The Avid Farmer

I’m an avid farmer. I think of what crops to grow, plant them, irrigate them and eat them. I bring them to life. They grow because of me. They breathe because of me. They eat because of me. Then they become a part of me. I do in fact reap what I sew. I encourage the force of nature. I encourage life to exist. Their life ceases in my time and my time only. I dominate their existence and allow them to reach my potential not their own. They are created to feed me, live in me and die in me. I am with them in their first and last breath. I measure their life span with great calculation. I take advantage of every season. They try to deceive me but they can’t. They change colors and grow other life around them to camouflage their natural intention. They send out mating calls and allow themselves to be touched, stimulated and invigorated. They allow others to take away their essence by complying with natural order. They get physical in a world so self-indulged. It forces everything around it to succumb to the other’s way of life and ultimately the cause of their dissention. I could have used a white picket fence around the land to protect my crops, but barbwire works so much better. It blends in between the leaves and one can hardly see it, but it’s there. It’s there all morning. It’s there all afternoon. It’s there all night. It is so well hidden sometimes I can’t even see it. Are you there? Have you eaten? I have plenty of crops. Walk with me into the fields. Let the wind push the crops against you. Don’t lean into them for they are not accustomed to your scent. Don’t touch them. They are unfamiliar to your touch. Let me tell you which ones are ready to be picked. They’re the ones that curve into the land. They’re the ones that open when the night comes and hide when the sun rises. They pretend to be dead, but I know they’re not. I know what they’re up to. Those there are ready; those hiding in between the leaves. Those there. The ones whispering, “not me.” Yes, the ones falling from their stem, from their foundation, out of their soil. Yes, those there. You see, it’s the ones that fall on their own that are ready to be eaten. They are consumed by their owns fears. Try them. Tasty aren’t they?

Pix: marketplace in Barcelona, Spain

Everyone Needs A Little Salvation

The waiters float about the patio like inanimate fixtures in a Dali painting. Their faces blurred. Their mouths are crevices. When they speak, all I hear is the chanting sound of subservient foes. They wait on our table, not out of gratitude, but out of greed. They force their nature to be unnatural, unethical to itself, too superficial for its own creator. What more could we want out of dinner tonight? What more should I have expected?

“Can I get another glass of sangria, please?” she asks as he puts his right hand on her thigh.

“Aren’t you mixing your drinks? You have a glass of wine, a beer, an iced-tea and now a sangria. Your body isn’t going to know whether to be wired or slow down,” Dick says, as he looks at me from the corner of his right eye.

I wanted to offer the definition of the word “sangria”, but I thought it would be too archaic for him. Dick slouches over the table to take a sip of his drink. She reaches for her other’s hand, discretely under the table visible enough for me to feel.
Maybe it wouldn't be too archaic after all.

“Did you know the name ‘sangria’ comes from the Aztecs? It means "bloody." They would drink the blood of their sacrifice, and now, we have modernized it by adding fruits to sweeten the wine,” I said, drinking my iced-tea.

“I didn’t know that,” Dick says.

“Yeah, pretty much like with Jesus,” I said.

She lures her other closer to her. His right arm wraps around her while his left hand holds her hand, full of life. He leans into her and kisses her cheek. He does it again. And again. They giggle and look at each other for a second longer than I would have wanted.

“You know Jesus was the ultimate sacrifice. The rabbis every year had to offer a lamb as a sacrifice to God in exchange for a collective forgiveness. Jesus was the perfect sacrifice—the perfect lamb,” Dick says as he’s looking at her look at him.

Of course I know the story. Everything he’s telling me I know. Everything I’m hearing, isn’t new to me. Not at all. My ears are never deceptive. No, not at all.

“If you accept Jesus as your Lord and savior you will go to heaven. All you have to do is believe. When Jesus was on the cross, there was a man to his left and a man to his right crucified. One of them said, “remember me when you’re in heaven” to which Jesus replied, “assuredly I say to you, you will be with me in paradise,” Dick says.

She lets go of his hand and reaches for her glass with sangria. She takes her last drink. She holds the empty glass in her hand and contemplates to drink another. Of course she does. What else could quench her thirst?


Pix: church in Italy

If ever there was a curtain big enough to wrap all of myself in, I would put all of the pieces and throw them in the deepest sea.

Love In Numbers

When did people stop understanding words and start understanding numbers more? I have heard people say, “Emotions are overrated.” Is it possible that everything expressive has lost it’s value or content, per say, and is now replaced with a number of times you do this or the other, or the cost of a gift? It can’t be! Has the world gone mad? We are throwing away more of what “counts” and have minimized everything to the ever growing field of logic and numbers. We have reduced ourselves to something more tangible and foreseeable. I am seeing the absence of love all around me. Greed and selfishness have taken over. No, it’s not the end of the world; it’s the end of: neutrality, self-respect, integrity, trust, and ultimately love. I’m not in any way referring to familial love, because that is a completely different arena; I’m speaking of the love that exists between strangers. You know, the one that moves us and changes us…forever. Emotions have taken the back seat like second-class citizens. Most people are fighting for their civil rights in order to establish a more politically “equal” platform to discuss social issues. Who fights for love? Who discusses where love is headed in the world? We are becoming more and more impersonal everyday. We are identified by numbers, found by geographical coordinates, judged in measurements and loved in time frames. I know numbers (math) is a universal language. I guess love has become more of a universal fear than anything else. For all of the minimalists, love has the potential to earn daily compound interest, but your return will depend on how much YOU invest.

Pix: Buddhas people bought and placed in the Buddhist Temple in Singapore

"One who follows his nature, keeps his original nature in the end."

Clip from The Lady from Shanghai (Orson Welles, 1947)

The Afterthought

I’ve got a thought for every day and every time you set me free.

It’s a thought of fear on strings I'm pretending not to feel; drifting into dreams, stumbling upon layers of fields retreating, digesting the innuendos of nearby adieus where wants and will coexist in trees and the breeze forgets to breathe; savoring the fruit of bountiful tears, it hurries the sand to sift through memories of years; sees in pinks, light green and blues; feels in reds and black, and sleeps in white, ropes and hidden hues.

Pix: a swan in Lucerne, Switzerland

Bridge of Sighs

The Bridge of Sighs connected the prison cells to the interrogation rooms; it allowed the prisoners to have a glimpse of freedom. Freedom has always been a fleeting emotion; it's happiness in its cruelest and deceitful form. We pass through similar bridges all of the time in our lives. Some may vary with different degress of serenity and euphoria, but other times the moment is so brief it's as if it never existed. Cameras were invented to capture happy moments. The use of them affirms that creating genuine happy moments are rare. We become collectors of frame after frame, moment after moment. Some of us would never dare to take pictures of our sad events in life. Why would we? We need reminders, reassurance, that happiness does exist. We have the power to create happiness and sadness, disbelief, mistrust, a smile, any emotion we choose and with whom. Everyone knows that. We just have to find someone who wants to create those happy moments with you and at times, who understands that those moments should be mutually exclusive. People are not made to be in buildings. We were not made to be housed and alone. We are states and countries which require miles and miles of open roads or endless oceans that connect one happy moment to the next.

Pix: Bridge of Sighs in Venice, Italy