Tenemos que recordar que la descripción de un lugar, un sabor, un olor, un sonido, una sensación es muy importante en la narración para que el lector se crea que esta allí en ese lugar degustando esa comida, que escucha la música… Esto nos ayuda grandemente a traer a la vida los personajes de nuestras historias, la descripción del ambiente que les rodea, el olor de un perfume o la comida…

¿Cómo podemos lograr estimular nuestros sentidos? Fácil, con ejercicios de practica sencillos que te obliguen a poner tu memoria, que lo tiene todo guardado en tu cerebro, a trabajar y ha realizar descripciones de lo que escucha, ve, siente o toca, huele, y saborea. De esta manera cuando llegue ese momento de una descripción en particular en tu narración, fluirá con facilidad y no te encontrarás en la búsqueda de las palabras acertadas para traer a la vida la descripción.

Hoy empezaremos con la audición.

La audición

“La discriminación auditiva: se relaciona con la habilidad para reconocer, diferenciar, sintetizar y recordar sonidos.

Es susceptible de desarrollo mediante el ejercicio y la práctica.

Nuestros oídos juegan un papel principal en la estimulación del cerebro. El Dr. Alfred A. Tomatis afirma que escuchar, no oír, es la función primaria del oído. Oír es un proceso pasivo, escuchar es un proceso activo que requiere un uso adecuado del oído. Escuchar es tanto la habilidad de captar información.”

Texto extraído del documento “Despertando sensaciones”, del Grupo de trabajo del C.P. de Educación Especial nº 1 de Valladolid.

Estamos  rodeados por ruidos y diferentes sonidos diariamente, estos se convierten en algo natural en nuestras vidas. Sabemos que un carro se acerca al cruzar la calle, porque estamos acostumbrados a ese sonido. Se nos hace fácil reconocer las olas del mar y diferenciarlas de las corrientes del río. Respirar profundo cuando la brisa suave hace que las hojas de los árboles dancen elegantemente.

Podemos reconocer cientos de sonidos, diferenciarlos, pero ¿qué sentimientos traen a nosotros estos sonidos ¿Cómo somos capaces de hacerlos transcender del mundo real y captarlos en el papel? Muchas veces no podemos, se nos hace difícil describirlos y debemos hacer una pausa en nuestra escritura para volver a conectarnos con nuestros sentidos para poder escuchar, relacionar y realizar una descripción.

La cita arriba nos hablaba que escuchar es estimular el cerebro, y eso es algo que debemos realizar a la hora de ponernos a crear. Como escuchar es la habilidad de captar la información y filtrarla, eso es lo que vamos a hacer.  Vayamos a escuchar los sonidos a nuestro alrededor y a capturarlos. Por ejemplo, que sentimientos nacen en nosotros, las ideas, los recuerdos que emergen en nuestra mente al escucharlos. Los sonidos también traen con ellos historias ocultas. 

Escuchemos

Ejercicio de la audición

Para realizar este ejercicio vas a escoger un lugar para estar. Ya sea el patio de tu casa, enun parque, frente a la playa. Escoge un lugar que se escuchen los menos sonidos posibles. Donde no haya mucho tráfico, una multitud de personas. No vas a oír, vas a escuchar atentamente los sonidos a tu alrededor. Te vas a concentrar en un solo sonido. Lo internalizas por varios minutos y luego escribes o dibujas. Recuerda, describe el sonido, qué sentimientos nacen en ti a causa del sonido, a qué te recuerda, una memoria… Haz esto de 5 a 10 minutos. Repíte el ejercicio 3 o 4 veces en la semana y ve aumentando el tiempo o como te sientas mas a gusto lo puedes dejar en 10 minutos. Cuando lo repitas, cambia de lugar, de ambiente para que descubras y describas nuevos sonidos. Lo importante es que te des la oportunidad de estimular la creatividad al escuchar. Ahora ve y diviértete, date amor. 

