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sábado, 17 de diciembre de 2011

Her experiences

Her experiences

Considering different schools
Hidden under sidewalks of other cities
Bleeding the wound to clean the pus
Determining the stump that will seal scarcity

It measures disasters and absolutions
While caressing the indocile contour
Of a beast, that for being created, very cherished
That in her thoughts accompanies out of time

Half madness, sentiment and emotion
Half rational, the summit that knows it will not be
And that shows her as a simple lesson
That everything is necessary beyond reality.

Part of her story or perhaps briefly
Has passed within human arms
Although it could be that this haven’t occurred
Thanks to the tender confusion that history allows

To those who pretend to insert them through the eyes
On what is going on in their everyday life
When the skin that aspires to be loved
For pretending higher intentions is delayed

Removing all the brightness and the radiance
To the gestures that should exhibit the reason
Born searcher of the explanations of extremes
Where could not be found the origin or the end.

Occurs the date of birth
That of the first kiss
The one of the first funeral
Without anything that can replace them.

The impulse of the own nature
Shaking the urgency of priorities
The vision that is known
The consciousness that grazes itself

Through the exhaustion in conceiving equilibrium
That avoids the violation of the force
And still then goes forward vigorously
Like the dagger of the Persian not belonging
To the forger or the bearer

And even though it radiates to have its owner
That perhaps never put a finger on it
But who have put his thought on it
Making all the others to just bearers
Of the message that should be deciphered in time.

And so the air touches
Foretelling the heat
That grants it the right to play
With the smokes of its experiences.

Smarc
15.08.02
14:52

viernes, 16 de diciembre de 2011

Fatigue and consolation

Fatigue and consolation

Not starting from the simple or complex
From a title of two words that are judged
Fully in the world of forms
Warm and somehow sad in the attention focused

In the real act of breathing for another
In which both heaven and hell
Of also different intensities
Are fused for the exact accomplishment

If it weren’t from a promise
At least the one of conditions
Like the tools of the farmer
When he looks at the land and he evaluates his responsibility.

And all the possible plays
Above all the cruel ones
For the known situation
Of a pre-established oneness

And that each one wants to bring out
As if for it would be necessary to do something
Because the normal has been to live in disdain
And it’s difficult to control the desire to answer

While the purpose doesn’t have clarity
In confronting the effort to attempt an assessment
Of each part that refers to the fellow
Expanded and not reduced, a modest teaching

So that greatness is not a burden
Or any littleness is forgotten
Accepting everything the whole and the naught
The male, the female and their Gods

As the air and the world are accepted
Converted in a frame that it isn’t enclosed
More than one part of what projected
And that has started in what is called time

That use to persist as a thought
Such as a splinter stuck in the skin
That was not pulled out but delayed
And that at certain moment happens to return with pain

To the inaction of someone who endures
For not paying the appropriate attention
More necessary during the first steps
Than in the last possible to be given

Because the way of the beginning
Trends to direct the rest of the journey
Unless the precise leaps are made
Between one line of expression and another

Expressing purity above normal
Reflecting in deeds the law that wasn’t read
But because it has been observed
It isn’t a cause of weariness but of solace.

Andrea
14:27
15.08.02

miércoles, 14 de diciembre de 2011

Repairing

Repairing

The night wants to close in itself
Knowing that the darkness that it releases
It does, by law, the sky under which somebody walks
If by mistake, it confused the light with colors.

And any way the intentions are weary
Bordering the old enthusiasm like a dance
That of was accomplished pretends to form a foundation
On which it appears correct to build a scale.

But nothing is so simple
Once inside, at only two steps from the entrance of the temple
By now there are forgotten the stairs leading to the atrium
By now there isn’t money for the price of the beginning of the journey.

The pressure doesn’t stop
Constancy is its essence
And it’s not with intelligence that can be endured
But with the confrontation that belittles defiance

In the conviction for which only one mind
Can connect with another focusing a new point
In the spiral that some day can be considered as a net
Such as formerly, the fire was considered a source of heat.

Different intensities for the same variables
The doubt of one who searches for trust
The defense that always presents
The one who fears to continue being wounded

But on other levels
With the four planes spreading
The dimension that is breathed and the one that it isn’t
Since, it doesn’t pertain to the surrounding of the tangible.

