scattered as the glass after a car crash.
When the heartbeat is as painful as the contractions inducing labour and endured with the same bravery, hope and terror, every second seems to last one hour and every cell is engaged and at this point impossible to know will it be a healthy baby or a still born? Does anyone buy a coffin on the day the water breaks? So how can you prepare?
Every second counts, every minute that passes is a mute loss of hope for help to reach those areas of the self where dreams still grow, where faith still tries and so the fight comes to a close as the patient looses blood from the wound agonises with flash backs of the event and its randomness. It couldn’t have been predicted, it couldn’t have been prevented and cannot be resolved. It can only be accepted.
Now that 72 hours have passed free to grieve its loss, to enjoy and celebrate the event, its greatness and its smallness all at once. For it was great to have had the opportunity and it feels great to be a survivor.
Chocolate!
i met my soulmate
TOBACCO KIOSK
I am nothing
I shall always be nothing
I cannot wish to be anything.
Aside from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world.
Windows of my room,
The room of one of the world’s millions nobody knows about
(And if they knew about me, what would they know?)
Open onto the mystery of a street continually crossed by people,
To a street inaccessible to any thought,
Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain,
With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings,
With death making the walls damp and men’s hair white,
With the Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing.
Today I am defeated, as if I knew the truth.
Today I am clear-minded, as if I were about to die
And had no more kinship with things
Than a goodbye, this building and this side of the street becoming
A long row of train carriages, and a whistle departing
From inside my head,
And a jolt of my nerves and a creak of bones as we go.
Today I am bewildered, as one who wondered and discovered and forgot.
Today I am divided between the loyalty I owe
To the outward reality of the Tobacco Kiosk of the other side of the street
And to the inward real feeling that everything is but a dream.
I have missed everything.
And since I had no aims, maybe everything was indeed nothing.
What I was taught,
I go down from the window at the back of the house.
I went to the countryside with grand plans,
But all I found in it was grass and trees,
And when there were people, they were just like other people
I step back from the window and sit in a chair. What should I think about now?
(…)
I have dreamed more than Napoleon did.
I have held against the hypothetical heart more humanities than Christ.
I have secretly created philosophies no Kant has ever written.
But I am, and perhaps always should be, the one from the attic
Although I don’t live in it;
I shall always be someone not born for this;
I shall always be the one who just had qualities;
I shall always be the one who has waited for a gate to open next a wall without a door
And sang the song of the infinite in a poultry-yard,
And heard God’s voice in a blocked-up well.
Believe in myself? No, not in me and not in nothing.
May Nature be dissolved on my feverish head
Her sun, her rain, the wind that ruffles my hair,
And the rest, let it come if it must, it doesn’t matter.
Hearts in thrall to the stars,
We have conquered the whole world before leaving our beds.
But we were awakened and it was opaque,
We rose and he was strange to us
We left the house and it was the whole world,
And also the Solar System, the Milky Way and the Indefinite…
(Eat your chocolates, little one!
Eat chocolates!
Know there are no metaphysics in the world but chocolates.
Know that all the faiths don’t teach more than confectionery.
Eat, dirty one, eat!
If only I could eat chocolates with the same veracity you do!
But I think, and when I lift the silver paper of a leaf of tin-foil
I let everything fall to the ground, as I have done to my life.)
(…)
Musical essence of my useless verses,
If only I could face you as something I had created
Instead of always facing the Tobacco Kiosk across the street,
Forcing underfoot the consciousness of existing,
Like a carpet a drunkard stumbles on
Or a straw mat stolen by gypsies and worth nothing.
But the Tobacco Kiosk owner has come to the door and is standing there.
I look at him with the discomfort of an half-turned head
And the discomfort of an half-grasping soul.
He shall die and I shall die.
He shall leave his signboard and I shall leave my poems.
His sign will die, and so will my poems.
And soon the street where the sign is, will die too,
And so will the language in which my poems are written.
And so will the whirling planet where all of this happened.
On other satellites of other systems something like people
Will go on making something like poems and living under things like signboards,
Always one thing facing the other,
Always one thing as useless as the other,
Always the impossible as stupid as reality,
Always the mystery of the bottom as powerful as the mysterious dream of the top.
Always this or always some other thing, or neither one nor the other.
But a man has entered the Tobacco Shop (to buy tobacco?),
And plausible reality suddenly hits me.
