There is a charm in reading a long story. One that a poem could only make more beautiful, in rhyme. So bear with me as I tell you, a little bit about me, a little much about I. My father was a poet, and that is how I learnt life. You are the architect of your own destiny. Life, I owe you nothing, life, we are in peace. Pablo Neruda. But it was Isadora Duncan, Annaïs Nin, and Herman Hesse who launched me into life. US, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Spain, Amsterdam, Colombia, Perú, New Zealand, Turkey...and I still have to go to Paris.
México is the country that saw me first; I was born and raised in Mexico City. Art, culture, music, family, friends, amazing museums, ruins, pyramids, holy weeks and Reyes Magos. Deep México, in the mole, in the red rise, in the soup, in the fiesta, in the tacos, in the family traditions. And pan dulce, how to forget the pan dulce.
I study in a school called Héroes de la Libertad, Heroes of Freedom, the school of the first Lady Eva Sámano de López Mateos, who founded the school when she was married to the then president of México (a librarian and teacher of Spanish-American literature, who began his public career with an assigment to the UN). Mine was a private career of education by the best in Mexico, for the best of México, with a model of art & music programs, technology and fine plastic arts, ran like Wall Street. The school was own by the parents, who in order to enroll their children bought shares and were considered stakeholders, so I guess we could call it a #homeschool education away from home.
Swimming twice a week, competing in sport season, playing all kinds of ball games in the courts, doing gymnastics and karate in the awesome wood floors of the big Gym, dancing all kinds of dances, singing all kinds of songs, guitar lessons, and the imperative learning of languages was how I performed life in the school teather auditorium. Made of Volcanic rock because it is in Coyoacán, I lived in San Jerónimo back then. San Angel was before, when my kinder Garden was a Montessori model with the family name of he who helped write our Mexican constitution, Amilcar Vidal, and who was the direct ancestor of Miss Mary, my first great teacher. My parents, you see, believed that the best education was separated from religion, and enhanced through the creative mind.
Piano playing, dancing, swimming, singing, a firefighters visit, natural picnics, sometimes camping with my parents, swimming rivers, doing TV commercials, traveling through México discovering new worlds with our dad, who was an architect by college, and a visionary realtor by design who had his own empire building work to do and whose neptunian planetary influence made him everyone's guru and his mexican raising made him the provider. To this day, every mexican town I visit has one of his creations. My brother, my sister, and mother and I, we had a nanny. Casi, who had her own daughter named Candy, who lived with her Grandma in Casi's hometown Zaachila, Oaxaca. So while Casi raised me and my siblings, through the best of the mexican cuisine, her daughter raised herself without a mom most of the year. Some summers she camet o visti, some summers we went to visit her, and slept on petates on top of the earth, woke up to tortillas cooked directy on fire made on the ground, in a open kitchen that made me wonder why we had stoves back home. There was certain romance in having to walk out the bedroom to the dark night to go to the open sky batdhroom, which was an ol'time sustainble hole on the ground inside a bambuu cabin, as I remember it. Do not be surprised if she writes one day and her memories are completely a different color than mine.
My mom's life was my father, and her 3 children who went to school from 8 'till 5, every day, who then took more private classes as a way of aristocracy as it was lived by the coolest wealthy people in those times, when mothers did absolutely nothing regarding the tasks that involve caring for a baby, and they were proud of that because that was the job of the help. Mom was busy taking care of the charities for the elder, the education of her siblings, and the care of her dad who after a career in sports lost his ability to walk in a stroke, so he could not talk well and was on a wheel chair the last 5 years of his life. My mom, she fought with a mother who for some reason made her feel ugly and unloved, and then the in law sisters and father in law who made her life hell, for loving my father, or perhaps out of jealousy for he had chosen her to carry on the family name. Mom knew how to keep herself busy.
They were good times. I made lots of friends, great people who today are on top of the world, creating a new one that looks just like the one we were in as students hanging with each other every day of the week, except Saturdays and Sundays, which were family days, so not only we got Sundays, also Saturdays to spend with our parents, who were usually very fun. Lots of parties and celebration around us growing up, for sure. With Mariachis and everything, serenading my mother on her birthdays, or just because it was fun to do it. I remember my father waking us up in the middle of a school night to come down to the living room to celebrate the music, all together. It was usually a smiley time, and I didn't have to go to school the day after, or did I? I don't think so, I think I went to school every single day of my life since school began which was around 4 years old, as far as I can remember.
