Alexandra.

Photo taken from Rubase.com

Until June24, the deadline date. So remember from inspiration, to the written word.

A.R. Román

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The words are Food, Wine, Travel.

from Writers Digest

Until June 16, and remember from inspiration to the written word.

A.R. Román

The post Practice Writing Wednesday #3: Three Words appeared first on .

Escribe un relato en que el principio y el final sean el mismo y la historia quede englobada en el interior como un círculo. La estructura debe estar justificada

Aquí está el relato:

Envainada estaba la causa del final de la mortalidad carnosa de unas existencias pasadas. “Al infierno,” susurraban. Los esqueletos le daban la bienvenida con sonrisas pintadas en sus calaveras. Dos de ellos sujetaban una sombrilla azul marino y miraban hacia arriba con sus inexistentes ojos al malabar. El caballero vestido con su negra armadura peladeaba una unibicicleta con rueda de tanque sobre una delgada soga, amarrada sobre un negruzco y profundo hueco del cual se alazaba una anaranjada y densa columna de humo. Sujetaba en la mano derecha una bola de hierro con púas y en su izquierda, un pergarmino de sus sentencias mortales. Hacía un acto de balanceo como en la mortalidad hizo a varios de los presentes por malévolo entretenimiento. A su llegada al final de la soga le esperaba el que fue su primera víctima, quien desvainó su espada, le quito el casco y tras el degolle susurró, “Al infierno.”

The post Martes de Entrega: Consigna #2 Historias Circulares appeared first on .

Escribe un relato en que el principio y el final sean el mismo y la historia quede englobada en el interior como un círculo. La estructura debe estar justificada

Francisco García nos dice que en las “historias circulares la narración se desarrolla hacia delante, pero el final coincide con el inicio, dándose un movimiento circular. Esta circularidad puede ser temporal y entonces la acción vuelve adonde se inició, haciendo un círculo en el tiempo, pero puede ser también espacial”.

Al medio día de hoy salí con mis hijos ha realizar un ejercicio en el Museo de Arte de Bayamón. Es un lugar que visitamos con frecuencia y en él hemos participado de varios talleres. Nuestra misión era encontrar los colores escogidos en casa, los cuales tenían que estar presentes en nuestra vestimenta, y luego de identificarlos en las obras de arte, dibujar su versión de ellos.

Mi hijo escogió la de un caballero en armadura. La obra se titula El disparate  del artitsta puertorriqueño Lorenzo Homar, 1954, y es parte de la colección permanente del museo.

Mientras le observaba hacer trazos con su lápiz, pararse para observarla más de cerca y volver a su papel y dibujar lo visto, la historia comenzó a pintarse en mi mente. Mientras ellos dibujaban, yo escribía mi historia circular, el primer escrito. El próximo martes, 10 de junio, publicaré la historia.

Más sobre narrativa circular:
–Escrilia
–e how en español

Hasta la próxima, y recuerda de la inspiración a la palabra escrita.

A.R. Román

The post Miércoles de Consignas de Escritura #2: Historias circulares appeared first on .

To get started, let’s loose up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think bout what you’ll write. Just write.

Breath in, breath out. Relax and let it flow.

Pencil in hand, I draw letter by letter in carbon to construct words that form sentences and they make paragraphs that combined make up a story. Something for someone to enjoy.

Writers block is a haunting entity that possesses your state of mind. As I write this, I inhale slowly and exhale slowly, not listening to voices inside that might criticise and make me stop.

The television is on, but my thoughts are in what I am writing right this instant. My hand hurts a bit, I have been writing for a while passing the notes from my Fantasy and Science Fiction class at Coursera. When I watched the videos where the professor introduced the course, he took away all the fears I had when taking this course. It made me realized I had nothing to fear and that I had so much to gain and to learn. As a writer it was a promise of growth.

But, with a full schedule. How am I going to manage to do my list of writing prompts and class and reading books, cooking, cleaning, and making a fun summer for my kids Easy, a step at a time, schedules, not taking during the day more than I can do.

Feeling thrust worthy of oneself, gives you some type power. It sets fears aside and makes you understand what can be accomplish with ones time as writers. I even did laundry today and mofongo for dinner (follow the link so you can know what this delicious dish is)

Breath in, breath out.

A writing summer adventure has begun. Excitement is overwhelming and looking forward to rock it, accomplish all of my goals or some, but will not fail all of them and that includes a rocking fun summer for my kids. Tomorrow will be one with lots of fun.

Until next prompt and remember from inspiration to the written word.

A.R. Román

The post Blogging U 101: Unlock the mind appeared first on .

Así que la escritora se embarca en una aventura veraniega y toma consignas de escritura para que ella no se aferre a la pereza. ¡Oh, verano! Tus promesas de descanso, de unas vacaciones etéreas son tentadoras.

Las consignas de escritura navegan por el internet como los peces en el océano. Son muchas y en inglés y español. Los miércoles será día de escoger entre tantas y el martes de arriba, el día de presentarlas. Puedes lector atreverte a realizarlas también y compartirlas conmigo. Es bueno leer, aprender y deleitarse del talento de los colegas. Es inspiración a la vez.

Retos se toman en partida triple, mientras mas se tengan se tiene la posibilidad que la mayoría se realizarán. El segundo, contemplado por el pasado año, llega desde Coursera en donde se ofrecen cursos gratuitos por universidades de varias partes del mundo. Por once semanas estudiaré, en inglés, el curso de Fantasy and Science Fiction: The human mind, our modern worldClass por el profesor Erik Rabkin de la Universidad de Michigan. El syllabus intimida con su larga lista de lectura, clásicos como Drácula de Bram Stocker, Poe, Grimm, Frankenstein de Shelley, Le Guin, entre otros. Todo será lecturas, ensayos, ensayos y más ensayos- no me quejo, adoro hacer ensayos-, y discusiones en foros. Ya he comenzado con Drácula…

Blogging U Challenge by WordPress, es el tercero. Tareas semanales como las consignas de escritura, pero enfocadas en mi bitacora (blog). Este espacio necesita dedicación constante y en él se derrama la palabra escrita nacida de la inspiración.

No hay receso veraniego para la escritora. Hay que darle tareas. Hay que aceitar su creatividad. Hay que enseñarle cosas nuevas y expandir su universo. Hay que alimentarla con letras.

Hasta la próxima y recuerda de la inspiración a la palabra escrita. Ánimate y toma retos literarios en este verano.

A.R. Román

The post Los retos veraniegos de una escritora appeared first on .

This short story was inspired by: Daily Prompt: Ingredients

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Era un tiempo diferente, una ciudad diferente, al igual que esos que me acompañaban. Cuando la noche me tocó con su frialdad al salir del aeropuerto  de Connecticut estas pasadas navidades, estaba preparada, pero no era mi estado el que me preocupaba sino el de mis hijos, que sonrieron exaltados y llenos de curiosidad, deleitados de ver rastros de lo que días atrás fue una blanca nieve. Yo, respiré profundamente, el aire frío llenó mis pulmones y el desagrado desvaneció. Con él marqué el principio de nuevas transformaciones en mi vida. Solo quedaba disfrutar de la primera experiencia invernal de mi descendencia y empaparme de recuerdos para una eternidad.

The post Transformación de experiencias pasadas appeared first on .

http://venturegalleries.com/blog/the-art-of-structuring-a-novel-those-first-fifteen-pages-are-critical/

The post Article: The art of structuring a Novel. Those First Fifteen Pages Are Critical. appeared first on .

“Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk—away from any open flames—to remind yourself that if you don’t write daily, you will get rusty.”

“Manten una lata pequeña de WD-40 en tu escritorio-lejos de una vela-para recordarte que si no escribes diariamente, te pondrás mohoso.”

—George Singleton

Hay cosas simples que nos recuerdan nuestra responsabilidad, no ha nuestros seguidores y lectores, ha nosotros mismos de escribir diariamente. Aunque no podamos por un tiempo extendido realizar esta tarea, la sencillez de una oración o quizás varias, nos dará la satisfacción de decir me encamino a mi destino. 

¿Qué mantienes a tu lado para recordarte que debes escribir diariamente?

There are simple things that remind us of our responsibility, not our fans and readers, but to ourselves to write daily. Although we can not  do it for an extended period of time, the simplicity of a sentence or perhaps several, will give us the satisfaction to say I making my way to my destination. 

What do you keep near to remind you to write daily?

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“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”

“Cada secreto del alma de un escritor, cada experiencia de su vida, cada cualidad de su mente, está escrita en grande en su trabajo.”

Virginia Woolf

¿Tienes algún secreto que contar, una experiencia que debe ser leída Toma tus armas y escribe. Liberate de tu carga y compartela.

Do you have a secret to tell, an experience that must be read Take upon weapons and write. Relieve yourself of the burden and share it.

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Is my daughter’s favorite color. It always sorrounds her, henceforth it sorrounds me.  The walls of her room are painted in purple.

A color that has been present in those that have been in my life: a friend, a cousin, the lovely orchid blooming in my grandmother’s garden. It remind me of lent, of advent. The color of preference of royalty. A regal color, one of grandeur.

You learn from childhood it is the mix of two, red and blue, so you go on an experiment to marvel in surprise as the purple tones appear slowly as the two mix.

It painted the lips and nails of my grandmother, making a beautiful contrast with her chocolate skin. Una trigueña bella ella era.  

But, it has never been my choice of color.

Alexandra

The post Weekly Photo Challenge: Purple, a color I’m familiar with appeared first on .

Sharing is what’s all about with the Weekly Photo Challenges and I’m here to share the photos from my vacation using the pasts challenges posts I’ve missed. So let’s start from the beginning…

Fleeting:

My son and his Godmother at Wekiva Springs

My kids at Sea World

Movement:

My son trying to fly like a Pterodactylus

A dolphing after his jump at Sea World

Dreaming:

Statues of the child Jesus with his father Josehp at his carpenter workshop, taken in Virgin Mary Queen of the Universe Church

Vineyard at Winery Lakeridge

Hiking trail at Wekiva Springs

Inside:

This is a photo taken by my five year old son. It is the inside of a wine bottle at the Winery Lakeridge. He took over the photographing while I was munching on some free samples. Very clever!

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The post The Weekly Photos Challenge inspired by my Vacation appeared first on .

En mi jardín, dejando que las ideas fluyan.

At my garden, letting the ideas flow.

The post Mi jardín / My garden appeared first on .

For the past week I’ve looked for a photo that will go well with last week challenge Close, I had no luck. This week came along with a word as a writer I’m familiar with, well lets say comfortable for create stories is what I love to do.

On the wall that my white desk rests, lays my brainstorming board and in it ideas get stock on small papers trapped in ink, in no organize fashion. All of them close together, close at hand for when needed. As my sharpie pens and pencils are close for use, like the photos of those I love and miss and inspire me. Everything close so I can create. And as always, be inspire to create.

The post Weekly photo challenge: Close and Create appeared first on .

Un buen libro debe dejarte… un poco exhausto al final. Vives varias vidas mientras lees.

William Styron in an interview 1958, Writers at Work.

Related stories:

• William Styron, The Art of Fiction No. 5 from The Paris Review

The post William Styron on a good book… appeared first on .

At the Omega Confernce in NYC! Love this group of women!

The post Weekly Photo Challenge: Frienship appeared first on .

Finishing a chapter

Sunday Mass at Parroquía Espíritu Santo

Had a delicious home made pizza by my husband

Walked a few meters in the Da Vida walk-a-thon with friends and my kids, is done yearly to raise money and awareness to fight cancer.

A salad for dinner from my daughter’s harvest, buen provecho.

Inpiration still linger near, whispering the next words for the new chapter of Ascensión Divina. So I bid you farewell for now and hope, as always, you are inspired.

The post Weekly Photo Challenge: Today appeared first on .

USDA Approved! Buenas lecturas para un verano super. (Comparte tus lecturas en www.quelibroleo.com) Como lo desees llamar: alimento neuronal, expansión mental y de la imaginación y de la inteligencia, buenas destrezas para nuestros hijos en vez del televisor- mi hija se quejo al principio pero tiene asignado leer cinco capítulos diarios mientras su hermano descansa y mami escribe, ahora le encanta por que lo hace en su tablet- o jugar Wii, un placer, acompañante de playa o del jardín… Tú, ¿qué lees Tengan deliciosas lecturas.

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Unfocused

Blue

Hand holding a flower

Summer. Is always sunny here in Puerto Rico and you might say, when it is not raining, that summer bless us every day.

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            Hasta ese momento había conocido la fantasía de los cuentos de hadas, pero este libro abrió un mundo nuevo de estilo de ficción que exploraban mundos, que aunque en muchos habían príncipes y princesas, iban más allá que las simples historias a las que estaba acostumbrada desde niña. Cursaba el séptimo grado cuando fui seducida por la letra escrita, una relación nacida de la lectura y que se mantiene fuerte hasta hoy día. 

            Las mil y una noches me impulsaron a escribir un cuento de fantasía, de magia y aventura, narrado al estilo de la novela que leía: una historia dentro de la otra. Tristemente, este nunca nació al mundo literario, quedo incompleto y se perdió en el mundo del olvido. Hubieron más intentos, como todo en la vida, por ahí se comienza, y mientras cursaba la escuela superior escribí poesía. Comencé con versos cortos de amor, como toda adolescente hace en sus momentos de romance platónico. Sin saber que me dirigía por un camino del que no hay regreso, pues en mis años universitarios escribir se convirtió en un deleite, en especial cuando para las clases de español e inglés tenía que entregar ensayos.

