Alone – Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

This story is not true in the sense that most people use the word. It emerges out of the mists of time, rooted deep in the heritage of Britain. It is a weave of mythologies, theologies, and histories. It is the story of two people, and a story of our peoples. It has no beginning and it has no ending.

The Apple and the Thorn is a story, who explore two iconic characters of mythical England. Vivian, the Lady of the Lake and Joseph of Arimathea. It’s a story where two faiths, two worlds coming together, full of passion and love, of inner thoughts and inner experiences, shared by its authors.

It tells the story from two different points of view, the voice of Vivian is Emma, the voice of Eosaidh (Joseph) is Walter, or you can say that it’s the other way around, they are the voice of the characters; that is something that gives an added value to the reading experience. It appeals to both Christians and Pagans alike, and there’s a beautiful love story inside, not only between the main characters, but a love to the traditions, the nature and the land.

It appeals me the most the part told by Walter on the Eosaidh character, since is a character who grow and learn a lot during the book, he learn to love the land and its spirits, to honour them, in parallel to his love for Vivian, who in contrast, didn’t develop or learn very much during the tale, it lacks of the humility and openness of the one who wants to learn, and is portrait as a person who believes has all the answers and the right path, she just don’t get another way that is no hers; however her character also gives a lot of meaningful experiences about the pagan spirituality that enriches the tale.

In general is a good reading, very easy to go through, once you started it’s difficult to put it down, and at the end gives to the reader a feeling of hope and tolerance, as well as invite to have a reflexion on these both faiths, their weakness and strengths, as with the weakness and strengths of the readers’ own path.

Native American Lore

Some thoughts share by native americans that are worth to think about

Mario Benedetti

One of the most extraordinary poets of our modern world has pass away. And even when he is now on the stellar journey, his work will remain for years.

He may not be very well know on the english speaking world. And even when translate a poem is so much complicated and never give the true feeling of the original work, some of you may appreciate his poetry this way:



Much more serious

All the parcels of my life has something yours
And that is in true nothing extraordinary
You know it as objectively as I do
However there is something that I would like to clarify to you
When I say all the parcels,
I don’t refer just to this that we have now,
This of waiting for you and Aleluya find you,
and damn it loosing you,
and find you again,
and I wish that was all.
I’m not meaning that out of the blue you say to me, I’m going to cry
And I, with a discreet lump in my throat, come on, cry.
And that an invisible cute rain protect us
And may be because of that the sun rises.
I neither refer only that day after day,
Our little and decisive complicities stock grow
Or that I can believe that I can transform my defeats into victories,
Or you give me the tender gift of your most recent desperation.

No.
This is much more serious.
When I say all the parcels of my live
I mean that in addition to this sweat cataclysm,
You are also rewriting my childhood,
That age in which one says adult and solemn things
And the solemn adults celebrate it,
Instead you know that that is not worth of it.

I mean you are remaking my teenager years,
That time on which I was an old man full of jealousy,
And you, instead, know how to extract that moor
My joyful germen and to water it just by looking.

I want to say that you are shaking my youth
That pitcher of clay that nobody took in their hands,
That shadow that nobody get together to their own shadow,
And you, instead know how to shake it
Until the dry leaves fall down,
And only the frame of my truth without heroic deeds stand.

I want to say that you are holding my mature days
That mixture of atonishment and experience,
That weird confine of anguish and snow,
This candle that ilumínates death,
This precipice of poor life.

As you can see this is more serious,
much mor serious,
Because with these or other words,
I want to say that you are not only
The dearest girl you are,
But also the esplendid or cautious women
That I loved or I love.

Because thanks to you I found
(and you could say it was about time, and will be right)
That love is a cute and generous bay
That lights up and darkens down
According with how life comes,
A bay where ships come and go,
Come with birds and omens,
And go with mermaids and dark clouds.
A cute and generous bya,
Where ships come and go
But you,
Please,
Don’t go


Don´t Save Yourself

Don't Save yourself,
Don´t be immobile
On the edge of the road,
Don't freeze the joy,
Don't love with reluctance,
Don't save yourself now
or ever,
Don't save yourself,
Don't fill with calm,
Don't reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
Don't let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
Don´t speak without lips,
Don't fall asleep without sleepiness,
Don't think of you without blood,
Don't judge yourself without time.

