Old couple

The unconditional love
that he carried out daily for her 

was an act of rebellion

in an often seemingly loveless world. 

Who told them?

That she couldn't or shouldn't

be this or that,

That he had to become

so and so?

They transformed -

All that had to have been.

The fluffy sponges they wore,

bore the life they absorbed.

Should ordeals be wrung out?

Would this free up some space?

Could what they had experienced

indeed be replaced?

parir

me partió la madre

Piel

piel encuerada frente al sol

piel humana

Mujer encuerada

¿Qué pensará 

cuando está a punto 

de meterse a la regadera?

¿Qué piensa mientras se lava los dientes?

¿Cómo es el momento 

cuando se sirve el cereal?

¿Qué pasa por su mente --

qué siente?

¿Con qué sueños amanece?

¿Se levanta en la cama 

a contemplarlos sentada --

ó se queda tirada?

Y sus sentimientos

¿de qué colores se visten esta mañana?

¿Ya sabe lo que se quiere poner --

ó decidirá espontáneamente?

Quizás no sabe que ponerse y

se echará cualquier cosa encima

sin nunca saberlo.

¿En qué pensó 

cuando no supo?

Y ¿cómo se sintió

no saber?

Entonces, 

¿porqué se vistió?

NX

Avowed

In sickness and in health, the promise goes, that vow they told themselves and each other.

One was sick with hunger for mother's feminine touch and craved women's flesh aplenty. She saw him through it and does it still, his companion. And now he cares for her during sleepless nights of painful unrest, and every day while she struggles to move her tired body about the house. 

Another cultivated a radical understanding of freedom to flee a heart heavy with feelings never blessed to be expressed. Seeking refuge in fluid company, in drugs, dates, dancing. Leaving her at home to wait indefinitely for another moment's glimpse into his loving soul. She saw him through it. And he made sure she was adequatly, comfortably provided for when her vulnerable nature caved her mind into insanity. He never stopped returning to her and, in his way, loved her, though she would never say her love for him again. And to her grave he now brings flowers. 

Yet another was sick with anger and struck away both love and life with force. She took his charm and embraced, well past his better days, the fruits his seeds had born so reminiscent of the many ways in which she had loved him. He had fostered a legacy of unconditional unity despite the severity of his blows.

Togethter they tell tales of responsibility towards our kin. Our kindred fellows, yes, humans who rise and fall like me and you. Don't we all?

What is responsibility? What is the nature of our ability to respond to each other? How do we correspond to each other? And what is love? but the string that weaves together many stories on the spiral path of life.

Gestern

Ich sitze im Sunset Coffee, während die Sonne in einer winterlichen Landschaft untergeht. Vor mir erstreckt sich eine herrliche Sicht von der mit Schnee bedeckten westlichen Bergkette, nordwestlich von der sich eine Salzwüste befindet. Früher hiess das Café Grounds for Coffee. Eventuell scheint mir die untergehende Sonne ins Gesicht und lächelt mir mit ihrer Wärme entgegen. "Du schaffst es, Kind," sagt sie voller Liebe.

La última nota de Mamá

"Para los qué amé y me amaron.

Cuando me haya ido, desprendas 

y déjenme ir. Tengo tantas cosas que ver y hacer (?) 

No deben atarme a sus lágrimas, 

Sean felices, tuvimos tantos años juntos y yo les dí mi amor.

Ustedes solo podran tratar de adivinar

Cuanta felicidad me dieron

Les doy las gracias por cuanta felicidad 

me dieron por todo el amor que cada uno me dio! 

Pero ahora es tiempo de que viaje sola; así es que si se sienten 

tristes por mí háganlo por un rato y nada mas; y después ... que su comf(?)

nza se convierta en confianza y fé

Es solo por un momento que vamos a estar sepa

rados asi que bendigan los recuerdos, (en) 

su corazón, yo no estaré lejos, por que la vida 

continúa, y si me necesita llámenme 

y yo, vendré. Aún que no me puedan 

ver ni tocar, yo estaré cerca, y si oyen con

el corazón escucharan asu alrededor mi 

suave y a su alrededor y claramente mi voz(?)

Luego cuando les toque venir por este 

mismo camino, yo saldré a recibirlos

Con una sonrisa, y a darles la 

bienvenida a su casa

              con amor"

Papá se encontró esta nota escrita a mano de Mamá

al salirse de la casa que compartieron. Es una copia, no la original. Sospecho que la habrá escrito en un momento de lucidez dentro de su enfermedad del Alzheimer para despedirse de sus seres amados. No pudo hacerlo en persona. Quizás intentó hacer varias copias para distribuir la carta. ¿Habrá logrado llevar la carta original a la oficina de correos? ¿A quién se la habría mandado? Qué bueno que existe un correo divino que supo preservar esta copia misteriosa para llevar el último mensaje de Mamá a sus seres queridos. La nota aparece como un fax del más allá. Una fotocopia que se comió algunas letras. Como el Alzheimer se fue comiendo las memorias y facultades cognitivas de Mamá.  Estoy agradecida por su profunda intuición que la llevó a dejar un mensaje infinito como este. Me hace sentir que no se fue del todo, y que ahí estará de alguna forma si la necesito, y que ahí estará cuando me toque aquel viaje solitario. De hecho ahí está ella, tan cerca y tan lejos, en el misterioso más allá... aquel espacio espiritual que todas compartimos. ¿Sabes cuál?

