Monte Hermón

recuerdo_del_dios

ángeles cayendo (acrílico )
crear de forma visual
la perfección
esa que todos deseamos
contorsionarse con dolor
extremo, dolor en el cuello
en el músculo interior
en la arteria perfecta que lleva
el mensaje al alma

sí, esa es la nueva imagen
la nueva posibilidad
en el arte

la congoja ejemplificada
con un pincel de púrpura
un dolor que parte raíz
entre lo humano y divino
un dolor que levanta olas
en la profundidad del hueso

ángeles cayendo
acrílico y abstracto
dejar palpitando en lienzo
una sombra que es sangre
y solo recuerdo de dios.

Poesía Contemporánea

Travel: I see a man praying

I see a man praying

 

I see a man praying.
He’s begging, worshiping,
believing. I see a man that wants
to disappear from this world of weight;
I see a man that pleads to blend,
to unite, to be one with the absolute
meaninglessness. I see a man praying
inside a Hindu temple – speaking words
that only he hears and yet he is able
to convert this sight of flesh to fragrance,
from bone to beatitude, from blood to blossom.
I see a man waving to his idol and I keep walking
towards the heart of the jungle.

Contemporary Poetry

con los pies en la tierra

pies sobre la tierra

¿no es filosofía
mover la mano
sobre las cosas
y sentir
sensualmente
la superficies
como la piel dura
de una ilusión

no es religión
buscar la apertura
entre un segundo
y una eternidad

no es poesía
observar la vida
para contarla
como
una realidad que no
pudo suceder
de otra manera?

 

 

 

Poesía Nihilista

outlandish

 

I envy the rock
I want eyes as deep
protruding shadows
hair as wise tilting winds
combing the grasslands of my thoughts,
I envy the nose rising into the perfume of sky,
the mouth savoring the elusive spring snow,
I need the sleep of a mountain
to command my skin to roll down stones
as dreams down a fatal abyss;
at the bottom touching rivers of intricate twine
my feet would play with the fish and the shimmers –
but my illusion is not merely physical,
I need a religion of transformation
similar to all these millennia of erosion
and above all,
to participate imperceptibly
as a column that touches a heart
like the summit of mineral
descending to the center of the earth,
I need to intertwine with rock, mountain, pinnacle –
something of the power that
envelops me.

 

 

More Poems

Finis

 

Vivir y morir

 entre

un siglo más sin moralidad

un milenio más sin religión

una tierra más sin sobrevivientes

un vacío y una nada

entre cosas y aburrimiento

conviviendo con asombros y contorsiones

la vida . . . hoy

cae como la capa de un hombre insignificante

es el escudo de un hombre derrotado

la muerte . . . ya aquí

es una marea sin fin

un revoltijo sin color

la Nada y el Todo

juntos y solitarios

nuestra casa y nuestra tumba.

Newfound

I, the dream of a god,

      an outcome of invisible hands

            at once performance and spectator

this precise instant

         this internal precipice

a newfound religion

      whose scriptures are written 

              in every one thing

where the god and the dream are the same

                  the cloud and the rock are inseparable

the sweet motion of transience

        coursing over the stream of eternal action

I, alone and united,

               one more spoke of divinity 

                  one more billow of infinity.

 

 

 

 

More Useless Poetry ?

An undesirable confession

An undesirable confession

                (or lack of conformity)

 

 

There are no guidelines. Understand this sentence, remember it daily – it is essential to the journey of life. There have never been any guidelines. If ever a semblance of direction has been portrayed by some ideology or religion, it is only an attempt at a guideline. It is not certain, not even provable. Every faith in a transcendental code by which we can live our lives is today being un-made, perhaps only because it was originally man-made. We are lost, forsaken in the remote chaos of a lonely planet, with no guiding hand that would lead us to any certainty – to any firm truth.