But if in spite of everything
You cannot avoid it
And you freeze the joy,
And you love with reluctance,
And you save yourself now,
And you full with calm,
And you reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
And you let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
And you speak without lips,
And you fall asleep without sleepiness,
And you think yourself without blood,
And you judge yourself without time,
And you are immobile
On the edge of the road,
And you save yourself,
Then
Don't stay with me.


Tactic And Strategy

My tactic is
Looking at you,
Learning how you are,
Loving you as you are,
My tactic is
Talking to you
And listening to you
To build with words
An indestructible bridge
My tactic is
Remaining in your memories
I don't know how
Nor with which pretext
But remaining with you.
My tactic is
Being frank,
And knowing that you are frank,
And not selling each other
Simulations
So that between us
There is no curtain
Nor abyss.
My strategy is,
However,
Deeper and
Easier,
My strategy is
That one of these days
I don't know how
Nor with which pretext
You finally
Need me.

Liminal

I was writing an entry in my Spanish language blog, about a great fusion group called Salsa Celtica, that by the way, is highly recommended for those who like either salsa or celtic music, or both. But I’m not going to repeat the same that I posted there. However the topic of the syncretism, fusion, cross-over, and many other names came to my mind.

How can we define ourselves? Is definition by itself a way to put boundaries to our experiences or a way to state that you are part of something? Mixing over everything is good?

Well, it’s very complex to answer this questions with a single yes or no, as most of thing in life they are full of colours, and not only black or white. We need some definition, some stability in our lives. For some is the need to know who they friends are, for others, know that the person you love, loves you back and is that there’s a commitment in there. For others is religion, work, sport, etc.

But having a wider spectrum than the majority of people is really to not be defined? For example, I’m following a spiritual path that even when is mainly based on celtic spirituality, it also have something of eclectic paganism and I even incorporate the Christians roots of my childhood. That, I assure you, in not drifting in the limbo between all this, I have very clear what I believe and what I don’t, I have very clear what it’s really rooted in the past and what is a modern interpretation, however, I don’t need to totally reject the ethics and even some of the spirituality that shape me as a boy and a teenager; nor I reject that some modern interpretations of ancient lore has value; I just make a great effort to don’t loose of my sight the main tree of my grove, the one on which I’m centred, the celtic reconstructionism.

But whilst examining my life I saw that pattern repeated in several points of my life: I can write with my right and my left hand. I love music cross-overs and fusions, to explore into different rhythms, melodies, styles. My favourite time of the day are sunrises and sunsets. I fancy both women and men. I’m an engineer who loves spiritual thinking and philosophy. All that elements of my particular life make me think about the concept of liminal spaces in the celtic myths.

The liminal spaces where the most sacred ones, they were the times and places where magic was more powerful; they were entrances to the other world, and sources of wisdom. There was an important colour for them, nglas, which was between our grey, blue and green. It had, or represent at least, the three realms of which this world was made, Samhain and Beltaine were taken as liminal day between the dark and the bright side of the year. etc. There are a lot of references in literature and myths.

The question is why? what are the attributes of those places moments... are they important because they are not defined, because they are open to more possibilities? or are they defined in their own nature but not by our standards?

We live in a world where everything tends to be dualistic, you are with me or against me, you are good or evil. And by those standards, yes people like me, moments like those, places like that, are undefined. But I really thing that they are not, that what we need is a wider spectrum of definitions, a perception that life is not a simple as black and white, and then realise that the beauty, the power of the concept of liminal is that its definition is to itself and not to exterior forces. Just look around you, do you see a static and perfectly defined nature, or do you see a diversity of colours, smells, tastes, shapes and sounds.

Don't be afraid if reality is not simple and flat, that is what it makes it so beautiful, that is not.

The great Argentinean writer, Borges, in a short story, that some could classify as “Magic Realism” (what a lovely literary term, isn’t it?) defined the maximum expression of Liminal that as the Aleph "The only place on earth where all places are -- seen from every angle, each standing clear, without any confusion or blending”.

So it’s not to be undefined, is a definition beyond boundaries.