Omnes vulnerant ultima necat horas

Listening to Catalan composer Ramon Lull Cantabem els ocels, medieval, haunting, whispering echoes of ancient castles in Occitania. Time, past and future, has a foundational character in my mindscape. It seems that I am constantly time traveling.  The fluidity of time is common to my daily routine. I cannot live in the present, I will be missing the past. I cannot live in the present, I will be missing the future. Oh, don't shout Zen profanities at me. I am being honest. Do not live in the present. It simply does not exist. Try to grasp the sun with your hands. You will not burn. It is impossible to grasp the sun. As the birds from this old song sing their arcane trills I get to fly through music and rhyme into their universe. The hours of the current world wound me, I fly away to another time and era to hide from the last hour, the one that kills.

 
All hours wound the last one kills

A validation of sadness

Where are they? Where have they gone? As I drive through those beautiful houses in Highland Park I can't but remember the way it was 30 or 35 years ago when I was part of a tight-knit family. Now mom and dad are gone. Mom died 6 years ago and dad died 16 years ago. It seems like yesterday. I feel lonely and displaced. I am visiting an empty neighborhood. My irrational mind feels lost. Which way do I turn to find my home with my family in it? Still winter...there are days, grey days that are so sad and deep in my heart. A beautiful stillness that makes you cry. As I drive my tears roll down, I try to be stoic to no use. They are gone and I do not want to hear platitudes or Hallmark quotes from anyone. This is my holy, sacred sadness don't you dare to destroy what is mine. Yes, I know it will pass and in no time I will be laughing with a friend or singing with the chorale or buying fancy marmalade from a French cook in Alsace on the Internet or taking the Pretz out for a long walk. I am getting old. I never expected it to come so soon, so uninvited. The other day I was walking down on Greenville and observing the young people being busy and bubbly all around me. I though about my sadness. This sadness is cozy and revelatory. The stillness of winter. The naked tree. My naked soul reduced to its minimum factor. No pretenses, no show-offs, no acting or masquerading. In this nakedness, noiseless and aware I find the divinity. Don't make me explain the divinity, please. It is a mystery. It is truth without the consequences. Those are human. I discovered, finally, unashamedly, that I am a voyager in a dream.

Happy is as happy goes. After many days of bitter winter vortexy weather the sun came out today. A balmy 65 degrees. I went to the lower Greenville and walked around soaking up the warm sun rays and the smiles of attendees. And for a little while life seemed simple enough. Just walking and smiling. Got into my car and listened to NPR's Ask Me Another a sort of loony q&a quiz show. Listening to the radio (mind you while driving) is a more engaging experience than watching often overproduced, lamely glossed hyperactive pixels in the form of a network sitcom with unimaginative plots. There is some good TV programs out there but they are only the exception. Listening to NPR is an invitation to be part of a communal experience. When we laugh together we stay together. A beautiful simple day indeed.

On another note

I've had the worst writer's block in my life. It has lasted years. But now slowly but surely I am finding a great deal of pleasure in just telling my story. I had to battle with the demons of judgment and validation. I am casting them off. Once I thought I had to survive a tempestuous, melodramatic and sometimes sad life by seeking the approval of others. I wanted to be the most charming, adorable, helpful friend you ever met. And I suffered for it because I could never be myself and could never tell my side of the story because an irrational fear that once I was disliked by someone I would be abandoned. I have grown up since then, little by little I have began to really like who I am, my glitches and my epiphanies. I am a work in progress. Right now I am single. It's OK. I like the SING in SINGle. I get to sing a lot by myself without being interrupted in the middle of my joyful performance. I read and write. I play with my dog. I have friends, not many thankfully.
I love saying hello and smiling. Just like the people I met today at the lower Greenville. I also love to hug. I did not hug people on the lower Greenville. I really love to walk to bring human scale, as opposed to car-scale, to my experience. I love to sing. I love to laugh. My friends, I do not have many, are so sweet, they say hello and they also hug. I am so fortunate.

