Der Parasit

Organismus: Warum lässt du mich nicht einfach in ruh?
Parasit: Weil ich Teil von dir bin.
O: Aber du verletzt mich nur.
P: Tu ich das?
O: Wer bist du überhaupt?
P: Na, ich.
O: Und wer ist das?
P: Der mit dir spricht.

O: Tu das nicht!
    Wo du bist drückt der Schuh.

Womanhood

A family trip to a place of my childhood and youth  has made me realize that I am coming to terms with womanhood. I am a woman and I am worn. Being a worn woman makes me vulnerable.

Spent so much time of my life trying not to be a woman. Whatever that meant to me then it was not as cool as being a girl or a boy, a man, or perhaps a young woman. But not a woman. I'm not sure what 'woman' meant to me then, but it wasn't desirable. I know what woman means to me now.

woman: sensual sentient creature of creation capable of unconditional love, life and pleasure. daughter of nativity, mother of nurture. mujer. full of faith in life, fluid flow of freedom. woman: like the moon sometimes full, sometimes new. every month an opportunity for creation as fertil energies thrive and drive. then a purge with the possibility for renewal.

I used to feel like every full moon was a fertil egg that bore no consequence. Little did I know! Today I howl at the moon. I embrace my womanhood and the blessed energies my magical body bears. I love being a woman. Once annoyed with my breasts as they bounced around uncomfortably when I ran. If I was a warrior armed with a sword, I would not hesitate in cutting off at least one breast. Breasts get in the way of physical activity...certain physical activity. Now I love their bubbly bounce when I walk. Being a woman is a feeling. Sure, vanity and narcissism may be part of the package and I love to take care of my body and my appearance. I love pretty dresses and sprakly things. I love my mysterious curves, my delicate contours and fine lines, my volumptuous corners and gentle flacidity as it playfully flirts with Earth's gravity.

No man made me a woman. My children did, life itself: a process that has torn me apart and worn me out in many ways. A Mexican physician told me it would take years for my body to recover from childbearing and breastfeeding, from making another body from my own. Sometimes I wonder, will I ever recover? I gave of my body and my body gives at least every month again: life and the possibility for life. My body continues to give though worn. Tales told by my legs, my joints, my everywheres. The second pregnancy was like walking on sword blades daily for months. The body remembers pain. I'm worn though not worn out. When I feel vulnerable I don't like it. Coming to terms with my limitations.

Though being a woman makes me strong with a high tolerancy for pain, tenacity, regeneration and moments of sheer fearlessness amongst other things. But oh how it tears at my body, how it tears at my soul: life! Worn woman that I am.

Watch out for the temper on hard days! Coming home with two hungry and tired kids, both screaming, the dog with its high pitched piercing bark waiting by the door. Patience already stretched to the limit. The three year old refuses to walk up the stairs, I have the big baby girl on one arm, groceries in the other. I leave him and take her upstairs to go back for him after dropping her  and the grocery bags off. Screams and canine screaches echo in the hallway. The downstairs neighbour comes out and starts yelling at my boy to be quiet already. Fumes!

You yellin' at my kid Sir?
You think you the only one who can yell?
Well I can yell right back at you!
Oh you can call me names?
Well I can call you names too!
Sure I am crazy, be scared!
Back away from my son
and scare him never again!

Motherhood.

when in doubt, differentiate

Trying to hold on
wherever she could
she would
woman of nowhere
now she wanted
just to let go

Origin

Isn't it strange to be from a place but you're not. To feel like you grew up there but you didn't. To know it so well and yet have no facts to tell, Only a personal story.

The love poem

She wasn‘t quite sure where it had come from or who had written it. A few simple lines that read:

I love you
if what I do
and who I am
makes you suffer
I suffer
thus making my love for you
a prison of suffering
I want to set free
my love for you
but not in sacrifice
of myself