The beginning always clumsy, where courage is created
Because the soul has already attempted the distant brightness
Even living the reality of something impossible
Measuring existence or scarcity in the amount of perseverance

That is necessary not only to give a step forward
But to sustain the rhythm of the race
When it’s discovered that the direction was wrong
And what is hard is not to accept it, but to take up again the path
As if there is harm in the sin, only in repairing it will be forgiveness

Andrea
20:02
14.08.02

martes, 13 de diciembre de 2011

In the rope

In the rope

Having chosen you for being impossible
Among ten thousand impossibilities
Kissing once and again the ashes
To make my lips of flesh able
To the savor of the skin containing your soul

I ask again with the concept of demanding
The truce that implies the end of all of them:
The babbling of the lost paradise
The literature of hell so much described
And to see you calm when you think on me.

But I am who says
And they allege me a trap
And they attribute me the emotion
And what they leave me is what I am
The living body painting dawns in its mind.


Then, the smells don’t have meaning
The obstacles aren’t worthwhile
There is something that costs more than their value
And although unfairness was breathed
It isn’t its denial but its rejection what inspires.

Teasing with little stones to the closed window
Behind which not only your body sleeps
And ignoring, the infinite pretends your desires
But also, although it is never believed,
Concedes a break to who will end timely.

But it passes, as everybody knows
Because one who dies doesn’t speak
Nor lives who doesn’t express
And because pretending everything
It’s nothing more than an inherited claim.

Because in the slackest ropes
There isn’t lack of hands able to support
But the almost high desire abounds
Of each foot that wants to be what it wants
As if the intentions were enough
Of which, it’s known, nobody wants to speak.

Smarc
00:22
13.08.02

lunes, 12 de diciembre de 2011

The question

The question

In your smallness is testing you
The one who wants to make you a giant
And carries the name you have
And bear the face you can see
When you raise your chin and look at the mirror.

In this that you imagine will be past
Because you suspect you will be underground
Feeling so much pain for the words of others
It is where the value of values is fixed
And for it the bond in your hands that will support it.

And the cigarette and the cruel kiss
The bottle that is finishing and the body that is starting
The exam that wants to awake oblivion
Such as the learned before what you want to learn
And back to back, the school of contempt and that of humility.

The circle that for being imagined
Could be breakable
The beginning that marks the end
The genetics and the revelations
Your voice alone in the crowd.

Again and better
The tar on the steel cables
The first callus on the fingertip
Touching the writing that someone wrote
When the time was different but with the same thirst.

When in another human box
Could also be conceivable
The idea you share with the air
The steps that you generously yield to your shadow
The passage of your history on the island concedes you uncertainty.

Agility and persistence
The spin that only you notice
When they yell at right, center or left
And through the stress of who decides
To be or not to be what can be attained in solitude.

Andrea
12.08.02
23:54

domingo, 11 de diciembre de 2011

El coito declarado patrimonio de la humanidad

Yo, Silvio, Manuel, Andrea, Smarc, Dualidad, 101, 217, etc., haciendo uso benevolente del poder que la suma y conjunto de todas mis personalidades me confieren

Considerando:

- Lo despectivo de ciertos comentarios de una parte de la población que, basándose en mi gusto por Wargner, que en supuestamente va en detrimento de estilos musicales como el Regueaton.

- El dolor almático y crisis existencial que en mis personalidades generan el no poder bailar – por razones estéticas -, danzas de profunda significación dodecaédrica (votamos a Cortázar), como el perreo.

- La crisis mundial, en cuya representación cada vez hay más mujeres con sobrepeso y/o varones sin masa conceptual humana mínima, con todo el gasto médico que esta situación implica.

Resuelvo:

- Declarar el coito como patrimonio tangible como intangible de la humanidad, en la esperanza de que a cada cual se le de por donde más le guste y/o necesite y no tenga que ir por ahí sacando a los que ya no tienen ni una buena erección, ni una buena humectación, dados los casos.

A los once días del mes de diciembre del 2011, año del señor, y con las bolas llenas,

Su graciosa majestad.

Divúlguese y archívese, en los términos que manda la ley, de mi huevo derecho.

Así sea.

sábado, 10 de diciembre de 2011

Starting and traveling

Starting and traveling

With three serpents besides me
To talk about cracks and feelings
I write your personal time of expectation
So that it never belongs to me.