It's been over two years that the Pink Cowboy has not being in his homestead ranch. I miss it terribly. I'm coming back home after experiencing an amazing array of adventures. I am now singing with the Turtle Creek Chorale (full of cute cowboys) and at a full-time job that I do not really enjoy but pays the bills. I found the ranch a little bit abandoned so I'm going to clean this mess and plant some Texan blue bonnets and sip some Irish coffee while I make plans.
This summer has been a bit sad, a close friend passed away from pneumonia back in July. So I feel a bit existential and still in total shock. Time precious time. I'm 50 years old now. A rather strange age for me. I feel old and young at the same time. I've seen so many people come and go in and out of my life it really makes me blue and angry. So I am a hurricane of emotions. One thing, I've learned to be at peace with myself and my world. I love more intensely now that I ever did. Now I know love, true love, is sneaky, quiet, indestructible. My heart melts when I recognize how much people are able to give for others to survive.
Pretzel is doing just fine. He turned 6 last April. He my little baby. A little dog in my life and I'm changed forever. Animals teach us compassion. They don't judge. They just are. Pretzel is a daily remainder that there is hope in every living thing on this old Earth.

A home in my heart

It is all quiet inside the old house. I have moved more than 20 times in my life. I keep a beautiful and cozy house in my heart. It is rather small. One bedroom, an old soft bed, a cherry wood desk and hundreds of leather bound books. The living room has hardwood floors a burgundy sofa with golden pillows, a fireplace, an arm chair and art deco posters on the walls, Outside, a garden gloriously glistens in the sun.

Why I believe in breathing

The road has been unbearable many times. Many times I have lived under the expectation of others, so eager to please that I forgot what pleased me. Many times I have reached out because Love commanded me to do so. You see the understanding of Love has been the mission of my life. As a young boy I easily understood the power of Love when it comes to wholly transform a situation. Love and tenderness made a little defenseless asthmatic child be able to feel safe enough in this world to dare to take the next full inhalation of oxygen without fearing asphyxia. My beloved mother and paternal grandmother loved me relentlessly, with such overflowing love day and night. Sitting next to me in the wee hours of the morning, watching me tenderly grasp for air as the sun came up. Through their love I found my breathing rhythm again. This memory bring tears of joy to my eyes, because I realize that Love conquers everything, it transforms everything, it gives clean and pure oxygen to the ravished soul.

To collect again is to recollect

Recollections,
glitter in my eyes
after touching the Christmas ornaments.
I became, for a short while, magical.
I was 4
I was blond
I had a warm and soft body
that moved fast and clumsily.
It was then that I first experience music,
a little portable phonograph
playing "American Patrol."

Dreamland

I believe we are constantly transforming, developing, changing. I am such a different person from who I was 18 months ago. Life, and its consequences, has a funny way of getting inside me. I am always searching for all the angles, different perspectives. Sometimes I take myself on a journey to a town called exhaustion. My dreamland reconnects me with my origin. My dreamland has nothing to do with me sleeping. It a sort of daydreaming reality that is far more vivid and deep in meaning than any alpha state experience. In my childhood I called this land Rotcehland , an ancient sounding name, an island kingdom between Iceland and Greenland. Politically diverse, more than 26 different languages spoken. A balmy southern island, Paalme; and a frigid north , Kuensalia. I have been the king of this dreamland.

There are days when my sadness takes me to a western beach in Rotcehland, there I sit with Pretzel and think of God protecting me. Or is it Mother Tara protecting me? Maybe the Universe or the Force, it does not matter who.

Lately I've met many people worried about loosing in the game of life. Life is not a game. Refuse to compete, it's barbaric, inhuman. I do not even want to compete. Compete against who? Nobody ever wins. It is forbidden to compete in the Kingdom of Rotcehland. I have declared it so.

Why do we diminish ourselves so?

Today I am thinking of the word DIGNITY, your worth, your reality. Be your bold self, refuse to play any games where fun is nowhere to be seen.

I just received a parcel from the Royal Rotcehlandish Post Service: Flowers for you!

La vache a dit.....mu. The cow said..... moo.

