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The great wave at Kanagawa.

The great wave at Kanagawa.
This amazing work by K. Hokusai is one of my favourite works of art: vulnerability and strenght; the paradoxical beauty of imminent death and thousands of waves hidden in the foam -perfect example of the fractal nature of the Universe-.


M. C. Escher- Butterflies
My dear friends gave a bracelet before I moved to England. Each one of them
chose a bibelot that best represented them and our particular friendship. Darling Katrina, who loves butterflies and is
one herself, chose a small and beautiful papillon that obviously represents change and growth in the deepest sense.
And just like Mario Benedetti says: a butterfly will always remember being once a caterpillar.
I do remember. I remember because memory is the most powerful resource to go on. My personal butterflies come back to visit me from time to time, and with them the remembrance of what was before. Origin and destination.
In order to understand what is different I must keep in mind that once the shape of my body, my dreams and hopes was different.
And as my butterflies lift off, as they fly away and disappear into oblivion... I wonder where will I fly to next.


Hoy viene a ser como la cuarta vez que espero
desde que sé que no vendrás más nunca
he vuelto a ser aquel cantar del aguacero
que hizo casi legal su abrazo en tu cintura.
y tú apareces en mmi ventana
suave y pequeña, con alas blancas
yo ni te miro, para que duermas
y no te vayas.

Qué maneras más curiosas
de recordar tiene uno
qué maneras más curiosas
hoy recuerdo mariposas
que ayer sólo fueron humo
mariposas, mariposas
que emergieron de lo oscuro
bailarinas, silenciosas...

Tu tiempo es ahora una mariposa
navecita blanca, delgada, nerviosa
siglos atrás inundaron un segundo
debajo del cielo, encima del mundo.

Así eras tú aquellas tardes, divertida
así eras tu de furibunda compañera
eras como esos días en que eres la vida
y todo lo que tocas se hace primavera
ay mariposa!, tú eres el alma
de los guerreros que aman y cantan
eres el nuevo
ser que se asoma por mi garganta

Qué maneras más curiosas
de recordar tiene uno
qué maneras más curiosas
hoy recuerdo mariposas
que ayer sólo fueron humo
mariposas, mariposas
que emergieron de lo oscuro
bailarinas, silenciosas...

Tú tiempo es ahora una mariposa
navecita blanca, delgada, nerviosa
siglos atrás inundaron un segundo
debajo del cielo, encima del mundo…

Silvio Rodríguez Read more on this article...


Read more on this article...

así son las cosas

Bueno.... así son las cosas. Lo que empieza se acaba y a veces acaba mal... acaba porque alguien se asusta tanto que se olvida siquiera de decir adiós.. alguien que no te dice: ya no te amo... yo no eres para mí; y se refugia en la comodidad de la distancia y del silencio para esconder estas verdades.
Es fácil pedirle a alguien que espere... que espere y espere... que te quiera y te deje decidir si hay otras opciones mejores antes de extenderte la mano al fin y escogerte a ti. Es fácil pero no justo. Y también es fácil quedarse atorado en una relación que no se define, porque la guardan la distancia y el silencio... los malentendidos y la ambigüedad, en vez de atreverse a cerrar la puerta. En vez de decir: aun si te amo, no te amo así. No te amo para tenerte lejos y para ser como la mujer del puerto (la que espera y espera, la que sueña con viajes y nunca le tiene miedo a las amarras porque no debe levantarlas una y otra vez). No te amo para no tenerte.
Así pasan las cosas y así se acaban. Pero al final de todo yo quiero recordar lo que yo sí aprendí, lo que yo sí gané, lo que yo sí amé. Quiero recordar que mi voz nunca te mintió, que mi cuerpo fue sólo tuyo, que mi pies caminaron siempre hacia ti. Y que cuando no pudiste verme más a la cara.. cuando me llamaste amiga lejana y caminaste para atrás yo te dejé ir.. sin perseguirte... no seré tu sombra. No te amo así.. para ser sólo tu sombra. Read more on this article...

Transformación. Transformation

Metamorphoses #2 (Spring) , Deron Cohen

"I have seen landscapes...which, under a particular light,a
made me feel that at any moment a giant might raise his head over the next
ridge. Nature has that in her which compels us to invent giants: and
only giants will do."