Greeting the golden bowl
That without being the same each day
Accompanies your unique variation
That each day is unrepeatable inevitably

I dare to close my eyes
In the middle of the show
In which the force is measured
For the way it generates

And I agree, as if it depends on me,
To the process of vanity
For which is placed a grain of sand
Under the sight of someone facing the sea

Since the shore that knows no vessels
To push it until deep into the forest
Where from the tree calls the wood
That arranged could serve as tool.

And the premonition
That everything is lost
That all would have been in vain
That everything will be reduced to eloquence
And that then I could be wrong.

In the midst of weeping
Where all the fish get drown
Able to claim to the entire desert
The least trace of humidity

Somebody who for the desire to enter so much,
Desists to any act that can lead to do it
Giving to the tact the possibility of magic
That only arises from her when abstaining to touch

So that what exists can reflect without fear of rejection
Something that could have been worse
And to itself is appointed
As starting point and not as a way already started.

Smarc
23:35
12.08.02

viernes, 9 de diciembre de 2011

In other things

In other things

I shorten distances, that’s all
If it splashes me or not
If it runs from me or not
And ends for not finding me whoever is.

Nothing seems the same as years before
-The same people who lead to don’t change anything
Even though this could be the right price
For which what remains could be better

The truth is that the target is moving
And each improvement of the archer
Only serves to make the prey smile
Looking behind while it sidesteps what comes.

Otherwise I would ask you to think on me
That you consider me as no one else did
And thus forcing me in the way you can,
And introduce in your presence a part of my dwelling.

But the air is what moves me
And it’s to access the beauty you convey
That I search for the one who created
More than who bears the work.

Although it’s also true that we are old
That it wouldn’t be true what I say if I don’t live it
That, for example I still observe your legs
As years before when they were already opened as doors of desires.

But one of us is in other things
For not having changed so much
One of us started between two pillars
The own, and the one with the name inherited.

Different is the despair
Hopelessness is the same
Passion doesn’t extend, it goes deeper,
Searching the unique and renouncing to the multiple.

And the lips that don’t say
Because the whole day were expressing
From the first greeting of the day
Until the proposed drink far into the night
When treachery lashes the haste of ignorance without pity.

Andrea
12.08.02
23:16

jueves, 8 de diciembre de 2011

Relative pronoun II

Relative pronoun II


That could endure
But not with grace
That could overcome
But without defeating oneself.

That I would like more than anybody
But only for wanting so much
That would surrender as any other
But for ignoring what to do with her.

That they have dogged at the heels to music
And for ignoring how to create, repeats them
That the reason assists him in each decision
And for it, any kind of madness would be temporary.

That appeals to the memories
Because what he has isn’t enough
That appeals to the possible
Because scares him what he judged impossible.

That when naked they are not observed
And in the ignorance they know timidity
That the goal is high and very distant
For the brief body, that in its vision focuses the whole star.

That there is no intention without purpose
Although sometimes sincerity isn’t expressed
That many times is late
Only to understand time little by little.

That everything is true and sometimes real
So that each one can continues dreaming
That in the limit of all limits
It rests smiling, the finger of who creates for knowing it.

That someone makes his eyes tired
To demand the other the sidewalk to follow
That not being able to recognize to be selfish
There is someone who wants to impose reciprocity to the other.

That air isn’t eternal
And even though it seems good
That my life, like yours
Is brief and for it, knows that can change.

Smarc
22:53
12.08.02

miércoles, 7 de diciembre de 2011

Once more

Once more

To the best it seems not difficult
That to others causes desperation
Being difficult to know if the attitude
Directs or is part of the result.

The mystery of confrontation
Stress or relaxation in the previous moment
With the fear that at the end
For a slip arises resentment
For the price paid for only intending it.

Because until the situation happens
Everything is nothing more than “the before”
And in its own development
Fast or slow according to each one.

When the way out is imposed
Considered as the only one but not for being it
But for having been found with effort
With the almost tragic implication of total exhaustion.

It is when the opportunity is given to the warrior
To close his eyes before the temptation of the only option
Or resist a little more even if he wants to bend his neck
To see if he really can, or otherwise to transform it in wine
Or at least preserve the life blood in its own vessel.