            No hay marcha atrás, pues no es solo una profesión que llevamos como una insignia que nos define y nos da nuestro lugar en el mundo, es una forma de vida que se ama. Por la cual nos desvivimos y le damos tiempo para obtener de ella experiencias que solo se viven a través del bolígrafo y papel, bueno hoy día, del azotar las teclas de la computadora, y las emociones que se viven mientras son plasmadas. Es una buena vida y la gozo en cada letra, por eso ya no me avergüenzo de decir que soy una forjadora de letras, ven y adéntrate en mi mundo.

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Because of them I am who I am.

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So don’t forget, Inspiration is around us, every where waiting to be transformed into Written Words. 

Old San Juan a view from the town I live in. Taken this morning when I left my children at school. Beautiful Morning!

Two Subjects, my sons shadow and, on the bottom, his tiny cute feet.

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Charles Dickens said “There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast.”

This is what I found on Wikipedia about Contrast in literature, by the way very interesting:

In literature, an author writes contrast when he or she describes the difference(s) between two or more entities.

Contrast is the antonym of simile. In poetic compositions, it is common for poets to set out an elaborate contrast or elaborate simile as the argument. In Renaissance poetry, and particularly in sonnets, the contrast was similarly used as a poetic argument. In such verse, the entire poem argues that two seemingly alike or identical items are, in fact, quite separate and paradoxically different. These may take the form of ‘my love is unlike all other women’ or ‘I am unlike her other loves.’

If you are interested in using, or practicing, contrast in your poetry, you might like to read this article “Contrast as a Method of Developing Poetry”. At the end of it you will find an exercise. Enjoy!

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And in nature we find these beautiful distortions that serve as inspiration to those who conjure words.

[slideshow]

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  When done, I yield, in an excessive degree, to the gratification of the pleasures of a double life: me and my writer self.

To yield to… To Indulge in the simplest moments in a life for which I’m thankful for.

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The post Poem: The sun, the storm appeared first on .

The Hermit Crab

they go up towards their hidding place to pass the night, while my children and I look down on them admiring the beauty of nature in them.

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En un pasado, la Ermita, que fue bendecida en 1759 en la Hacienda El Plantaje, era el único lugar de adoración para los feligreses de la iglesia Católica. Hacendados, campesinos, negros libres y esclavos venían allí a escuchar la palabra de Dios. A ser bautizados, a unirse en matrimonio, a celebrar las fiestas.

El pasado 2 de febrero, día en que se celebra el Día de la Purificación de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria, tuve la oportunidad de visitar el lugar por el cual pasé de largo muchas veces cuando era pequeña, por una carretera que ahora está cerrada al publico. Allí, gracias a los esfuerzos de la Familia Picón, se mantiene la tradición centenaria viva y se enciende, luego de la celebración de la palabra y varios actos protocolares, la tradicional hoguera hecha de los secos árboles de navidad que fueron utilizados por los residentes de mi pueblo en las pasadas navidades.

No conocía de la actividad y acompañada por mi mejor amiga/comadre, nos fuimos a un lugar de la infancia. La Ermita era hermosa toda en ruinas y al final de su atrio, donde una vez estuvo el altar y la sacristía, estaba una imagen grande de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria en vivos colores. Parecía que estaba vigilante. Los presentes estaban sentados dentro en sillas blancas. Sin techo que los cobijara, luces colgaban para alumbrar el interior. Las paredes ya no sujetaban ni ventanas ni puertas, y de cuatro solo quedaban tres.

Mientras hablaban comencé a capturar en fotos con mi celular la hermosura del lugar. Me acerqué a una de las ventanas por donde se veía la imagen de la Virgen, click. La cúpula aún permanece fuerte, con rastros de humedad y un círculo en su centro. La entrada en ruinas con sus ladrillos expuestos parece darle tregua al tiempo, como diciendo de aquí no me moveré. El tronco de un árbol fusionado a las paredes de la Ermita, evidencia el abandono en un pasado.

Llegó el momento de encender la hoguera y varios de los presentes se acercan para entre las aromáticas ramas de los pinos echar sus peticiones. Una antorcha fue encendida, el Alcalde la acerca y las llamas lamen las ramas. El fuego arde, el calor intenso se siente a flor de piel como si las llamas desearan acariciarte. Me interno dentro de la Ermita para protegerme, miro arriba y la noche se iluminaba con fragmentos pequeños que flotaban por la brisa nocturna. Parecía como si la fogata, a pesar de nuestra retirada, deseaba alcanzarnos, tocarnos.

El acto culminó con la muerte de la fogata, los presentes gozaban de un caldo de pollo y nosotras nos retiramos dejando nuestras huellas en el húmedo terreno con la promesa de un regreso el próximo 2 de febrero.

[slideshow]

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Would I find it there I ask. I have been ignoring my manuscript for three days now.  If it had the gift of life and could speak, my first chapter could describe in crude detail the whole structure and decor of my home for it had been all over it. Or just maybe, cry out loud the torture it has endure under my pencil. Words have been written and erased, written again and again erased. A tortured piece of white paper wanting to move on. I struggle to find the perfect opening line for my story for the one I wrote is not working. Is just weak.

Openings are as difficult as a teenager, stubborn and with an attitude problem. Every writer struggles with its opening line, I say to myself. But what is the Perfect opening line for this fantasy story Inspiration, I need inspiration from those that I admire and have gone through this.

So there I went and read and read and read all the opening lines of the books I love and look down on me waiting patently for their turn on the shelf. Inspiring, curious, perfect each and one of them. From lands of dragons of Christopher Paolini, romance by Jane Austin, the spiral hell of Dante, the journey of Eneas, a city of beasts of Isabel Allende, Kafka, Rosario Ferré, Homer, Dumas, Coelho, Tolkien, Dostoievski, García Marquez, Seneca…

Some went something like this: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813)”; “Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray from the straight road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood.- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Inferno”; “As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect- Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis”; “The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus -Paulo Coelho”… All of them perfect and intriguing. Mine must be the same, mine has to be an equal.

I lay on the cold hard floor and stare in awe at these pages and these lines. Minutes come and go, instrumental music fills the air and I keep staring. A word comes “Final” (end). I must start giving away her fear, her undesired end. Her fear is the key. And so it is that the fear of her end of one of my protagonists must be the opening line of this story.  A beginning of sorts.

What about yours?

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Lilly1949 says, “Although I really enjoy coffee’s taste and smell and I indulge in drinking it every day like a ritual: first thing in the morning while reading my e-news and the traditional Puerto Rican cup at three o’clock in the afternoon. There is another drink that I drink less, but enjoy more–chocolate! It is an indulgence, but not a ritual. And of lately, I’ve come to enjoy the concoction in a different way. I’m not talking about Nestle’s Quick mix, nor Hershey’s syrup, nor the semisweet Cortez’s chocolate bars so typical of my homeland, not even the kosher Ubett. I’m talking about the experience of picking the cacao pod, taking the nuts out, drying them, shelling them, roasting and grinding them and then, only then, can you make a cup of hot cocoa and experience the most orgasmic drink ever.“

Get your cup ready, for after reading this post you will want to have a cup of hot chocolate. If you are lucky and have some Cacao Beans near, or know where to find some, you will take upon yourself to satisfy your senses. Enjoy and have an invigorating journey through the sense of taste. Go ahead and read her post “What can I say about the sense of taste“.

Visit Lilly1949’s Blog (You and I) and enjoy her Poetry!

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• The Taste (shyspark.wordpress.com)

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Durante el 2011 pensé que leer sería un lujo y que me quitaría valioso tiempo de escritura que necesitaba para completar mi novela de fantasía. ¡Qué equivocada estuve! Sin darme cuenta la lectura se hizo, nuevamente, parte de mi diario vivir y no solo eso, me introdujo a otro método de lectura a través de los e-books.

Hay tiempo para todo, y me lo demostré cuando pude completar cinco libros del mismo autor (A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin). Así que este nuevo año decidí que la lectura debe ser parte de mi vida diaria al igual que la escritura y por tal creé una lista de los libros que deseo leer en este primer trimestre del 2012.

Aquí está la lista, que puede crecer, de los cuatro libro-los primeros dos los comencé pero no los he terminado-que he escogido.

************

During 2011 I thought that reading would be a luxury and it would take away valuable time from writing, needed to complete my fantasy novel. How wrong I was! Before I knew it reading, again, was part of my daily life and not only that, it introduced me to another method of reading through e-books.

There is time for everything, and I showed it to myself when I read five books by the same author (A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin). So this new year I decided that reading should be part of my daily life as well as writing and for that I created a list of books I want to read in the first quarter of 2012.

Here is the list, that might grow, of four books-the first two I started but have not finish yet-that I have chosen.

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El vencedor está solo de Paulo Coelho: En ella el autor describe con augurales palabras el mundo de las celebridades en el Festival Internacional de Cannes. Coelho retrata la vida de varios personajes, haciéndolas interactuar en conexión a la fama y el dinero. La ambición, la envidia, el rencor, la codicia y el desenfreno son combinados con el amor, el deseo de superación, el esfuerzo individual y el sacrificio; sentimientos que todos, alguna vez, sentimos. (Resumen sacado de Wikipedia)

Inheritance de Christopher Paulini: Not so very long ago, Eragon—Shadeslayer, Dragon Rider—was nothing more than a poor farm boy, and his dragon, Saphira, only a blue stone in the forest. Now the fate of an entire civilization rests on their shoulders. Long months of training and battle have brought victories and hope, but they have also brought heartbreaking loss. And still, the real battle lies ahead: they must confront Galbatorix. When they do, they will have to be strong enough to defeat him. And if they cannot, no one can. There will be no second chances. The Rider and his dragon have come further than anyone dared to hope. But can they topple the evil king and restore justice to Alagaësia And if so, at what cost?

The Hobbit de J.R.R. Tolkien: is the story of Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit who lives in Hobbiton. He enjoys a peaceful and pastoral life but his life is interrupted by a surprise visit by the wizard Gandalf. Before Bilbo is really able to improve upon the situation, Gandalf has invited himself to tea and when he arrives, he comes with a company of dwarves led by Thorin. They are embarking on a journey to recover lost treasure that is guarded by the dragon Smaug, at the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf has decided, much to Bilbo’s chagrin, that the hobbit will make an excellent addition to the team and Bilbo is going to play the role of a burglar. As they start on their way, Bilbo has serious misgivings.

La mansión de los Stevenson de Antonio Lagares: A mediados del siglo XX, los jóvenes buscaban identificarse con movimientos que proclamaran la libertad como único fin. Fue una época marcada por la propagación de todo tipo de drogas entre estudiantes, artistas e intelectuales. Esta obra narra los problemas internos de una familia aristócrata inglesa. Uno de sus miembros intenta desenmascarar una absurda leyenda que pesa sobre el apellido Stevenson. De fondo, nos encontramos con las secuelas que la droga dura, como la heroína, va dejando entre sus adeptos.

Related articles

• Un reino en mi mente./ A Kingdom in my Mind. (alexandraroman.com)
• Hobbit Trailer Introduces Bilbo Baggins, Teases Gollum (wired.com)
• The Gates of Delirium: Soon (Jon Anderson, Chris Squire, Steve Howe, Alan White and Patrick Moraz) (gonzalosp.wordpress.com)

The post En mi mesa de noche, lecturas para el 2012 / In my nightstand, readings for 2012 appeared first on .

              MÁS QUE PASIÓN por las letras, lo mío ha sido siempre, pasión por las historias. Como la mayoría de la gente de mi generación, me crié con la televisión, el cine, los comics y los libros de aventuras de Julio Verne, Emilio Salgari y los libros de los tres investigadores. El primer libro que me leí fue uno de Salgari, titulado “Los mineros de Alaska”.  Era el típico niño que siempre tenía un “tebeo” entre las manos y solía dejar los deberes para más tarde. Cuando no leía, revivia las aventuras de mis personages favoritos con los madelman y los airgamboys. Inevitablemente, seguí inventando historias fantásticas cuando deje de jugar con los muñecos. De todas maneras, siempre me costó plasmar aquellas historias en papel.

           En el 96, mi obsesión por los comics era tal, que llegué a apuntarme a un cursillo de guión, mi profesor fue Alfredo Pons, dibujante y guionista en la mítica revista “El bibora”. Con él estuve prácticamente asta que murió en el 2001, Habíamos terminado un guión largo que se quedó en el olvido y empezando una segunda parte de dicho guión que nunca llegué a terminar.  Por aquel entonces, yo ya le daba vueltas a una historia que escribiría en solitario y que fue mi primera novela “La chica de Venus”. Al carecer de Internet en casa y por la enfermedad de mis padres, no sabía muy bien como mover el libro y finalmente, con la ayuda de un amigo terminé auto-publicando en Bubok y en Lulu. Mientras buscaba un argumento para otra novela, empecé a escribir algunas historias cortas y más tarde me apunte a un trimestre del aula de escritores de Barcelona, ahora con internet en casa y con problemas familiares, tuve que hacerlo Online. Ahí fue donde descubrí los blogs literarios. Un día decidí coger las historias cortas que tenía escritas en el blog y haciéndolas protagonizar por los mismos personajes y dándoles un hilo argumental que continuaría en más capítulos, se convirtió en mi segundo libro, el cual esta siendo revisado para poderlo esta vez enviar a alguna editorial y ya me encuentro preparando la segunda parte. 