I half rouse myself, energetic, convinced, human,
And I will try to write these verses in which I say the opposite.
I light a cigarette as I think about writing them,
And in that cigarette I savour liberation from all thoughts.
I follow the smoke as if it were my personal itinerary
And enjoy, in a sensitive and capable moment
The liberation of all the speculations
With the conscience that metaphysics is a consequence of not feeling well.
Afterwards I throw myself on the chair
And continue smoking.
As long as Destiny allows, I will keep smoking.
(If I married my washwoman’s daughter
Maybe I should be happy.)
Upon that, I rise. And I go to the window.
The man has come out of the Tobacco Kiosk (putting change in his trousers?).
Ah, I know him: he is Esteves without metaphysics.
(The Tobacco Kiosk owner has come to the door.)
As if by a divine instinct, Esteves turned around and saw me.
He waved hello, I greet him “Hello there, Esteves!”, and the universe
Reconstructed itself for me, without ideal or hope, and the owner of the Tobacco Kiosk smiled.
Fernando Pessoa, Portuguese poet, 1888-1935
el Angel y la Jaula
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
Siempre he oido decir que lo que describimos como deja vu, suele pasar por que la experiencia va mas rapido a la memoria que al lado activo del cerebro. Eso obviamente por que dar la explicacion real, es decir decir que el deja vu no es mas que un Angel de la guarda que trata de hablarte o en el peor de los casos sea senal de que el angel de la guarda este molesto.
Cuando los temas son tan dificiles de probar hay que recurrir a alguna chapuza cientifica para explicar las cosas. Claro, como si alguien puediese comprobar que entro primero al cerebro la imagen visual o el proceso cerebral. Pero como lo dice uno con bata blanca y juguetes caros y sus amigos no se han quejado nadie lo pone en duda.
Mi angel de la guada es extrovertido, conversador y sociable y tiene caracter, no le gusta repetirse. En aquellas ocasiones en que ha tenido que acercarse lo ha hecho de manera bastante elaborada. No es de los que se da por vencido. En su forma de Ingeniero Gallego, de Enfermera Africana , de cientifico Ingles o de princesa peruana, simepre ha tenido un toque divertido asi como inesperado. Es un poco rebuscado.
En esta ultima andanza el muy travieso me ha dejado perpleja. Me explico: Luego nuestro mas reciente intercambio- hace un ano mas o menos- en que trabata ba de hacerme abrir la cabezota, tuvimos una pelea seria y no habiamos hablado. Se que hay temas escabrosos en los que no hemos estado de acuerdo desde mi cumpleanos 25; pero hasta entonces era puro desacuerdo y la primera vez que vi las consecuencias de no haberle hecho caso, tuve que darle la razon. Alli lo conoci como Grace.
Luego de su intervecion como un fisico ingles, entramos en desacuerdos mas serios. Yo deje de rezar aquello de Angel de la Guarda Dulce Compania, y el se hacia el desentendido . Tuvimos un corto cese de conflicto en navidad del 2009, donde puede compartir con algunos angelitos de esos que pasan por aqui en la tierra estaban todos de fiesta en el albergue de “Crisis” yo me sentia muy poco articulada en el lenguaje compasivo y alegre , debo admitir que que estuve extranando a mi angel.
Hablamos, y claro no nos pusimos de acuerdo- este angel es cabeza dura y cuando se le entra una cosa entre ceja y ceja es imposible de convecer – y al ver que yo recien habia comenzado a seguir pasos similares a los de mis 25 se nego. Discutimos y se puso rabioso asi que decidio actuar contra mis planes como podia. Fue casi imposible organizar los administrativos para ir a Madrid y luego a Italia, ya que yo, cabeza dura por igual, me habia dispuesto a no darle salida facil, se empeno entonces en lograr que si seguia por dirigirme al objectivo explotaria la debilidad de tercero y ahi si que tuvo exito. Pero yo a pesar de que perdia una batalla, seguia interesada por las otras. Y casi quedo en el intento. No hay obstaculo que al muy creativo angel no se le ocurriera, desde costureras espias hasta aerolienas complices.
Aun asi hasta ahora llevaba yo la ventaja, en el tete- a – tete, mi determinacion le llevaba delantera, al fin y al cabo los que tienen obligacion de hacer bien por contrato son los angeles, yo que con mis temas con aquello de la fe entendida que no me obligaba mucho aquello del bautizo de hace tantos anos. Yo me sentia la ganadora del evento, crecida y hasta triunfalista, le recomende que se tomara un descanso, que se fuera a pasear que yo estaria bien en estos dias.
