explorador

Creo que lo que más extraño,

-ahora que nos hemos puesto las armaduras del final del amor-

es el acceso a tus partes más blandas

-tú que siempre quisiste hacerte la chica dura-.

La imagen de tu piececito explorador

atravesando la barrera del frío mientras dormías,

deshiela mi alma.

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La banda de punk

En mis cumpleaños de infancia no regalábamos golosinas sino discos, cds, masters, adelantos musicales y pequeños objetos de galerías de arte.

A todos mis compañeros les gusta venir a casa. Dicen que mis padres son guays.

A las niñas de mi clase les gustan las Spice Girls y a mí me hacen vomitar porque llevo obsesionada ya un año con el último disco de Björk, que se llama Post. Y cuando me pongo muy muy pensativa escucho el disco de Portishead en mi walkman de camino al cole en un loop infinito de sonidos oscuros triphopperos que me vuelven loca. Me pasa algo cuando empieza la percusión de la primera canción. Me empiezo a ensoñar y a ver coreografías, obras de teatro, escenografías surrealistas en las que yo soy la protagonista y vuelo, danzo, floto. Papá me ha enseñado a saber qué es un sampler y un scratch, también que és masterizar y versionar. Y me encanta la voz en falsete de Beth Gibbons y cuando canta muy grave. En realidad es un secreto que nadie entiende, sólo alguna gente mayor como tú papá. Y es que sólo tengo 10 años.

Supongo que aún no soy consciente de que he salido medio rarita. Vamos a ver, que también me gustan las barbies, las golosinas y bailar ballet. Pero sí que me doy cuenta de que lo que me tendría que gustar ahora son los Backstreet Boys y toda esa mierda. Yo es que ni siquiera lo critico. No es música y punto. Las niñas hacen bailecitos al ritmo de esos ídolos en el recreo y yo me escaqueo de alguna manera. Nadie intenta convencerme. Prefiero bailar otras cosas, o cantar, o fantasear. Tengo un grupo de amigas a las que puedo llevar a mi terreno. Aunque en mi mundo interior, mis libros, mi música, mis poesías no se mete nadie.

Mi novio siempre será Axl Rose y mi guitarrista favorito Slash, aunque nadie lo entienda. Me gustan el pelo largo de los chicos y los tatuajes. Y las chicas de las bandas de punk con cresta, labios rojos y ojos con raya negra. Y me gustan Rage Against the Machine y luego ir al concierto de Green Day a la Riviera contigo y que el cantante de DGeneration se haga mi amigo en el backstage, me acaricie la cara y me diga: “you have beautiful eyes” sosteniendo una lata de cerveza con la otra mano. Yo quiero ser así de mayor. Un chico con los ojos y las uñas pintadas de negro. Antes de Marilyn Manson. Antes de que llegue la MTV a España.

Así que un día bajaré al portal de mi casa y llamaré como una loca por el telefonillo a 4 amigos, para que hagamos una banda de punk-rock. Por supuesto yo tocaré la guitarra. Lo tengo todo claro. Tenemos 12 años y nuestros padres nos van a tener que tomar muy en serio cuando les digamos que ahora somos un grupo de rock y necesitamos instrumentos. Mi amiga Paula es poco cursi y no la he logrado convencer de que le dejen de gustar los Backstreet Boys, la verdad es que se le caen las bragas con el rubio del pelo a tazón, y lo del punk-rock no le convence, así que soy la única chica del grupo. Pero eso también mola. Alessia y su grupo.

Recordar

Los días han desdibujado un poco tu cara, han borrado un poco la huella de tu cuerpo en el mío. No mucho, pero me doy cuenta de lo mucho que me he acostumbrado a volar de un lugar a otro, y de un recuerdo a otro. El paisaje del recuerdo en mí dura mucho, porque se novela rápido. Se vuelve poesía, se encarna en mí y yo lo convierto en palabras, imágenes, olores. Ya no eres tú. Eres tú en mí. Y ahora mismo no sé si tengo más ganas de tí o del recuerdo de nosotras.

