Veronica Dru

If you have your head cut off, you remain conscious for several minutes after

2009-11-29T10:00:00.008Z

I woke up early this morning. 6am to be exact. Pretty early for a Sunday morning after an exhausting week at work. But here I am, full of beans, and being all productive and active and writing loads of ideas and hoping I will get the time and the energy to do them all and do them soon. Because, let's face it: always working overtime kills the most excited imagination, and that's my new life -work, work, work- which I am trying to come to terms with, reinventing myself every single morning with also re-invented energy, which never seems to see the light of the new day, when the working week sucks me into its hollow spiral of running around the campus, teaching far too many lectures and marking, and preparing, and managing and administering, all that within a 50plus-hour-a-week marathon. My working week spits me from its insides on Friday evening. There is nothing left of me. A body that drags around the house trying to make sense of the free time. And then the chores attack. Life I've been putting on hold knocks on the front door. Breathing has been one of the supposedly innate skills I've struggled to master this last year. Something inside me copes with my current life by giving it an air of unreality. Life put into brackets. A waiting room for my real life. Then I read this poem this morning, Beheaded, by Polly Clark and, just after reading the first verse, I felt taken and drawn towards it. The poem belongs to the collection Take me with you (Bloodaxe, 2005) but I read it in Mslexia, an amazing Creative Writing magazine I'm addicted to. It also features an interview with the poet and there were two things that specially stroke me:

1) This is my actual life ticking away... It's real!

2) I'd read somewhere that if you have your head cut off, you remain conscious for several minutes after.

I quickly reacted this way:

1) Oh my God! There is not such thing as 'bracketing a life'. This life which is ticking now IS my actual life.

2) What would my still-conscious-head think for several minutes after being cut off my body?

I know, I know. It's a horrible thought. The image is haunting me in a sort of good way, I suppose, since it urged me to write this post (after months of blogging inactivity).

What can be done?

I am starting by erasing the brackets in my prose and the brackets in my life. Everything is happening now. I'm committed to baby steps. Because they are small and because they are playful and because they don't really know where they are taking you but are taking you into the right direction. After all, I only want to play. Forever. Because life is important and useless at the same time, which doesn't mean it's not worth living. Because I take life seriously.

I leave you with Polly Clark's magnificent poem:

BEHEADED

I hear perfectly: the thud

onto linen, the strange gasp

like the cry of a premature baby,

just once and then silence.

And I see perfectly:

how my lashes scratch the light,

a hair glittering in shadow,

the winded hollow

where my lips rest.

I still have all my words.

I move my mouth,

like someone begging for water.

Fingers grab my hair

and I soar high above my sad

old body, slumped and tiny.

Tears of pity for it fill my eyes.

They are tending it,

the blank women in blue.

They are washing it,

as if they loved it.

Look, the people are cheering me,

look, they are glad to see me,

now that I've been removed

without a single word of protest.

Polly Clark

Take Me With You (Bloodaxe, 2005)

MOVING

2009-09-17T16:18:00.007+01:00

I read somewhere (and sorry, I forgot where!) that suffering meant being stuck. I never thought of it this way and it makes so much sense, don't you think? We need to know we are walking towards something or somewhere or maybe away from something or somewhere else.. Doesn't matter. We need movement and change. Adaptation and growing. Whatever life throws us. These are my almost-Autumn changes. Little. Slow. But moving and making a difference:

1. Music in the morning. Since my laptop crashed two weeks ago (ay, ay, ay!), I haven't been able to play my Yogamazing podcast (which I strongly recommend) for my morning yoga. That threw a spanner in the works. As the routine persone I am, I struggled once again with my morning ritual. But only initially. I am now making up my own workouts in the morning and I listen to nice soothing music, which gently wakes me up and puts me in a good mood. Although I have re-arranged the study room (where the desktop lives) to practise my yoga there, I think I'm still going to combine my 'musical yoga' with the podcast. I was in downward dog one morning and I found myself smiling. That needs to carry on.