Blurred is my memory for most of my childhood.
But I remember my family. A big Family, my dad had 7 sisters and a brother, and my mother had a sister and three brothers. She was the eldest. Her mother, my grandma, I want to remember beyond the mystical conversations, the interesting bookshelf with Uranian kind of books, that had a promise of knowing about life where it goes beyond the veils. A place of shamanic energy and psychic conversations, perhaps with the Self. My grandfather Gerardo, my grandmother Rosa, both teachers, had married young after eloping his town, the land of the Pineda's in Taxco. He, grumpy but with a handsome personality. She, a kind, joyful travelling chica yeye, with great smile who cooked a great red rice. Abuelita Rosa. We were so many cousins that it was really not necessary to relate with the adults in family reunions, since it was always more fun to be around those closer in age, specially when you were left alone to discover the fragilities of being, while most of the adults would get drunk and look for a family fight. We, the cousins, are all alive today, and we do talk to each other. So, well done family!
My mom, a woman that did not like to drink alcohol, didn't smoke or curse, who loved to dance and whose only defense mechanism was food. A gemini mason-mormon-catholic teologist who loved education and the nurturing of the mind, and who integrated her nurturing and emotional intelligence in one and only one teaching, listen to your heart.I still do, mom. Thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for your light. I ROAR to you.
I ROAR to my mother, who loved me and my sister and my brother, who took care of us, who watched us grow and touched our lives with her kindness. I ROAR for the love and the wisdom she channeled. I ROAR to her mother, her grandmothers, and their mothers before their mothers, who nurtured a tree that lasted for a long time, a tree that gave me a seed to the feminine, one that dies with me. Here I am, renewing the self again, a little bit older, a little bit wiser, creating safe noble space for feelings, needs, realizations, new beliefs and freedom to be me. Making friends of my enemies. Befriending insecurities that last for generations. Loving my self and where I come from, and creating the path that will take me to the next life. So I ROAR.
Being the inspirational enlighten of womanhood rising who I am writing to, I thought you might be interested in my art, in my music, in my astrology, in my yoga, in my writing, in my homeschooling, in my fame, then it hit me. It is in my childhood and family conditioning where you can see why my revolution, through the Self expression of my creativity. So I decided to share about the healing journey of the mother, and the renewal of my Self worth. See, I was raised to be me. And to be me has always been about my public image, and how my artistic talents affect others, how my personal power can heal and evolve the world around me, and how that is my purpose and service. And You see, this is a very intimate way to live life within the collective, as there are no filters to emotional empathy, it is the direct interrelation of energy. There is no hiding. My art has always been the art of living. How to recreate my soul, my mind, my body, as I journey through this life where the need not only for acceptance and approval is what leads the collective consciousness, but the vision to be adored like the sun. Everyone is a star.
This I understood by its burn.
The life of the public image has no cushions to cuddle while others interact with what you create. In the journey of the Self Expression, it is you and them at the same time, interacting through whatever vibes are being channeled. Performance as a way of living is a very vulnerable path, it is one that unfolds before the eyes of others, an experience of entertaining those who do not know how to entertain themselves, an emotional journey full of constant criticism and autocorrect always mirroring what pleases others' judgmental feelings, while feeding the addiction to the attention of the masses. Performance, though, is mutable, and one day as we observe our life lessons and release our samkaras, evolving in the karma wheel, one day we learn that performance in life is not about what we want, but about that which we are here to learn.
So, I ROAR.
This summer, I lost my baby girl. 9 months in. I ROAR. We, my 6-year-old, I ROAR, his dad, I ROAR, and I were doing labor all day and excited to see her. I ROAR. We went to the hospital in timing with contractions as instructed by the dulas, and there the doctor told all three of us that Kala Joy had no heartbeat and that he had to book me for surgery, a Cesarean. What a strange word "Cesarean", don't you think? It makes me think about Julio César and the Roman empire. The Jesus Christ stories, and the Kabbalah mind. But what I am talking about is death. The most enlightening experience, one that illuminates the human condition, the mysteries of the Universe, and the stories told by its starry skies. So I ROAR to you Kala Joy, I ROAR to you. Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for light. May you journey through spirit travel in peace, in harmony, and in freedom. To you, the baby, the girl, the woman, the mother, the healer the wise, to you who were and then were not... I ROAR.