She thought about the ones she loves. What did that mean “set free my love”? She needed her love very close to her heart and rooted deeply within her soul. Her own suffering was a source of compassion. Only in having suffered herself was she able to understand others’ suffering. Knowing what pain felt like enabled her to recognize it. “A prison of suffering” she read it again. Who would write something like that, she wondered. Her thoughts drifted to a memory years ago when Mother’s health had taken a turn for the worse. She was devastated because she couldn’t help her. Was she not a good enough daughter? Did she not love enough or do enough? Mother had said to her: “I don’t love you because you’re this way or that way, I love you because I do. God doesn’t care about what you think or feel, about what you say or do. He loves you anyway, unconditionally.” And Mother was right. She herself cared about what she said and did, she herself cared about how she lived. Which is why she chose love. God only wanted for her to be happy and would always work in her favor towards that happiness. There was so much to enjoy in earthly delights, pleasures without measure! Was not that why spirits became mortal, regardless of uncomfortable side effects such as vulnerability, pain and suffering? She had read about that in a book she’d received from a stranger on the street. He’d popped out of nowhere as she sat on a sidewalk in a city somewhere watching road life unfold. He'd sat down beside her and started up a smoke, she'd hardly noticed as lost in thought as she was.

“We take the now for granted,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the problem. The now is not for granted.”
She looked at him as he continued to speak.
“First comes the preparation, then comes the molding. The molding takes time. That’s life giving birth to you, all the time.”

Eventually he told her that he’d written a book that no one cared to read and handed her a title-less manuscript before departing. And just like that he was out of her life, were it not for the book. He’d called himself a ‘thought-catcher’. Having had an interesting conversation with him, she was curious about the text. Some ideas contained within it reminded her of Mother’s words. One passage read:

God is a relationship that is always available to you. Reality is good and bad. It’s up to you. Life and Death. You know what? Death will happen on its own, you don’t need to make it happen. Love is a relationship that is always available to you. God is love and will always take care of you and move things in your favor. God, love, happiness exist and you may choose them – as you may choose anger, melancholy, indifference. What if you're blind to all the love amidst the pain? Though at times only glimpses reveal the love that is there, they reveal that unconditional love is available to you. Painful experiences are not punishment. Difficulty could be the result of walking carelessly through life, of being blind, deaf, moribund, numb, or just afraid. Which is fine too, if not very pleasant. It’s all part of life! The pain is important because it is your experience. There is purpose to pain: to remind you that you are alive.

Nothing else matters at all!

I may not know you or I may know you too well...
If I can lose myself then lose myself I will...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZ_7D22pvTw&feature=related

Poeta

El tiempo parece pasar eternamente lento. Ahora aquí en el avión lo siento. ¡Cómo te extraño, Tita! Me duele tu ausencia, siento añoranza, un vacío. En casa, cerca de tí gozaba de tu espiritu, te sentía más cerca. Ahora que de nuevo me alejo ó paresco alejarme, vuelven las lágrimas, el dolor. Te amo y saber que no volveré a abrazarte, tocarte, besarte, escucharte, olerte y mirarte a los ojos me duele hasta el alma. Cerca de la familia ahí en casa unidos andaba entretenida y distraida. Era casi como pretender que ahí andabas medio cerquita, ni tan lejos, ahí por ahí. Sentí muy presente y tan hermoso tu espiritu: paz, fortaleza, alegría. Lijera tú y feliz al fin libre, reunida con tus seres amados. Ahora soy yo la que se queda atrás para sentir el dolor de haberte perdido. Sólo puedo soñar que ahí estarás cuando se levante mi espiritu. Mientras tanto lo que permanecen son incontables las memorias contigo llenas de amor, calor y sabrosura. Me quedo en el mundo sensual terrenal atada a este cuerpo finito sintiendo el hueco que dejas, sintiendo el dolor que avisa cuanto me haces falta.