2. WALK, NOT RACE! Unless I'm running a marathon (rather doubtful right now). And still in a marathon, your pace must be steady, your stamine well measured and you must enjoy every minute. I've realised I do everything in a rush. As if my life went with it. So I've started SLOOOOOOOWING down and enjoying every breath. I hope I can maintain that when I start my classes... To my previous sentence on suffering, I would add suffering is also being detached. Walking (at lunch time, to get the bus, to the gym, even up and down the uni stairs to go to the toilett!) makes me feel more connected with the universe. I am a part of everything else (the hippy-in-me had to emerge at some point...) There is no point in running towards or running away, UNLESS I AM ACTUALLY RUNNING. And that links with my next change.

3. Running. For now, on the treadmill. I am currently reading Haruki Murakami's What I talk about when I talk about running. Well, and it's really got me moving. Running is something I had been thinking about for a long time but never quite got myself to do. So here I am. So far I am running 3 times a week, 40 minutes each time. I haven't run more than 4 miles per session but hey, it's a start. This week I've run twice and, oh no!!!! I woke up this morning with a bad cold, which made me stay working from home and , of course, away from the treadmill. Let's hope I can catch up on Saturday. Running has made me laugh several times. After only a few minutes my 'evil' inside voice started its chatter: you are tired, can't breath, your legs hurt, you've run for ten minutes, that is enough, you could stop... The minute I identified the voice as the 'evil voice' and gave it a caricature face and sound, everytime the inner chatter would start, I would feel like laughing so much at it! I won! Of course!

4. Journaling. As I seemed to fail at Morning Pages, I got more and more into journaling. I've done it at any time. On the bus, before bed, waiting for my gym class... I know I need to get back into the completion of The Artist's Way. But, after its sudden interruption, I'm just letting things to settle and journaling has been a fantastic way to reflect on what is going on right now in my life.

And that's it for now. The above have been my 4 pre-seasonal changes. They appeared without previous notice. They didn't (directly) respond to any goal setting session. They just happened. Adaptation, I suppose. And the principle of 'movement' as survival. As Haruki Murakami mentions on the first chapter of his book, "pain is inevitable, suffering optional".

I would be very happy if you shared with me which little changes you may have introduced in your 'back-to-school' routine and how they have helped your overall health and wellbeing. Leave a comment if you have read me!

And what about leaving you with another Macaco song? This one has hit the Spanish summer lists this Summer. It's called MOVING. (Please, click on the link, for some reason I wasn't allowed to embed this video).

Picture: By moi. Taken on the 16th of August in Gargallo (Teruel, Spain). The performance was 'jotas', the traditional Aragon music and dance. They always manage to make me cry since they reminde me of my grandparents, who are not here anymore. All my 'jotas' pictures are dedicated to them, Pilar and Antonio.

I missed the bus twice!

2009-09-10T11:35:00.003+01:00

However, the sun is shining today in my corner of the world and, luckily, I had a great book in my monstruosity of handbag: The Self on the Page, by Celia Hunt. For first time in months I haven't had a tantrum when things didn't go as expected. I sat down on a bench. Enjoying the warmth of this Autumn miracle on my face and read a few pages, which thought-provoking words gave me enough ideas to keep my mind happily occupied for the rest of the bus journey.
And yes, I was 30 minutes late at work. So what? The classes haven't started yet. I am the boss of my time.

Picture from FreeFoto.com

Seguiremos, a happy song for you

2009-09-02T20:30:00.006+01:00

While mapping and unmapping the potential geography of this new beginning, I sing out loud the fabulous Macaco's song, Seguiremos, which you can find below. With a nostalgic end-of-summer note, as sudden as it was (just two hour flight), with a huge slice of hope which tries to ridicule any fear, I sing I'm searching when they say I'm lost, I reach everywhere if I stand on my toes, I get up when they say I've fallen; when they say I'm sleeping I say it's better to dream. Being so different, why do they call us a multitude?