C.S. Lewis

What makes a couple something worthwhile? In Spanish we have only one possible translation for “worthwhile“: worthy of pain… why do we even use that expression, where does it come from? Is that somehow everything we need and want in life must bring pain? True, all that is truly worthy has a cost but when we assume that cost as such maybe it stops being pain. When we beget life we accept that labour pain is natural, we get ready; we take Lamaze so that every contraction, every inch of life brings us closer to the absolute happiness of birth. Perhaps because we think (in all our marvellous ignorance) that pain ends when that very happiness begins more and more women look forward to “enjoying“ labour (at least in theory).
Why couldn‘t we “enjoy“ then the pain caused by those other, large and small, births in life? I remember Geymonat and his idea that Freedom (true freedom, active freedom) is constant struggle: internal more than external; a struggle that bares a dialectic change in our being in the world. Every instant of the struggle is a choreographed movement that precedes an opposite one. The result is true and profound transformation that cannot be undone. If being free signifies permanent struggle, then pain and sorrow are natural results of change.
I want a couple that will feed my Freedom, that will set me free. I want relationships with those I love that will be liberating of that which needs to change and transform want love to transform me deeply and also to transform every aspect of my life that needs to evolve (even if this “evolution“ isn‘t progressive and positive but even an involution).
What makes a couple something worthwhile? (and I prefer this expression since its Spanish translation since much more positive and integral). Only a relationship that provokes such dialectic changes has meaning for me.
After so many years with Humberto I needed to free myself from him, physically and practically free myself. It took a while for me to understand why but at an immediate level it was logical. I found powerful reasons to get out of that relationship and move on but I did not understand the forces that were interacting inside in order for me to actualize that separation.
Myrna asks if my relationship with Craig is torturing. I stop at the question for a moment and my conclusion is: no.
With Humberto it was deeply torturing for reasons that are apparent to most people who know me relatively well; but my relationship with Craig, though it may seem tortuous at the moment, is not like that.
Being away from the person you love is a form of torture; living with the lingering uncertainty of what will the outcome be maybe turn out torturing as well, but only that relationship that seeks comfort (demanding you should stay still, define yourself in an imperturbable way and “sit on your eggs“ for the rest of your life) is torturing for me.
On the other hand, a relationship that naturally induces radical changes and feeds the struggle for Freedom is worthwhile.
Every relationship has a cost, that much is true. If I were more pragmatic I would have sought relationships to fulfil my concrete necessities and I would need to accept that the price to pay for them is holding on to the profit in such a way your life becomes static ((“Lose something every day. Accept the fluster…“ and yes: “Then practice losing farther, losing faster). Sometimes I did wonder: why wasn‘t I more practical in those matters?, what guided me when looking for partners? And yes, why is it that I never loved Humberto as I do Craig? Now I clearly see that the naturally dialectic interaction we‘ve always had is what makes me love Craig. The very thing that scares me from time to time, and even causes me “pain and sorrow“ is the reason why I love him. And that is something I must thank him for: so much recuperated freedom, such deep and truthful transformation.
In every relationship we must try to combine our life history with the other person‘s; our binding and limitations with theirs and our needs with their own. The closer such relationship is the more stress, and maybe pain even pain, we experience. But the profit is greater too. If it allows and promotes a dialectic change then it is more than worthwhile, it is significative and satisfactory of our real needs.
Which is the labour pain we must “enjoy“? Living with uncertainty; not knowing in which direction change will take us; having to conquer our fears continuously and being humble when facing them; accepting movement as the only possible guaranteed profit and learning to wish for the best (but not taking that for granted); understanding our leaps as such instead of sacrifices, and our sacrifices as the organic result of struggle itself; giving room for the other to struggle, face his own battles, and hoping that when the struggle ends (when the conversation is over, when the day comes to an end, after the psychotherapy session; at the end of life) we will be together still; learning to deal with every transformative process as a deep necessity -even if that is the scariest thing-; being forever close and apart (coming together and separating) and, after all, living with the paradoxical certainty that we will never “sit on our eggs“ again…. Mental Yoga seems like the only way to enjoy this everlasting labour of living… ooom, ooom.

M. C. Escher, Relativity Read more on this article...

Ars Poética

Juan: Thank you so much for all the poems you have shared with me through the years... I doubt I am an expert at all, but for someone who tries to teach literature with passion it has been a true honour to be be trusted in the way you have trusted me since long ago.
I cannot deny the excitement and emotion I have felt whilst watching you grow and develop in the way you write. I can only imagine how adulthood (both real and literary) will reflect on your texts. I am particularly happy that you have found your particular voice; a major step forward!
Thank you for the last poem... I will wait eagerly the gifts to come....

Amor me has hecho mal

Enfrente, pálida luna,
continuabas la noche,
con un prófugo ámbar de crápula,
mezquina, sobre tu oscuro reproche.

Tu entero de luz debajo,
en un espejo revestido de claro,
y su retrato velado…

Pendiente de su llaneza triste,
en un laudo imparcial,
en un amargo de pena tu viste,
a una estrella inusual.

