"hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic...” ~Van Morrison After what it felt like an eternal impasse, escribo. The sense of stillness that I often experience when I am at home in Asturias turned to be a surprising turmoil of emotions this time. Reencuentros is perhaps the best word that captures six weeks of reflection, nurturing company and regained strength to continue a journey of discovery in St-Petersburg, that seems now scarily fleeing. Dialoguing with the past forces you to question decisions that impacted your present and might shape your future. Whenever I was faced with the question ‘What made you leave home?’, I struggled to produce a sensitive answer that did not convey betrayal, an answer that was true to my genuine desire to learn about myself and those who speak other languages, who live different lives, who express creativity and love in ways I could have never imagined. Reconnecting with old friendships that felt incredibly young and supportive made the blurred lines of my adolescence neat and senseful. My forty-four year old soul that has traveled the world in search of questions found at last the courage to share stories with a soothing sense of confidence, with the understanding that I still belong. I no longer feel burdened by the guilt of having abandoned my homeland, but reassured that my one-way ticket has an open return…a la casa que me vio nacer, al valle que me hizo crecer…
The geographies that compose the atlas of my life are not as divergent as one might think, the coordinates are established on the need to belong, on the feeling that I matter in the lives of others. As I am listening to Barbieri’s piece, ¿Por qué se oprime el alma? from the zarzuela A mis dos mujeres, I cannot help but thinking that memories sometimes sting, leave your soul dismantled, but being forgotten is an acute pain that human beings cannot bear. I want people to breathe my passion for life, my freedom, to be touched by my warmth, to feel my lightness, to remember me with a smile.
The geographies that compose the atlas of my life are not as divergent as one might think, the coordinates are established on the need to belong, on the feeling that I matter in the lives of others. As I am listening to Barbieri’s piece, ¿Por qué se oprime el alma? from the zarzuela A mis dos mujeres, I cannot help but thinking that memories sometimes sting, leave your soul dismantled, but being forgotten is an acute pain that human beings cannot bear. I want people to breathe my passion for life, my freedom, to be touched by my warmth, to feel my lightness, to remember me with a smile.
Por eso existió Muelle, fragmento, por Martha Asunción Alonso
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| No creáis al maestro cuando os hable de muros prisioneros del hombre que los hizo: ¿verdad que no es el beso de quien en él se ofrece, sino del cuerpo que le hace un barrio o una llaga para dormirse a su derecha? |  |
Tampoco la poesía es del escriba,
o el pan del panadero, ni siquiera la cruz
de los cristianos.
Tampoco en la intemperie, hijos míos,
hay flechas de itinerario alternativo.
Por eso existió Muelle.
Para que nunca nos exiliemos de este álbum
(sigamos siendo todopoderosos
y tan rápidos
y jóvenes los padres libres,
feligreses los hijos).
Por la luz.
Por el cuero lactante de este invierno:
por vosotros.
o el pan del panadero, ni siquiera la cruz
de los cristianos.
Tampoco en la intemperie, hijos míos,
hay flechas de itinerario alternativo.
Por eso existió Muelle.
Para que nunca nos exiliemos de este álbum
(sigamos siendo todopoderosos
y tan rápidos
y jóvenes los padres libres,
feligreses los hijos).
Por la luz.
Por el cuero lactante de este invierno:
por vosotros.
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