Los sueños cambiaron el destino de los hombres y de las naciones (voz en off)

Di sí (oh oh) seguiremos (oh oh)
Si dicen perdido yo digo buscando,
Si dicen no llegas de puntillas alcanzamos,
Y sí (oh oh) seguiremoos (oh oh).

Si dicen caíste yo digo me levanto
Si dicen dormido es mejor soñando

Entre unos y otros ahí estás tú
Somos los mismos somos distintos
Pero nos llaman multitud.
Perdonen que no me levante
Cuando digan de frente y al paso
No somos tropas no somos soldados
Mejor gotas sobre olas flotando.

Y sí (oh oh) seguiremos (oh oh)
Si dicen perdido yo digo buscando,
Si dicen no llegas de puntillas alcanzamos,
Y sí (oh oh) seguiremoos (oh oh).
Si dicen caíste yo digo me levanto
Si dicen dormido es mejor soñando

Perdonen que no me aclare
En medio de este mar enturbiado
Nos hicieron agua trasparente
No me ensucien más,
Yo ya me he manchado.
y es que hay una gran diferencia
entre pensar y soñar
yo soy de lo segundo
En cada segundo vuelvo a empezar.

Y sí (oh oh) seguiremos (oh oh)
Si dicen perdido yo digo buscando,
Si dicen no llegas de puntillas alcanzamos,
Y sí (oh oh) seguiremoos (oh oh).
Si dicen caíste yo digo me levanto
Si dicen dormido es mejor soñando

Hoy sabemos que lo importante es soñar, liberar nuestro inconsciente, el filtro de censura del pensamiento, creemos que al soñar perdemos un tercio de nuestra vida, y nos equivocamos. (voz en off)

Y si (oh oh) seguiremos (oh oh)
Si dicen perdido yo digo buscando,
Si dicen no llegas de puntillas alcanzamos,
Y sí (oh oh) seguiremoos (oh oh).
Si dicen caíste yo digo me levanto
Si dicen dormido es mejor soñando
Si dicen caíste yo digo me levanto
Si dicen dormido es mejor soñando

Hoy sabemos que lo importante es soñar (voz en off)

Kandahar Break premier

2009-08-04T20:29:00.006+01:00

I started August in a great way: The 'Kandahar Break' premier. The cinema was absolutely full. The director, David Whitney, briefly introduced the film and there we were, grabbing the fabric of our film partners' jackets with our fingernails, clenching our teeth, biting our lips, sitting at the edge of our seats; since the action started in minute one and the story didn't let us go for a second. Magnificent landscapes, excellent performances, scarily authentic! It was great to see the final product. Especially because I was privileged enough to live part of the process. The 'from-home' process. I said goodbye to R for more than a month. I prayed every night for him to be safe. I followed the news and got scared on every piece where the Taliban or Pakistan were mentioned. I read every long email of his narrating the adventure. I was waiting for him after the emergency evacuation. And yes, it was fantastic to see the hard work of everyone materialised into an excellent film. It was great to see them in the after party talking about their experience in Pakistan. I thank R because he's taught me to watch films in a different way. I have never seen a better example of excellent team work. Different languages, different cultures, different views, different sleeping patterns, different ways to cope with the 50ºC of the desert! And finally, all the differences converge together and become one piece of art. From here I wish the film and everyone involved in it all the luck in the world.

Check out the film's facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/pages/Kandahar-Break/89397491485