A crucial instant in which each word can affect the years to come
Because all past years were lived for it
And that something of transformation which all movement implies
In the memory of the demand to renounce to every immediate reward.

Having to breathe in deeply, but this time without pride
The asphyxiating air suffocating one who doesn’t belong to the surroundings
And thus receiving the most certain education
That is of calm, even if sadness dwells in it when facing a storm.

Impossible to accomplish unless by faith
For that who, subjected to iron aspires to heaven
As irrelevant is for one who lives happy in dungeons
Replete of bodies that can overcome misfortune.

Going ahead, playing to advance or not in battle
Considering when one will be stronger
And when the enemy can be seen weaker
And once more, the indomitable drive that looks for the fist guiding it.

martes, 6 de diciembre de 2011

Who knows?

Who knows?

Better when everybody says that is impossible
So what you say is a reflect of your experience
And finally not only one more theory that is intending
To leave behind its garments of utopia embracing the streets.

It’s convenient to continue in predicting season changes
Piling tedious mountains for the future astrologist
That the crowd sustains its condition of undecipherable
So that the selfish, if he can, ends up building his protection wall.

For some reason is necessary to let complaints continue
And at the same time, step by step glimpse in the dimness
The body rhythm coupling to the ancestral melody
That in its unique compass is performing all its harmony.

The touch of tender and that of maturity
A combination of a loved and pregnant woman womb
Who still ignores that within her womb Achilles already throbs
And the hands of the smith, who for a moment finds repose.

Two identical pans of an accurate scale
Both supporting the same weight
Until one of them starts to suspect
That it is complying a purpose, probably intended.

It isn’t exact yet
What is pretended isn’t blindness anymore
New senses are discovered
To scrutinize things not perceived before.

Better then is the hustle and bustle of bees
The impressive concentration
Of millions of thousands of them focused on something
So that just two or three – perhaps ten – carry on the task.

After all, who cares if you arrive or you’re delayed
Either way, if you don’t find any answers
All would be in vain, but above all to continue living
With the grimace of someone accepting but not renouncing
And who doesn’t have the courage after a decade and even more with only illusion as fuel.

But in the meanwhile there must be permission
For all of them at least something, like when in the orphanage
Once a year a ball was given to a boy and a doll to a girl
To reduce their time to the durability of something.

domingo, 4 de diciembre de 2011

Ione Szalay - Kabaláh y mundo moderno – La actualización de la mística occidental

Ficha del libro:
-----------------------------
Título: Kabaláh y mundo moderno – La actualización de la mística occidental
Autor: Ione Szalay
Editorial: Kier
ISBN: 950-17-3902-3
Nro. Páginas: 301
------------------------------
Kabaláh y mundo moderno – La actualización de la mística occidental
por Silvio Manuel Rodríguez Carrillo

“Kabaláh y mundo moderno” es un libro en el que Ione Szalay expone la doctrina de esta ciencia milenaria y su aplicación a la vida de este siglo. Partiendo de la posibilidad de acceder a la unidad desde la dualidad, el autor avanza en su exposición haciendo un recorrido por las principales religiones monoteístas en donde señala las conexiones entre el misticismo judío, cristiano e islámico, que tienen la Biblia como fundamento común. Seguidamente, en un agradable giro, el autor nos ofrece algunas biografías de grandes maestros kabalistas, además de referir las obras de destacados pensadores contemporáneos relacionados con la Kabaláh.

Con lo anterior como base, el autor pasa a explicar la relación entre la tradición y la renovación de la Kabaláh, a través del concepto de integración, que tiene como pilar generativo a la creatividad. Aquí, el enlace entre crisis y crecimiento, supeditados a una lucha interior, se sustenta merced a citas del Talmud, el Génesis, y del libro de Jonás, principalmente. A manera de cierre de la primera parte del libro, Ione Szalay nos ofrece textos actuales de diferentes autores, que refieren e interpretan aspectos de la Toráh, como ejemplificando la manera en la que la tradición efectivamente se renueva.

En la segunda parte del libro el lector podrá percibir que en Kabaláh nada es teórico, por ello, antes de seguir profundizando, el autor expone las condiciones bajo las cuales el aprendiz podrá lograr un desarrollo, incluyendo aquí algunos “riesgos del conocimiento” que será preciso correr. Luego de abordar la ceremonia de iniciación, Szalay nos introduce de pleno a lo cotidiano, abordando temas como el trabajo, el bien y el mal, además de la enfermedad, señalando el valor de la ética kabalista (consecuente con la Ley) y el resultado de sujetarse a la misma, en un discurso diáfano, fervoroso y racional.