My Soul’s Calling

Accepting who I am hasn’t always been easy. I mean, it never is. It has been through a process of connecting to MY OWN Soul’s calling, that I can keep tuning in with the depths of who I am in the world and which gifts I have been given – and thus are asking of me to be shared. Accepting my own gifts has and always is an ongoing process that I go through with others, in an inter-relational structure, where Sisters and Brothers – in community – are inviting me to embrace my own Truths by sharing theirs. And this is where I can speak from the heart, this is where I arrive home. This is what has kept my nomadic Heart traveling around the world, in the search of the deepest encounters and the realization that there is no separation between me and you – that we are all sacred manifestations of a Higher plan, with a divine purpose.
Community, Circle, is the place where I can speak from the Heart in the knowing that we are already in that field that is beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing, where I simply AM. Where I bring myself fully into the world, where I need and want to show up for others – for myself – to become who we really are, to share our gifts, to live by our full potential and nothing less than that.
This is my path. This is where I can heal my heart and wounds, without holding on to old narratives and dualistic structures of good and bad concerning the Other nor myself. There’s no Otherness when I listen fully to my own Soul’s calling. And yet it is still a process, a work in progress, and It will always be.

I was in Bali when I was blessed with a magical encounter with Caroline, a Sister whom I’ve met in previous lives and who is now a pillar on this journey of embodying the divine Feminine more and more fully. In Bali, where we were both confronted with old wounds and fears, we were also being held by the strongest presence of the feminine I have ever experienced. Surrounded by beauty, ritual, sacred Nature and dedication to the Divine.
As we started navigating the waters of our desires, struggles and deep longings, we realized we met each other on this journey for a reason.
We both came back to our hometowns after a looong period of travels and nomadic lives. We’ll call it the AFTER-BALI. A journey on its own right. Then we decided to keep co-creating together from the insights we experiencec on the island. To keep weaving a Web of Visions from dedication, Love and Beauty.
As Caroline says in one of her potent writings: There is a time of diving in. Of meeting our fears. And then there’s a time to be bold. Courageous. And to take that one step, that allows us to fly.
So this is where we are now. This is where I choose to be, and where I want to invite you to step, to take a leap into the unknown. As Harvey Keitel once said: Jump into the dark, the net will find you.
And I know that net is made of Love, understanding, compassion, presence, and stillness. This is what I can offer you connected to my own Soul’s calling. This is what I do when I follow my mission accompanying groups of women and men around the world, inviting them to share their stories and connecting to what they truly are – beyond traumas, wounds and old narratives, through the medicine of Art, Love, compassionate listening, meditation, theatre, music and poetry.

Today I want to invite you to a unique experience where we will dive deeper into these questions and thoughts:

Web of Visions – Creativity for Connecting to your Soul’s Calling.

A most unique event, held during the weekend of 1-2-3 May and co-facilitated by my dear friend Caroline S’Jegers. The venue, the Avontuur, a beautiful boat in the heart of Rotterdam and an ark for Healing, Well-being and Inner Growth, is an adventure on itself.

I will see you there, in that place where you can reconnect to who you always have been, before any paradigms and structures were created that divided you in a myriad of thoughts and separated you from your highest, purest divine Truth.

Link to the event: https://www.facebook.com/events/1660564184171750/

web of visions flyer

lost and found

There’s nothing else to lose

when you experience loss

 

A broken heart that you can only accompany

carries the weight of the world

There’s no advice to be given

only the memory of an embrace

when you were found in the arms of God

 

Let go of your dead leaves

shed the old skin

 

I just wish I could be present

to stand for my sadness

old friend knocking at my door again

 

Hanging on to Gratitute is all what is left

I’ve been loved

I’ve been a Queen

I’ve been a Goddess

in your heart

 

Now I just wish I could be my own divinity

one day

when I become friends with this grief

when I embrace my own Truth

 

In this tomb where all the wounds awaken

there’s nothing else to lose

 

Let go of your leaves

shed the old skin

loss is now

Heart

I inherited a big heart,

or maybe I just brought it back.

Abuela Carmen, my Spanish grandma, has a big heart; one that opens the house to strangers and feeds them with nurturing love and tenderness. Her heart cooks delicious food, laughs after lunch, and smiles within when seeing people happy and well fed.

Nonna Vittoria, my Italian Grandma, had a big heart; a continuos cartography of births, deaths, dances, costumes, old wars and secrets that she displayed only for me as we navigated life from the deck of her dreams.

I have a big heart too.

I was always the child that helped others, that took care of the sick children and the ones in disadvantage, the one that looked for the smaller, the different, the voiceless.

My heart is open.