Y ahora ¿en donde te encuentro? ¿En donde te veo? El luto regresa en mi soledad y me duele tu partida. Me dejas tanto tanto tanto amor y aún así estoy sufriendo. Gracias por enseñarme donde está mi casa, por demostrarme a donde pertenesco, por llamarme, buscarme y hacerme sentir querida, amada e importante. Gracias por nutrir mis raíces para que cresca con la fortaleza de alguien que sabe donde está en casa. Gracias por amarme, por buscarme cuando andaba perdida. ¿Y ahora sin tí que hago? Llorar y llorar y llorar porque nadie me hace sentir como tú. Simplemente me haces falta, tus atenciones, saber donde estás, donde te puedo encontrar. Pues ahora estás con Dios. ¿Y qué de mis cinco sentidos? Ellos se quedan abandonados. No más besos de clavel, no más tu voz hermosa, tu mirada intensa, tus humores cambiantes, tus abrazos y atenciones terrenales. Te he sentido, he sentido tu espiritu y su generosa presencia, el poder de sus milagros, su presencia divina, su paz, su amor, su fortaleza, su fé y su alegría. ¿Porqué sufro entonces? ¿Porqué duele tanto tanto tanto tu partida? Sólo quiero llorar del dolor que siento. No entiendo bien todo esto. Sé que estás feliz y en paz y yo me quedé atrás y demás tal vez no fue suficiente lo que hice pues te mereces mucho más. O es simplemente egoista mi dolor porque deseo verte, tenerte y sentirte como estaba acostumbrada. Pues será el sereno pero pinche duele tu partida, duele en el alma y en el corazón. Y en mi soledad lo siento ese dolor y quisiera poder refugiarme en tus brazos, en tu cariño y en tu calor.

LH, D.F.-Frankfurt, 4-7-2011

The beauty of research

Wer sucht der findet (Who seeks will find), lautet ein Sprichwort (a saying goes). Wie wahr es doch ist (How true this is). The beauty of research is precisely that it's a re search. It is to search again what has already been found over and over again. Suchen an die man anknüpfen kann (Searches that can be continued), lineages of erkenntnisreichen Funden (enlightening finds). To research is to find oneself again, ones thoughts and insights from long ago. Den Weg den wir schon gegangen, führt zurück in die Ursprünge unseres Daseins, y está plasmado de pistas, respuestas y recuerdos. Las preguntas de hoy tienen historia en las respuestas de ayer. Today's questions have a history in yesterday's answers. Die Fragen von heute haben eine Geschichte in den Antworten von gestern. 

Trying to read as Alexis bounces around me attempting to steal my pen or push a button on the laptop, reminds me of the scholarly virtues of patience and perseverance. Research can be slow in coming, for various reasons. There is so much to take care of on a daily basis: housework, cooking, entertaining the kids, self-care, trade off with Andy so he can work, too, etc... The moments to read uninhibitedly are far and few between: while the kids are entertained by themselves for a moment, while they're napping, while waiting for the train, on the train ride to work, in between calls at work, before bedtime while hangin' out with Andy. Then there are moments of word waterfalls, where the writing flows jealously, incessantly. Perseverance means staying on top of it while taking what I can get, 5 minutes, 30 minutes, yes, but an instant for one sentence or a word -after all, that one could be it, the clue, the new impulse that builds on the path ahead as time rolls on. Everyday a little bit, in many days it will be more. So much to read, wish I could lock myself in a tower for hours with all my books and an internet connection of course. What is available online has made all the difference in the world for a mother in a little Swiss village. Thanks to google books and google scholar, I can read virtual books, even old ones. Here is Alexis again, little scholar spirit, tr....there, she pushed the off button on the laptop. Hahaha. I attribute it in large part to being pregnant with her, that I finished my Masters' thesis. On the day back in February 2010, that I went with my mom to the Mexican Embassy to interview her for my research, I found out, right there in the Embassador's office bathroom, that I was pregnant again. The interview, of course, began with the strained voices of two women who had just learned of an unexpected pregnancy. We followed through with it professionally, the way it would be expected of diplomats. In April I had kidney stones. The pregnancy was rough. So, I had a lot going against me. I had already failed to hand in my thesis once. I was also taking an entirely different approach. The push was on, and now this! Luckily, Puyi was going to the Tagesmutter (day care) 5 times a week for 5 hours. Andy took to bringing him there in the mornings, so that I would have enough energy to go to the library and work for a couple of hours before picking up Puyi. I didn't make it to the library every day, of course, towards the end of the pregnancy I wans't even able to turn around by myself anymore if I lay on my back. I was a whale. Lexi was a bigger baby than Puyi had been and moved so much, that I believe she stretched the placenta to have more room. Plus, my body got all fancy with unbelievable amounts of water. I was a huge bubble. There was so much water, that her head never dropped. She was floating around in there until the very last moment. The Hebamme (midwife) had to rip open the placenta, so Alexis could come into the birthcanal. Never mind the excruciating pain that overcame me with brutal violence from the force of the water and child suddenly being able to slip into the canal.Anyway, she never let me give up. There were countless discouraging moments in which I felt I wasn't advancing, that I wouldn't make it to the deadline in the fall. People around me had their doubts, too. It was the persistence regardless of the circumstances, regardless of set backs coupled with divine intervention and loving people around us, that made all the difference.