Para coronar el libro, y de una manera espléndida, Ione Szalay nos obsequia tres poderosas lecciones (llaves para abrir el reino), “Gam zu le továh (‘todo es para bien’), “Lej lejá” (‘vete hacia ti mismo’) y “Hashem iré” (‘Dios verá’), con las cuales el lector, ya con otro nivel de conciencia, podrá alcanzar a comprender el profundo significado de los preceptos que se estudian a continuación, que refieren a Dios (Deuteronomio 6:5-9), al prójimo (Levítico 19:17-18) y al libre albedrío (Deuteronomio 30:15-19), luego de lo cual, dependerá de cada uno intentar lograr la “debekút”, el “encuentro entre el hombre y Dios”.

En este segundo libro de la colección “Kabaláh contemporánea” de la editorial Kier, Ione Szalay, con un toque de orfebre y otro de ingeniero, consigue construir un puente que conecta las fuentes primigenias de una ciencia antiquísima con el día a día de nuestro tiempo, a través de un lenguaje claro y cálido por el cual expone con sencillez la esencia de conceptos difíciles aunque verdaderos. Por lo mencionado, Kabaláh y mundo moderno constituye un material recomendado para todos aquellos que deseen iniciarse en el arte de aprender a vivir en una realidad en la que absolutamente todo tiene un sentido.

viernes, 2 de diciembre de 2011

Excess

Excess

After twenty five days from my trial
Listening to express the excess:
That naught is enough and the whole is superfluous
And only with my eyelids I can cover the moon

And I spread my hands toward the four cardinal points
In case you come or go and in the meanwhile
Of what those not searching know a loot
In the intense well of suffering.

Over there, at a distance they still are riddling lips
All tideland and belligerence of gunpowder
Between the stakes that endured time
More than the bones of who didn’t see them grow

The thread is already dreaming of becoming a bridge
So that the newly born perceives it in seconds
And keeps it inside to expose later
When from the grass comes up the forest to protect him.

Such as the ways that travels the mute
And like a world without ways
The mother of cities that not giving birth any more
And the man who mentions them refers to their dust.

Another slip and no fatality
Taking the height of loneliness into the entrails
For compassion of the whole room
And the astonished sight of one who doesn’t understand



The scream always painfully silenced
Of the sterile woman who spent her life caressing
The golden hair of those who weren’t her children
And in the midst of her wrinkles smiles bravely at the future.

And he never found the sorrel
And he always knew that he wouldn’t
And as never was enough to know that he was wrong
Nothing would be enough to realize that he was never right

Because for one who sails in magic
It isn’t on the sea where he frees his boat
But between what it isn’t touched or smelt
On the same similarity of the idea that generates it.

And a little more:

The fraternity that was denied to him
And that he accepted as it is accepted summer
And the commitment of not looking back
Like a nail inserted in his heart
For the one who is forbidden to complaint.

The voice of a mother asking for a haven
Between thirst and urgent need of shelter
Encircled by gestures wanting to express
Affection, roots, center and finality.

And the hollow of trees that were company
The shade of Manu tree and the butterfly seeking flame
Stroking the center of the cranium
The indescribable but understandable emotion of being different.

The lover and the moon who guides him
The cherished lady and the bread of good will
While the suspicion of a sun toward its sea
Opens a slash of bright emerald on a named but unknown stone.

The femur in the mind of Avicenna
Fingers that cannot reach more force
Reducing the trapeze artist to a vain attempt
Lifting the public to the level of novice observer.

With lye in the eyes
Closing the heart
The hands hardened
Making the kiss its impossible goal.

Where the timber wouldn’t resist
Because the weeping would moisten the foundation
Where the light burns and causes wounds
Because who pretends it isn’t ready.

Little and meager and gleaming
Slight and thus precise
The union that was unwanted
The tail that obeys the eyes guiding it.

In pursuing understanding
That one isn’t oneself when saying so
That when one talks is about somebody else
And in naming others, if you don’t judge
You can touch what differs from the one who names it.