             Con respecto al blog, “El Cuenta Historias: Historias propias y ajenas, empecé publicando un capítulo del libro al mes y no sabiendo, muy bien como promocionarlo, decidí que las semanas que no publicaba capítulo lo dedicaría a promocionar a otros compañeros en la misma situación, entre eso, el facebook y que luego me aficioné también a los microrelatos, el número de seguidores ha crecido bastante, aunque todavía veo muy lejos, el vivir de lo que escribo. Consideró que me queda mucho trecho por recorrer y sobretodo que aprender. Debo decir que salvo algún comic esporádico, que leo de vez en cuando y sobre todo los relatos que otros compañeros van dejando en sus blogs, no estoy leyendo ningún libro, ya que si empezara alguna lectura en serio, dejaría de estudiar Ingles, que bastante me está costando aprenderlo. Eso si, el último libro que leí, fue de un compañero. “No matéis al gorrión” de Antonio Lagares, desde aquí os lo recomiendo.                                                                                                    

                Un saludo a este estupendo blog que desde hace tiempo sigo, al resto de seguidores y sobre todo a Alexandra.

Juan Carlos Fernández Fernández

The post Juan Carlos Fernández y su pasión por las letras appeared first on .

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves …
Don’t search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.

Taken from World Prayer

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Deseaba compartir con ustedes excitantes noticias y es que Mink ha sido reseñado en el periódico Puertorriqueño Primera Hora. En la sección de Tecnología bajo la sección ‘Yo soy Blogger‘, para aquellos que pueden obtener el periódico.

Espero disfruten el artículo por José Hernández Falcón. Así que les dejo con el link al artículo:

Yo soy Blogger: Mink, de la inspiración a la palabra escrita.

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El asfalto negro me transporta al pasado, a una juventud marcada con nostalgía en el espacio neuronal donde las memorias son tan solo reacciones químicas. De ellas nacen el deseo de recorrer el camino bordeado por árboles y rodeado de valles. Ese camino que corta por entre las montañas de la Cordillera Central de una isla sin medida precisa. Entre sus elevaciones verdes y la roca grisacea, entre el suspirar del alma y las preguntas de los pequeños, me adentro en su seno con deseo.

Una necesidad, quizás, es lo que me condujo hasta allí. Hasta los lugares que son besados por la neblina al crepúsculo asomarse. Los niños en el asiento trasero admiran la naturaleza a su alrededor, mientras mi corazón palpitante conversa con el subconsciente llamándolo a recordar.

Mis pupilas se dilataron en asombro cuando al subir la colina, la ruta obsidiana atravesaba millas el vientre rasgado en dos de las montañas que exponían sus entrañas ásperas y grisaceas a los elementos. Fue entonces, que una parte de mi ser, ese maternal, se mantuvo en la realidad, y mi ser creativo se transportó a la historia que espera paciente el roce de mi bolígrafo. Todo se transformó en el reino el cual mis protagonistas visitarían en el proximo capítulo.

Mi mundo imaginario solidificado en la realidad me hacía experimentar las ondulaciones que encorvan sus faldas,la magia del paisaje esmeralda que se alza para casi rozar el índigo cielo.

En una lancha recorro la ruta de escape que tomarán mis personajes, la brisa es suave y refrescante. La serenidad del lugar me adentra más en mi imaginación que me hace ver casas talladas en las montañas lejanas exponiendo trazos de la civilización que será plasmada en papel. Todo estaba allí y me perdía en él, deseaba estar en él.

El ser creativo se perdía con cada mirada y click de la cámara digital.

Pero fue ella que me hizo despertar y dejar grabada en la memoria la experiencia. Mi ser maternal tomó control por completo y se perdió en el momento que sus ojos admiraban y deseaban ser parte.

To a kingdom

The black asphalt took me to the past, a youth marked by nostalgia in the neuronal space where the memories are just chemical reactions. From them is born the desire to walk the road bordered by trees and surrounded by valleys. The one that cuts through the mountains of the Cordillera Central of the island that has no accurate measurement. Among its elevated green and grayish rock, between the sigh of the soul and the questions of the children, I step into her bosom with desire.

A need, perhaps, led me there. To the places that are kissed by the mist as dusk arrives. The children in the backseat admire the nature around them, while my beating heart dialogues with my subconscious calling it to remember.

My eyes widened in amazement when going up the hill the obsidian road crossed miles through the belly of the mountains ripped in two, grayish and rough exposed to the elements. It was then that part of my being, the maternal, remained in reality, and my creative being was transported to the story that patiently awaits the touch of my pen. Everything is transformed into the kingdom which my players would visit in the next chapter.

Solidified my imaginary world into reality, it made me experience the the undulated skirts, and the magic emerald landscapes that rises to almost touching the indigo sky.

In a ferry we go around the escape route my characters will take. The breeze is soft and refreshing. The serenity of the place immerse me further into my imagination which makes me see houses carved into the mountains beyond exposing traces of civilization that will be captured on paper. Everything was there and I was lost in it, I wanted to be in it.

The creative being is lost with every look and click of the digital camera.

But it was her who woke me up and left recorded the memories experienced. My maternal being took over completely and was lost in the moment her eyes admired and wanted to be part of.

The post A un reino / To a kingdom appeared first on .

Marguerite Duras

Her English Bio

“La escritura llega con el viento,

está desnuda, es la tinta, es lo escrito, y pasa como nada pasa en la vida, nada, excepto eso,

la vida.”

 

“Writing comes like the wind.

It’s naked, it’s made of ink, it’s the thing written, and it passes like nothing else passes in life, nothing more,

except life itself.”

The post La escritura llega con el viento… / Writing comes with the wind… appeared first on .

So here is the Teaser: 

“The Beretta Px4 compact pistol is slightly larger than a mobile phone, weighs around 700 grams and can fire ten shots. Small, light, invisible when carried in a pocket, its small calibre has one enormous advantage: instead of passing through the victim’s body, the bullet hits bones and smashes everything in its path.”

The post Teaser Tuesday: The winner stands alone of Paulo Coelho appeared first on .

Ok, back to this book which I loved and yes is a heroic fantasy book! No surprise there.

My teasers from the book by George R.R. Martin‘s series “A song of ice and fire: A game of thrones“:

“Only death can pay for life”

“The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see#8221;

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A desert. Why It is a place amongst many; I have never ever desire to be in. I love the green of nature, feel the humidity on my bare feet, breath the fresh air of the forest mist, and see the silhouette of the mountain range on the horizon. Touch the roughness of the bark of a majestic tree, lay still underneath its shadowy shape.

A desert goes beyond what my heart desires, a desert bares nothing of what relaxes me and my soul and my spirit. But, why then have the desire to go to a place that might bring you distress Ah, there is a question that many accustomed to comfort may ask, like me. For the risk of doing something I would never do, for it is in my nature to go where the comfort is and not where risks are.

Have you ever seen the dunes in photographs The shades the shadows make on the bare sand where the rays of the sun do not reach in a place govern by it They look as if alive, as if they’re moving. Mesmerizing is the word of the undulated shadows that resemble the movements of a dancer. The shapes of the earth.

It is said that the desert holds a raw beauty discovered by some, but at the same time it pushes you to the limits. Those limits that are conquered by those seduced and now live in it. Hot by day, Cold by night. A contradiction, a state of being. Aren’t we like that It is a place for finding one self, a place of loneliness perfect for meditation and letting go of the everyday routine that governs us. Where the sand, smooth to the touch and rough in your skin when blown by the wind, is the supreme ruler. A desert! It is a longing that emerges now and then, when melancholic.

A day traveling its wonders by camel under the scorching sun. A night to lay on it and stare at the starry night above that serves as a canopy to a silent beauty. Yes, a place I’ll like to visit, and you?

The post A place I’ll like to visit appeared first on .

Another thing is that if you are a tourist and just hoped out of the cruise you came to visit and explore the old city, you will not have a municipal policeman bothering you and asking you to put the camera away or ask you for your permission form. Of course, that is really bad for tourism. Well, this just makes me want to hope to ‘La lancha de Cataño’, take my camera out, dress as a just arrived tourist and speak English until my heart drops. That last part won’t be that difficult, especially if I am with my daughter who loves to speak English as if she wasn’t born here.  

This is my patrimony and if I’m doing this for recreation and to have beautiful memories of a place as gorgeous as my Old San Juan, I should be allowed to. If the reason is that they are not getting the $ of the people that take Old San Juan’s monuments for commercial purposes, we who pay taxes that contribute to maintaining this landmark, do not need to pay for other peoples irresponsibility. Going to the extreme as making laws to make people actually follow the rules, only reflects the decline of a government that has the need to enforce itself on us.

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE living in Puerto Rico, I’m in love with Puerto Rico, even thou it has its gray, big ones, areas. Like  it’s sometimes corrupted government, it’s out of control legislators and the small minded one party way of thinking, their outrages law making, the obsession with the Status of the Island, the high rate criminality and unemployment, the not thinking we can do way better and other countries are better that this one… With all that, and I know there is more, I LOVE living here in my island, the land where I and my kids were born in, the land that has the most beautiful of mountain ranges and beaches, and of the best coffee you will ever have. All of that makes for the lack of other things that might make life easier for all Puerto Ricans and every time I lay my eyes on them I feel warm inside and smile giving thanks. We can make this a better place, we just need to put our ‘granito de arena’ especially when it’s time to vote.

So here is a slide show of monuments and scenery from Old San Juan, just a few,  in case you come visit and are not allowed to take photos with your professional camera. Enjoy!

[slideshow]

The post NO photos allowed in Old San Juan appeared first on .

            There are so many questions for something so simple.  The truth is that I am making all these questions in order not to look inside my manhole.  Is in front of me and I have no desire to look upon it, for I don’t wish to pull its top.  I do not want to know what monsters or strange beings will crawl out of it.  I fear a shadow is residing inside that manhole and that it will consume me if I let it out.  It should stay there!

           But wait!  What if it just goes away What if this shadow, cloaked in a purple fear, leaves when I free it from the prison I have kept it all these years It’s a chance I have to take.  I will do it!  I will open that manhole and let it be free.  I will let it be transformed into hope.  For in the shadows of my fears my hope has become a black sad being.  Kept from the light inside a manhole I created for it.  I will let it be free so it can grow by my side.  I will let it transform me into a new person with out fears and with new hopes and let it teach me to be brave. 

            I open the manhole with a little difficulty for it is a small one.  Put the iron oval top aside and waited for the shadow to come out.  It is a little afraid to come out for the rays of the sun are too bright and its eyes are accustomed to the darkness.  After a while it came out and stood in front of me looking straight to my eyes.  Its eyes were as black as the night as its hole body was.  Looking at it more closely I realize it was me. 

            We stood there in front of each other waiting for words to be spoken.  But all that came out was a tear drop from my eyes and a smile from the shadows lips.

This short story was made for an excersise for Soul Food Café

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I felt scared as I approached Güarionex for I have always been afraid of horses. If they don’t trust you there is much that can happen. I looked deep into his black eyes at the same time he stared at mine. A moment of eternity passed between us while we gaze upon each other reading our souls.

Suddenly he made a nod and I came out of the trance. “He will let you ride him”, said the Horse Whisperer. I smiled for what I saw in his eyes was a story so extraordinary it was both uplifting and inspiring. This horse was no ordinary steed, he was a warrior amongst his kin who was the companion fo legendary warriors. I felt unworthy of such an honor of being able to ride him.

“We must go know, is getting late”, the Horse Whisperer added as he climbed up his white horse. “The trail is long, but inspiring. Let Güarionex feel the road and do not be scared for he will take good care of you. He has seen something special in you.”

“Why you say that?” I asked.

“He is letting you ride him. Last time he let someone ride him was a century ago by a great king of kings.”

“Maybe his bored and want to feel the road under his hooves.”

“No. He saw something in you, so do not think of yourself as entertainment for him. He knows when someone is worthy.”

I look at Güarionex once more wanting to ask him what he saw in me, but as I gaze upon him I felt a warm feeling inside my heart that took my fears away. I smiled, he nodded.

I climb on to his saddle and waited for the Horse Whisperer to tell me what to do. He just said, “Hold on and seat tight, is a bumpy ride.” Suddenly the horses started galoping fast. Tightly I hold on to the rope in order to slow him down, but Güarionex did not give in.

“Loose him up!”, the Horse Whisperer shouted.

I did not want to do that. A chill went up my spine as the only thing I could do was hold on. I got closer to his neck trying not to fall down for I knew it was going to hurt a lot if I fell.

“You have to let go!” The Horse Whisperer shouted again.

I looked at him not understanding what he said. I was really scared, the wind blowing hard at my face. The road passed fast underneath us as Güarionex rode faster and faster each passing second. The valley was hard to admire at that pace. Everything was a blur because I could not distinguish one color from the other, a wild flower from the grass. The only steady things were the sky above and the mountains beyond. They looked as if they were spectators looking down on us, not wanting to miss the action that went on in the valley beneath them.

The Horse Whisperer’s words echoed in my mind as I tried to understand their meaning. “Let go,” I said to myself. “Just let go,” as I said that my hands relaxed their grip and loosened the rope on Güarionex. A sense of freedom revolved around me and confidence took over my soul. It felt great! I let go of my fears and enjoyed the ride letting Güarionex ride faster than before and trusting myself to him.

A rush of adrenaline flew thru my veins as the wind in my face felt exhilarating. Then it came out of my mouth like it had been there all my life trying to get out, but never had the chance. A loud scream, yes I screamed so hard it was heard throughout the valley as we rode fast through its green pastures.