Y es entonces cuando me acorde que los angeles de la guarda tienen toda clase de amigos y que hay algunos a los que se contrata para hacer el trabajo sucio. Ya me habia pasado cuando conoci al anti guarda,( un angel-Agente que cuando aparece llega con turbulencia, que entrega el omen de que se vecinan tiempos de tormenta) en el 2003, en su version funcionario de estado del tercer mundo.
Yo no lo oi salir, a mi angel mientras su antiguarda cumplia a sangre fria con su mision, comenz justo en aquel momento una de esas turbulencias, en aquella linda terraza madrilena, yo debi reconocerlo al mismo agente del 2003 ahora con acento Portugues. Pero ya solo reaccione en sensacion deja vu cuando sangraba del estomago, mientras sucedia me di cuenta que al fondo en medio de la terraza del restaurante Iroco, se movia al viento una jaula vacia..
Que molesto habria de estar para gritar tan alto mi angel, repetia lo mismo que me habia dicho en el 2003. La imagen de aquella jaula vacia solo hacia sentir esta jaula ahora mucho mas cerrada mucho, mas asfixiante.. solo en ese momento se me ocurrio decir angel de mi guarda dulce compania para no me desampares no de noche ni de dia que sin ti me perderia.
An angel can illuminate the thought and mind of man by strengthening the power of vision. ~St Thomas Aquinas
Soundtrack: waiting on an angel: Ben Harper
Against the wind
-The good bits are worth it-Dee Caffari
Por unos de esos beneficios de estar en una gran ciudad me toco conocer ayer a Dee Caffari. Que es la duena del record del mundo al convertirse en la primera mujer en navegar alrededor del mundo ( sola) y contracorriente. Es decir le dio la vuelta al mundo alrevez. L a galardonaron ademas con un MBE ( Member of The Order of British Empire). Que es un gran honor en estos predios.
Como una maestra de escuela normal termina rompiendo dos records mundiales de navegacion y es nombrada MBE es de por si una historia a la que hay que prestar atencion.
Yo que no tengo nada que ver con sailing a pesar de venir de una isla, y que comparto mis clases de natacion con una media de senoras de 45 anos con terror al agua, coincidi con esta impresionate dama en su exposicion a un grupo de damas del sector financiero , mientras les explicaba que es lo que hace falta para sobrevivir en una crisis.
El entusiamo y la confiaza con que esta chica tomaba el mirofono y un poco descaradamente se promovia, era la unica respuesta a todas las preguntas que habia que hacerse sobre liderazgo, esta no quitaba la mirada del objectivo. Se promovia, promovia a sus pratrocinadores y todo con mucha gracia. Estaba claro que ella donde queria volver era al mar y que alli es donde se sentia mas libre y en capacidad. Esto de hablar y vender libros y anunciar a los promotores era solo el costo que le permitiria seguir haciendo lo que le gusta y lo enfrentaba como corriente en contrario. Con una sonrisa y un apreton de manos de esos de los lideres.
Alli en medio de una audiencia totalmente femenina lo gracioso es que las preguntas (y las respuestas) eran las de siempre.
Pregunta: “Como manejaste las reacciones adversas de esos mas cercanos” lo que en cristiano quiere decir que dijo tu novio y tu mama?
Respuesta: ” mi mayor preocupacion era mi mama”- Lo que en cristiano significa no tengo novio y si me preocupaba poder ganarme la vida si esto salia mal.
Mientras socializaba con el resto de las damas que atendian el evento, y resto de las presentadoras -head of investment una y presidenta de un hedge fund la otra-, la crisis, la banca y los temas de genero abundaban y la pregunta mas directa al final era la misma. -Mi unico obstaculo es mi familia , asi que las dejo pr que tengo que ir a liberar a la nany-.
Yo que las observaba mas o menos desde fuera con un poco de envidia y admiracion a las que corrian a liberar a la nany, a las que estaban limitadas a compartir el brindis por su religion, a la que sus padres no la dejan mudarse y tuvo que renunciar a la posicion ofrecida, la que tenia que justificar ser soltera como un punto menos a pesar de tener una carrera, un record mundial y un MBE y la amiga a mi lado que es capaz de concerntrar la atencion de cualquier club, que sale y duerme con tres chicos a la vez se sentia terriblemente intimidada entre tanta mujer brillante e incapaz de dirigirles la palabra.
