#3 Magic Mirror on the wall, who on earth am I at all?

A dream and a letter

I need a break, my head hurts. I leave my house to take a breath of fresh air. It’s raining, and then sleeting; the mountain is wrapped in mist. I walk outside the village to see what I call the “Me-We-Gate”. It is an iron-wrought structure with an “M” that sits on top of it, right in the middle of the gate. It closes the access to a wide alleyway, and the letter's silhouette always makes me feel like adding another “M” upside down, as in a mirror, turning it into a “W”. Every time I drive past it, I think about my life, my past, present and future, about my relationships, about who I am in the first place… or in the end. I walk up the road that leads to the gate to find out that… there’s no gate! It disappeared! I am so puzzled and frightened. How can it be? When I get closer though, it appears out of nowhere. It is the first time in my life that I ever see this gate open, reason why the “M” was hidden among cypress and olive trees… 

 

#2 Magic Mirror on the wall, who on earth am I at all?

The little girl that I was

I was a very shy little girl, and I hated to be asked to shout “Merci Saint Nicolas!” looking up at the sky when I received my presents, because, from a very early age, I felt that there was some kind of odd manipulation going on there. I could not understand why the adults around me did what I felt as a way to twist my reality, adding to their made-up story some truthful elements to make the whole thing seem believable. Why would they do that to me? Did they want me to go crazy? My tiny guts were telling me that “this” was something wrong that tried very hard to fit in the disguise of being right. I had a hard time accepting it, and I knew, deep down, that when it feels wrong, it is wrong. 

#1 Magic Mirror on the wall, who on earth am I at all?

Life, Dreams, Teaching(s), Saint Nick and Zwarte Piet

On the first morning of December, the cold and mighty wind that swept across Sierra Nevada greeted my awakening, and it felt as if its strength was delivering me total control over my brain again, granting me a long-lost vitality, rebuilding parts of my soul that had been torn to shreds, shattered by an eerie whirlwind. Usually, when I wake up, I grab a pen and reach out for the notebook by my bed to jot down as many remaining fragments of the night images as I can, before they enter the labyrinth of the dream catcher’s cobweb to finally run down its long feathers and die in the first light beam that enters the room. It has been a year or so, since I started logging my dreams on a daily basis. I really feel that everybody should give it a try, to learn more about themselves. Last summer, my roommate in Albuquerque would do it too, and I knew that I shouldn’t bother her while in the process. She acted pretty much like a zombie when in that phase of her morning, but I knew that she needed to keep in physical touch with her dream realm while logging it. Seeing such habit practiced by another human being gave me a deep understanding of my own life journey and mental processes. 

Granada, Camargue, New Mexico: Coming Full Circle at a Crossroads.

Albuquerque, New Mexico, June 21^st, 2013. Summer Solstice.

I left my Moorish Granada a few days ago in search of a new life, in search of myself. I am finally back here, back to this place I have always felt as mine, as home, only that it is a home I have never really lived in, at least in this lifetime, at least till now... My love story with New Mexico dates back to 1997. I was touring the United States for the first time, visiting some of the states where I knew I could catch a glimpse of languages mingling, and get a taste of Spanglish sounds. Of the seven states I saw, one spoke to my soul. As D.H. Lawrence expressed in his essay dedicated to this enchanted land, “in New Mexico, a new part of the soul wakes up suddenly.” This is exactly what I felt the first time I discovered la Nueva México.