The postgrad party

2009-07-29T20:26:00.003+01:00

I keep thinking about my university days as a time which feels very close to me. I think university and I think philosophy, hunger for knowledge, creative curiosity, adventureous travelling. Friendship. Passion. My writing. All the reading I have done, I am doing and I will ever do comes from those days. They are so close to my heart. Myself. The start of the life I want. The meaning of the life I want. My life.
However, that happened looooong ago. I never realised how long until last Sunday I went to Manchester to see the play 'Temp/Casual', where my friend Marlon was acting. The play was about this group of friends who went to uni and graduated together, and how life changed (or they changed because of life) a few years after graduation. How passions fell down. How dreams were only for a few chosen ones. How relationships deteriorated. How friendships were sold and bought. How the very enthusiastic media graduates had to continue to re-invent themselves, some to succeed, some to survive. They called that period 'the postgrad party' and the concept grabbed me and didn't let me go. How has my postgrad party been? Am I still living the postgrad party or am I suppose to have moved on? How can we call the next phase? Will I ever get there or am I stuck in the re-invention marathon? I went through my memories, and time acquired a different dimension. University days feel now so far away. I am nostalgic. I miss the coffees at the canteen, the carefree attitude, the poems, the believe everything was going to lead me to the life of my dreams. The thought there would be always time for everything and for everyone. I miss me. The timeless me. And then I find myself, closer to the past than ever. Closer to complete the puzzle with the pieces I've been scattering all this time. As in Temp/Casual I have desintegrated in empty relationships, I have been a prisoner in meaningless jobs, I have been suffocated by people who think their little narrow world is The World. People who have tried to convince me of that. People I don't want to become. I have fantasised with killing my boss or some colleagues. I will not sell myself, except that I must. Where did my dream go? I must survive. Pay rent, keep studying, bills, taxes, food! The postgrad party. I will be an actress then. Are there others like me? Now my play is a full time job. Maybe mine is a long way round but I haven't lost faith and I know now I'm in the right path. It needs adjustments. Granted. A bit of luck. A bit of work. A lot of faith things might not be easy but I will always find the way. I enjoy going through my postgrad party memories so far. I am happy the way life has turned out. I am grateful for every step. If I can say that, I am complete and yet still seeking.

Enjoy the party!

Oblivion: End of the ban.

2009-07-22T20:12:00.005+01:00

"Face your fears! You know you shouldn't look, but you won't be able to stop yourself taking a peek at the colossal vertical drop".

The reading ban is over. It has been over for three and a half days now so I feel I owe myself this post. Something I would like to begin with is that the fact of not being able to read didn't necessarily give me more time. Still in the office for most of the day + 3 hour travelling time each day don't allow too much spare time anyway. Was it worth it? Well, YES. In a strange way.

First feeling: Oblivion. Exactly like the ride (: the build-up (OMG, OMG); the anger (I really don't want to do this, why am I still here?); the fear (What will I do?); the increased anxiety levels (where do these voices come from now? Have they always been there?). I need to say I have experienced both 'Oblivions', the metaphorical and the physical ride (Thanks R, R and Zafron), and they have LOADS IN COMMON.

First question: Why do I read?

Refuge
To stop time
Pleasure
Being transported to a different reality
Research
Information
Communication
To stop doing chores
To stop other activities that, although I want to do them, they ask for greater effort (i.e writing)
Learn

Consequences of the ban:

Many, many unexpected thoughts. Anxiety.
Thoughts would create chaos around my life and the tiniest decision.
Thoughts couldn't be quiet. I had to isolate them and deal with them separately. That took time and effort.
When I was too tired to do anything else, I had to try very hard to avoid TV. I was bored, something I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Isolation. Most of communication exchanges happen via electronic devises nowadays: e.mail, blogs, texts. Personal and social isolation (I tend to read news rather than watch news, especially because I can select what I want to know about. On TV or radio somebody decides for me what I should know).
Disruption of night ritual.

What I got out of it:

I tidied up the house and the office.
I tidied up my head (dealt with thoughts I hadn't before)
I went straight into writing when I had to.
I experienced a different way of creativity. Something less artistic and more embeded in everyday life: cooking, food shopping, yoga series, clothing, writing, advice given to others.

Some of the main benefits I have taken out of it are

Awareness of how I distribute my time during the day.
Awareness of why I read and decision of keeping reading but only for the right reasons.
Awareness of having to find a balance in my life by deciding the time I allocate to the activities which are important to me.
Need for a reading-writing balance.
VERY IMPORTANT: Need for empty time to allow creativity to emerge and deal with inner thoughts.
In LIFE, like on Oblivion, even after taking a peek at the colossal vertical drop, you only have three things left to do: breath, relax and enjoy the ride.

