lunes, 14 de marzo de 2016

Of voice and silence

How?
What's the way I should go?
When I listen to conversations,
when I see manhood displayed
on everyone's behaviour,
what should I do?

I won't fight, even though anger fills my head.
I won't perform violence,
because that's what I'm pronouncing my self against.

But sometimes it seems
that is not worth it,
that they wouldn't listen
that they wouldn't care,
and that they would never renounce
to a wide variety of privileges
in the name of ethic, justice and love.

Then, a remorse feeling overcomes.
What if a woman can be saved
from being abused, violented, hurt,
raped, killed,
by calling these men out?
What if any other person
could be treated as less than human,
could be forced to get into manhood itself
and to perform the same behaviour,
if I remain silent?

I need to learn "to pick up my fights"
as you've said,
to sow the seed in their minds
in a subtle way
so they don't shut me off
from the get-go,
and so they see what it's really about.

It's a chance I have as a man
to be listened by other men
not to be judged from the begining
upon my gender..
It's tiring to even think
about trying to change them all;
but, if I can rescue one
out of a hundred,
that would be something.

"Which of our silences is to blame for the death of a person?
Which silence in us has hanged innocents?
[...]
Which learned silence keeps us alive?
Which convenient silence turn us to be prudent?
Which murderer silence feeds our bellies?
How many times at day we deserve to die?"
Silvio Rodríguez 



sábado, 12 de marzo de 2016

Hypocritical mexicanity

There are many things to say about Mexico. A lot of different perspectives; but they mostly depart from the idea, the violent idea, of one mexicanity.

There's not such a thing like mexicanity. It's a cruel invention. People like me, without roots, with a mixed up appearance, grasp onto that concept, to claim for some identity, and it's easy to feel committed to praise and flatter it, so we can feel as being part of something good, or compensate a strong inferiority complex, due that insane habit of comparing ourselves with americans and europeans.

And not satisfied with that, we impose that mexicanity to communities that have already their own identity. We appropriate from their culture, and even decide what's "best" for them. We take over their autonomy. No one asked them if they wanted to be mexican; we just assumed it, taking advantage of it.

Some violent people came once, and claimed these lands in the name of a foreigner crown. They homogenized all this diversity into one brutal empire. After that, some other people came to "set them free", and by the time they realized, they were already part of something, and had to conform to it.

The result: a society that boasts to be "so rich and diverse", but at the same time, judges and mistreats those authentic groups of people, setting them aside, to barely survive and to starve at the mountains, and then, hypocritically, claims for solidarity, for aid, to "save them", to take progress, health care and services within their reach, so they can brag on being considered and nice, good-hearted people that "always care about others".

We pretend to be proud of those roots, but adopt a cruel beauty standard, condemning brown skin, our own brown skin, as inferior, poor and ugly, to the extend of using the word "indio" as a derogatory term, as an insult.

Jose Emilio Pacheco, mexican writer, said once that "if indians weren't poor, "indio" wouldn't be an insult"; but we are to blame for that, since we judge them ignorant, incapable, less than human.

Yes, we pretend to preserve those originary cultures, just as zoo's pretend to preserve biodiversity: as a live museum, to show what it was, how it was, to go to their communities and think to ourselves and wonder "how can they manage to live in those conditions?".

People in Chihuahua that come from the indigenous Raramuri culture, go down to the city and ask for alms and charity. They say "Kórima", Raramuri word that is interpreted as "handout", even used often as slogan for government and charity associations. What this word really means is "give me back what is mine".

Mexican double moral has a wide spectrum of manifestation. We call ourselves very giving and sharing, but we take advantage of every single opportunity we have.

Also, this culture is known as a "very happy" culture, always chilled and cool, with good vibes and an optimistic perspective for each grief that is presented, which ends up perpetuating the low standards and the unacceptable conditions of security, hygiene and education we feature. "Everything is OK". "There's no need to worry". "We have to be thankful for what we have". "Other people live in worse conditions all over the world".

And we get so excited when a mexican seems to success in sports, in fighting, and in any sort of competition at an international context. Always trying to feel superior in some lame way.

But that laughter, that wide grind we show to the people who see us... What's the real cost of it, if it comes from mocking of someone else's grief and misery? "The culture that makes fun of their own disgrace". "The culture that makes a party out of death". "The culture that celebrates their deceased"

No wonder it's a very masculine culture. In one hand, we claim mother to be the most sacred figure, and in the other, we beat and murder women, to consolidate our cynical hypocrisy.

Mexico is a violent, diverse, weird condition I'm born into. Something I have to live with, and be judged by. But personally, I'm starting to refuse to join into that party of masquerade and disguises.