The Horse Whisperer laugh and I joined him. “Oh, this is awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Every time, every time,” he repeated with a huge smile.

“Can he go like this for a long time?” I asked out loud.

“A little longer!” He answered.

“Well then, let’s have a race!” As I said that I let out a “Hia!” and Güarionex went even faster. It was a glorious experience that uplifted my spirits. The Horse Whisperer caught us in seconds and he pointed to a group of trees for us to stop and for the horses to rest.

We stopped at the chosen spot and when I got down Güarionex caressed me with his face. I smiled and said to him, “Thank you, too.” I kissed him in his forehead and hugged him. We stayed there under the covers of the tree for an hour eating and laughing. The Horse Whisperer told me of his craft and talents, of his family and how he was chosen to be a horse whisperer. He explained that they choose a name that only the horse appointed to him must know, but I could call him Rob. He was taught at the University of Centaurs by one of the legendary centaurs of old. Playing wiht a leaf grass on his hand, he explained that the centaurs are the only creatures capable of teaching that craft, for after all they are half horses.

The road was waiting for us and we climbed up on our horses, this time, for we were closer to the Hermitage as we covered most of the road in our ride, we took it slow. I wanted to enjoy the sites as we past beautiful trees and enchanting roads. Soon enough the sanctuary of the Hermitage was visible in the distance. It look beautiful, I smiled as I saw it. I was finally there and my heart was full of joy to gaze upon it.

“When we get there I will attend to the horses. You go in and relax and enjoy your stay. It’s a good place for meditation so take advantage of your time.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you when your party are ready to live.”

“Thanks for the wonderful trip!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Rob, the Horse Whisperer, said pointing to Güarionex.

I smile and gave Güarionex a pad on his mane. We entered the Hermitage and left the traveled road behind.

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Tan solo de mirar esa fruta carnosa los recuerdos viajan al pasado lejano, a las noches frías características del llano, los juegos de briscas en la marquesina arropados de pie a cabeza con suéteres y frisas, a los mosquiteros que nos resguardaban durante la noche al dormir. La residencia de la matriarca era, y para algunos sigue siendo, el lugar de encuentro familiar; sitio sagrado de los Santiago Ortiz. Donde nuestro corazón late y encuentra paz entre los platanales, el canto de los gallos, el agrio de las naranjas con las que hacíamos maldades para inaugurar a los recién llegados a la familia.

Un riachuelo, ahora seco a causa de las construcciones de urbanizaciones aledañas, recorría el largo en el área este de la finca. Uno que varias veces engolfo nuestros juveniles cuerpo al caer en él por nuestros infructuosos intentos juguetones de cruzar a la otra orilla. Jaulas de conejos estaban cerca de él, les alimentábamos con el permiso de tío Coco, y quienes veían su fin en un guisado hecho por las mujeres de la casa. Pepinos colgaban de los árboles de panapén, y pobre de aquel que les tocara, su traspasar lo sentían en la punta del cinturón de cuero de mamá.

Las vivencias que viví en los campos de Aibonito, donde la miramelinda reina y embellece con su color el verde de las jaldas, son en mí enseñanzas de amor, de un estilo de vida diferente al que vivo en la loza. Ah! De la loza salgo para regresar al barro donde mi corazón pertenece y donde mi linaje nació. Al ver a mis hijos jugar y recorrer en la residencia de la matriarca me enorgullezco, pues aunque sea un poco de mi niñez le doy.

La última vez que visité Aibonito, tomé de la mano a mi hija y con ella me fui a recorrer los caminos que a su edad me veían pasar. Mucho había cambiado, hasta el arbusto de granadas de tío Chucho había desaparecido. Los cambios en esos momentos no eran importantes más sí las anécdotas que le pude contar a mi hija y ver en sus ojos la misma ilusión que yo sentía. Sonreí alegre al reconocer en esa ilusión que mi hija sentía en su alma la paz que amo de aquel lugar. Más mi alma se estremeció al llegar de regreso a la finca y ver a mi hijo jugar encantado con su primo en la misma jalda que yo lo hacía con mi hermano y mis primos.

La pomarrosa tiene forma de corazón y allí entre los llanos amparados por las montañas de la cordillera central, está el mío. Donde comenzó mi linaje, a donde el anhelo familiar regresa.

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In August 22, 2005, I had the chance of being part of a creative writing online retreat on a marvelous place called Soul Food Café, and made a journey to the Island of Ancestors. In this exercise I got a chance to say goodbye, more of a farewell, to someone I love dearly. This piece is for those that I love and have been denied my last goodbye. My grandfather, for whom this piece was first created; my loving grandmother, I know you waited for him those three months you laid on that bed, that sacrifice will never be forgotten; my dear brother, who last time we saw each other we laughed, who I see through the round dark brown eyes of my son, to you I would love to say happy birthday. Even though they him and abuelita have been gone for almost four years, I never will forget their love.

Enjoy this story, warning, grab a tissue. Read you soon, my friend, and don’t forget: Always say I love you to someone special. Love you!

Journey to the Island of Ancestors

The meditation room in the hermitage gave me enough time to get in tune with myself and my soul. It truly was a peaceful experience and at this point I’m waiting for more. I think of myself as a complete unit- mind, spirit, body and soul –and that all of them are getting to a state, were each can live in peace with one another. Especially my mind, it is always in the clouds and not where it belongs, but still I love when it takes me to places I never been or want to be.

There was in front of my room door a piece of paper lying in the floor. I pick it up and opened it. The journey was going to take me now to another place, this time an island; but for what it’s called it seems this is not a regular island. You see it is called The Island of Ancestors. A chill ran down my spine for no reason I can explain. I figure it this will be an experience I will never forget. If it was an island of ancestors, maybe I might find great philosophers of old, like Aristotle or maybe Pluto. Who knows!

I went to the stables to see Güarionex whom was waiting for me and was ready, Rob, the Horse Whisperer, was holding him. When Güarionex saw me, he got much exited moving his head up and down. I smiled and went to him immediately giving him a kiss on his forehead. He made a sound with his nose that tickled my neck. The Horse Whisperer climbed his horse and I climbed Güarionex. We set out as we did the first time we met going as fast as the wind, like we were on a race against it. It was really lots of fun.

As we slowed down Rob told me a thing or two about the island. He explained that weird things happen to those who visited it. Some come out full of joy, others are traumatized by the experience. None are allowed to tell what happened there to them, for that will decrease the curiosity in people and travelers alike who want to visit the island. But it seems it is a most popular place for the waiting list is long. Only especial invitations are granted like the one I had. He instructed me not to pass this opportunity.

“Have you been there?” I asked him curious for he spoke of it as he knew it very well.

“Yes,” he answered looking ahead watching the Island from afar.

“How long was it that you visited it?”

“Many years ago,” his voice sounded sad and his expression changed completely. I wanted to asked, but remember what he had told me of not speaking of the experience gain on that island. I wonder if he was one of those who where traumatized by it. It seems that was not the case, for if it was like that he would not have accompanied me here and would have stayed in the hermitage.

As we approach the coast a ferry was visible from the top of the hill we were standing. A beautiful island was visible in the distance. It was all covered with nature and looked as an emerald was drop in the middle of the river. I breathed deeply for I was a little nervous for I didn’t know what to expect.

We went down the hill and got closer to the port. A woman was waiving her hand to us and we approached her. She was very happy and a little weird I might add. Well this woman was not a woman and you could see that after getting closer to her. Her skin was covered with scales, green ones and she had no ears. Her hands and feet were a strange mix of fingers and fins. Her arms were like those of a human being, but she had no nose and her mouth was of a round shape like those of a fish. When we got down of our horses and stood in front of her I smiled slightly. Rude of me, of course, but I was perplexed with what I saw. To think I should expect to encounter everything in this journey.

Suddenly, the fish-woman opened her arms wide and went to Rob who was doing the same thing. They both grab their hands up high and hit their foreheads. Then they laughed hard.

“It is good to see you again, Rob,” the fish-woman said, but it sounded more as if she was underwater than in land.

“It is good to be here, Trucha. I’m here to take her to the Island of Ancestors.”

Trucha turned to me and did the same as before. Probably that was the way she greeted people so I did the same. The hit in the forehead was not that hard and it was a cool way of salutation, for you feel like you are under water for an instant. Then just like that you feel you are back on land.

“I have been expecting you, my dear. You may leave the horses here, they will be taken to a place where they can relax and stretch their legs. Come on board for everything is ready for you, but we have to wait until nightfall. It’s the best way to navigate for the guardian of the Island is sleeping. He gets a little cranky during the day for the spirits are sleeping and he doesn’t want anybody disturbing them,” Trucha said much exited.

We got on board the ferry and ate on the deck that had been prepared with a dining area. We chat, drank and laughed for hours until the stars appeared. That’s when Trucha got up and said to me, “It is time. You may wait here while I navigate.”

Trucha stood up from the table, then she went up some metal stairs and got into the cabin on the second floor of the ferry were the control room was. I stood up and walked towards the rail as I admired the elegant night covering us completely. The stars looked like tiny diamonds sparkling elegantly. The breeze was soothing but it carried a strange smell that was sweet. Maybe it came from the island, were flowers bloom at night and perfumed everything around them like a special gift for those who dare to go to the island.

The journey on water took approximately fifteen minutes and the island was very visible indeed. A port could be seen getting nearer as we got closer. It was lighted by torches that made visible the beginning of it for the ferry fish-woman to see her way to it. When we got to the port Trucha came to me, as I was very nervous for the time had come for me to live and start my journey into the depths of the Island of Ancestors, and said, “We will wait for you here until you come back, we cannot go any further. Follow the torches until you find an apple groove. There is a path that goes inside the groove, take it. Keep walking forward; do not take any other paths, only the one that goes between the apples trees. If you do take another path you will be lost. When you reach the end of the groove you will find a mound and there a door, you must go through it. The rest is up to you.”

“What will happen if I take another path?”

“The ancestors will claim you. I do not need to say more.”

“Very well, off I go.”

I got down from the ferry and walked to the path as instructed, always looking at the trail beneath my feet. I didn’t want to get lost and be claimed by the Ancestors of the Island. Passing the apple groove I took one apple to eat it as I walked. At the end of it I saw the mound and in it the door. Two large torches lighted the way, I made my way through.

The passage was narrow and dim, it went downward. At the end of it I saw a light like that of a fire. I hurried my pace so I could find out what was in that room at the end of the corridor. Once there, in front of a great fire, sitting on an armchair there was a person covered with a black hood. Slowly I got near the figure, once in front of it I sat down on a marble bench. I waited for him or her to say a word, but nothing happen. Nervousness ran my whole body as I stared at the person in dismay not knowing what to do. My head was trying to understand the situation, but it was too complicated for it had never been in this kind of situation before.

Then, the person’s hands removed the hood and there I was looking at his face. My jaw dropped as I was astonished and out of breath. For in front of me was a man that still is the love of my life. The person that even thou passed away many years ago, still had a special place in my heart. Tear drops came from my eyes as they could not believe what they were seeing.

It was inevitable, an explosion of sentiments took over me completely. He approached me and hugged me tight as he used to do when I was a little girl. His smell was already gone from my memory and I could not remember it as I smelled him when he got closer. I cried more and more trying to hold on and didn’t want to let go of his grip. I was not letting go ever again.

When he died the only person he wanted to see was me, but the doctors at the hospital did not grant his last wish for I was a little girl and wasn’t allowed to go to the rooms. I knew he was gone for his sister, my great-aunt, came down crying inconsolable. But it did not hit me until my mother explained to me what happened. Then and there I knew the Lords of Time had denied me of a moment that was mine, of a wish that might have changed my life and my healing process. Now that I was there holding him tight no one was going to deny me of that moment.

“I have missed you so much!” I sob.

“I know.” He said.

“Grandpa, I wish so much you could still be alive. Sometimes I think life would have turned so different for me if you just been there. I know I would have been someone else with you by my side.”

“But think of all the things you would have lost if our story was written differently. Think of my great-granddaughter. She reminds me of you so much and it made me so proud that you thought of me when naming her.”

I laughed full of joy and looked at his blue eyes. They were as I used to remember.

“Well,” he said, “you are here to ask me a question. What would that question be?”

“I just want to talk a little longer. I don’t what to ask questions right know. Can we just talk, please?”

“You see, mi reina, we will have time for that in another life. When God sends for you I will be waiting at the entrance to greet you and forever be together. Know we have but little time to spend and I want to answer whatever question you have for me.”

“Then I shall stay here with you. So we could have an eternity know and not later!” I exclaimed crying.

My grandfather dried my tears and his hand felt soft. Looking at me straight in the eyes he said, “I can’t let you do that. There is too much at stake. Besides you are needed back there, Versaly needs her mother and our family too. Think of your grandmother that loves you as much as I do. Your mother, your husband and of your brother that even thou he sometimes looks as there is no hope for him there still is. But you must be there and as always be strong for them.”

He kissed my forehead gently and I finally stopped crying understanding that my time with him was limited. I grab his hands tight and smiled once again not knowing what to ask.

“I have always asked myself if you were proud of me. Of what I have become and what I wanted in life. You have always been in my thoughts when I think of my life. What would you say or do or advice?”

“There is no doubt that I have always been proud of everything you have accomplished in life and of what you want of it. I know sometimes you feel alone and without guidance, but I’m always there for you. Look for me inside your heart and feel the warmth of my arms hugging you whenever you feel alone and lost.”