La felicidad/ Happiness

2009-07-22T18:53:00.001+01:00

Why do we know and still forget it?

Reading ban. Part 3: This is torture (but I can see hope)

2009-07-16T21:07:00.003+01:00

I've been in Manchester today. I love going back there. It feels so home I can't even believe that nearly nine years ago the place was to me nothing worse than an unkown monster ready to eat me alive.
The difference? History. My history. Anyway, as you can imagine I nearly forget my reading ban... Imagine the situation! 2 hour train journey and my laptop with me... But NO. I prepared myself for what I was going to do at Manchester. I took some notes. I wrote my morning pages... Success.

The journey back was slightly harder and the reason is something happened in between. I went to an interview for a Yoga Training course. How did I get there? Well, I don't know. It just made sense suddenly. Life one day fell like a puzzle where the pieces were easily following into place. I met the lovely Annie Jones and I can say I have already learnt things in our conversation. I had a fantastic time and meeting Annie was trully inspiring. This is their webside, if you want to check it out: http://www.druworldwide.com/

The pictures I've included in this post belong to Dru Yoga too.

Ok, so, on my way back I was sitting in the train all busy deep in thought trying to forget I had a brand new Yoga book in my handbag. Ahhhhhhhh! Ok, I'll just look at the cover, I said to myself. I did. Only the 'Contents page'. And I opened to 'just look at the first page'. And... back to my handbag. Yes. I resisted. Close though. Everyone around me, EVERYONE was reading. Reading papers, magazines, notes, books. EVERYONE. So unfair. Why can't I? What am I taking out of all this in such a situation? Locked in a train! Nothing else to do! Well, while lost in my own angry thougths I found an answer: If I read (same as if I kept angry) I would miss out on the gorgeous green landscape of the Peack District, the mountains changing colour in the evening hours, the rain nurturing the earth, the smell of it coming in from the open window. I would stop being present in that right unique moment. A moment that, like all moments in our life, will never come back.

Reading ban part 2. Chaos.

2009-07-15T09:38:00.005+01:00

Have you ever felt identified with this image? This reading ban is sending me there. I am realising how full my head is. Some use-ful(l) things and also loads of clutter. They all live together in their own chaotic way. And that mad espectacle is happening inside me. Now I cannot silence it with other stories, with other words. I cannot quiet my mind. Now I feel this urge to clean (inside and outside), to get rid of everything and start fresh new, but the urge fights with the endless 'to do' list that keeps popping up in front of me like an invisible computer screen. With my duties at the office. With what other people expect from me. The prioritising device is failing. What do I do first? I haven't finished one thing and I'm already thinking 'what's next' with the permanent feeling that I am wasting my time. All this raises the question of what reading means to me. I have always seen reading as my nurturing space, as pleasure, information, mental travelling and imagination, connexion with other worlds (known and unknown), and among all, insipiration. I see now that reading is also my refuge and without it I am alone in the open chaotic universe of my own thoughts. I'm still keeping positive though. I am sure something good will come out from this 'fasting'. Maybe I am making space for the things that really matter. And reading really matters, don't get me wrong, but I am willing to find out something new, a new and meaningful space for it. For now, I'm going to start my office de-cluttering process. Wish me luck on that!

