How I feel about you

You… you know who you are, don´t you?

Maybe you don’t, and maybe you think you know who you are to me…

But, maybe you don’t, so I’ll tell you. And, I’ll tell you in Shakespeare’s language, which I obviously don’t dominate, but that has the virtue of conveying spirit like none other.

Once in a while I need to write who you are to me… because I also forget…:

So here it goes:

You are the essence that makes my whole being tingle in delight.

You are the source of velvet padding that muffles the blows from my not self life.

You are the song that sends me spiraling into space and beyond.

You are the mystery that encloses the Mystery and the time that guards Eternity.

You are my awe in the presence of Truth.

You are the capricious life that vibrates in the inanimate.

You are the depth in the eye of passion.

You are the metamorphic force that gives me wings.

You are the mirror of my abject nature, and the reflection of my glorious being.

You are what is most intimate and at the same time most alien in me.

You are my misery and my joy.

You are the spark of knowing… and the darkness of silence.

You are the chain that binds me and the key to release it.

You are the word of wisdom and the epithet of meanness.

When you are acting as self, you are magnificent: you are the Truth itself.

When you are faking to be another, you are a bad copy.

This is why I don’t want to change you… I don’t want you to conform to my perceived needs.

You are the life-giving jolt of a lightning bolt. And the silence that follows the thunderclap.

OH!!!! how I wish I could avoid the conditioning of time and proximity… that make me blind and deaf and numb! And how I wish I could avoid the conditioning of lack of time and proximity that make me blind and deaf and numb!

Yes… the erosion of time… the erosion of routine passing of waters through the same riverbed… they are the narcotics… they are the blinders, the earplugs…. the source of degeneration of love, the cause of loss of the capacity for awe. Yet they are also the source of unity where love of other is love of self.

So once in a while I have to remind me of who you are for me… because that reminds me of who I am.


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I write for me

I don’t publicize. I don’t share on media. I just write.

If some day this inspires or empowers some curious soul… so be it.

In the meantime… this is NOT about you. It’s about me. 

It’s somewhat about what I’ve learned, somewhat about what I have logically deducted, somewhat about what I have, but mostly about what I know.

I don’t know from books… although I’ve learned from them, I don’t know from experimenting with what I have… I know because, sometimes, I can hear the pulse of the Universe. I believe things based on experience… but I continuously doubt my interpretation of them… I even doubt, sometimes, if the experience was real. I only know now… because I hear what I hear now. I write what I write now.

I know I am being in this present continuous. I don’t know who I’ve been or who I will be. I can deduct who I was or will be. I can believe who I was or who I will be. I can construct who I am based on what I have. But I only know I am being. Oh yes! I believe I’m a unique manifestation of Divinity… but all I really know is that I am being now. Oh Yes! I think it makes sense that I am an inmortal soul in transit through this dimension… but I only know that I am being now. Because I can hear myself being in a present continuous.

Sometimes I’m busy deducting or reviewing experiences… or strategizing for the future or lamenting the past. In those moments I can hardly hear that I’m being now. I feel anxiety, fear, anguish, anger, bitterness, frustration, disapointment… and I think it’s me. But it’s not me… it’s not my real voice that is always expressing its awe of being… it’s the voice that wants to accumulate and model my being as if this were possible, and is afraid of waking up to find that it’s not possible.

So… who are you, my curious friend? If I don’t write for you, there is something you can deduct: you are not the reason of my writing.

But you are… the reason of my being. How is that? you may ask. It’s simple: If I were being you, I would not be being me, but even more importantly there would be no me without you, and you and you…. and all yous.

So I write for me, because of you.


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For my sister

You asked me what`s new!
Oh, sis, of these I got a few.
I found someone who understands
what free love demands

I also got a letter from the healing center
I have become a great offender
because insurance will not pay
´pre-existing condition´they say.

They also say that they decided
based on what they were told
and by the rules they abided
until I could other data unfold.

It´s funny, oh, so funny
the way things occur
they happen for sure
like the out-of-the-hat bunny!

They almost send you to heaven
because they follow their own rules
even if they went to the best schools
they don´t listen to their patient.

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Blessed Freedom,

What is it really?