It carries the pain of the world. Like Mother Theresa I have seen myself accompanying the death and the sick. Like Amma, I have seen myself giving the embrace that can heal the suffering on the Earth. I have seen myself standing in the dying forest, living on the last tree that is about to be cut.

My heart is big.

When I was a little girl, I once had an idea as I heard people talking on the streets. What if I made a whole story of the bits and pieces that I heard everywhere in my heart? I had the dream of writing and putting them all together in a book. I believe that was the realization of what my soul had already come to do here. I started intuitively collecting stories, and listening conscientiously.  I started recording my grandparents and greataunts, asking about their lives, collecting memories, sounds, recipes, tricks for planting trees and taking care of the crops. My heart already knew that I could carry those stories. I gathered them as precious jewels and put them in a locket inside of me.

My heart is open.

It carries the pain of a scattered family. My heart was open when It held the despair of a reckless father, the addiction that led to a broken family, a breaking that lead to a mother that went to pieces when she discovered she couldn’t find the one that was once herself.

My heart is hungry.

It can listen to stories, It can listen to people’s pain, It can digest it, It can absorb it, It can become them, It can vessel them, It can devour.

My heart keeps opening, when a woman that I just met 3 weeks ago says: ‘You know, only with you I can have this. You got more out of me than anyone else in my life’. A woman that has never told her story, a woman that would have remained unheard, un-held, unseen.

I want my heart to be infinite

There’s no separation between me and you, the other and I. There are no sides in this, my heart is an infinite container for me and the world. My heart is not different from a dog’s heart, a cow’s heart, a salmon’s, an elephant’s, a hummingbird’s, a lioness’s. In my heart I can see no difference. In my heart we are all one.

Belfast, March 27th, 2014

SOMETHING IMPORTANT

Belfast, March 25th,2014

At times I play tricks on me.

I destroy what I love

searching for what I don’t have

longing for what it was in the past

for what no longer is,

for what is no longer possible nor real.

I dismantle home with my own two hands,

And start redecorating a new one.

I play tricks on you,

telling you I want something that we have

but not giving a fuck for that anymore.

I’ve been doing something important;

I’ve been playing tricks on myself

saying I’m doing something important

but forgetting of what really is.

Hogar

Belfast, 28 Febrero 2014

Busco continuamente un hogar en mi trasegar por el mundo

y no lo encuentro.

Cuando lo encuentro ya me tengo que ir,

y vuelvo a buscar,

siempre en círculos.

Ya no puedo encontrarlo.

Es que no sé se si es que una vez lo encontré y sin darme cuenta lo dejé pasar en mi camino hacia otra aventura,

o si es que está delante de mí, esperando

o si soy yo,

El hogar de todo esto.

Solo sé que cuando no estás conmigo no me sale el nido desde el que volar.

Que me he cansado de hacer y deshacer maletas y hacer como si me fuera a quedar y convertir cada habitación en mi próxima casa,

para después tenerme que ir a otra diferente y empezar de nuevo.

Sin tí no es posible, la cama esta fría, la maleta no se cierra, y ser vagabunda ya no me sonroja la cara.

Así que ven, si quieres seguir nómada,

y ven, si quieres que construyamos un hogar,

tú y yo, sólo nuestro.

Porque yo…

Sí, quiero.

Step

step-mother-1883-Nikolaos Gyzis

Stepmother, Nikolaos Gyzis, 1883

We are the stepmothers

the silenced

invisibilized

most of times cursed

often blamed

 

We are the unspoken ones

a lineage of crones precedes us

here’s a tribe of sudden heiresses

 

We didn’t give birth to you

we didn’t even desire you

you were given to us as a troubled gift

 

We didn’t see you grow up

you never sat on our lap

we never rocked you or dried your tears with our skirts

maybe we’ll never do

 

We are not in the family album

you don’t really know what to give us for Christmas

you will never sit next to us in the holiday picture

you don’t want to know us

 

But we are here

we see you when you don’t

we witness you from the distance

you are the daughters we will never have

 

We are the Step-ones

the title of Mum will rarely be conceded to us

 

For we are the step that was never taken

the unforgivable gap

the insurmountable fate

the everyday jump over the void

the undesired presence

the unknown Women

 

No one noticed when we learned

the names of your friends

the look of your idols

your favorite food

the way to love you

 

We admire the fierce beauty of your reasons

Now we cry out the rejection

 

We are the Step

Mothers