Que poco hay de nuevo bajo el sol. Parece que es posible navegar el globo a contracorriente pero parece inaceptable ir contra lo establecido. Por lo menos me senti acompanada en el viaje contra corriente y como dice Dee, los ratos buenos valen el esfuerzo.
Soundtrack : “Against the Wind”- Bob Sieger
The Death of Peter Pan
Dead the one who never grew
Dead the dream that never came to past
Dead he ruth were it got stuck
Forgotten the artist who never adapted to the times
Forgotten the one that lost the classic style of his art
the archtefact that stood aside from the winds of change and protected by its unique location managed to go unnoticed, managed not to be broken but when it was finally found it was no longer of use
For those we alredy know so well we never wonder what they might, they are hidden in plain sight
Just like fruit they remain the same outside but inside they putrify
Like Bilbo Baggins or Dorian Gray, what was beauty becomes pain, what was full vacates, what was the ceiling is now the floor such is the fate of things that linger too long
sunset
Una foto para tia su
Perfection
Puzzled today by the rules of the must be vs the is. When is chasing the dream a bad idea? where are the boundaries?
Was it wrong for a 66 year old woman to have twins? was she selfhish and weak or strong and determined?at the end of the day did she win or did she loose?
Does love have to me made to measure? Does coming after the first mean second best?
Who defines why these things should look like? and when are standards overrated?
Half of humankind is chasing a goal: success, happiness, health, the other more zen group is not after anything more than right now.
……As long as right now is “perfect”.
Sountrack, Alanis Morisette.
Something you should know about Perfect Lyrics
Title: Alanis Morissette – Perfect lyrics
Sometimes is never quite enough
If you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love
Don’t forget to win first place
Don’t forget to keep that smile on your face
Be a good boy
Try a little harder
You’ve got to measure up
And make me prouder
How long before you screw it up
How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up
With everything I do for you
The least you can do is keep quiet
Be a good girl
You’ve gotta try a little harder
That simply wasn’t good enough
To make us proud
I’ll live for you
I’ll make you what I never was
If you’re the best, then maybe so am I
Compared to him compared to her
I’m doing this for your own damn good
You’ll make up for what I blew
What’s the problem …… why are you crying
Be a good boy
Push a little farther now
That wasn’t fast enough
To make us happy
We’ll love you just the way you are if you’re perfect
Grace
“Grace, she carries a world on her hips
No champagne flue for her lips
No twirls or skips between her fingertips
She carries a pearl in perfect condition
What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark no longer stings
Because Grace makes beauty out of ugly things
Grace finds beauty in everything
Grace finds goodness in everything” – U2
once every hundred years…
Segun la teoria del caos el movimiento de las alas de un amariposa en brasil puede terminar siendo un tornado en texas. Hay quienes culpan a la mariposa por inquieta y hay quienes entienden que la mariposa estaba planificada y que es parte del proceso de la formacion de tornados.
Los tornados a su vez tienen mala prensa por que tienden a llevarse todo por delante y a dejar muy poco o tal vez mucho. Los tornados al fin y al cobo sirven para cambiar lo que habia y para recordar a los humanos su fragilidad.
Lo mismo que el dia que decides deshacerte de algo se pone de moda, los mismo que hay dias inolvidanles y hay diasque realmente no exsiten pero el de hoy dicen por ahi que es espcial por que es el 7/8/9. Y yo me lo he perdido del todo.
Que holgazanas que estan estas mariposas…..
Soundtrack: Bullet with Butterfly wings- smashing pumkings also by u2
The world is a vampire, sent to drain
Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames
And what do i get, for my pain
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game
Even though i know-i suppose i’ll show
All my cool and cold-like old job
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Now i’m naked, nothing but an animal
But can you fake it, for just one more show
And what do you want, i want change
And what have you got
When you feel the same
Even though i know-i suppose i’ll show
All my cool and cold-like old job
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Tell me i’m the only one
Tell me there’s no other one
Jesus was an only son yeah
Tell me i’m the chosen one
Jesus was an only son for you
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a
Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage
Tell me i’m the only one
Tell me there’s no other one
Jesus was an only son for you
And i still believe that i cannot be saved
And i still believe that i cannot be saved
And i still believe that i cannot be saved
And i still believe that i cannot be saved
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