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Explaining the unexplainable

07/22/2017 - 15:07 | Montxo

 

 


Can you hear the inner voice?

It is always asking...
Those questions, that inquisitive probing. The old "W" queries.

Reality is a foggy sea where our selves sail, each one of us in a different boat.

Some are full of lights and contraptions to send signals, other with just a positioning light and a small flag. Others again not even wearing those scanty tools.

We drift along.

Sometimes we are so near one another we think we can communicate and start to send frantic signals from our decks.

From the other boat seems as if there was an understanding and it sends signals back.

After a while we feel we are communicated, but are we?

Up to a point, maybe, enough to drift along, to feel we are not utterly alone, it is possible to exchange tokens, but we cannot, ever, to board the other boat, to feel the "other" reality.

Questions stand alive, scorching us as a burning iron:

Why am I estranged this way?
What is the reason of this severe exclusion?
How can I feel other people feelings, share their tenets, know what "red" means, really means, in their minds, and why I cannot do it?!

Cool!

Like it or not we must treasure second best, that poor imitations of true sharing: friendship, partnership, love, or worst yet "third best": hugs, kisses and that being so near but never near enough! Poor sad, frantic signals sent from our loneliness.

Is this all that there is? Is madness the ruler of this happenstance?
If you tell me that you believe this, I respect your belief, but is it all?

How I, or even you for that matter, know it is true.
Have you dived into the deep inners of your consciousness?
Have you probed all possibilities?, or this belief is only the product of disappointment, an expression of rage against the unassailable fortress of the unknown.

Do you think the unknown exists? Can I say I do not know the unknown and still look into my own feelings?

Seems so sad but no, it is not so...

Cheer up! in this reality there is no eternity, nothing is forever and that is good!


© 2017 Montxo.

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At sea, far away...

07/22/2017 - 13:54 | Montxo

 

 


This was home for some time.


Free space, great view of the sea, fish, salty smells, and waves.

Ninety five miles from mainland and solitude make the day to day chores important.

A babel of Portuguese, Indonesian, Chinese, Thai, some German, a tbsp. of Spanish, several flavors of English... and Pidgin, of course, and when all these failed the windmill of hand language; anything to get through in human communication.

Sometimes, father Poseidon wanted to know what were those weird biped doing on the platform, so it raised tall waves, asked Eolo to roar with high gales, and Zeus to send rain as a heavy curtain to clean the atmosphere and thunderbolts to see better. Awesome and scary, those who were not working on the deck ran downstairs to the cozy and covered entrails of the platform.

When the full moon started to rise on a calm sea everybody was on the deck, it was a sacred view. Casta diva in her pure splendor.

I wondered many times: we were coarse, hard men toiling in a difficult and dangerous task but the mystic of a full moon mesmerized us as if we were a bunch of poets with a sensible soul...

... but then again, maybe we were and we had it.

© 2017 Montxo.

 

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Love, that misconception

07/22/2017 - 13:33 | Montxo

 

 

It is here, the silence, this blessed vacuum the world have forgotten. The expectation of what is to come...

 

The first score of "E lucevan le stelle" starts in the voice of Beniamini Gigli, almost without breaking the silence!
Oh! miracle of the sounds blended with stillness in a corporate spirit under the pale light of the stars. Recollection begins:

Even the creaking of the gate of the orchard when Floria arrives is a compound of anticipation.

Love is a misconception, selfless giving is nearer to love than to please or to be pleased. Floria's scent is a heady feeling, her languid rest in Mario's arms, the sweet kisses and the slow caresses, the feverish movements of Mario's hands divesting her of her veils make us think of LOVE, but it is only love.

Exhilarating, intoxicating love, the pleasure of contact, of possessing, of being possessed, to please, to be pleased, but not to give with no reward. Valid?, yes! Needed?, of course! Species require this!

But...

What is left if we accept this irrational notion?, this idea, crazy idea, of giving without waiting a reward! where is Romance?, the bitter-sweet pathos that gives life in that starred night, the last night of Mario's life, to the melancholic feeling of loss and belonging?

So love becomes Love, something in between, neither the whole LOVE, nor the unconscious "sarko", the half animal compulsion that keep us alive. Romanticism is saved, life is worth to be lived!

But time "fugit", time is an uncompromising vector born and lost in Eternity. It does not understand anything except flowing and Mario cannot stop the need of expressing his disappointment in losing life when he loved it most...

© 2017 Montxo.

 

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Read to dismiss dismal hours

07/22/2017 - 13:22 | Montxo

 

 


The best way to be lost in reality is to keep a book open.
 