On Friday October 15th, the baby's due date was October 17th, Andy accompanied me to the copy center to print out my finished paper. We very slowly walked down Akazienstrasse. It was a beautiful late morning. At 17:00 I had an appointment with the midwife. She did something down there, she pushed in real hard. The walk home took me forever. Going up the three flights of stairs of our Berliner Altbau (old building) was torturous in its own way. By the time I got home, something had started happening to my body. I went straight to the bathroom to find that this huge smudge of something had come out. With Puyi I never experienced anything like that. With him the water broke and I had no contractions, so that they had to get jump started with pills at the hospital. Anyway, I was beginning to experience waves of crampy pain. After bearing Andy, I discovered that I have a high tolerance for pain. It was bad but not intolerable. Since they became quite regular, and it was my sister on skype who noticed this, I called the midwife. She came and said that it was time to slowly make our way to the clinic. The taxi driver was more nervous than we were. With Andy Eugen I had had time to pray a full rosary, but Alexis just happened.....

By the time we got to the clinic, the Antroposophisches Krankenhaus Havelhöhe, the contractions were very persistent. I got to take a bath. Andy feel asleep in the warm moist air. With Puyi, he'd also fallen asleep through the first part of the process in the clinic. In the water and while concentrating on my body, I could feel Alexis in there doing her part to move ahead. She would push her feet from my ribs head first, just to bounce right back. She did this several times, until she grew tired I suppose, or realized that it wasn't working. I pictured her as a little arrow. There was simply too much water. What represented the luxury of space during pregnancy wurde nun zum Verhängnis. I stumbled out of the bath with the midwife's and Andy's help, went to the bed. Whereas I'd wanted to be quiet at little Andy's birth, which didn't work, I did not care this time around. During the last contractions leading up to Lexi's passage into an artificially lit world, I screamed so loud, I saw the walls shaking. The water went everywhere and soaked the sheets, the mattress and the floor around the bed. Alexis immediately attached to the nippel and remained for about a half hour until the midwife came to pry her off to be weighed, she would have stayed there otherwise. Alexis was born on October 16th, 2010 at 02:01 a.m. She was gorgeous! A few days later my thesis was off to the Europa University Viadrina. Andy personally took it there with the train I used to take to the classes, one hour from Berlin to Frankfurt-Oder. I would never again go since becoming a mom for the second time. I was too busy breast-feeding a greedy little girl. The exam took place exactly a month later on Novemeber 16th, my Mexican grandmother's birthday, at my professor's Berlin apartment. She had made tea and I brought cake. The two women examiners were disappointed that I had come without a baby. I passed with flying colors. It was a beautiful experience in the end.

Anyway, my second baby was the most beautiful and miraculous surprise gift ever! She loves books, even those without pictures. She pulls out a book, flipps through the pages as if she had done this a million times before (she's only one!) and walks around with it for the rest of the day. I've begun to make a little fortune telling game depending on what book she picks. For a while there she was very fond of a little Rousseau biography. Two days ago she brought around Camus' Stranger. Another favourite is Foucault. I try to keep the books I am currently reading from her, though she is always very careful with them. It is almost eerie sometimes, the way she handles a book, the way her eyes examine its content though never having learned to read yet... It makes me wonder where her soul may have come from on this journey. Anyway, she has been full of scholarly fortune and she reigninted that schorlarly fire in me. Te amo, mijita bonita, te amo y muchas gracias, mi amor!

The Master

I carry my notebook wherever I go,
for language won't stop its flow.
It keeps me away from sleep
and hunger and thirst,
away from company.

Even in my dreams
it writes and thrives.
And I am awake because of it.

When I let language be the master
it takes a hold of me
and I become
but a vessel for its incessant flow.

When I let language be the master,
I don't know
how to make it stop...
And why would I?

Its irresistible beauty,
the wisdom of its loving, honest touch
keep my fingers on the writing feather clutched.
I don't care about the smudges of ink
spritzing all over
as the pen bounces around
as if with a volonté of its own.