Al terminar, guarda lo que escribiste y léelo con calma al otro día. Disfruta lo que escribiste. Pregúntate si la descripción que hiciste te hace recordar el sonido. ¿Que mejorarías de esa descripción Juega con las palabras y déjate llevar por ese primer escrito y reescribe.

Cualquier pregunta o duda, envíame un mensaje. Estoy aquí para ayudar. Ah! No tienes que compartir lo que escribiste. Pero si deseas compartir fotos de ti realizando tu actividad, no olvides utilizar el #estimulalacreatividad y me pones un tag en instagram. Me encantaría verlos. Anima a otros a hacer estos ejercicios que, son sencillos, pero enriquecedores y con la práctica continua verás los resultados. Hay que ser consistentes y practicar para crecer. Nos vemos, un abrazo.

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“Me siento solo”, dijo un amigo mío que es un increíble escritor y artista en un día parcialmente nublado. Tomábamos café mientras nos poníamos al día después de un largo tiempo de no vernos. “Es la falta de apoyo de los que me rodean,” añadió sorbiendo su café.

Sonrío, “Yo entiendo, lo sé.”

“¿Ellos te apoyan?,” preguntó.

“A su manera, y he aprendido a aceptar eso.”

“Siento que necesito su apoyo y su aprobación. Me aman, los amo, los apoyo.”

“Déjalo ir,” le contesté. Su expresión cambió. “Es difícil. Es un proceso, un proceso lento que requiere mucho de ti; pero, cuando te las arreglas para soltar, dejar que pase, estás en paz. Ahí es donde quieres estar.”

Como escritores esto nos sucede mucho, cuando nos encontramos en una encrucijada, cuando juzgamos a los que nos rodean. Pensamos que al nosotros apoyarlos en sus metas, sus sueños… tienen que hacer lo mismo. “… Haced bien, y prestad, no esperando nada a cambio; y vuestra recompensa será grande… “(Lucas 6: 35).

¡Déjalo ir! No necesitas su aprobación o apoyo. Si deciden no compartir tu viaje, es su elección como es el tuyo emprender ese viaje. Sinceramente, no pierdes nada, sólo pierdes si te preocupas por eso y le das importancia. Por ejemplo, amigos o seres queridos que se encuentran muy cerca de ti y no toman el tiempo de leer tus escritos, o dicen que sí y constantemente te dicen “aún no he terminado, no he encontrado el tiempo” incluso antes de que preguntes o pienses en hacerlo, y ya han pasado dos meses desde que compartiste tu trabajo con ellos. Le ha ocurrido a los demás y a mí y sucederá en el futuro. Ten en mente que sus prioridades, su camino y visión de la vida es muy diferente a la tuya. Incluso tus objetivos son diferentes.

Es un proceso lento y va a tomar tiempo para que tu cerebro acepte esa verdad, pero se puede lograr. Acéptalo y recuerda tus metas como escritor y como miembro de tu familia.

Mi amigo, después de nuestra charla y un paseo por el Viejo San Juan, aceptó y decidió dejar ir. A veces lucho con soltar esa necesidad, de vez en cuando caigo en remisión y ese estado atormenta mi alma. Para hacer frente a ella tengo mis técnicas, ya sea escribiendo en un diario o haciendo una oración. Lo importante es dejar ir para que el proceso de escritura fluya y tus críticos internos sean silenciados y tus relaciones no se vean afectadas. Especialmente, con tus seres queridos que son los que más importan y dan sentido a tu vida.

Se amable contigo mismo, baila todos los días, da gracias por un día más para crear y escribir, y se duro de vez en cuando con tu ser creativo, tu yo escritor, para seguir adelante. Siempre mantén una rutina de escritura y en la vida cotidiana para alcanzar tus metas de escritura y las expectativas de la vida.

¡Sigue escribiendo y gracias por leer!