I Rise
There is a charm in reading a long story. One that a poem could only make more beautiful, in rhyme. So bear with me as I tell you, a little bit about me, a little much about I. My father was a poet, and that is how I learnt life. You are the architect of your own destiny. Life, I owe you nothing, life, we are at peace. Amado Nervo. But it was Isadora Duncan, Annaïs Nin, and Herman Hesse who launched me into life. US, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Spain, Amsterdam, Colombia, Perú, New Zealand, Turkey...and I still have to go to Paris.
México is the country that saw me first; I was born and raised in Mexico City. Art, culture, music, family, friends, amazing museums, ruins, pyramids, holy weeks and Reyes Magos. Deep México, in the mole, in the red rice, in the soup, in the fiesta, in the tacos, in the family traditions. And pan dulce, how to forget the pan dulce.
I studied my childhood and teenage years in a school called Héroes de la Libertad, Heroes of Freedom, the school of the first Lady Eva Sámano de López Mateos, who founded the school when she was married to the then president of México (a librarian and teacher of Spanish-American literature, who began his public career with an assigment to the UN). Mine was a private career of education by the best in Mexico, for the best of México, with a model of art & music programs, technology and fine plastic arts, ran like Wall Street. The school was own by the parents, who in order to enroll their children bought shares and were considered stakeholders, so I guess we could call it a #homeschool education away from home.
Swimming twice a week, competing in sport season, playing all kinds of ball games in the courts, doing gymnastics and karate in the awesome wood floors of the big Gym, dancing all kinds of dances, singing all kinds of songs, guitar lessons, and the imperative learning of languages was how I performed life in the school teather auditorium. Made of Volcanic rock because it is in Coyoacán, I lived in San Jerónimo back then. San Angel was before, when my kinder Garden was a Montessori model with the family name of he who helped write our Mexican constitution, Amilcar Vidal, and who was the direct ancestor of Miss Mary, my first great teacher. My parents, you see, believed that the best education was separated from religion, and enhanced through the creative mind.
Piano playing, dancing, swimming, singing, a firefighters visit, natural picnics, sometimes camping with my parents, swimming rivers, doing TV commercials, traveling through México discovering new worlds with our dad, who was an architect by college, and a visionary realtor by design who had his own empire building work to do and whose neptunian planetary influence made him everyone's healer while his Mexican raising made him the provider. To this day, every mexican town I visit has one of his creations. My brother, my sister, and mother and I, we had a nanny. Casi, who had her own daughter named Candy, who lived with her Grandma in Casi's hometown Zaachila, Oaxaca. So while Casi raised me and my siblings, through the best of the mexican cuisine, her daughter raised herself without a mom most of the year. Some summers she came to visit, some summers we went to visit her, and slept on "petates" on top of the earth, woke up to tortillas cooked directly on fire made on the ground, in a open kitchen that made me wonder why we had stoves back home. There was certain romance in having to walk out the bedroom to the dark night to go to the open sky batdhroom, which was an ol'time sustainble hole on the ground inside a bambu cabin, as I remember it. Do not be surprised if she writes one day and her memories are completely a different color than mine.
My mom's life was my father, and her 3 children who went to school from 8 'till 5, every day, who then took more private classes as a way of aristocracy as it was lived by the coolest wealthy people in those times, when mothers did absolutely nothing regarding the tasks that involve caring for a baby, and they were proud of that because that was the job of the help. Mom was busy taking care of the charities for the elder, the education of her siblings, and the care of her dad who after a career in sports lost his ability to walk in a stroke, so he could not talk well and was on a wheel chair the last 5 years of his life. My mom, she fought with a mother who for some reason made her feel ugly and unloved, and then the in law sisters and father in law who made her life hell, for loving my father, or perhaps because my father loved her.
They were good times. I made lots of friends, great people who today are on top of the world, creating a new one that looks just like the one we were in as students hanging with each other every day of the week, except Saturdays and Sundays, which were family days, so not only we got Sundays, also Saturdays to spend with our parents, who were usually very fun. Lots of parties and celebration around us growing up, for sure. With Mariachis and everything, serenading my mother on her birthdays, or just because it was fun to do it. I remember my father waking us up in the middle of a school night to come down to the living room to celebrate the music, all together. It was usually a smiley time, and I didn't have to go to school the day after, or did I? Yes, I did, I think I went to school every single day of my life since school began which was around 4 years old, as far as I can remember.
Blurred is my memory for most of my childhood.