I don't want to think,
I just want to write
and let language be the master.

5 years later

The lessons I learned upon entering the inner temple, are the answers to the dilemmas I have recently faced. The dreamt path has taken five years (praise to Eris - thou art the fairest) in unfolding on the organic consciousness plain. Fascinating. I am in the jump. How long might it take? Might I land and be ok? Might I be able to catch up with Amitai and the other traveller? Where might the path that curves like the arm of a cave into the unknown lead?

I remember the carefully worn book with a brown leather cover that seemed to change in size, sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. I believe to have placed it in the bundle. I also remember well the notes in green ink I looked at and tried to decipher. The pages had the scent of a scientist ahead in time who had scribbled them down frantically before becoming inorganic. Their language was alive and moved and morphed about the page making it hard to read. Symbols, drawings, words and phrases bounced around, danced about and shifted shapes.

dream 2007

Amitai led us to the temple. He is on a journey to the inner self. The superficial chamber was a majestic hall, as magnificent as the vault of a grand cathedral and as humble as the stomach of a cave: stoic and stony but open and fresh; lit only by the mystic glow of waxes and oils creating a reverent ambiance. The guide was already expecting us. No one else was there. He led us down the first set of stone stairs into a smaller chamber, like that of a cellar. He lit a candle and told Amitai that from this point on he'd have to find the path to the inner self, the innermost chamber of the temple, it's most sacred place, on his own. The attendant said nothing more and returned to the surface.
Though Amitai was sure of his quest, he expressed uncertainty as to the way which to take, for he had never been to the inner self. Nor had we.
I grew concerned, for we had no maps, no books and no instructions to help us out on this journey. The temple was vast and descended like a labyrinth deeper and deeper into an earthen womb in a series of chambers, hallways, tunnels and stairs with countless paths to turn on. I spotted a wooden fixture upon which lay a book and a piece of paper. I acquired it with enthusiasm as I discovered that it was a book about the temple which explained how to get out of the temple once the inner self had been reached. The paper was some sort of hand scribbled map in green ink starting at the place we were at. Excited about my finding I took it to Amitai who showed gracious indifference, he was too focused to pay it much mind. I guarded it anyway.
We proceeded into the next area which split up in a set of bigger rooms. To the left spanning very far back, there were shelves filled with books, chairs and couches and people all over the place: hangin', chillin', talking or simply being. Others were moving about, searching. A small hall led through to another path which grew dark and invisible, like a lightless tunnel. To the right I paid no mind at all.
Amitai led us right of the tunnel to another descent. It was a perfectly vertical non-stair. It went down deep. How could you possibly survive the jump? I wondered and grew nervous. Yet surely this was the way. Amitai and our other male companion figured out to throw down the bags, if a puddle of clear liquid formed beneath them at the bottom, they were ok to jump. But Maria was too frightened and disappeared into the room sequence of shelves and chairs. I went after her to try and convince her not to give up. Amitai and the other traveler stayed behind, they didn't seem to mind at all that Maria had left the path.
I looked around for a while glancing at books and faces. There she was in a group of women wearing make-up, red lipstick, blouses and skirts. Maria, too, looked like they did now. She said to me "I choose to stay here. It's ok to remain in a more superficial plain. Go on without me, this is what I want. Not everyone has to reach the inner self..." Though startled, I accepted and understood. Went back to the drop of stone, where the two men had already gone, they were down there barely waiting for me. As I arranged my things to throw them down -I took a long time to bundle up my robe in which I carefully placed my case of greens, which I thought to myself I wouldn't use in the temple anyway- a group of tourists led by a guide came along.
There were maybe half a dozen, maybe some more. The guide explained to them that they needed to jump. I understood that you needed to believe in the jump to be ok upon landing; believe in your path, know that you are going to be ok. Two of the tourists in front of me were very scared and someone said, "Help them!" So I did. I touched their arms to help them go. All the tourists dropped. On the ground they lay for a moment, then, they stood up. All but the two I had helped. These two now were dead. I understood that though you may encourage someone to jump, one alone must actually jump to proceed to the inner self.
Amitai and the other guy were already out of sight. I needed to hurry. I threw my bundle down and watched as the clear liquid puddle formed underneath on the bottom. Then I jumped.