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Un ejemplo de esto es el siguiente texto que mantengo en mi escritorio y recorté de uno de los libros escolares de mi hija:

La arena desaparecía entre mis dedos, arañándome suavemente. Olía a alga, a pescado oculto. El mar se desparramada como un cosmos azul. El susurro de las olas me tentaba. Sorbí un poco de agua: sabía a horizonte, a siglos, a la vida misma.

Desde este punto la Consigna de hoy Miércoles será en la descripción de impresiones sensoriales. El ejercicio dado en el libro nos aconseja pasar tiempo en un ambiente en específico. Concentrarnos y utilizando los sentidos, uno a uno, realizar la observación y escribir las impresiones que recivimos. Luego de observar, hacer lo mismo con los otros sentidos: oído, tacto, olfato y gusto.

De mi parte escogí el ambiente de un espacio abierto.

En la sección de Prácticas-Practice de M’ink hay otros ejercicios relacionados con ejercitar los sentidos, te invito a visitarlos. No olvides visitar la sección del capítulo de muestra de mi libro Ascensión Divina, toca aquí.

Hasta luego, y espero leer tu experiencia en los comentarios. Recuerda de la inspiración a la palabra escrita .

A.R. Román

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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 .

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.

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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 .

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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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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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 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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There were once nine of them…

Me being thin, I ask myself could there be any regret in consuming such a delight, a gift of love. I say no. So meet your fates, survivors. I desire you and there will be no regret.

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Smell  is the sense responsible for detecting and processing odors. It is a chemo-receptor in which the particles act as a stimulant aromatic or odoriferous detached from the volatile bodies, which enter the olfactory epithelium located in the nose, and processed by the olfactory system. The human nose distinguishes between more than 10,000 different smells. Smell is the strongest sense at birth. (Taken from Wikipedia)

Image via Wikipedia

In the article A sense of smell is said: “We are constantly surrounded by smells. Our environment, objects, animals and people are an endless source of good and bad smells.

Although many underestimate the smell, it is not a crucial survival mechanism, this stands out for having an enormous sensitive capacity . One of the main features of the sense of smell is that it acts to small stimuli.

The smell can capture at a distance and in low concentrations the molecules that react with its specialized organs.

While we have no olfactory sensitivity of animals such as dogs, our sense of smell contributes to the stimulation of appetite and digestive secretions, and prevent the presence of gases harmful to our health. “

As creative beings we are fascinated with aromas. They are always around us, make those special moments of our lives unforgettable. Just as the smell of your newborn, the perfume she wore on her first date, the scent of your child’s favorite blanket, the smell of a particular spice that reminds you of your grandmother’s kitchen, or your childhood. Odors stimulate the brain, well all the senses do this function, but being the strongest it makes us transcend the parameters of time and take us to the past, or perhaps what we’ll accomplish in the future.

In 2006 I had the opportunity to see the movie “Perfume, the story of a murderer” (an adaptation of a novel), ” is the first novel by German writer Patrick Süskind, published in 1985 under the title Das Parfum, die Geschichte eines Mörders. The novel explores the sense of smell and its relationship with the emotional meaning that scents may carry. Above all this is a story of identity, communication and the morality of the human spirit. The story focuses on Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a perfume apprentice in 18th century France who, born with no body scent himself, begins to stalk and murder virgins in search of the “perfect scent”, which he finds in a young woman named Laura, whom his acute sense of smell finds in a secluded private garden in Grasse.” (Wikipedia)

Let’s perceive our world through the sense of smell, and transform our experiences into words. To do this we must find the aromas we like, those that relax us, those we don’t like, and those that, well, go unnoticed because they are constant in our daily lives, for example, the smell of your home.

Search the smell of food, perfumes on your dresser, the soap that you wash with… Take a trip and visit the garden nursery near your home, and dive into a world of strong, subtle and distinctive aromas, such as mint, rosemary, dill, the oregano. Look for roses, orchids, Maragarita… Inhale, perceive! Stroll through the section of the spices and vegetables at your local market. Start cooking! Then take a minute and write what comes to mind, all the feelings, memories and places the scent carried  you .

