Saturday, July 18, 2015

18 July 2015 ,memories of Chile

PABLO NERUDA
I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   
secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries   
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   
from the earth lives dimly in my body. 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   
I love you directly without problems or pride: 
I love you like this because I don't know any other way to love, 
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.


Friday, July 17, 2015

17 july,2015. back home In the north,

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

A.A. MILNE



Tuesday, July 7, 2015

7 July 2015, El Bolson,Patagonia ,Argentina

The whole of my life
is summed up in these three phrases:
I used to be raw
Then I was cooked
Now,
I am on fire.
Rumi

Don’t leave me raw.


Wednesday, July 1, 2015

July first,Buenos Aires,Argentina


When one is able to overcome the romantic and emotional attitude, one discovers truth even in the kitchen sink.

CHÖGYAM TRUNGPA


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

24 June 2015 ,Buenos Aires,Argentina

End of the first workshop,had a wonderful time,thanks to all......

Feeł so grateful to be here

And The day came,when the risk to remain tight in a bud was greater than the risk it took to blossom

Anais Nin


Saturday, June 13, 2015

Sun,13 June 2015

Rumi



Don’t claim in spring on stone some verdure grows
Be soft like soil to raise a lovely rose—
For years you’ve been a stony-hearted man
Try being like the soil now if you can!

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Water,9 June

We will be known forever by the tracks we leave.
Dakota proverb

THE JOURNEY

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

Painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.

You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.

David Whyte