But I remember my family. A big Family, my dad had 7 sisters and a brother, and my mother had a sister and three brothers. She was the eldest. Her mother, my grandma, I want to remember beyond the mystical conversations, the interesting bookshelf with Uranian kind of books, that had a promise of knowing about life where it goes beyond the veils. A place of shamanic energy and psychic conversations, perhaps with the Self, people came from all over for healing session that included Tarot readings and the astrology of life cycles. Hers is the story of a gypsy, married to a futbol soccer referee with a lion heart. My grandfather Gerardo, my grandmother Rosa, both teachers, had married young after eloping his town, the land of the Pineda's in Taxco. He, grumpy but with a handsome personality. She, a kind, joyful travelling chica yeye, with great smile who cooked a great red rice. Abuelita Rosa. We were so many cousins on my father's side that it was really not necessary to relate with the adults in family reunions, since it was always more fun to be around those closer in age, specially when you were left alone to discover the fragilities of being, while most of the adults would get drunk and look for a family fight. We, the cousins, are all alive today, and we do talk to each other. So, well done family!
My mom, a woman that did not like to drink alcohol, didn't smoke or curse, who loved to dance and whose only defense mechanism was food. A gemini mason-mormon-catholic teologist who loved education and the nurturing of the mind, and who integrated her nurturing and emotional intelligence in one and only one teaching, listen to your heart. I still do, mom. Thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for your light. I ROAR to you.
I ROAR to my mother, who loved me and my sister and my brother, who took care of us, who watched us grow and touched our lives with her kindness. I ROAR for the love and the wisdom she channeled. I ROAR to her mother, her grandmothers, and their mothers before their mothers, who nurtured a tree that lasted for a long time, a tree that gave me a seed to the feminine, one that dies with me. Here I am, renewing the self again, a little bit older, a little bit wiser, creating safe noble space for feelings, needs, realizations, new beliefs and freedom to be me. Making friends of my enemies. Befriending insecurities that lasted generations. Loving myself and where I come from, and creating the path that will take me to the next life. So I ROAR.
Being the inspirational enlighten of womanhood rising who I am writing to, I thought you might be interested in my art, in my music, in my astrology, in my yoga, in my writing, in my homeschooling, in my fame, then it hit me. It is in my childhood and family conditioning where you can see why my revolution, through the Self expression of my creativity. So I decided to share about the healing journey of the mother, and the renewal of my Self worth. See, I was raised to be me. And to be me has always been about my public image, and how my artistic talents affect others, how my personal power can heal and evolve the world around me, and how that is my purpose and service. And You see, this is a very intimate way to live life within the collective, as there are no filters to emotional empathy, it is the direct interrelation of energy. There is no hiding. My art has always been the art of living. How to recreate my soul, my mind, my body, as I journey through this life where the need not only for acceptance and approval is what leads the collective consciousness, but the vision to be adored like the sun. Everyone is a star.
This I understood by its burn.
The life of the public image has no cushions to cuddle while others interact with what you create. In the journey of the Self Expression, it is you and them at the same time, interacting through whatever vibes are being channeled. Performance as a way of living is a very vulnerable path, it is one that unfolds before the eyes of others, an experience of entertaining those who do not know how to entertain themselves, an emotional journey full of constant criticism and autocorrect always mirroring what pleases others' judgmental feelings, while feeding the addiction to the attention of the masses. Performance, though, is mutable, and one day as we observe our life lessons and release our samkaras, evolving in the karma wheel, one day we learn that performance in life is not about what we want, but about that which we are here to learn.
So, I ROAR.
This summer, I lost my baby girl. 9 months in. I ROAR. We, my 6-year-old, I ROAR, his dad, I ROAR, and I were doing labor all day and excited to see her. I ROAR. We went to the hospital in timing with contractions as instructed by the dulas, and there the doctor told all three of us that Kala Joy had no heartbeat and that he had to book me for surgery, a Cesarean. What a strange word "Cesarean", don't you think? It makes me think about Julio César and the Roman empire. The Jesus Christ stories, and the Kabbalah mind. But what I am talking about is death. The most enlightening experience, one that illuminates the human condition, the mysteries of the Universe, and the stories told by its starry skies. So I ROAR to you Kala Joy, I ROAR to you. Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for light. May you journey through spirit travel in peace, in harmony, and in freedom; To you, the baby, the girl, the woman, the mother, the healer the wise, to you who were and then were not, I ROAR.
Essay I The cools for ROAR, Fierce Feminine Rising Magazine by Yeye