Unfortunately, the internet does not yet have a device so you can smell odors from other places to explore the world without leaving your computer. Fortunately, smells surround us daily and we can experience them forever.

Share your experiences with us! What was the one aroma that took you on a journey to the past or to an unforgettable moment in your life?

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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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When I think of this sense the only word that comes to mind is Mmmmm! Why not Through it a number of emotions emerge from tasting food and wine. Let start for the sense of Taste will be a very interesting one and full of adventure and seduction.

The taste brings a sea of ​​possibilities. From tasting different feelings are born in our system, shared with a particular flavor and a mood.

Hugo Jesús Montenegro Ruiz in his monograph “The sense of taste” shares in conclusion:

The sense of taste, perhaps the closest of our five senses, has traditionally been considered unsuitable for analysis with a certain seriousness: too physical, too particular and personal. However, in addition to causing physical pleasure, eating and drinking are actions that harbor a symbolic and aesthetic value in the lives of people, and continually inspire writers and artists. Carolyn Korsmeyer explains how taste has come to occupy a place so low in the hierarchy of the senses and why it deserves more attention and respect.

Korsmeyer begins with the great Greek thinkers who classified taste as an inferior and merely physical sense. Then, presents a scientific view of the actual operation of taste and identifies multiple components in taste experiences. Focusing on the objects of taste, the food and drink, ‘observes the different meanings that have adopted in art and literature and in everyday life, and proposes an approach to the aesthetic value of taste to recognize the representative role and expressive of the meal. Korsmeyer’s consideration about art includes works that use the food in contexts sacred or profane, which seek to stimulate or suppress appetite. Her selection of literary passages meets macabre tales of feasting and stories of affinities arising around a table.

With its splendid illustrations and clear prose and appealing sense of taste is an appetizer for those who are curious to know the true meaning of a sensory experience as universal and deeply personal.

Let us take on the task of stimulating the taste, and start writing our experiences on paper.

“Nothing could get tired of eating and drinking if God had not made ​​a pleasure as a necessity.”-Voltaire

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

Exercises for the palate and creativity

Is a delight to perform this exercises, and the thought activates my salivary glands, which reminds me of Pavlov’s dogs. We exercise the taste, while black and white catches our experiences.

• Go to your refrigerator and sample the fruits and vegetables in it. Did you buy ham Try them, the prosciutto, one of my favorites, is salty and reminds me of a sunny afternoon, I like to accompany it with a glass of red wine.
• Speaking of wine, do you like it Arrange to attend a class of wine tasting or arrange a get together with friends at home. Take notes of what others and the instructor will say about the taste of wine. You might ask your friends to take a minute and write in a note what the wines remind them of, what feelings arouse from it.  If you can, buy a bottle, usually in the back it gives a description of its taste, compare these with what you taste of it.
• We all have a cookbook in our kitchen, right Open it at random and get cooking. Rejoice then and if you’re not good at cooking, just follow the instructions step by step, the results are unforgettable. Write the experience down, this is a great opportunity to combine the sense of smell and taste.
• What is your favorite flavor What memories come to mind Where does your soul go to when tasting this flavor?
• Escape to a restaurant you’ve always wanted to visit. In solitude enjoy it and write.
• Venture to try those foods and drinks you’ve never had, and sometimes ignore them in the restaurant or market.

Don’t forget to share your experiences with us here at Mink! Happy Tastings, dear writer and reader!

PS: You might also want to exercise this Senses: Hearing and Sight.

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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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As visual creatures from birth, we begin to stimulate the sense of vision. Family Visual Stimulation Education in his article: “a world through the eyes” tells us:

Through the eyes numerous stimuli and experiences enters the brain of the baby. The eyesight of a child increases rapidly. The child not only distinguishes objects from birth, but can be fixed in one determined for a very short period.