Step by step

On a random piece of paper with the German slogan "Immer einen Schritt voraus" (always a step ahead of the way), I wrote many years ago...

My son wanted to climb on a neighbour's wall to walk on it. I told him: "Go ahead, if you want to, you know how." (Andale si quieres, tu sabes como.) He's used to holding father or mother's hand. I was set on keeping going. From our home to my parents' house walking speed with stroller, kids and canine: roughly an hour. We don't own a car, otherwise it would take 3-5 minutes. Unbelievable! Anyway, he climbs up on the wall  and walks on it just fine by himself until he starts whining that he doesn't want to do it by himself, that he needs help. "You're doing it just fine, you see!" (Vas bien ¡ya ves!) I reassure him without stopping myself, always with an eye on him though. I hold his hand for the jump down upon his request. He'd just never walked alone on the wall before, didn't know he could do it just fine. The next walls he looked at and touched, he contemplated them but didn't ask to walk on'em nor made an attempt to do so on his own. He'll probably sleep on it a night or more. Perhaps he'll pass these neighbourhood walls in contemplative silence again or many more times until he realizes that he can do it by himself just fine... pensive, careful and analytical as he is.

dreaming is

Was on my way to a place of books and knowledge, when I met my two teen-age neighbors who I'd befriended recently. They were "cool" guys, one small, one rough, both "tough". I noticed they had packed some weapons today, each a black gun of some sort, they must have been really bored. Didn't think too much about it until they shot a few people down right in front of a mixed part of town: a fancy man, a fancy woman, and a child. I didn't see them all, as I made it inside. No blood, no cries; I was going for where wisdom lies. The bookery was in the basement. I went. Straight to the information desk where the book lady sat, we began to chat. It was I who spoke mostly, she started getting annoyed. "Just one more question before I go..." I said "what's the meaning of dreaming?" She looked at me from across the information desk, her face young, intelligent with dark-rimmed sixties-style glasses. "Dreaming is a process..." is I think what she said, for my thoughts were so loud and insistent that I couldn't hear her anymore, just saw her mouth moving, words blindly spilling, while my own contemplations swamped my mind. Or did she say progress? Why do I miss the most important answers to my questions? I need to learn to listen better, silence consciousness for the sake of growth. "...for example..." she was saying "...I use it to develop the characters in my novel, which you don't need for you have plenty to read already..." she smiled at me, suddenly nice. I nodded approvingly as if I had understood it all, every golden word she had spoken, too ashamed to admit that I'd become victim to my ego-centric conscious. I made my way outside again, trying to make sense of what she had said, wondering how much I'd really absorbed. Outside the door by the bus stop, stood my two friends awaiting the public ride home. I greeted them jolly, but they were mad. The rougher one got aggressive and started to beat me. "Don't you say anything, not a word! You're going to tell!" I had been a witness to their crime. I assured them that I wouldn't say anything, for we were friends, but their anger was unstoppable. Nobody standing around seemed to mind that I was getting beat up, he kept hitting my face. Nobody cared. I took off in the opposite way to the bad side of town, where street vendors stood at wooden tables selling food, Mexicans and New Orleans. I went towards a Mexican man who was selling tacos and kind of explained what was going on. I couldn't go home, for I'd have to go past the bus stop where my neighbor boys stood. I was afraid. Nor did I want to pull out my cell phone and talk on the street since I had once gotten robbed. I checked and Andy hadn't called anyway. So I decided to stay by the Mexican man who treated me with dignity and I felt safe knowing he was Mexican, a family man, a husband, a hard working man. The tacos were great, so were the sauces, I ate. He told me how cruel the gringos could be...that was not the word he used. I realized that my neighbors, who I thought were my friends, were not once they had something to hide. A friend can be an accomplice to crime, but a criminal can afford no friend...

Roller Coaster

I ride
Her roller coaster
Because I love her
It scares me
It envigorates and excites
Me
I ride
Her roller coaster
Because it's her
And I love it
And I love her
I never get used to it
Never want to
I'll pay again
To ride it
For riding it
I love it
I love her
Roller coaster
Ride

A.G.S.

Freiheit

Freiheit ist wie Sterben. Plötzlich wird man ganz still. Man nimmt sich immer mehr zurück und kehrt in sich und die eigene Welt ein. Man lässt die anderen da draussen einfach sein. Weiter dreht sich das Rad auch ohne einen. Jenseits von Gruppenzwang und Gesellschaftsdrang erwacht man dann und erfährt ein unglaubliches Freiheitsgefühl.