I believe that cool people should know about each other, especially amongst women, females who are creative, intuitive, original, rad bad ass chics who instead of competing with one another in superficial battlefields decide to be uplifting and encouraging to all humans. Girls who share their visions, their style and their emotions and are not afraid of being compassionate or outspoken.
What is Sexy Zen to me? its everything a girl needs to survive the next century. Starting with embracing your sexuality and recognizing it as the powerful creative force that it can be, being true to our nature, regaining that connection with the all so we can elevate our spirits and our hearts to our highest purpose, achieve your true potential as a woman. I think it is a driving force of unity and harmony.
I will share with you my take on what this concept means to me and to some of the women in my life and their own personal way of achieving this glorious state of Sexy and Zen, some of it will be in Spanish and some in English, places, flavors, sounds, visuals and people all come together to paint this picture.
My first entry...
THE POET
She had once fallen in love with a young warrior whose tongue was pierced by a thorn, she had constellations made of freckles sprinkled all over her milky skin, she often danced vigorously and to the beat, she did not follow trends.
She was a writer and she knew it. Confident in her expressions for they came from the heart. Se had fabulous hair.
We became friends instantly, we confided in each other our honest views of this world and enriched each others surroundings, years passed and the bond solidified. We traveled together wearing smiles. We crashed a private party in a no name bar on the second floor, there was a live band and we were greeted by the host, it was his b-day and he was a Salsa dance instructor, this resulting in wild movements from our bodies to tropical moonlight music in downtown Mexico city. We performed magic together at a dusty rave in the middle of the farm lands in the West. We swam in her country club pool and ordered pizza.We continued to laugh, to dance, to wonder and to love.
Then one day I came to Colima at 8 months pregnant , she visited me bed side, became my son's God mother. I expressed my frustration for not pursuing my academic destiny and she said I had given birth to a beautiful life form and that redeemed everything...
Her poems are like a fresh drink of water, and her mere presence cleansing. She is my soul sister. Living life passionately and creating beauty as she types up a universe and she reads out loud her essence. She offers gifts to this world. She has given me plenty.
Krishna Naranjo is her name.
She is now the head academic coordinator for literature majors in her alma mater, a professor and develops and imparts different workshops and has a Masters in hispanic literature, her specialty being contemporary indigenous poetry.
One of her faves in English - Leaves of grass:
Come, said my soul,
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)
Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning—as, first, I here and now
Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,
Walt Whitman
About her art in her own words...
Some of her work...
Una semana de junio / fue mi abuela un piquetazo de avispa en la punta de mi corazón adormecido / Desperté y la soledad era nubarrón sobre la espalda / Desierto sin banderas genealógicas / Desperté: la soledad y la ciudad eran una / Mi cuerpo se deshizo como hielo intrascendente / Necesité del fuego de la hembra para coser mi barro / El eco me devolvía la amargura en un relámpago / Y el sonido cimbró mi esqueleto hasta reconocerme muda / Tuve que gritar para escucharme en un murmuro de agua / Le deseé estupendo viaje / Imaginé una estampa: el tren y los paisajes michoacanos / Mi abuela comía zarzamoras en la travesía / Me quedé con este álbum y en la búsqueda de mis propias piedras.
Tilma-mopohua
La diosa
|||||||||desde la Villa
observa el río de hombres
sus cuerpos convertidos en canto
Nican Mopohua
De bruces
||||||||||reciben el centelleo
del primer haz de relámpago
a cambio de estatuillas
||||||||||estampas de rosas mágicas
Con los mantos en el suelo
||||||||||dormitan en la tibieza de la fe
Porque todos
||||||||||aguardan la lluvia de sortilegios
y te cantan
||||||||||aquí vienen
Mírales
sorteando espinas sobre asfalto
Escúchales
entonan mañanitas para que te sepas madre de la dicha
Madre del pan y de la leche
||||||||||Madre de todo lo que es madre
para que arrojes maíz a ochenta millones de mesas
–por lo menos–
Mírales
ofrendan ramos
letanías de adoraciones y promesas
Te conviertes en estrella láctea
||||||||||y en tu regazo verde consuelas a este país
que hoy te canta.
"Let you soul stand cool and composed before a million universes ". W. W.
No comments:
Post a Comment