Reading ban part 1

2009-07-14T09:32:00.004+01:00

As some of you might know I am reading (and completing) Julia Cameron's The Artist Way. It's an interesting book that puts you through a creative self-discovery journey. So far so good. However, in Chapter 4, the book bans you from reading for a week. And I got there. Chapter 4. This is just my second day without reading and I am finding it extreeeemely difficult. How can I live without reading? Where do I find my inspiration? I've realised how much time I spend every day just reading. And I'm not talking only about reading for pleasure. Reading to work, reading to be informed, reading to communicate, reading the food labels, reading as a reward, reading to kill time, reading to stop myself from doing something else I should... That's the point of the reading ban, probably. Or at least one of them. Facing reality. Getting rid of distractions, just for a week. Take some perspective. After writing my pages this morning, after my yoga session I thought 'Hey, before I get down to my writing I'll check if I have comments on my blog', 'I'll see if there is a new entry on SWIM blog', 'Oh, I'll read this and this blog'. 'That seems interesting, I'll follow the link and read about it...' Nooooooo! I'm not allowed to read this week. Bye bye before-to-bed-reading-pages too. Waiting-for-my-class-book. And I can see the point. That's the worst. I need to de-clutter my life. I'm now in that process: decluttering the house, the office, the files, the computer, giving clothes away, and most importantly, decluttering my thoughts. I can see how so many words are stopping my own to become alive. So, yes, I understand the ban. But I AM NOT ENJOYING IT AT ALL. It makes me feel so isolated. It makes me face what I need to do with no space for procrastrination. I'm ready to do it, though. I am open to what this week can teach me. And I hope I find a sense of balance and perspective after all. However, right now, I AM STILL HATING IT.

Llueve, detrás de los cristales llueve y llueve...

2009-07-07T19:07:00.001+01:00

Rain always remind me of this song, which translates to 'Ballad of the fall'. It's a beautiful song by a Catalan singer called Serrat who I admire. Even though now it is supposed to be summer, days like today (and yesterday) make me wonder... 'Come on!' I can hear my boyfriends' voice, 'how long have you been living in England!' Yes, he's right. But rain always does this to me. It's not too bad when I'm indoors. Just rain...

My Yoga Yourney

2009-07-06T20:45:00.002+01:00

Following the yogic principle of saucha (purity) I have decided to try and simplify my life. Por this reason I have merged my two blogs Ones and My Yoga Journey . Yoga is not something separate from the rest of my life so my blogs shouldn't show this separation either.

The first time I ever went to a Yoga class was purely out of curiosity. I was very young and I only remember a dark class and a few impossibly difficult poses that I found rather pointless. Out of context, I didn't get it at all and I never came back. My next encounter with Yoga would be a few years later in a philosophy class. Expecting to hear about Plato and Aristotle, the lecturer surprised me with a module on Oriental Philosophy. Immediately I felt fascinated. Following the urge of knowing more about the subject, I travelled to India, where I lived for a while. I didn't practise any yoga there. My work in Parvathivai Leprosy Hospital completely absorved me and I was moving in a rather different dimension then. However, I learnt many aspects of the Indian culture in that hospital that would make entire sense later on in my yoga practice. Nobody recognised me when I got back. My family and friends were used to me as a chaotic, nervous, hyperactive person and I went back home exhaling peace. I learnt the meaning of purity (literal and metaphorical), meditation, self-knowledge and compassion. I lived with no worries. I learnt to let go of so many unnecessary things that used to clutter my life. Now, whenever I feel overwhelmed by life, I take my mind back to that state of mind. I can live free, I say to myself. I just need to decide to do it, believe it's possible and let go. I did it once. I can do it again. I will be eternally grateful to everyone I met in Mumbay, Goa and, especially, Surat, Barodha and Viara. I've never felt so welcome in my life and, like in a magical puzzle, all the pieces are now slowly falling into place. Namaste, sisters!

You can't separate the sun from the sunrise.

2009-07-05T10:53:00.005+01:00

What does compassion mean to you?

I've just listened to a podcast on Compassion from Ken McLeod. His webside, Unfettered mind ( http://www.unfetteredmind.com/) is worth having a look.