We both smiled and I kissed his hand. The fire dimmed a little and my grandfather looked at it and said, “Time is running out. Know I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“Will you promise me to take care of yourself and our family?”

“Always.”

“Then, please heal your heart of my loss. Do not cry for me with sadness, but with joy for I am in a better place know. A place you will be when your time comes. So no sad faces only happy ones, ok.”

“I promise.” As I said that, we hugged for a few minutes and I felt in peace with myself as I accomplished one of my most desired dreams. To see him one more time before living my life to the place he is now.

“I have a gift for you grandpa. It’s a lock of Versaly’s hair from when she was a baby, I always carry it with me to feel her closer. I want you to have it so you could have a little of her until you can finally meet her.”

“Thank you. I see her every day you know, even thou is from afar I’m always watching over her and praying for her. Here’s something for you too. I think someone lost this and couldn’t find it.”

He opened his hand and inside it was a small image cover in plastic of the Sacred Heart he used to wear every day. It was lost when my brother and I argued about who should have it. My heart rejoiced when I saw it for I thought it was lost forever. He had taken it to guard it and to give it back when the time was right.

“This means so much to me. I’m just sad I have to go.”

“Me too, but we’ll see each other again and spend eternity together.”

“We’ll do that; I will hold you to it.”

We hugged me again and he gave me his blessing. My heart, my soul and my spirit felt like crying again, but I hold it back. I had gained what once was denied to me, a final goodbye and a farewell. That moment right there could never be replaced.

So I got up and walked away only looking back once to see him smiling and throwing a kiss to me saying, “This is for your grandma, but don’t tell her is from me. Just give it to her.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked away feeling the tears come down my cheeks. I kept walking toward the port just looking at the relic my grandpa had given me. When I looked up I saw Rob, the Horse Whisperer, waiting for me at the port smiling happy to see me. I stopped to look back to the trail that had given me such an immense gift hoping to see a final glimpse of him. But he wasn’t there. Smiling joyfully and content I turned back to Rob and climbed aboard the ferry.

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…a common knowledge amongst humans. The fall of a kingdom was the rise of another; a dead king is replaced by other; at the last second when a year dies, the first of another passes like the blink of an eye without us even noticing it. On those first seconds of a so call new year that is dominated by the forces of time, we probably will embrace another being or be kissed. We’ll laugh, drink, sing or maybe cry for the memories of old have made their presence in the present. The phone lines will be filled to the fullest like the glasses of champagne. Thanks will be given for another year of life, also love and yearnings for those who lay the path for us and are not there anymore to share that moment.

It’s those seconds that mark the beginning of resolutions that must be achieve in the fast dying second by second of the newly arrived year. And as the night passes on, when our eyesight welcomes the first rays of light of a ‘new’ beginning, we daydream over a cup of coffee of what is up ahead intertwined with our day to day routine life. What was not accomplished in the last one and must be a priority in this one.

A new beginning must be mark by new things that are based on reality and dreams, filled with a new spirit of our selves. Breath for a new chance has been marked by the end. Smile for no matter what the dying seconds bring with their last breath, there is always a new one welcoming you with hope. Look for that one, and even thou it will die what it leave behind never die and is the beginning of much, much more empowering things, beings in your life and in your spirit.

Happy New Year, my beloved friend!

…conocimiento común entre los humanos. A la caída de un reino otro ascendía; un rey muerto era remplazado por otro; y en el último momento  en que un año muere, el primero de otro pasa tan rápido como un cerrar y abrir de los ojos sin que lo notemos. En esos primeros segundos de un llamado año nuevo que es dominado por las fuerzas del tiempo, probablemente abrazaremos a otro ser o seremos besados. Nos reiremos, tomaremos, cantaremos y quizás lloraremos por las memorias del pasado han hecho presentes en el presente. Las líneas telefónicas estarán llenas como las copas de champaña. Agradecimientos serán dados por un año más de vida, también el amor y los anhelos por aquellos que hicieron el camino para nosotros y no están más para compartir el momento.

Son esos segundos que marcan el comienzo de las resoluciones que deben ser alcanzadas en el año nuevo que muere rápidamente segundo a segundo. Y mientras la noche pasa, cuando nuestra vista le da la bienvenida a los primeros rayos de luz de un ‘nuevo’ comienzo, soñamos mientras tomamos una taza de café lo que nos espera más adelante enredado entre los días de nuestra vida rutinaria. Lo que no alcanzamos a realizar en el pasado año y que deben ser una prioridad en este.

Un nuevo comienzo debe estar marcado por nuevas cosas que estén basadas en la realidad y en los sueños (metas), lleno de un nuevo espíritu de nosotros mismos. Respira pues una nueva oportunidad ha sido marcada por el final. Sonríe porque no importa lo que los segundos que mueren traen con su último respirar, siempre hay uno que te da la bienvenida acompañada de la esperanza.  Busca a ese, y aunque muera lo que deja atrás nunca muere y es el comienzo de muchas, muchas cosas que te fortalecen, así como en tu espíritu y los seres en tu vida.

¡Feliz Año Nuevo, mi amado amigo! 

The post The end marks the beginning… / El final marca el comienzo… appeared first on .

Many people look forward to the new year for a new start on old habits.  ~Author Unknown

Muchas personas esperan el nuevo año para un nuevo comienzo en viejos hábitos. ~Autor Desconocido

We will open the book.  Its pages are blank.  We are going to put words on them ourselves.  The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.  ~Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Abriremos el libro. Sus páginas están en blanco. Pondremos palabras en él nosotros mismos. El libro se titula Oportunidades y su primer capítulo es Día de Año Nuevo. ~Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past.  Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.  ~Brooks Atkinson

Deja caer el año pasado en el silencio del limbo del pasado. Dejalo ir, pues era imperfecto, y dale gracias a Dios que se puede ir. ~Brooks Atkinson

The post The last quotes of this year/Las ultimas citas de este año appeared first on .

I just enjoyed reading this poem by William Thomas, it is deep and touches the core of the soul. Enjoy and hope you think in this season of love of those who spend it in solitude.

A Frozen Tear

By William Thomas©

Winter in Kodiak, a time of little light.
The snow brightens the ground and the stars light up the night.
A cluster of Spruce sag deep, a drift in front of my car.
My heart weighs heavy. Thoughts of relatives afar.
A blustery wind blows, north then south.
A cold winter thirst, warm java for my mouth.
A homeless man sleeps, all bundled in clothes.
His heart deep with thoughts of past Christmas woes.
A handshake, a smile, a sip of my coffee.
A friend in waiting, I became to he.
Some food from the shelter, a warm place to rest.
His life for the moment, felt happy and blessed.
He told me the stories of days long ago.
My full attention, he required, to him I happily bestowed.
A veteran of the war, a father of four.
A long distance call seemed to matter no more.
The blanket of stars and the snow under his feet,
only brought back memories of a scar so deep.
A story from my life, I understood his loss.
To spend Christmas without family, there’s no greater cost.
One more handshake. A “man-hug” goodbye.
His face looked of worry, wondered if I would be back tonight.
A job in Kodiak sometimes is so rare.
But I am happy to tell you, where I work is here.
A smile, a thought, the lending of an ear.
A thousand times more helpful than a frozen tear.

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Just before Christmas, an honest politician, a generous lawyer and Santa Claus got into the lift (elevator) at the Ritz Hotel in London. As the lift travelled from the 5th floor down to the ground level, one-by-one they noticed a £50 note lying on the lift’s floor.

Which one picked up the £50 note, and handed it in at reception?

Santa of course, the other two don’t actually exist!

Christmas is for love

Author unknown

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn’t been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt’s anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, “Did you really miss me#8221;

I explained how he had been my best helper. “I was making you a surprise,” he whispered confidentially. “It’s for Christmas.” With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn’t stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. “I have your present,” he said timidly when I looked up. “I hope you like it.” He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

“Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it#8221; I asked opening the top to look inside. ”

“Oh you can’t see what’s in it,” He replied, “and you can’t touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you’re all alone.”

I gazed into the empty box. “What is it Mark,” I asked gently, “that will make me feel so good#8221; “It’s love,” he whispered softly, “and mother always said it’s best when you give it away.” And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it.

Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts. But mostly, Christmas is for love.

The “W” in Christmas                                                      
                                                                           
Last December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.   I had cut back on nonessential obligations – extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.       
     
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher.  She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.  All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.  Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. 
                 
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early,  found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw  several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial    entertainment – songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.  Those in the front row- center stage – held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the  letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.” 

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down –  totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.  The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.  Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.  A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our  festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: 

The post Stories, one of fun and the other of love appeared first on .

THE GOLD WRAPPING PAPER – An Inspiring Christmas Story

Once upon a time, a man punished his five-year-old daughter for using up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper before Christmas.

Money was tight, so he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had used the expensive gold paper to decorate a large shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, “This is for you, Daddy!”

As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.

But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. “Don’t you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present there’s supposed to be something inside the package!”

The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: “Daddy, it’s not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full.”

The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold

The post “The wrapping paper” appeared first on .

Since seeing the movie “Eat, pray, love”, I’ve asked myself a simple question, ‘What is my word?’ It was on my search of describing me in one word that I’ve found that many people use three, not only for self description, but for describing their journey in life.

The most often used are ‘Live, laugh, love’. Simple words with lots of meaning. Love is always there, pure as ever, in its different forms. It mutates, sometimes, to accommodate the needs of its host, still when it is in its pure form, that for which it was created and not being transform to its dark one ‘hate’, love can change a life completely becoming the support bean for the other two words.

By now you might suspect that one of those words chosen by me is love. And why not! Love is God; love has filled my life in the form of a family, in the shape of letters, in my passion. As simple as that!

Even though I classified love as my second word, it is not less important being the first dream. Dream is not only a word, but a place reachable by anybody. Were I can escape and from it take what’s needed not only to set goals, also for creating new stories destined to be read. It’s a world, different for every human being, an intricate part of my reality and theirs.

Faith is the pillar of my soul and my spirit. Without it my hope will dissipate like alcohol evaporates by the invisible touch of air. Faith makes me stronger when the storm is upon me, when on arrival, when it passes. It is what I hold on to when everything else is gone. Faith will still be there perfuming my life with the exquisite essence of hope; it’ll whisper prayers in the silent days of solitude to uplift a hurting spirit. Faith, my armor!

‘Dream, love, faith’ three words that describe the journey of this writer, who also is a mother, wife, daughter, niece, sister, friend, cousin, and most recently a pet owner of a most cute and playful lady cat.

So the question comes upon you,

What are those three words that best describes the journey of your life?

Wow! A whole journey in three simple words!

            “Dream,

                        Love,

                                    Faith”

Join me!

Tres palabras

Desde que vi la película “Comer, rezar, amor”, me he hecho una simple pregunta: “¿Cuál es la palabra que me describe?” Fue en mi búsqueda para describirme en una sola palabra que me topé con que muchas personas utilizan tres para no solo describirse, pero para describir su aventura en la vida.

Las más utilizadas son ‘Vivir, reír, amar’, palabras sencillas que encierran un enorme significado. Amor siempre está ahí en sus diferentes formas. A veces muta dependiendo de su huésped y sus necesidades. Aun así cuando está en su forma pura, por la que fue creada y no su oscura ‘odio’, el amor puede cambiar la vida completamente convirtiéndose en la columna principal de las otras dos palabras.

Hasta ahora habrás sospechado que una de mis palabras es amor, y, ¡por qué no! Amor es Dios; el amor ha llenado mi vida en su forma familiar, en la de letras, en mi pasión. Tan sencillo como eso.

Aunque la he clasificado como mi segunda, no es menos importante que esa primera: soñar. No solo es una palabra, es también un lugar que está al alcance de cualquier ser humano. Donde se puede escapar y de él tomar lo necesario para formar metas y para crear historias que serán leídas. Un mundo diferente para cada persona, pero una parte intrínseca de mi realidad.

Fe es el pilar de mi alma y mi espíritu. Sin ella mi esperanza se disiparía como el alcohol se evapora ante el toque invisible del aire. La fe me fortalece en especial cuando la tormenta está por venir, cuando arriba y se marcha. Es en lo que me sostengo cuando todo lo demás no está. La fe siempre estará ahí perfumando mi vida con la exquisita esencia de la esperanza. Siempre susurrará oraciones en los días silenciosos de soledad para alzar mi dolorido espíritu. ¡La fe es mi armadura!

‘Soñar, amar, fe’, tres palabras que describen la aventura de la vida de esta escritora que es también madre, esposa, hija, sobrina, amiga, prima, y más reciente dueña de una hermosa y juguetona gatita.

Así que te pregunto,

¿Cuáles son las tres palabras que mejor describen tu aventura en la vida?

Wow! Una aventura en tres sencillas palabras.

            ‘Soñar,

                        Amar,

                                    Fe

Únete.

The post Three words / Tres palabras appeared first on .

[slideshow]

My Bday was one full of gratefulness, happiness, laughter, good wishes and arguing constantly with my three year old on who had ownership of this day. You can imagine he won, and almost got me to go to the store and buy a Spider Man cake like the one I made him for HIS Bday.

I woke up feeling something was missing and was about to happen: I waited for a wakeup call. My husband came to bed after taking care of breakfast for our daughter, and made the first prank of the day. According to him AARP send me a letter of congratulations for acquiring the age to be part of their organization. Jajajaja! Very funny :p And in between laughing and telling him he was the one happy for he was not going to be alone in the program, salsa music exploded out of my new cell phone (see the slideshow for a preview) that made my honey exclaim “What the heck! What’s that!” It was the phone call I was waiting for. He kept taking, and I said out loud “Shhhh, she’s going to sing ‘Las Mañanitas’ to me!”