Is it the fiefdom

of impunity?

Is it the kingdom

of possibility?

Is it a clean slate

to write on?

Is it an altered state

to rely on?

Is it a choice of fate

without consequence?

Is it a choice among

things with difference?

Is it the dissipation

of the illusion?

Is it just the capability

of doing as you please?

Is it the lack of obstacles

in your journey?

Maybe not.

Maybe Freedom is none of those things.

Maybe it’s the simple capability

of accepting what is.

Maybe it’s the right to the autonomy

of accepting what is… without being obligated to do so.

Maybe it’s the right to accept who you are (really are)

even if this does not conform to collective wisdom.

Maybe it’s about choosing to be now

or choosing to crave what was not or is still not.

Maybe it’s about accepting the other that is now

or rejecting the other that did not or still does note conform.

And maybe, just maybe… it’s about accepting the Truth

rather than being subject to our own lies.

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El dia de la Madre

El dia de la madre
también me está doliendo,
sera porque su dolor me sigue sucediendo.
Porque si bien soy padre
corazón de madre tengo.

Me sucede el dolor
de las creencias inamovibles
que fueron infladas cual dirigibles
por los discípulos del autor
que sin duda era un ser sensible.

Me suceden las lágrimas
por el dolor de una enfermedad
debida a la terquedad
de no poder perdonar
carencias de toda la humanidad.

Me sucede la zozobra
del temor constante a la vida
por ser arriesgada y atrevida
y no ceñirse a la obra
que teníamos preconcebida.

Me sucede el sufrimiento
Por el dolor de los más allegados
que muchas veces por tarados
se procuran sin miramientos
aunque se les haya avisado.

Me sucede el vacío
Del nido que quedo sin la prole
por más que hayamos sido promotores
del éxodo temprano o tardío
sigue siendo el mas grande de los dolores.

Me suceden tambien alegrías

La de los nietos que llevamos en brazos
aunque nos dejen peor que los embarazos
porque basta con que se rían
para apretarlos contra el regazo.

La de un amor maduro
Que por estar desprovisto de razón
y de sentimiento de claroscuro
Llena todo el corazón
y ablanda lo que era duro.

La de una niñez tardía
pues si por mi madre y mujer tanto padecía
no ha de ser por ser viejo
sino más bien por ser pendejo
que no ha madurado todavía.

¡En buena hora alma mía!
Si madurar es dejar de sentir
Si madurar es simular no sufrir
Prefiero seguir en mi porfía
de inmaduramente vivir.
Y por las madres llorar
en este dia que las recuerda
aunque sea puramente comercial
y no hagan marketing para las que están muertas.

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For my sister

Oh thank you so much for being there!
What you will hear now is far from fair.
I got a message from the ´health center´
to which I will never again enter.

I owe them 72k they say
for having almost sent me to heaven,
And the insurance is unwilling to pay
cause they say, I was ailing before I met them.

It´s funny the way things work out
I was in perfect health before going
and now I´m just simmering in doubt
because they have their own way of doing.

They don´t listen to the patient
because they watch Dr. House
and this puts us all in doubt
of being liars as a part of our ailment.

They wanted to perform an angioplasty
They wanted to do bypass surgery
I fended them off with conviction
otherwise I´d be served a notice of eviction.

Universal Assistance, on the other hand
says ´its a prexisting condition´
so they will not accept the rendition
based on these clown´s information.

So here I am, trying to recover
and being stressed out
because insurance won´t cover
even the part I couldn´t do without.

If you look at it objectively
the price is 10 years of family vacation
or 10k per day of stupidity
of the medical staff at that station.

It is really unfair, little sister
I wonder how they can muster this scam
and still remain without blisters
in their unholy, despicable hands.

They never did what I asked them
I had to beg them to leave
how in heaven can I believe
that that in good faith they were acting?

Still, a trip to the next dimension
is something that was really enlightening
because there is nothing so frightening
as living another extension.

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Presentando a Eliana Bohórquez

Eliana es una querida amiga que va a colaborar en este blog escribiendo para los hispano-parlantes.

Es ejecutiva y emprendedora, de Bogotá, ciudad de ensueño, de Colombia, País maravilloso.

Stay tuned!!!

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