This is a new post, after some 4 months. Lately, life is becoming vibrant for me. I have met more people than ever and even joined my church choir. So let's see if I can transform that vibrancy into words and images. Being laconic is not one of my traits. I'm an interpretative individual. I rather describe a event using metaphorical language, color and sounds. I'm the guy that's is always looking at life at a different angle. So this is how I feel today.

ELATED, VIBRANT, WORRIED, TRANSITIONAL, FUNCTIONAL, WHIMSICAL, OVERCAST

Dallas Salad

In this city of the southern plains people form a variegated net of ethnicities. I change stations on my AM radio and hear the lilting tongues speak in Vietnamese, Eritrean, Arabic, Spanish and Cantonese. Busy bees looking for nectar in concrete walls and mega stores. I bet there is honey somewhere, hidden, waiting to be savored by all hungry souls.
I also hover over this sprawled city in North Texas. It is a stretch of humanity. A city that is having open heart surgery at the moment. We all wait to see what will become of Dallas, a cloned city at the moment. I see the endless network of roads, overpasses and expressways. A circulation system of pure concrete. I haven't be able to find the face of this city. It seems that I have to look very hard. I only see hints of cohesion, mists of creative energy, friendly people ready to have a common cause.
I am Dallas. Not yet ready for prime time, searching for identity and relevance. But quite friendly to be honest.

Impression on Everything New

Renewal. Juxtaposing the old and crumpled with the new and promising, new beginnings, Have you ever wanted to feel the warmth of a lonely candle and burn yourself in the process? Startled by the evocation of times gone I burned myself my the deep abyss of nostalgia. Now I stand up and greet the old trees and the rushing people of the morning hours. I stare at the horizon and laugh with all my heart.

It comes with the territory...

Is the human condition one of constant struggle? Today I've had a media overload. From the vitriolic speech of tea-baggers to the incessant crudeness of reality shows. I have to be very selective when it comes to watching TV. It's heartbreaking to realize that so much energy is put on sensationalism. But we cannot blame TV nor media for all our troubles.
It was Pride weekend here in Dallas, I volunteer to help at my church's booth. I belong to a very progressive church that is totally inclusive of diversity. It felt wonderful to celebrate our victories as an oppressed group and reaffirm our wishes for the future. On the way back to the car, I had to walk 10 blocks south from where the Pride event was taking place. I saw poverty all around me. Too many dilapidated buildings and houses inhabited by fellow Latinos. They seem particularly quiet, very quiet indeed in comparison to the party going on to the north of their neighborhood. They seemed to be lost in their thoughts. There were about ten or twelve people all together sitting in one yard watching a couple of kids play soccer. They looked tired and bored. They didn't make much noise either.
Some rejoice and others suffer. What a strange symphony. When I was a student of Tibetan Buddhism my lamas taught me to chant for the liberation of suffering and its cause. It is simply complicated. But I know hope transforms the lives of people. The worst thing a human being can be is hopeless. Hope is a call for love and realization. A loud and crystal clear call. I believe happiness exists, it might not be what you imagine it is. It might be even better.
I'm growing lots of hope in my mind-garden, so much indeed that I want to share it with everybody. I'm asking you, friends, Is the human condition one of constant hope?

Mary Travers (1936-2009)

Mary Travers from the group Peter, Paul and Mary passed away today at the age of 72 after a battle with leukemia. It saddens me a great deal since PP&M has always been one of my favorite groups. The harmonious simplicity of their songs have always resonated with that part of my soul that celebrates life. Her voice was as sweet as honey. She was one authentic and soulful artist. She will be missed.