I set these words forth not in the spirit to challenge those that are able to find comfort in this oppressive world; on the contrary, I report only the widespread experience of constriction and confusion that is rooted in the mind of 21st century Homo sapiens. I am wholly willing to commit to the idea and passion of a benevolent god or cosmic purpose, something which will deliver the long-sought peace that most of us have been searching for. Yet, the more intense the search, the horizon of faith turns darker and frailer. How can I believe in something I don’t feel? – this is the question that exiles us into metaphysical orphanage. No matter how fervently we search for that ultimate reality, the journey is always daunting, constantly haunted by self-doubt, fear and irrational panic of that impenetrable unknown which is the substratum of our everyday lives. So the desire of guidance, the search for something greater than one’s self, is suspended and there remains only a perception of enclosure – a trap in which we all belong.

So, once the awareness of the impossibility of escape is made clear, should we assume our defeat? Should we not analyze the environment of our perplexity and express the conditions of our despair?

What exactly is our trap, what constrains us to impotence? I am only one more man lost in the maze, able only to postulate wild theories of decay. But here are my thoughts:

Insecurity shapes our early life. We depend extensively on the care of our parents until we become sufficiently independent to take care of ourselves. From the very start we look for something beyond ourselves to help us deal with our hostile environment and to give us the comfort of control; control over the unpredictability of the world. By the time we reach the age of reason we are accustomed to depend on other sources, whether it’s our parents, god or social institutions. Naturally these fall short from achieving this and we return to our capsule of solitude. Even the most passionate advocates of religion shudder in fear – didn’t Jesus himself before his death utter words of irrevocable loneliness? (My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?)

Now, what I’m about to expose may seem far-fetched, perhaps there are a few arguments I have skipped to reach the end. The emptiness felt from this lost of trust in the original sources of comfort (parents, religion, social/political establishments) needs to be fulfilled. That’s when a new monument is erected; an indestructible idol substitutes our previous dependence and consolidates itself as the last resort. What is this new idol?

Very simply: a rôle. We fashion a rôle for our lives, an identity of what we should be that is safely kept within and no longer outside. A phantom so powerful it literally controls the direction of our lives. But how did we substitute external comfort for internal obligation? Weren’t we already terrified of our loneliness that we begged for a new sense of communal belonging? We coil within ourselves because we feel disappointed about the outside world, finding it untrustworthy. We need to believe in something and the only thing that came to fill this part was our artificial identity. We created a set of standards, goals and principles by which we guide our lives, something that could not be shaken up very easily and could stand the erosion of change.

Our subconscious harbors this identity which is so elusive we suddenly lose track of its agenda – our original choices are forgotten but they mark the remaining course of our lives. We become slaves to our rôle which was initially fashioned to give us comfort but now only oppresses us with the urgency of its fulfillment. It is a double-bind, we are trapped by our desire to feel valuable, significant or united to something greater than us but we have not found this in our modern lives. We then submit shamelessly to the commands of a career which mortifies us with achieving more and more; exhausted by the end of the night our lives feel empty, confused, lost in innumerable desires.

This sense of urgency comes about from the competition we experience every day. Competition for a better role, a more reputable identity. Deep down we are all celebrities to our own egos and because of this we yearn to become as celebrities to others. Frankly, however, we wish others to see us as we want to be, but not as we truly are. We compete blindly with each other to create the “better” person, whatever this is. There are no universal standards by which we can judge who is a better person, it is relative to the values of each human being. 


This competitiveness is best seen in large cities. Cities are breeders of competition, urging its inhabitants to outrun each other. The conveniences that a city provides to its dwellers are irrelevant compared to the pressures and hostilities it creates. A decisive change of perspective is urgently needed: that of de-urbanization. How long can human beings last in a state of high tension, when large concentrations of men and women fight daily, physically and psychologically, to be on top? The greatest concern is, do they even know why they are bustling about?

What if this is true? We regard ourselves too highly during the day but then return unsatisfied to bed; panicky with the feeling that we have no control and even our goals in life are to be doubted. The idol of the ego must inevitably fall too, leaving us naked in despair, gagging with the question: who am I?