Then her motherly voice sang the song she always wakes me up with on the day of my Bday. It was glorious for she went to live to Orlando and I’m here in Puerto Rico and I don’t have her close anymore. So her voice made my day, one that was starting, and thinking of the hour change (there is one hour less than here, and she called me at 6:50 am, which for her is 5:50), it was priceless. But the best happened after I got up and thought of checking my email that I don’t usually do so early. There was an email from her, not only she woke early to wake me up, she took time to write me a note. Mother love!!!!!

After that loving experience, I was ready for my coffee and storm out of the house to take my daughter to school, when I found near the coffee maker the most curious “present”. Inside a black and white paper bag wrapped with a green bow there was the old box of my new phone that I got as an early present. Inside it peeking out, a card. I took it with an “Ahhh!” As I open I saw my other prank of the day, words cannot express better than the card itself so take a peek on the slide show (the front of the card says in English “Get well soon”).

The day went by relaxing in my house while asking my son to sing Happy Bday to me, he refused; answering phone calls and Facebook messages (very grateful for them), when my second present arrived. A woman stood outside my house holding an edible arrangement of strawberries covered in chocolate, yummy! I took it, then I saw it said “Happy Anniversary”. I smiled thinking they had made a mistake, but said nothing. When I open the card I realized the happy anniversary thing was the third prank of the day. What can I say, I love my Honey sense of humor he made my Bday even better. Oh! The card is in the slide show too.

Since it was a Tuesday and a storm came in turning the day into night, I decided it was better to stay home, reschedule dinner for another day and eat in-hey I was not about to cook on this glorious day! Pizza from our favorite place made the night, a movie on demand TV and … Well, the rest is history and a story for my honey and me. Thanks all for your well wishes and may God bless you too.

Compartiendo lo que fue mi Cumpleaños

[slideshow]

Mi Cumpleaños estuvo lleno de agradecimiento, alegría, risas, buenos deseos y discutiendo con mi niño de tres años quien tenía autoría de este día. Puedes imaginar que él ganó, y que casi me hizo salir a la tienda y comprar un bizcocho de Spider Man como el que le hice para SU Cumpleaños.

Me desperté sintiendo que algo me faltaba y que estaba a punto de suceder: esperaba una llamada que me despertara. Mi esposo vino a la cama luego de hacerle el desayuno a nuestra hija, y hizo la primera broma del día. Según él AARP me envió una carta dándome las felicitaciones por adquirir la edad para ser parte de su organización. Jajajaja! Muy gracioso :p Y entre las risas y decirle que era él quien estaba feliz, pues ya no estaría solo en la organización, música de salsa explotó de mi nuevo celular (miren el slideshow para que lo vean) que hizo que mi Honey exclamara “!Qué! ¡Qué es eso!” Era la llamada que esperaba. Él continuo hablando, y le dije en voz alta “¡Shhh, me van a cantar Las Mañanitas!”

Entonces, su voz maternal canto la canción que siempre me levanta todos los días de mi Cumpleaños. Fue glorioso, pues ella vive en Orlando y yo en Puerto Rico y ya no la tengo cerca. Así que su voz hizo mi día, uno que comenzaba, y pensando en la hora de diferencia (allá es una hora más tarde que acá, y me llamó a las 6:50 am, que para ella eran las 5:50 am), fue incalculable. Pero lo mejor ocurrió luego que me levanté y me dio con verificar mi correo electrónico que usualmente no hago tan temprano. Allí había uno de ella, no solo se levantó temprano para levantarme, sino también para escribirme una nota. ¡Amor de Madre!

Luego de esa amorosa experiencia, estaba lista para mi café y salir corriendo de la casa para llevar a mi hija a la escuela, cuando encontré cerca de la cafetera un regalo muy curioso. Dentro de una bolsa de papel negra y blanca ceñida con un lazo verde estaba la caja de mi celular nuevo que me dieron como un regalo temprano. Asomándose hacia afuera, una tarjeta. La tomé con un ‘Ahhh!’ Al abrirla vi que era mi otra broma del día, las palabras no pueden expresar mejor que la tarjeta misma así que da un vistazo al slieshow (la parte de adentro dice en Español “Mami sé que estás vieja pero está bien. Te prometo que te conseguiré ‘life alert’ Feliz Cumpleaños, Versaly”.

El día se paso en relajarme en mi casa mientras le pedía a mi hijo que me cantara Feliz Cumpleaños, él se negó; contestando llamadas y los mensajes de Facebook (de los que soy muy agradecida), cuando mi segundo regalo llegó. Una mujer me esperaba afuera de mi casa cargando un arreglo comible de fresas cubiertas en chocolate, ¡rico! Lo tomé,  y luego vi que decía “Feliz Aniversario”. Sonreí pensando que se habían equivocado, pero no dije nada. Cuando abrí la tarjeta me di cuenta que lo de feliz aniversario era la tercera broma del día. Qué puedo decir, amo el sentido de humor de mi Honey, él hizo de mi día uno mejor. Oh! La tarjeta la puedes ver en el slideshow también.

Como era martes y una tormentita de lluvia tornó el día en noche, decidí que era mejor quedarnos en casa, salir a cenar otro día y comer adentro-¡no iba a cocinar en este día glorioso! Pizza de mi sitio favorito hizo la noche, una película del canal de on demand y … Bueno, el resto es historia y una para mi honey y yo. Gracias a todos sus buenos deseos y que Dios los bendiga.

The post Sharing what was my Bday / Compartiendo lo que fue mi Cumpleaños appeared first on .

I have lots to be thankful for: loving husband and kids, a great supporting family full of craziness which makes my life more interesting and not dull, my writing, the blessings God has given me, a great bunch of friends whom I call ‘my support to reality system’.

Ahh! Yes, you want to know. I know you do, and I’m not scared to say it for being here has made me who I am and all that has come with it have given me the wisdom to pass it on to my children and love ones. It! What is It Well, the time that has come, that which we categorized with numbers, my three decades and three years in this fascinating world that I still need to know more about and explore its wonders.

Mink is part of this still on my way journey of life until God permits. I’m greatful for Mink, from it many e-friendships have sprung out of the cyberworld, connections that have become a support in this “reality” we live in every day of our lives. Thank you all, for being there.

Well, this is a short note only for I’m off to celebrate and indulge in what life has in store for me today. My three year old is here with me pulling my hair and singing to himself happy bday (he think is his bday, but I’ll share the day with him). The phone is ringing (one of many), so I live you for now and I’ll share with you some of the things I did today in the form of images tomorrow, for they say more than words. Love you all and have a great sunny beautiful full of grace day. Have a cup of coffee in my name, will ya?

¡Es mi cumpleaños!

Tengo mucho por lo que tengo que dar gracias: un amoroso esposo e hijos; una familia maravillosa llena de loqueras que hace de mi vida una más interesante y no aburrida, y que me da su apoyo incondicional; mi escritura; las bendiciones que Dios me a dado; un puñado de amigos a quienes llamo “mi sistema de soporte a la realidad”.

Ahhh! Sí, deseas saber. Lo sé, y no tengo miedo en decirlo, pues el estar aquí me ha hecho quien soy y todo lo que ha venido con eso me ha dado la sabiduría necesaria para pasarla a mis hijos y seres queridos. ¡Eso! ¿Qué es eso Bueno, el tiempo que llega, eso que es categorizado con números, mis tres décadas y tres años en este mundo fascinante que aún necesito conocer y explorar sus maravillas.

Mink ha sido parte de esta aventura de la vida hasta que Dios lo permita. Soy agradecida por Mink, por él he encontrado amigos cibernéticos que han nacido de este mundo cibernético, conexiones que se han convertido en un soporte en esa “realidad” en la que vivimos cada día de nuestras vidas. Gracias a todos por estar ahí.

Bueno, esta es una corta nota solamente porque me voy a celebrar y satisfacer en lo que la vida tiene para mí hoy. Mi niño está aquí halándome los pelos y cantándose cumpleaños (él cree que es el suyo, pero yo puedo compartir el día con él). El teléfono suena (uno de muchos), así que les dejo por ahora y estaré compartiendo algunas de las cosas que hice hoy en formas de imágenes mañana, ya que las imágenes dicen más que las palabras. Les amo a todos y que tengan un gran día soleado y lleno de gracia. Tómense un café en mi nombre, ¿lo harás?

The post It’s my Bday! / ¡Es mi cumpleaños! appeared first on .

They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body. ~Author Unknown

A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age. ~Robert Frost

Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time. ~Jean Paul Richter

You’re not 40, you’re eighteen with 22 years experience. ~Author Unknown

Time may be a great healer, but it’s a lousy beautician. ~Author Unknown

Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened. ~Jennifer Yane

Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. ~Tom Wilson

Dicen que la edad es algo que está en tu cabeza. El truco está en no dejar que salga a tu cuerop. ~Autor desconocido

Un diplomático es un hombre que siempre recuerda el cumpleaños de una mujer, pero nunca recuerda su edad. ~Robert Frost

Nuestros cumpleaños son plumas en la brisa del tiempo. ~Jean Paul Richter

No tienes 40 años, tienes diesiocho con la experiencia de 22 años. ~Autor desconocido.

Dentro de cualquier persona adulta hay una joven preguntandose qué pasó. ~Autor desconocido

La Sabiduría no necesariamente llega con la edad. A veces la edad llega por sí sola. ~Tom Wilson

The post My Bday is tomorrow lets read some Bday quotes / Mi cumpleaños es mañana, leamos unas citas de cumpleaños appeared first on .

Suave y sedosa, bañada en sombras
hechas por los cocoteros que de
tus entrañas nacen. Te alargas en
una simple línea costanera.
Penetras el regazo líquido
que te acaricia con su blancura,
toque dactilar espumoso que es
en sí un recuerdo de su posesión.

Espectros de luz dorada tibian
tu frío ser, te despiertan a la
melancolía de unos ojos que
se enamoran de ti en cada alba, un
alma que bendice tu existencia,
te graba en letras que no te hacen
justicia. Mi belleza decadente,
terrenal, eternamente tuya.

The post Manto playero appeared first on .

…there’s always laughter, you’ll find traces of love embedded in rays of colors and perfumes and exquisite shapes. Humility and a sense of caring fills the place from corner to corner. Not to forget the smiles that greet you, warms you up inside, both inviting and everlasting.

A charming couple takes good care and runs the garden center “Flower festival”, where I buy my plants. Not only for they are beautiful and handpicked amongst thousands with love, but because of the human essence that exist there. It adorns a sidewalk street right beside a crossroad and every week there’s a display of fresh flowers in every color and they, the couple, are there sitting amongst them enjoying life and waving goodbye to you as you pass by saying hello from your car.

How long have I dreamed of a place like that full of charm, taken out of a garden magazine! That adorns and refreshes the concrete sights of my growing community. Life is sold there in the form of plants, but it is much much more. It is a place where community is build, where not only something is being sold, but a conversation is born, advice is given on how to proper care for your plant and new friends are made. It’s human interaction, bonds that are created by them who remember your face every time you visit.

A way of life that crosses over to yours, a need filled not only for my longing, but for everyone belonging to this neighborhood.

Donde se vende vida…

…siempre hay sonrisas, siempre encontrarás el amor incrustado en rayos de colores y perfumes y formas exquisitas. La humildad y el sentido de cuidado llena el lugar de esquina a esquina, sin olvidar las sonrisas que te dan la bienvenida, te dan calor espiritual, ambas invitadoras y eternas.

Una amorosa pareja cuida  y corre el centro de jardinería “Festival de Flores”, donde compro mis plantas. No solo porque son hermosas y escogidas entre miles con amor, sino por la esencia humana que allí existe. Éste decora la acera justo cerca de un cruce, y cada semana hay una exhibición de flores en todos los colores y ellos están allí sentados entre ellas, disfrutando de la vida y saludándote cuando pasas y dices hola desde tu auto.

¡Cuánto he soñado por un lugar como este lleno de carisma, que parece sacado de las páginas de una revista de jardinería! Que adorna y refresca la vista de concreto de mi comunidad en crecimiento. La vida se vende allí en la forma de plantas, pero es mucho más que eso. Es un lugar donde se hace comunidad, donde no solo se vende algo, sino que una conversación es creada, consejos sobre el cuidado de las plantas es dado. Es la interacción humana, los lazos que son creadas por ellos quienes recuerdan tu rostro cada vez que les visitas.

Una forma de vida que cruza a la tuya, una necesidad realizada no solo para mi anhelo, pero también para todos los que pertenecen a mi vecindario.

The post Where life is sold / Donde se vende vida appeared first on .

Las cosas simples en la vida vienen en paquetes pequeños, estos son los momentos que se quedan contigo para siempre.

The post Photo: Innocence / Foto: Inocencia appeared first on .

      Un pesimista ve la dificultad en cada oportunidad; un optimista ve las oportunidades en cada dificultad.  Sir Winston Churchill, Politico británico (1874 – 1965)

The post Quote to encourage / Cita para dar aliento appeared first on .

Trazos curvos expuestos a los elementos
encuentran su morada sobre la dureza de
los minerales manipulados en rigidez,
transformados por la necesidad homosapiens.
Entre tus curvaturas se esconde el sentimiento,
la historia presente, la visión.
Eres narración fría unidimensional.
En color estallas a tu medio ambiente
y cambias con tu toque a la planicie en relieve.
Algunos te llaman vandalismo,
Otros te conocen como expresión.