Memoria y apego

Pertenencia... ¿acaso existe?
En cualquiera de los dos sentidos:
pertenecer a un lugar
a una persona
a una ideología
a un lapso de tiempo.;

o que algo nos pertenezca
o alguien.

Es como un engaño hecho de tiempo.
Después de varios días, meses, años
comienza uno a sentir apego y pertenencia,
y poco a poco, algo que resultaba
por completo desconocido
se vuelve a tal grado familiar,
que pasa a ser un reconfortante rellano
en la escalera de lo incierto
y después de nadar un rato
en un mar de cosas ajenas
ansiamos volver a aquello que nos es familiar.

No cabe duda que la cualidad por excelencia
de cualquier ser humano,
la herramienta de familiaridad,
el arquitecto de su zona de confort,
es la costumbre.
Uno puede acostumbrarse
a casi cualquier cosa, persona o situación,
y comenzar a generar apego con facilidad
al grado de que algo que no figuraba
ni en un ápice de nuestra vida
puede volverse determinante

¿En qué preciso instante ocurrirá ese designio?
¿Qué cosa en nuestro interior queda marcada
por una voz
un rostro
un aroma entre un millón
haciendo que pese más que el millón?

A lo mejor es cuestión de memoria.
De estrategia biológica
evolutiva
instintiva
de una impronta sobre aquello
que nos representa seguridad
supervivencia
bienestar y gozo.

Pudiera ser también miedo
a lo desconocido
a los peligros
de los que no sabemos protegernos
a la soledad de no tener nada ni nadie.

Si es costumbre lo que nos hace generar apego
encauzado por una buena primera impresión
quizá si eliminamos los filtros
de esa percepción inicial
podamos generar apego
hacia cualquier cosa o persona.
Hay veces en que incluso
es negativa esa impresión
como un niño
que es constantemente maltratado
y que , sin embargo,
prefiere estar con eso "malo conocido"
que con algo o alguien desconocido.

Quizá con suficiente consciencia de soledad
de desapego
de austeridad
se pueda dar ese sentimiento positivo
en cada nueva persona
sin que en su ausencia nos estorbe el ausente
ni nos agobie la fata de aquello que no tenemos.
Comprender que
en esencia
todo estaba igual de completo y correcto
antes de que ese algo o alguien apareciera
antes de que nosotros apareciéramos siquiera.

La memoria es útil.
Es herramienta del aprendizaje
y muchas veces fuente del gozo reciclado
pero así como puede hacernos disfrutar de nuevo lo bueno
nos puede hacer sufrir de nuevo lo malo
y condicionarnos de ese modo
a clasificar lo nuevo
en referencia al recuerdo de lo conocido.

viernes, 11 de marzo de 2016

Canción del agua

El agua es en realidad tan muda.
Solamente habla a través de su movimiento.

Sin embargo, hay veces en que su canto no cesa
desde la percusión de la gota
en su confluencia con el todo
hasta la eterna cantata del río
y el estruendo catastrófico de la cascada.

Y están, por supuesto aquellas aguas quietas:
Verdosos estanques
llenos de vida sumergida.
Espejos inmutables,
interminables horizontes donde,
lejos del quedísimo adagio
de su oleaje constante,
parece perecer el sonido.

Solo a veces
en días estivos y de tormenta,
irrumpe la calma muda
aquella otra calma,
la audible cadencia de la lluvia,
y su rumor tan melancólico.

jueves, 10 de marzo de 2016

Silencio

Hay veces en que olvido mi preciado silencio
y en umbral de mi voz se agolpan
"sin-motivos" por salir.

Veces en que me desanima
no tener una canción para cantar.

Otras veces logro
ahuyentar de mi mente
el ruido de la razón;
entonces,
llega a mis oídos un susurro leve,
la música más hermosa,
la del mundo real,
esa canción que cantan
las cosas al no moverse
y los seres al ser.

¿Cómo haces?

Dime,
¿cómo haces para ser
tan profunda y superficial a la vez?

¿cómo haces para estar
tan dentro de mí,
esencial,
en todas partes,
a todas horas?

¿cómo haces para irte
con esa ligereza,
para no aferrarte,
para fluir?

¿cómo haces
para escaparte de mis manos
para hacer que te necesite tanto
cuando más lejos estás?

Dime,
agua,
¿cómo haces?

Semilla

No hay prisa alguna.

La semilla ha caído, inerte;
pero contiene en sí, el resumen del universo.

No existe el tiempo para ella;
y sin embargo,
cuando la primera lluvia acaricie sus contornos,
comenzará una revolución que, poco a poco,
se alzará hasta culminar
en un florecimiento de magnífico esplendor.

El más grande árbol
es el potencial
de la más pequeña semilla.