Cuando el centro no existe…

Si se dibuja un círculo

    una figura prehistórica

       alrededor de la nube “yo”

si se encienden los pétalos sumergidos

    en océanos congelados

       iluminando la escalera al desconcierto

si se hablan de misterios y chistes

    al tragar un pez vivo

       cae en la infinita hambre

si se deja llorar al deseo

    cuando ríe el invierno

       en la tristeza de cada noche

si se pierde el control soñando

    inventando futuros imposibles

       lentamente acariciando la soledad

si se nutren las bibliotecas con espejismos

    el cielo es gárgola

       con mirada de piedra goza los siglos

si se hace una cueva en el centro

   nacidos y por nacer reunidos

       en silencio para luego decir:

“esto ya sucedió,

   pero podemos revivirlo.”

 

 

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Con cada nueva palabra…

 

 

El poema se trata de una discordia

   rompe la lógica de una utopía racional

        se repite, repite, repite

el golpe para consolidar una quimera

             allá afuera, la política y la ciencia

       forzando un sentido donde no hay alguno

el desorden instantáneo del movimiento

               destruye el centro de nuestra individualidad

y los versos desgarrados como las vísceras de una guerra

     exploran desunidos la placentera anarquía

 del presente desconocido

        con sus mil formas innombrables

el fin del mundo llega siempre

       con cada cabeza mortal

             asomaba sobre el abismo de la incertidumbre

y la total imposibilidad de conocer

           solo sentir…

                       entre mareas de cambios.

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As mountain ranges

What is the soundtrack
   to this constant disorder
and while the curve of this orb
    sings the tune of its oddity
I am crushed by every second of perplexity —

The white impermanent clouds
      the bus ride
all the new babies

The bullet chases me since birth
   when the kingdom of noise prospered
I see streaks of light beyond my window

I’m not my own voice
    fear is of the length of words
peace is murmuring for me
       as intensely as undisturbed rain
                over wide mountain ranges

WIDER HORIZONS – An essay on experiential limits to truth

“The intellect [as] a local effect of evolution, a flame, perhaps accidental,

which lights up the coming and going of living beings in the narrow

passage open to their action; an lo! forgetting what it has just told us,

it makes of this lantern glimmering in a tunnel a Sun which can

illuminate the world.” Henri Bergson

 

Revolutionary insights are bound to occur every few centuries. Evidence for this is clear since we stopped regarding earth as the center of the universe nor our solar system as the only existent planetary system; the “island universes” discovered in the early 20th century later became proof that we float inside a great vacuum filled with galaxies and our position is not in any way advantageous: we are merely an anthill in a vastly greater desert. Revelations of this sort change the root of all our understanding of the human being and his position in this strange universe. The above discoveries lead to a re-conceptualization of Man on the material plane. There are other revelations that force us to reevaluate our previous conceptions at a cognitive or intellectual level. Kant believed to have transformed philosophy with the same impact that Copernicus’ theory revolutionized astronomy. However, his philosophy as influential as it is, couldn’t produce the radical transformation its author had anticipated. In more recent times Heisenberg dramatically redefined the future of physics with his Uncertainty Principle, setting a perennial barrier to the accuracy of information we can obtain at the subatomic level. It will be safe to speculate that world-changing insights will continue to appear throughout history.

We are so immersed in our own opinions plus the unswerving faith in our convictions makes it hard for us to accept, much less digest, what new ideas are pointing at. The evolution of human knowledge is constantly pushing for wider horizons, breaking free from assumptions that were once crowned as truths but are in reality only provisionary scaffolds that permit the growth of more profound insights. Such may be that case with our idolatry to matter; ever since science usurped almost every field of knowledge proclaiming that epistemological certainty is only possible through objective (that is, physically oriented) evidence.  Steadily ever since Einstein tried to unify electromagnetism and gravity there has been an increasing wave of believers in a unified theory of reality; which in closer analysis is a pretension to explain the entire universe, or all that is, by physical mechanisms. It rests on an unproven assumption that can be summarized like this: because we are able to perceive the physical universe with our five senses and technical apparatuses, everything we perceive can be explained from that which we perceive. In simpler terms we are convinced that there exists nothing more than what we are able to perceive or deduct from our perception, and although this sounds like the plainest commonsense, we should carefully rephrase that assertion to: we can only discuss what we perceive. But we should not discard beforehand the possibility that this world, every phenomenon at the experiential level, may be simply a fragment of a vaster and greater reality. This does not imply that that greater universe which we cannot perceive should be a concern to science and philosophy but it simply comes as a warning to our proud advancement of knowledge. My case can be summed up in the following way:

If our awareness and intelligence arose out of earlier biological experiments, its persistence on this planet must only be explained by the advantages it has given to our species. Its function has been to assist the survival of our kind and not as we now presume, to solve the riddles of existence. Intelligence did not arise to survey all the scope of whatever exists but only to aid the organism in its survival with its immediate environment. This may be a total and insurmountable obstacle for the arrogance of science and philosophy; merely because there may be dimensions of reality we are not designed to perceive, causes that may influence the physical universe which are not strictly perceivable nor deducible from physical phenomena. This condition could set an experiential limitation to our knowledge –not unlike the uncertainty principle – forever and ever concealing absolute truth from our grasp and revealing us not as possessors of facts but merely as gatherers of illusions.

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Un éctasis insensato

cosmos domo

 

 

El miedo y la inseguridad pueden ocultar la inspiración

     construyen murallas alrededor de pequeñas alegrías

y cuando la rutina se une a sus fechorías

regresamos al lodo, nos revolcamos como lombrices

        dejamos el devenir correr,

nace la servidumbre al olvido – conocemos la sombra del silencio

    hace tantos años inventamos el milagro del asombro

ilimitadas realidades habían en un juguete o el vuelo de una ave

    cuando la vibración de cada percepción nos revelaba

la divinidad no-escrita de cada segundo, como discípulos del encanto

 antes que el aprendizaje aburrido, la brutal repetición

          nos convirtió la existencia en algo trivial,

común entre hordas de humanos,

   indiferentes a la poesía de la piel,

        indolentes al brillo de los astros

          apáticos al arte de la respiración

inasible vapor de la imaginación

    exploradores incansables de riquezas perecederas

incapaces en la producción de una sola lucidez

   al nunca trasmutar el bullicio de los días

al tacto embriagado de un poema:

 mucho menos al éctasis insensato

del un baile enloquecido y solitario ante el domo del cosmos.

Mi Ventana

Mirar afuera era la única tranquilidad que podía cosechar dentro de mi angustiosa convicción de que el mundo era viejo, inútil y testarudo. Mirar a través de la ventana que se va nublando con los añejados cansancios, las trepadoras inercias que tapan el invisible del vidrio y ahogan el fragmento del momento con su inexorable oscuridad. Mirar las hojas salvajes bailar al tempestuoso ritmo del viento, sorprender a un insecto en su vuelo errático y absurdo, o quizá, ver humedecerse las partículas de atmósfera con el acercamiento de una feliz tormenta. Existía ahí afuera algo sublime y encantador, algo ajeno a la repetición de apagados pensamientos; dirían otros que estábamos envueltos por un sueño que nunca podremos acceder o entender– nuestro territorio se limita a la cruda realidad de lo ordinario. Con los años de mirar y mirar, el cuarto se tornaba cada vez más insustancial y lo que había afuera era lo único merecedor de atención y dedicación. ¿Estaba buscando algo inmortal, algún gozo inmaterial que me haría olvidar la monotonía de mi desgasto? Las respuestas siempre son incompletas y casi innecesarias, porque la misma naturaleza del universo es inseparable del misterio, la incógnita reinará sobre las ciencias y filosofías por el resto de la historia. Así que yo solo veía, veía las gotas del sol que visitaban en intervalos de éxtasis. La nubosidad de recuerdos me guiaba por el crecimiento de un arbusto que hoy día era un árbol completo: el cambio era la melodía de este sueño, el que reside dentro del cuarto y el que se desenvuelve al otro lado de mi solitaria ventana. Porque al fin y al cabo, ambas esferas son tan deleznables como un sueño pintado por el aliento de ángeles subterráneos. Mi función si acaso se limitaba a contemplar ese largo drama que surgía espontáneamente afuera de mi ventana y dentro de las paredes de mi pasajero cuarto…

Bamboo

 Even though it is immeasurable
       My prison is still tight as skin
but my horizons wide as silences

Although it is incomprehensible
       The moment is clear as pain
but the mountain inside cold as ash

Since I have known only one
       Many drops fall as from bloodshed
but the fragile division was born as orphan

Nonetheless I was lover of the loneliest desert
       Counting the walls that serve as mistakes
but swallowed all the scriptures that read as noise

Thus, metaphorical speaking aside
       The clouds raised thoughts as mothers
but motion now seems so still as bamboo

 

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