Expresión

Curve strokes exposed to the elements
you find your lair on the hard of the
manipulated rigid minerals, transformed
by the necessity of the homosapiens.
Between your curves is hidden the sentiment,
the present history, the vision.
You are cold one-dimensional narration.
In color you explode to your environment
and changes with your touch
the plane into relief.
Some call you vandalism,
Others know you as expression.

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Ten coraje con las grandes penas de la vida  paciencia con las pequeñas; y cuando laboriosamente hayas realizado tus labores diarios, ve a dormir en paz. Dios está despierto. Víctor Hugo, dramaturgo francés, novelista y poeta (1802- 1885).

The post A quote of perseverance / Una cita para la perseverancia appeared first on .

Apolo despierta, envuelve mi ser
Con su fuerte cálido abrazo y allí
a mi lado está tu silueta. Eres una obscura
visión magnifica. Lo que pude ser, pero
que soy en ti. Un cambiante de mi alma;
delgada, alta, pequeña, casi invisible en
un lugar tenue. Nunca inesperada, prosperas
a mi lado, a mis espalda, en mi frente. Compañera
silenciosa que acaricias lo que a mis pies está,
en ti confío la oscuridad en mí. Utilízala en tu piel de
Ónix, mi recuerdo de lo que puedo ser en un futuro.

The post …of myself / …de mi misma appeared first on .

Blanca como las nubes del cielo, carga en su torso un letrero que sereno y tranquilo, como la brisa salada que le acaricia, declaran en negras palabras lo que es, será o lo que fue: “x siempre María”.

Más no se puede decir o asumir, sobre el estado de María. Su bicicleta estacionaria descansa en el áspero tronco de un cocotero. Simula una lápida que corona el lugar en el que quizás el último suspiro de María se dio, y allí bajo las sombras de las pencas donde el mar se alarga hasta besar el pálido azul del cielo, descansa un espíritu que no será olvidado. ¡María!

Tu nombre será por siempre lectura y de él nacerá el anhelo de conocerte, de tenerte en un momento y ser parte de tu historia. ¡Oh, María! Por siempre María.

Mary’s bicycle

White as the clouds carries in its torso a sign that serene and tranquil, like the salty breeze that caress it, declares in black letters what is, will be or was: “forever Mary”.

More cannot be said or assume, about Mary’s state. Her stationary bicycle rests on the rough trunk of a coconut tree. Simulates a headstone that crowns the place, where maybe Mary had her last breath, and under the shadows of a coconut tree where the sea elongates until it kisses the blue sky, rest a spirit that will never be forgotten. Mary!

Your name will always be reading and from it the yearning to know you will be born, to have you in a moment and to be part of your story. Oh, Mary! Forever Mary.

The post La bicicleta de María / Mary’s bike appeared first on .

Mudar, una forma de renovarnos.

The post Shedding / Mudar appeared first on .

A fascinating phrase taken from a great book I’ve had the privilege to read. There and back again is a sum of a journey, a great beginning for some new adventure, the perfect phrase to say when finally home. Yes, I’m back with my pages full of words to share, with more ideas for my book, happy for I’ve reached goals set before embarking in my writing journey. There and back again, and I’m glad I’ve made it back to you complete.

A peace overwhelms me after much that has been dealt with, but survived none the less. I have been on a great adventure where immortals are both fascinating and a force to be reckon with; where guardians set off on a journey that will change the future of their people; where their stories are told apart from each other, but are intertwine. New people I’ve met and you will meet in a near future, but not yet. They run wild through my mind and whisper their tale in my ear, grab my hand and make me write, make me create a world where they rule and roam freely. Ahhh! It is a pleasure to have met them, to know them, to write them.

A new season is almost here and the air is filled with that distinct feeling of excitement that surrounds my soul. It is impregnated in the refreshing breeze that this time of year brings. The holidays are near, and even though they are forever changed for my family, the memories of old will lift our spirits and we’ll celebrate with more love than ever. Poinsettias are on the list for this week, they have a special place in my heart. My house embraces them and my garden rejoices with their arrival. Poinsettias are one of the things that only by looking at them you know Christmas is almost here, my favorite time of year!

So for this I have a special event under my sleeve for you. What better way than to celebrate the Christmas spirit with good poetry and stories about this season of joy! Send my way those friends poets and story tellers that have been inspire by this holiday and written a good poem or story to share. From all send, I will choose, with the help of some friends and family, the best and post them from December 15 to December 23 in an event called “Christmas Words”. More information will be render in a special place in Mink, so follow the trail here with a click.

Photos, quotes, poems, stories are on schedule for you while we wait for this event. As always I hope you enjoy them, as much as I enjoyed writing them. Some of them have been taken from times of old in my past, which have rekindled in my future and transformed themselves into something more. Others, well let say they are just a view of my present to yours.

My words will be waiting for you here in Mink, I’m glad to be back from this well deserved time off on adventure. Before I go for today, I want to thank all the friends that wished me a safe and fruitful journey, you know your names and you are in my heart. Your words guided me and inspired me, because of you I kept writing when despair set in and almost gave up, almost. The words written for these couple of weeks are dedicated to you, my friends and inspiration.

Ya fuí y regresé

Una frase fascinante tomada de un gran libro que tuve el privilegio de leer. Ya fui y regresé es la suma de un viaje, un gran comienzo para una nueva aventura, la frase perfecta para decir cuando finalmente estamos en casa. Sí, estoy de regreso con mis páginas llenas de palabras para compartir, con nuevas ideas para mi libro, contenta de que pude alcanzar mis metas puestas antes de salir en mi aventura literaria. Ya fui y regresé, y estoy satisfecha que regreso completa.

Una paz me abruma luego de todo lo que ha pasado, pero he sobrevivido. He estado en una gran aventura donde inmortales son ambos fascinantes y una fuerza a considerar; donde guardianes se embarcan en un viaje que cambiará el futuro de su pueblo; donde las historias son narradas separadas una de la otra, pero que están entrelazadas. Nuevas personas he conocido y tu las conocerás en un futuro cercano, pero todavía no. Ellos corren descontrolados en mi mente y susurran sus historias en mi oído, toman mi mano y me hacen escribir, me hacen crear mundos donde ellos reinan y vagan libres. Ahhh! Ha sido un placer conocerles, y escribir sobre ellos.

Una nueva temporada está casi aquí y el aire está lleno de un sentimiento distintivo de emoción que encubre mi alma. Está impregnado en la refrescante brisa que este tiempo del año trae. Las fiestas están cerca, y aunque por siempre han cambiado en mi familia, los recuerdos del pasado levantarán nuestro espíritu y celebraremos con más amor que nunca. Las pascuas están en la lista de compras para esta semana, tienen un lugar especial en mi corazón. Mi casa les da la bienvenida y mi jardín se emociona a su llegada. Las pascuas son una de las cosas que solo al verlas sabes que la navidad está cerca, ¡mi tiempo favorito del año!

Así que para celebrar tengo un evento especial para ti. ¡Qué mejor forma para celebrar el espíritu navideño que con buena poesía y cuentos cortos sobre esta temporada de alegría! Envíame a tus amigos poetas y cuentistas que han sido inspirados por las fiestas y han escrito un buen poema y/o cuento para compartir. De todos los enviados, escogeré, con la ayuda de amigos y familiares, los mejores y los pondré desde diciembre 15 al 23 en un evento llamado “Palabras Navideñas”. Más información será dada en un lugar especial en Mink, así que sigue el camino y haz click.

Fotos, citas, poemas, historias están programadas para ti, mientras esperamos por este evento. Como siempre espero les disfrutes, tanto como yo he disfrutado escribiéndolas. Algunas han sido tomadas de un tiempo antiguo en mi pasado, cual han renacido en mi futuro y se han transformado  en algo más. Otras, bueno digamos que son tan solo una vista en mi presente para el tuyo.

Mis palabras estarán esperado por ti aquí en Mink, estoy contenta de estar de regreso de este bien merecido tiempo fuera en una aventura. Antes de irme por hoy, deseaba darles las gracias a todos los amigos que me han deseado un seguro y fructífero viaje, ustedes saben quiénes son y están en mi corazón. Sus palabras me guiaron e inspiraron, por ustedes continué escribiendo cuando la desesperación llegó y casi me doy por vencida, casi. Las palabras escritas para estas próximas semanas están dedicadas a ustedes, mis amigos e inspiración.

The post There and back again / Fui allí y regresé appeared first on .

Salutations my fellow readers,

Wanting to take a minute to express my gratitude to you for your support, comments, follow and reads. Mink would not have been more than words if not for you.

So yes, I’m off on a writing adventure! There are words that need to be written both for AR’s Mink and my fiction in progress. I’m writing my second novel and needs dedication, lots of dedication. Creating new characters, a country and language, is a loving task; but one that is meticulous.

When the muses are near one must answer the call. Flowers and more flowers may be put for the muses, my guardian angels; prayers might be spoken; maybe a serene and dim light of a tea light on a corner. I will appreciate it.

I’ll leave the words that have been written, and hope you enjoy them. This is just a farewell, not a goodbye. Let’s read each other soon. Many blessings to you, my dear reader!

En una aventura literaria

Saludos mis queridos lectores,

Deseaba tomar un minuto para expresarles mi gratitud a ustedes por su apoyo, comentarios, el seguirme y la lectura. Mink no sería más que palabras, sino fuera por ustedes.

¡Sí, me retiro a una aventura literaria! Hay palabras que necesitan ser escritas tanto para AR’s Mink y la ficción en progreso. Estoy escribiendo mi segunda novela y necesita dedicación, mucha dedicación. Crear personajes nuevos, un país, y un lenguaje, es una tarea amorosa, pero una que es meticulosa.

¡Cuando las musas están cerca uno debe contestar su llamado! Flores y muchas flores pueden ser colocadas para las musas, mis ángeles guardianes; oración puede ser hablada; quizás una serena y tenue luz de una vela en una esquina. Te lo agradeceré.

Dejo las palabras ya escritas, y espero que las disfrutes nuevamente. Esto es tan solo un hasta luego, no un adiós. Leámonos pronto. ¡Muchas bendiciones para ti, mi querido lector!

The post Off to a writing adventure / En una aventura literaria appeared first on .

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Reinhold Niebuhr
US Protestant theologian (1892 – 1971)

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Cita del lunes

“Señor, dame la serenidad para aceptar las cosas que no puedo cambiar, la fortaleza para cambiar las cosas que puedo, y la sabiduría para cococer la diferencia.”

Reinhold Niebuhr
Teólogo americano protestante (1892 – 1971)

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            “Should we open it?” –I asked Ela for she was my companion in this adventure.   

“Why not There’s nothing stopping us.” –she whispered, like always for that’s the way she talks.

“Yes, let’s see what lies beyond that door.”

We walked to the door, took the iron handle, holding it very tight, and pulled with all our strength.  It was a heavy door and as it gave way it made a loud noise like screws that have not been oiled for a long time.  We opened the door completely and look to see what lay inside that room.  To our amazement it was not a room but a garden, a gorgeous garden.

We went in to have a closer look and admire its beauty.

“Wow!” –I exclaimed.

Ela was speechless; she looked at the enchanted place not believing what her eyes were seeing.  I was in the same state of shock.  How would a place like this exist inside a mine I remember I have read of the existence of this rare gardens and worlds in the book One thousand and one nights, but I thought they were only legends. It harvested elegant green trees, flowers of all sorts of colors and shapes.  Green pastures and a lake of crystal waters.  Willows were caressing the surface of the lake with its branches that fell elegantly down to the ground.  The breeze was soothing and perfumed with all the aromas of the flowers. What caught my attention was that inside that place instead of being dark it was daylight.  There was no sun, but as you looked closer to the ceiling you could see that it was filled with clear crystals.

We walked beside the shore of the lake and inside it were fishes of all sorts of colors swimming by as we walked.  One of them was very curious and jump trying to grab our attention.  We kept walking and the fish, which was a deep red color with golden fins, kept jumping gracefully out of the water. I was having fun watching him and all of the sudden he smile at us.  I froze and immediately exclaimed to Ela pointing to the fish:

“I think he smiled at us!”

The fish with his head out of the water said:

“I smiled because she smiled.”

I looked at Ela, who had a huge smile on her face, and as I was ready to tell her something I realized the fish gave me a response!

“Do not be rude by commenting that he talks.  Just approach him and converse with the lovely fish.” –said Ela catching up with my thoughts.

She was actually right and I didn’t want to be rude.  As I was pondering on what to talk about with the fish, I sat down near the water.  Ela sat down beside me with the same smile as before.  I looked at the fish that was just emerging from the water witch I imagine he went down for a breather.  He looked at me for a while with out saying a word probably waiting for me to speak.

“This place is incredible.  What is it doing here?” –said Ela excited.

The fish that looked very happy to have a conversation said cheerfully:

“Well it is very interesting story.  Long ago the god Zeus in his battle with the Titans threw one of his most powerful bolts to the earth witch it stroked so hard to the ground that it open a crack and it gave way to a passage to this world.  Zeus, after that great battle, came down to relax and have a walk along the great garden that once lay above us. 

“He noticed the crack and making himself small enough to fit in it came down and found an enormous cave that extended for miles underground.  He felt in love with the clear crystals that are incrusted in the ceiling.  So he, there and then, open the crack to let the rays of the sun come down through the crystals so the light could shine inside this cave.”

“But what happens at night when only the moon is up and there is no sunlight to shine upon the crystals?” –I asked full of curiosity. 