Rain

One of those precious moments in life. Pretzel softly grunting at the downpour; Brownee, the new pup, asleep in my arms. I'm alone in the apartment, dusk has just hit the blinds letting in the last wet purple rays of the dying sun in the bedroom. I'm listening to CalmRadio, an Internet radio station that plays soft and glorious piano music. And I wonder how fast this very moment will melt away in time. So many worries these past months. What makes me a man? What makes me a human being? Is it my identity, my social persona, my likes and dislikes? A thunder clap has just shot across the horizon. Satori. A zen-like revelation on impermanence. Or rather a permanent impermanence. I love to play with words in the same way that a master painter uses shades, textures and hues to depict the landscape of his mind. Where has my depression led me? It has carved a groove, a distinctive groove in my life. But not always a bad one. Since childhood I've been melancholic in nature. I always felt I could time travel through space if I put my mind on it. If fascinated by certain age or time period I would submerge myself in the art, literature, geography and architecture of the period. I secretly long for eras I never lived: turn of the century London, Renaissance Italy, Athens under Pericles, Pre-Columbian North America.
The soothing tickles of the soft melodies of the piano and the dancing rain in my window bring me a rare feeling of solace. Quietly, I breath in and out the atmosphere that has manifested magically in this moment. Just that.

On the Elegance of Dinner Parties

It was a particularly common Thursday. I did laundry in the morning and in the afternoon I prepared fish with white rice. A couple of days ago I went to see Julia and Julie with some friends. As I ate I couldn't help but thinking about all the fabulous dinner parties I've seen on the screen throughout my life. From the philosophical My Dinner With André (1981) to the riveting luscious 19th century banquet displays in The Age of Innocence (1993). Who can also forget Babbette's Feast (1987)?, based on a short story by Isak Dinesen. Dinner can be a dramatic counterpoint to a dull day. When people gather at a dinner table they participate in one of the oldest ritual known to man, sharing. Today I imagine wild red roses flowing from a aquamarine epergne; a tea stained Battenberg lace tablecloth, crisp and flowing at the same time; my long gone set of Fostoria Depression glassware featuring tall, elegant cobalt blue stems. Elegance is a perfect equation of joy and generosity. To aim for beauty has long being the obsession of mankind. Elegance is beauty presented as a gift. It has little to do with money or wealth. True elegance is about sharing. Who can be elegant and selfish? A fool no doubt.

It Was a Hazy Tuesday Morning...I Saw The Fire Within.

The eternal flame wailing...the watershed of your defiance...your glorious tenderness...the hope of angels.....random poetic phrases. There has always been a fire burning inside of me....As a child I ventured with Homer into fantastic worlds of Cyclops and the golden fleece....the bravado of Red-Hot Riding Hood, a jazzy take in cartoon form of the traditional tale.....Japanese proto-anime Astroboy rocketing into space to save the world...Sparkling stars...endless Caribbean Ocean, dignified Palm Trees swaying in the wind like a mythical Isadora Duncan doing her expressionistic Wundertanz...I feel so much, so deeply, so metaphorical...so passionate...so atavistic...so vibrant and colourful...and yet I live in a mostly blind world...maybe I am the blind one, who knows? I crave for a place where art and music are honored as blessings in one's life. I crave for a commUNITY where dance and poetry can overcome prejudice and ignorance. Oh, yeah...I heard it all before, so many times...I'm so naive...so very naive....and silly, and a fool, and idealistic to the extreme, and a dreamer, and ethereal to a fault, and impractical, and a weak link in today's dog eats dog world. I have heard it all before.
I am burning inside, and its a variegated flame, some call it an eternal flame, I call it a life giving flame. I see its reflection in the artists that I meet, in the music that dares to to celebrate the human spirit amidst the honks and clangs of urban traffic.
The beauty of your embrace.
The dignity of your very special dance.
The triumph of your colours against the deadly gray.
The echo of your song that penetrates the walls of doom and bring hope to all.
The Love that you bring into this sea of humanity.


I AM AN ARTIST
I AM AN ARTIST

did you hear me?

I AM AN ARTIST

I want to celebrate with you.

Waiting for a call

A phone call away. I've been waiting all day long for a call. I've had two interviews in this establishment. "We'll let you know either way by Friday" she said.

I'm in that place where you are hopeful and pessimistic at the same time. It's Anxiuosland. It's a land of the absurd, illusive (worst than Alice in Wonderland), where words are a game to be played inside your head and where expectations are like daggers through your heart. And yet I know I am much more than this nerve wracking moment. I can soar pass Anxiousland from a single leap forward. I am a human being that has followed a long and winding life path. An unique path at that. I have made this path for me using all the Love I could gather, all the hopes that a person has in her or his heart.