Through stimulation and repeated viewing of objects an adequate basis is obtained for his powers of concentration and attention. After two months, the child learns to place an object in space and develop hand-eye coordination.

You can also expand the field of stimulation with moving objects and color contrasts, encouraging the development of your muscles, clamping capacity and coordination.

To keep the interest of the babies the complexity of the stimuli has to be increased gradually.

To keep our interest alive, look for these stimuli. Before taking pen and paper and cover it with letters’, lets concentrate on stimulating our vision.

Below this paragraph you will find places in the internet where the sense of vision has been stimulated.  Taken through the lens of a camera the photographer sees the world through his eyes capturing it in a photo as he sees it and desires it. Yes, a picture says a thousand words. It talks to us, makes us feel. Take your time as I have taken mine to dive into a visual paradise. After a few minutes of contemplation, I take pen and paper. I invite you to accompany me and write either a poem, a short story what you see and what the picture you chose makes you feel. Let your imagination be inspired by what you see and write without fear and encouragement.

Visual Estimulation:

I think of photographers and the thought gives me the desire to take my camera and watch the world through the lens, as they do. It’s a good idea! Grab your camera and go to one of your favorite places and take pictures. Then download them to your computer and watch them, place them in a file that is unique to the visual inspiration. Choose one of those pictures you took in the day and write for ten minutes. A picture says a thousand words; make yours a few of those.

Share your experiences, leave your comments here or leave us your link so we can visit your blog and share our thoughts. We learn together and share as colleagues!

Next Monday, I’ll post the second part in English. For those who read Spanish the full version is on the site already (just click here), but still share with us your thoughts.

You are sharing!

Michael Muller shared his poem with us, it is in the comments section, and this is the photo he choose for inspiration:

The post Exercise the senses: Vision Part I / Los sentidos: Visión Parte I appeared first on .

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?

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se marcan en las faldas de las jóvenes danzantes

al son de la pandereta y el timbal.

Los cueros nos hacen mover

y con sus rítmos pintan sonrisas.

El sónido que nos marca piel adentro,

que se impregna en la cultura,

que nos hace únicos en el hemisferio.

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            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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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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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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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.

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…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.

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Is the smell of incense, but not any incense like the one you can purchase in a store.  No, this one I only find at church when the priest burns it and fills the atmosphere with a spiritual perfume.  Who could though that spirituality could have a smell I pondered upon words to capture its essence in writing and it alludes me just like it does disappearing into the air as it rises. Still I have the upper hand for I could recognize it like I did at mass.  It brought a smile to my face and gave me a sense of serenity. My soul was home!

There is another smell that gives me quite the opposite feeling.  That of a perfume!  It smells like cinnamon but yet sweet.  Glamour is the word that comes to my mind.  Gorgeous is how I feel when I put it on.  Feelings of greatness, of power and seduction…  I put it on and I know people will turn to look at me, to watch me walk away.  It takes me to another world were I’m a princess of a magical place where unicorns roam the valley and fairies live in peace in an enchanted forest untouched by man.  Where I rule always perfumed in glamour…

The smell of fresh bread in the morning brings a feeling of warmth. It is in the air everywhere and everyone gets infected by that warmth and wants to give love and more kindness to one another in this land where everyday bread is baked every morning.  The day passes on, everybody is happy and patient and kind for love is in the air in the essence of baked bread.  

Her hair has a certain perfume that nobody else has.  It is hers and will stay with her for the rest of her life.  The perfume of her skin is the reason for my maternity, it symbolizes the love of a mother and her daughter.    Peace is the name, maybe love, or just simplicity of a body to be recognized for its uniqueness.

This is part of the excersise (sorry they are in Spanish) of the section “El rincón de mi musa” for “Oasis” for the part “Olfato” (sense of smell). Enjoy!

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