Un lóbrego sobrevino,
parvo lapso de pleno inmortal,
¡Y la impaciente lejanía!,
¡Luna, no la dejes escapar!

Juan Ignacio Yanuzzo

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Read more on this article...

Algunos días me pesa tener que esperarte tanto; tener que entenderte y que amarte de esta manera extraña y antinatural. Algunos días quisiera renunciar a las posibilidades y aferrarme a lo conocido; recobrar las amarras; levar las anclas; dejar de decirte adiós tan lentamente.
¿Qué puedo realmente esperar? ¿cómo lograremos restaurar las fisuras de tantos días lejos? Read more on this article...


¡Oh, las decisiones! Ayer fui a charlar con Nancy y por supuesto la conversación fue nutrida y deliciosa. Todos, de un modo u otro vivimos en la encrucijada… en la eterna disyuntiva. Ahora ella enfrenta la necesidad de tomar una dura decisión y por supuesto el calcular las posibles repercusiones de sus actos no es suficiente para dilucidad qué es lo correcto, cuál es el mejor curso de acción.
Aunque el corazón se resista y se encoja, Nancy tiene grandes ventajas en esta situación: el amor incondicional de los que siempre la llevamos dentro, una firme estructura interna y la certeza de que, de un modo u otro, la vida se acomoda a una historia predestinada.
Ésa ventaja no la tengo yo.
En cierto momento la conversación se concentró en un ambiguo y casi silvestre estudio sobre las personalidades. Y de manera metafórica he descubierto cierta interesante verdad que (sí, sólo de manera metafórica) explica el amor en todas sus formas como una realidad energética y casi Natural.
¡Cuánta gente Yang en mi vida a la que me siento unida por razones misteriosas y, a veces, muy poderosas; y yo que soy definitivamente Ying (según lo afirmado por otros que me conocen y que se permiten las mismas metáforas que yo)!: mamá, papá, Craig, Ariel, Myrna, Nancy, Elmira, Joanne, Andrew, Ceci… ¿qué puede significar esto? Se supone que eso sea lo lógico: buscar la complementariedad y el equilibrio: el rojo Yang y el negro Ying; lo primero alimenta a lo segundo y viceversa; acción y reacción, masculino y femenino, activo y pasivo, lo positivo y lo negativo, paterni
dad y maternidad, dureza y suavidad.. se afectan y necesitan recíprocamente.
Si, efectivamente, el equilibrio es la frecuencia verdadera del Chi, entonces tiene lógica que yo entre y permanezca en los campos magnéticos de aquello que me falta.. y esto es fundamental en el asunto: no se trata de mis carencias.. sino de lo que lo que me falta y necesito. Suena parecido pero no es igual: pensar en carencias es concentrarse en el vacío, en la oscuridad, en un defecto del carácter, en una invalidez. Pensar en lo que “me falta y necesito“ es concentrarse en lo posible, en lo que existe allá afuera para que lo encontremos, en lo que DEBO buscar.

Decisions, decisions! I had a nice chat with Nancy last night and, as always, conversation was rich and delicious. We all live in front of some crossroad, right at the eternal disjunction. As she faces the need to make a certain tough decision estimating the possible results of her actions is not enough to decide which is the best choice.
Although her heart may shrink and ache, Nancy has a few major advantages in this situation: the unconditional love of those who have her best interest at heart; a firm and solid inner structure and the conviction that life always conforms with the shape of a predestined universe. The latter is a prerogative I do not have, for example.
At some point during the chat our attention focused on an ambiguous and rather primitive dissertation about personalities. And, in a metaphorical sense, I discovered a certain truth that (merely on a metaphorical sense, yes)
explains love in all its forms as an energetic and quite Natural reality.
How many “Yang“ people I am connected to in a mysterious and sometimes powerful way! And being so Yin myself! (as it‘s been said by people who know me well and allow themselves such metaphorical ways)… mum, dad, Craig, Ariel, Myrna, Nancy, Elmira, Joanne, Andrew, aunt Ceci; my firmest attachments; what could this possibly mean? It is supposed to be only logical though: searching for such complementarity and balance: the red Yang and the black Yin, the first affecting the second and vice versa: action and reaction, masculine and feminine, active and passive, positive and negative, fatherhood and motherhood, roughness and softness… they necessitate each other and act on reciprocally.
If, actually, equilibrium is the true frequency of Ki then it makes sense that I should enter and remain inside the magnetic fields of that which I lack… and this is a fundamental point… it is not about that which is absent in me, my privations. It would seem like the same thing but, in truth, it is not: a privation or absence implies a negative state, an absolute non existence of something; an empty space, a void and a therefore a flaw of character; lacking something however suggests the partial existence of it and merely a shortfall; it suggests a possibility inside and out; it redirects the question towards searching and finding what is needed and yet partially there… that which we need and MUST find.