Today is a melancholic, slow paced day. I can see through the window patches of the garden already soaked, even if only a fine drizzle is coming down from a forbidden sky.

This drizzle has been painting the landscape with its wet small brushes for hours now. The sun, hiding its magnificent corolla from humankind behind the thick cover of low clouds, is a wraith in "firedom".

I feel alone but not lonely; seeking to disperse the foreboding this misty rain brings to my soul I went digging into my library and lo! in one of the small shelves, to the left, in the Fantasy classification tab I found:

Fredric Brown's From these Ashes

Back, back in time, out of the drizzle, out of the melancholic mood, out of this world, into reality of fiction, into illusion and mirth...

© 2017 Montxo.

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Legend of the ceibo tree

07/22/2017 - 13:17 | Montxo

 

 


The conquistador marches with steady pace over the littoral. There is almost no defense for the decimated tribe. The warriors cling together around the lifeless body of the last chieftain. What can they do? Who can take command?
 

From the back of the forest a small figure condensed itself in front of the group, it is almost a girl yet. With a grieving countenance she approached the body while the surly men make room for her, she kneels and laying a flower on the dead chest exclaims in a high voice: "Your death would not remain unpunished, father!". The worried men looked each other, a question in their eyes, how? what promise can make this little young woman when no one of them feels confidence in their forces? But the girl stands and with the arm high over her head cry: Revenge!

The men feel they are dragged by a new power, now they will teach a lesson to the invader. The push emanating from the small girl reached out compromising the strangers' faith in their strength, daring and courage are loyal companions of our little heroine.

The conquistadores are powerful, finally they capture the indomitable little woman and seeking to teach a lesson to the rebels decide end her life cruelly in the stake. A twiggy weak tree, leafless and opaque is to serve as stake. The night looks impassible the terrible torment and an astounded dawn saw that the fire and the feminine body turned into a red corolla that crowned the tree and transformed it in a living memory of a brave soul when over the ground rises a ceibo in flower!


© 2017 Montxo.

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It is mine!

07/22/2017 - 13:10 | Montxo

 

I own it! I say stubbornly!

I do not want to lose it.

But I cannot stop it!
Its existence is sheer energy.
It dissolves in my insides
to come back in a coalescent mist.
It wants to see the light, it deserves it.

Not because its qualities but only for being

I cling to it tenaciously, but it is too late

Here it is: My micro-tale


© 2017 Montxo.

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Opera, main gate of Heaven.

07/22/2017 - 12:36 | Montxo

 

 

 


Opera, where Euterpes excels and takes the soul to pristine ecstasy in giving a totally different meaning to

the last line of Tosca:

[Scarpia] Avanti a Dio!

Yes! to let music spread its charms into our heart is a way to be in the presence of God.

© 2017 Montxo.

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Books, the indisputable harbingers of delight.

07/22/2017 - 12:30 | Montxo

 


Invaluable companions, preachers that in their fervor call for people loyal to Literature to come forth to venerate

drama, comedy and fiction in communion with the elemental godhead that transcends the illusion of reality.

© 2017 Montxo.

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Soliloquies

07/22/2017 - 12:27 | Montxo

 

 


This is one of the best calisthenics to keep the mind sound and find out what there is, really there is, in the back recess of the thinking machine.

Differs from ranting (my definition of the word) in the simple fact that you have no interlocutor. You are by yourself and cannot be interrupted!

If you are not used to soliloquies, give them a try, you will find the best companion to sanity: Yourself!


© 2017 Montxo.

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Ranting

07/22/2017 - 12:23 | Montxo


This is the insane side of the mind, you expostulate, discuss, argue, convert ideas in weapons to use in the skirmishes held with your alter ego, in my case Elf, who lives in my mind since I remember but who has secrets of his own that I cannot fathom! He is not a Tolkien's Elf, quite the contrary, he is small, ugly, troublesome, and very much alive, but you will see him in the blog.

This meddlesome character maintains he belongs to a race with a mission: to live in human minds to check and steer them into the right path, whatever it is!, he claims he is the voice that crieth in the wilderness of my mind pointing to wrongness when I deviate my steps from rightness; as the bodysnatchers did every time they found a “clean” body.

If nothing else, the lively experience of discussion with this goblin will give you knowledge on how to handle very difficult subjects that not always you can discuss openly with other humans beings and will broad your mind, if you let it do so, not forgetting the funny side that will entertain you no end.

 

 

© 2017 Montxo.

 

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