The fish went down to catch his breath again and continued -“The rays of the moon shine upon the crystals and submerge us in a blue magical light.  If you stay long enough you might see it and maybe you can see the magic of this place.”

I smiled for I was not going to miss that opportunity.

“Zeus was so excited with the out come that he, almighty that he was and all, started walking back works looking at the ceiling.  The all powerful king of the Olympians Gods stumbled on a rock.  That one you see over there.”

He pointed at a big rock that was covered with bright green moss and beautiful ferns grew majestically around it.  From it crystal water flowed to the lake.

“The waters of this lake come from the water that flow from that rock.” –said he emerging once again- “You see when Zeus fell down on the rock he opened a small opening and water came out of it.  When he tried to get up he cut his hand with a crystal, nothing serious of course, he is a god after all.  He washed his hand with the water that flowed from the rock.  The combination of these magical waters, called ‘El Manantial’, and that of the blood of Zeus was what this place needed to start life.  From the drops of blood that fell in the ground emerge creatures just like yourselves.  But with dark black hair and bluish skin, for the blood of Zeus is of a bluish color.  These creatures can make things grow out of the simplest things.  They live in the farthest corner of the Manantial cave and love their privacy.  So do not disturb them.  They also pass their days playing with their magic and waiting for the return of Zeus, their father.”

“What happen to Zeus, did he die?” –asked Ela intrigued.  She was really paying very close attention to the fish.

“No!” –he exclaimed- “He is a God.  He just grew bored of this place.”

“So, who built that door?” –asked Ela.

 Emerging form the waters the fish answered –“Well the King of the Manantial people.  They don’t stay here for they do not like the door.  It reminds them that there is a strange world out there that they don’t know and might bring contamination to theirs.  That’s why the followed the river down stream, that grew from the lake, where they found another bigger one and settle there.”

He went down once again and continued when he came up –“It’s getting late and I have to go know.  It was really good talking to you.  I hope to see you tomorrow and we can talk more.”

“Of course, thank you for your help.” –said Ela.

“You welcome.” –said the fish smiling.

“Wait!  You haven’t told us your name” –I exclaimed.

“Oh! What clumsy of me.  My name is Zep.” –saying that he swam away living us alone.

There was silence as the light became dimmer.  Only the sound of flowing water from the ‘El Manantial’ echoed in the cave.  The light change rapidly to a blue dim and the crystal of the ceiling sparkled majestically.  Sparkling lights came alive when the night finally came and even the rock from the ‘Manantial’ sparkled full of magic.  Ela took out of my back pack a sleeping bag witch she told me Morpheus had given to her ‘cause he knew I will need it in case I wanted to spend a night inside the mines’.

We lay down staring at the sparkling crystals embracing the beauty of that place.

“They look like stars.” –commented Ela.

“Yes.” –I said inhaling the pure air that surrounded us.

“What are we going to do tomorrow Are we going to stay here or go back to the mines?”

“I do not know Ela.  What ever tomorrow brings I know it will be good and full of blessings.  Let us, for know, enjoy what we have been blessed with.”

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A dear love one passed away suddenly on the 18^th; her parting took us by surprise. We’ll miss her, but will always remember her. My eyes tear up just to think that she will not be with us, but my heart rejoices thinking she is watching over us.

I know today is not Monday, I have not forgotten and I was going to do this yesterday, but Hurricane Earl decided to pay us a visit. Thankfully he just said hello from the distance and did not do much damage. So here it is, Mondays Quote on a cloudy and breezy Tuesday!

I’m sharing the words of a woman loved my many and taken from us too soon, but the times we had with her will last us a lifetime. This quote is taken from her last facebook status and summarizes her joyful life.

For you Norma, my dear mother-in-law, who loved this blog, enjoyed reading it and whom I will always remember and love. I will pass your words to your grandchildren who love you.

“Enjoy life, love and live with passion. Memories will hold you thru bad times and there will always be a story to tell the grandkids.” –Norma I. Santiago Santiago.

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An Image transforms to Inspiration and at the same time to the written Word.

(Una imagen se transforma en Inspiración y a su vez a la Palabra escrita.)

Version en español bajo estas palabras…

An image speaks and conveys feelings, ideas, fuels the imagination. What are those that come to you Share them… Transfrom them into written Words that others could read and get inspire.

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An Image transforms to Inspiration and at the same time to the written Word.

(Una imagen se transforma en Inspiración y a su vez a la Palabra escrita.)

Version en español bajo estas palabras…

An image speaks and conveys feelings, ideas, fuels the imagination. What are those that come to you Share them… Transfrom them into written Words that others could read and get inspire.

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The weekend was tumultuous and while I found an escape between the brick walls of The Northern Island alongside my little ones. It wasn’t until yesterday that I found words that thought me how to deal with a human characteristic: “inside wrath”. They come from one of my favorite catholic authors, Priest Ignacio Larrañaga, who through his writing and exercises has thought me to have a better praying life and commute with my Creator. No, is not to preach but to share.

From his book Itinerary towards God, I found in the title Homage to silence these words:

“…the silence of the mind corresponds to the peace of the heart”

Also at the end,

“It is always the same: to silence the mind and surrender”

Good practices for when the inside wrath or rage, as you wish to call it, takes over us. Silence the mind, your inner thoughts, surrender it in the hands of Who will give you peace, breath the serenity silence has given and live. And if you have time do as I did, dance to the music of some plena, or whatever you may like.

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Cuando sales de la cordillera central, luego que has pasado el monumento al jíbaro, en el horizonte se divisa un pequeño trazo de azul aún rodeado de verde esmeralda. Luego se pierde para que tu mirada quede hipnotizada  con los valles que nacen de las faldas de las montañas. Es entonces que comienza un juego visual de colores familiares y que caracterizan a una isla tropical. Los deseos no se pueden contener y mientras el carro viaja a la velocidad máxima establecida por el departamento de carreteras, se capturan imágenes. Se sonríe y se vuelve a capturar otra imagen, y otra y otra. Si decides detenerte para poder realizar esta tarea, te tomaría una eternidad llegar a tu destino. Sí, es cautivador el paisaje, y aquellos que lo conocen lo llevan marcados en su memoria.

El albergue olímpico con su ondeante bandera de cinco anillos, sirve de punto de dirección. Pero más adelante te espera el largo trecho que te lleva finalmente a la costa, y a lugares inesperados que solo surgen cuando la espontaneidad te saca de la cama en un día como ese. Una parada en un McDonald para recargar las baterías del cuerpo, sí algo inusual cuando se debe comer algo típico, pero no había tiempo para buscar gastronomía boricua.

La decepción de visitar un museo que no se encontró, nos llevó a una bahía marcada por la historia y serena como el mar. En un balcón distante personajes de la tercera edad disfrutaban de su compañía y la vista familiar, como de la brisa que refrescaba el calor que nacía del candente sol. Subiendo una antigua carretera con vista al mar, mariposas blancas revoloteaban por todos lados creando una mágica alusión de un mundo detenido en el tiempo. En donde yacen caminos a playas escondidas, un faro en el que es palpable el pasado, y un hotel cinco estrellas.

Arriba en una montaña cerca del sol, yace un bosque seco lleno de vida y secretos escondidos en sus tramos. La visita es corta dejando las águilas atrás y la entrada de piedra que descansa en el camino angosto, pues el calor que le arropa es insoportable aunque es entrada la tarde. Con un corto viaje improvisado el camino embreado espera para el regreso al área metropolitana, solo se hace una parada más para comprar la ambrosía puertorriqueña, la quenepa ponceña. Se le dice adiós a los cactus que toman el lugar de los árboles en las rocas de los montes, a los flamboyanes que parecer intensificar su color más en el sur que en el norte como una oda a aquel que les baña diariamente, y a las fincas que se extienden hasta perderse en la distancia. Se bajan las ventanas del carro para gozar, en una forma de hasta luego, del viento frío de las montañas del centro de la isla y respirar aire puro. Antes de que se pierdan en la distancia, se apunta a las colinas que simulan bustos para que la descendencia les conozca y se quede con un detalle más de su isla natal en la memoria.

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Garden gate

A door “is a moveable barrier used to cover an opening …to give access and closed more or less securely using a combination of latches and locks. Doors are nearly universal in buildings of all kinds, allowing passage between the inside and outside, and between internal rooms. Doors are often symbolically endowed with ritual purposes, and the guarding or receiving of the keys to a door, or being granted access to a door can have special significance.” (from Wikipedia)

I like old batter drenched with history doors. They talk silently with its texture, the obscure grooves that define its contours, the fresh coat of paint gleaming with it glossiness screaming its untold past of old and the people that have caressed its rusty handle. Known by many different names for its design and purpose, a door is universal and known by everyone. But everyone has a different one in front of them waiting to be open or close.

Room at El Morro

I’m in search of doors, to open and to close. For the ones that will be closed, I lay to rest the finish business that dragged me to despair, to anger, to be a less human being, to deny myself of being better and having better. Others I’ll close to come back to them again in some near future when I’m a stronger soul and can face what waits behind. Most of them I close for the experiences have granted me wisdom in order to open new ones. A few have been locked forever not closed; I gaze upon them with sadness, whispering in my thoughts what if.

For this, to decide the kind of life I want to live, I’ve become “an opener of doors”, my doors, as Ralph Waldo Emerson suggested. Well, the doors of my kids most be held open, until they can rely on themselves to do this task with confidence. I’ll open them not with fear or uncertainty of what lurks behind, but with head held high and eyes staring at the sky above thanking for the blessing of each day. I’m growing internally with just this simple action, molding myself into a better human being, slowly but surely.

Fort door

Nothing to fear, even thou the shadow of uncertainty is near, for as J.R.R. Tolkien wrote in “Three Is Company,” from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring: “’It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ he used to say.  ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to’.”  So here I go to follow the road full of words that waits me, which I make step by step shaping what’s to come in the horizon. Wish me luck, there are doors to be open in those places!

“When our eyes see our hands doing the work of our hearts, the circle of Creation is completed inside us, the doors of our souls fly open, and love steps forth to heal everything in sight.”, Michael Bridge.

What door waits to be open or close by you?

(You might enjoy “The door in front of me”, something I wrote not long ago, when my years where less and a writer was growing.)

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Riples and words

My gaze was caught by something on the waters, floating peacefully as if waiting to be discovered. To the untrained eye would have looked as a simple piece of paper, small enough to not even care for it; but for a writer the transparent paper marked with dark black letters was evident a sign. From whom I do not know maybe the muses, angels, or perhaps causality. Some believe this last one those not exist, but the same can be said by others of the first two. Whatever it was, I found it intriguing. Any writer would have.

Words in the water

So I took my camera, for I knew that from these words in the water more would spring and the overwhelming desire would subside. Ideas would flow as rivers overflowed with water. At last peace came to an aching soul and body. Breath of fresh air could finally be inhaled to bring calm thoughts to a mind in need of fresh ideas and serenity.

I would always remember that in my time of need, I found words floating gently on the serene surface of the waters.

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Generations and past

Generations upon generations have walked it bricked streets, rediscovered its past, spent the day flying a kite or getting wet in “los chorritos del Totem”. Feed the pigeons that they wouldn’t feed elsewhere. Got drunk in “la San Sebastian”, and bought art from “los artesanos”. You can easily distinguish the northern islanders from those who are just visiting; they walk focused on a straight line knowing where they are going. The visitors are just zigzagging hypnotized by the architecture, the shops, the vivid colors of the buildings and gorgeous balconies full of bouganvillas and hibiscus.

Arquitectura y arte

There’s always a good excuse to go to the northern island on a Sunday and go for a stroll on “el paseo la princesa”; or just sit there and enjoy a “piragua”. Perhaps even to pass along the knowledge immortalized in the walls and structures that surpassed time, to the younger generation who will irrevocably fall in love with this Caribbean jewel; just because it’s full of mysteries to be discover by them and lay hidden behind closed doors, under the bricks of the streets, inside the stones of the castles, in the hollow silence of the churches.

The northern island… its memory is captured by lenses, words, brushes and time. Home to some, escape paradise to others in seek of its inspiring ambrosia.

Northern Island

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As I pondered hitting key by key, forming words for this post, I go back to the memories where I have found those places that have given me my dose of virtues. I’m a Catholic so prayers, a rosary, a visit to church, have helped me regain patience and faith and love. But beyond the walls of my church, where I have gone to ease my troubled soul, there are more wonderful places. That same day my friend posted her comment, I found one for patience without even noticing it.

I enjoyed a magnificent day at the beach with my kids and friends, and took a picture that spoke a thousand words; actually, not a thousand, but a simple answer. Looking upon the horizon where the sun sets behind a grayish cumulus nimbus, there was the gaze of a lonely man that waited.

The fisherman

My gaze upon the picture whispered the so eluded answer I’ve looked for. The wisdom of the virtue of patience came on a lapse of time cemented on a moment immortalized. That man that waited patiently for the fish to get caught on the hook of his rod knew where to find this particular virtue. Life has taught him that by waiting he will eventually get his prize, and if not that day, well there is always another behind the horizon.

As always, the answer to questions comes in life itself, we just need to look deeper; and if we do not know how to, we must learn. It is this wisdom, another virtue, which will make us better human beings in the long run and be able to pass it along to future generations.

Waiting, praying, gazing… a few that leads us to the treasures we look so desperately in our lives. Those that marks us for better things! There is a market out there in life and online, we just need to look, breath and take the time to nurture those virtues so they too can get stronger.

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