Read more on this article...

Precious gifts

Sometimes you open the treasure chest and find rare gifts that only a child at heart can possibly appreciate....

Dearest Manli.... thank you for your constant sweetness; you have been a teacher more than any other student.... Read more on this article...

My long engament with the Piano

For the first time in years I have a Piano teacher. Once my nervousness disappeared I tried to concentrate on the technical aspects of the class; and, as it was to be expected, there were many.
It was only at the end that I felt a great emotion taking a hold of me... at last I had returned to my original love for this instrument.
I had to buy my own Piano a couple of years ago to finally decide it was time to reconnect with that passion I always felt. I was never forced to take Piano lessons... when I was 10 I conquered my shyness and asked my mum to hire a teacher for me and so she did. Unfortunately she was not the best of teachers, and had so many students, she wouldn‘t dedicate enough time and effort to each one. Although she was well known in the city, I realice now that I have been a teacher myself how many elemental aspects of playing the piano she overlooked; aspects that were fundamental for any student of music.
Not having a piano myself did not help at all... you cannot learn to play the piano without having one at hand every single day. I would visit my teacher‘s house despite my fearful nature but that was sporadic enough; and so very soon I quit. Soon after I felt bad for that choice; I thought that my shyness had, yet again, betrayed my deep desires and so I returned to her. Finally I left the class for good when at 14 I entered Highschool. Although school was never hard for me for the first time I was in one so demanding I would have to devote myself completly to it for the following three years which, being the typical good girl, I did.
In this case it was a reasoned decision that, although painful, was in the end necessary.
Why was I so emotional two weeks ago when I took my first lesson at home now and with my own Piano for the first time ever?
It was the physical acknowledgement of the fact that sometimes that which we want the most, that light born inside by a sort of spell, is the very thing we must give away. I chose duty over pleasure back then. I knew that I could not go against what everyone expected of me. And playing the Piano (although pleasant for everyone) was not prioritary in comparison to doing well at the school they had chosen for me long before.
Over the years I did my best to hold on to my limited knowledge... and in many ways I extended the little things I did learn, but why then, did it take so many years for me to truly decide that I wanted to play better? why did I wait so many years to pay my own way into having a proper teacher?
I regret that long wait now that my little girl wept when the class was over and felt at last rescued from the responsabilities and duties of ordinary life...
How many other things do we give up, renounce to, leave behind to attend what it is expected of us? to do as we MUST and not as we WANT?
Read more on this article...


This amazing work by Klimt portrays Danae in a close embrace with Zeus in the form of a rain of gold.
According to Greek Mythology, Danae was a daughter of King Acrisus of Argos and Eurydice (no relation to Orpheus' Eurydice).

Disappointed by his lack of male heirs, Acrisius asked an oracle if this would change. The oracle told him to go to the Earth's end where he would be killed by his daughter's child. She was childless and, meaning to keep her so, he shut her up in a bronze tower or cave. But Zeus came to her in the form of a beam of sunlight, and impregnated her. Other versions tell of Zeus coming as rain or a shower of gold. Soon after, their child Perseus was born.

None too happy, but unwilling to provoke the wrath of the gods by killing his offspring, Acrisius cast the two into the sea in a wooden chest. The sea was calmed by Poseidon at the request of Zeus and the pair survived. They washed ashore on the island of Seriphos, where they were taken in by Dyctis who raised the boy to manhood.
Later, after Perseus killed Medusa and rescued Andromeda the oracle's prophecy came true.
He started for Argos, but learning of the prophecy instead went to Larissa, where athletic games were being held. By chance Acrisius was there, and Perseus accidentally struck him with his javelin fulfilling the prophecy.

Read more on this article...


Yes, Summer is here and so are many suprises. Snow in Buenos Aires as we speak, how amazing! To think that last Winter in Manchester lacked its inherent white coating on the trees and a snow man welcoming strangers at the door; and yet, Buenos Aires on the other hand (never a place for frosty winters), sneezes and shakes the linty flakes of snow from its nose as it crosses the autumnal threshold.

Last time such a strange event took place in the Queen of Silver they were celebrating the 1917th winter of christianity. Can we blame then, in all truth, Global Warming for this unexpected week? Could it be that the world has finally turned inside out? Is it upside down at last?
Now days the South, the austral cone points upwards and nothing of what was will ever be the same... or so I want to believe....
Though I may find myself standing on the nothern hemisphere I dream of you, Mother Argentina, whereever I go. Read more on this article...

My love and me

A little dark unfortunately but still lovely Read more on this article...