In the meantime I keep breathing, dancing, loving.

Ted Kennedy 1932-2009

The first time I ever cast a ballot was for Ted Kennedy in the Democratic Party primaries in early 1980. I had just turned 18. Even though he lost his presidential bid I learned that there is always hope in the democratic process. I am one vote and so are you. We are powerful. I was taught from an early age that it was my civic duty to go out and vote. Dad was a lawyer and mom came from a very influential political family in Puerto Rico. A deep belief in the sacredness of the democratic process was paramount in our education. For some reason Ted Kennedy represented that process for me. I know he was part of a big intriguing political family and I also know of his less than perfect personal life but he represented what you could do with your own personal power. You can change the world. Some of us are way less influential but every step I take is a step forward, I'm heading somewhere, always accompanied by both my experiences and my values as a human being. I'm so grateful that we live in a democracy. I know is way less than perfect and that so many of us minorities have struggled to have our basic rights being respected. I hope we can come to a satisfactory conclusion in our health care debate and be able have true equality for all. Ted Kennedy championed these and many more causes. He will be missed.

Summer of 1978

I have been thinking so much of the sea lately. It's no coincidence James Joyce called it "our mother" in his Ulysses. It's been almost a whole year since I have seen the vast ocean. As a Caribbean man, the sea has always been my backdrop, my life's wallpaper so to speak. I often think of the magical summer days I lived in small villas or rented houses in Puerto Rico's Northeast coast. While I was growing up my family would spend two full months on the beach each year during the 60's and 70's. From resort-like Dorado with its white and peaceful coves to the raging surf of Humacao's Palmas del Mar. I distinctively remember July of 1978 at Palmas del Mar. I was about 15 years old. It was a summer of tennis and backgammon as I remember it. The soundtrack from Grease and an Euro-disco band Voyage was all the rage in those days. We were discovering that we fancied adulthood. Me and my beach buddies would do anything we could to imitate adults. We thought adulthood was about pleasure, pure and simple. We would smoke behind close guarded doors and sip rum and coke until we got nauseated. It was a cool thing to do back then. We would be on our bikes all day long with our swimming trunks underneath our clothes so we could rush to the beach or the swimming pool as soon as we wanted. These were formative years for me. I started to find my own identity in the late hours we stayed out by the Mediterranean style villas bathed by the Atlantic Ocean. I remember the mystery and seduction of the starry nights in the marina. Young golden men and vibrant women wearing blue eye shadow were the inhabitants of this world.
Memory is a fantastic editor, I must add. I also felt the angst of inadequacy back then. I had mild acne and was overweight, but boy did I dream back then...I imagined my future life to be full of love and happiness. I was too naive to realize the complexity of my world, present and future.









But these summer days gave me the wonderful gift of discovery. Now, the glaring sun had baptized me into adulthood. Indescribably sensuous adulthood. I could never go back again, my universe was forever changed, I began to dream like an adult, thirsty for adventure, hungry for love.

A Magic Carpet

Trying to fly as high as I can. It's been a day full of promises, several job leads, one phone interview. How much would I love to ride on a magic carpet. Sweeping across the land. It's a strange world this one we are living. Speed is our new god. Acceleration is the highest virtue. It seems like that to me. We have gone insane. We are led to believe that whoever is slow or just takes his or her time will be left behind. I seldom feel I am rushing to nowhere. I crave an open green space where I can quietly sit with a book and a cup of tea. I read Arabian Nights when I was 7 or 8 and marveled about flying carpets. It would definitely be a cozy way to travel around.
I am a very visual individual, and I imagined to fly on a peacock blue Persian rug, what I later came to know as a birjan rug. Intricate patterns interwoven through thousands of silken threads. But isn't life like a magical flying carpet? You are the master weaver. You always carry your pattern with you. You have created this pattern, bit by bit, year after year. The colors are your joys, your tears, your epiphanies and your defeats. A weaver takes time to make a beautiful rug. Then why do we settle with a mass produced bland looking version of a magic carpet?