Ramas de Sed

I am stuck in random daydreams today. It's almost like the Universe is playing a trick on me, some sort of cosmic mind-fuckery. After two days of sitting at my desk, dreaming about sunshine and the comforting heat that summer brings, I catch a showing of "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" and I'm at once lost in the gorgeous scenery and sensuality of Spain.

I told someone on the phone this morning that I've been feeling really emotional lately. While I've been slightly more sensitive the past couple of days, I've been able to keep a perspective about it that is grounding and secure. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm like the walking wounded. Songs make me cry, everything I feel is so acute. Normally this type of vulnerability would be very difficult to maneuver but I find that I'm finally able to use this state of being as a tool to progress and evolve.

A lot of new emotions have been bubbling to the surface lately and I'm grateful that I've got outlets to work through these complicated feelings. Between running, painting, and this blog - I've created some very therapeutic means of expressing myself.

This rain must stop soon. I think it's throwing me for a loop .... I'm restless and anxious. I ache for sunshine, heat and predictability. I've grown weary of the constant teasing and taunting. The hot and the cold, the flux and flow of uncertainty. I've been advised to enjoy the ride and adjust my expectations. But that's not the way I'm hardwired. In fact - my circuitry goes directly against that school of thought.

Until I can quell the triple lutz in my heart and head, I'll take respite in the dancing fantasies of sitting in a quaint European cafe, smoking cigarettes that don't cause cancer, sipping cocktails that never lead to hangovers and spending my days chasing whatever impulses and urges my little bohemian heart can muster.

Ramas de sed
by Limam Boicha

Bajo la sombra de una acacia espinosa
dos cuerpos juntos tartamudean
ante su desnudez,
mientras medio desierto
los separa de ma al-ayún.
En la Bahía de Santiago
alguien golpeó un tambor
y gritó mágicas palabras primitivas
en hasanía o amárico
en mandinga o castellano.
Desde la fuente de Canaletas
llegó una misiva en calatán,
con mapa y todo,
anunciando que ese camello perdido
sin letra ni fuego
puede ser un tonel de agua.