Teatro en Quatre Camins/ Theatre at the 'Quatre Camins' prison

2009-07-04T18:35:00.004+01:00

http://www.lavanguardia.es/premium/publica/publica?COMPID=53736809546&ID_PAGINA=200806163&ID_FORMATO=9&PAGINACIO=1&SUBORDRE=3&TEXT
Just a brief summary for those who cannot read Spanish. In a Spanish prison called Quatre Camins a few prisoners formed their own theatre company with the help of a group of actors. This week they have performed for the first time and there has been an article (and video) in the Spanish newspaper La Vanguardia. I felt very happy that something like that was happening. I am a firm believer that Art is a fantastic way to live life in a better way, to become better and more reflective individuals, to experiment compassion towards others and toward ourselves. Art is a unique way of self-discovery and understanding of the world. However, all my happiness disappeared instantly as I read some (many, too many) of the readers' comments. I could not believe our society is still so close-minded, so ignorant, so rude, so profoundly disgusting as how to insult and criticise the prisoners' artistic work.

From here I want to send a message of hope to those who work towards a better self, a better life and a better world through Art anywhere in the world, in freedom or in reclusion. We all live in our little prisons and we all must escape from them.

No me lo puedo creer. Estoy hablando de los comentarios de la gente a la compañía de teatro en Quatre Camins. ¿En qué sociedad más ignorante, retrógrada, despreciable vivimos?

Desde aquí quiero dar un mensaje de ánimo y de esperanza a todos aquellos que trabajan para ser mejores, en cualquier situación o lugar del mundo, en libertad o reclusión (física o mental), a través del arte. Todos vivimos en nuestras propias prisiones y todos tenemos debemos aprender a salir de elllas.

"Why should we all use our creative power...? Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money." Brenda Ueland.

"The purpose of art is not a rarified, intellectual distillat -it is life, intensified, brilliant life." Alain Arias-Misson.

Ambas citas han sido obtenidas del libro de Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way: http://www.theartistsway.com/

Change the world, think differently.

2009-07-03T11:33:00.004+01:00

It's easy to think that one person cannot change the world. We are so wrong. Everyone, everyday is changing the world. For the best or for the worst, we are. Our contribution is vital and we have a responsibility with the universe (our small and big one). Don't let anyone silence your voice. Not because you think differently; especially if you think differently. This is a big THANK YOU for (and to) all the 'different thinkers' that still make me believe a better world is possible.

The NHS. Have we changed?

2009-07-03T11:08:00.005+01:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7478439.stm

I found this archive footage pretty entertaining not only for historical but also for personal reasons.
The images of those nurses have made me think that while many, many, many things have changed in the healthcare universe, very very little has changed in the concept of what a NURSE nowadays really is. In the footage we see nurses making beds, cups of tea, cleaning the ward. Very little has changed since. In the UK, Nursing is now a university degree that doesn't really reflect what's going on in the hospitals or even at other institutions around the world. It has always surprised me that patients expect doctors to be professional and nurses to be nice and caring. This is the image we manage to perpetuate year after year. This is the reason why the nursing profession can't advance in the UK. They are surrounded by various enemies who still see them as 'nice but not too clever', by deeply entrenched unwritten rules in the health care institutions who tell them about their limitations, by their own low self-esteem.
The nurses on the video are prototypes of the values of the profession. The nurses are beautiful, kind, caring, clean. All those adjectives sound familiar to me. Of course! That's also what is expected from any WOMAN.
To work as a nurse in a hospital many professional skills are necessary. Knowledge. Procedures to master. You need to be intelligent, a good communicator, possess good time management skills. Nurses are like glue; without them the ward collapses. Nobody seems to realise.
Thinks haven't changed at all. Add a bit of colour and a different uniform (no so different though..) and you have a 21st c hospital ward. Feminine professions always get a hard time in history. The worst is that most of us still don't know. We do live in and island and we don't want to extend bridges to see beyond.

SWIM Summer Writing Inspiration Movement

2009-06-29T11:52:00.004+01:00

http://writinginspirationmovement.blogspot.com/

SWIM update

2009-06-29T11:48:00.002+01:00

Reward:

Good morning! I was asked to post a pic of my reward so I did. As you can see, I changed my mind. No journal. Friday afternoon, after the university Open Day, I left to Lea Bridge (http://www.derbyshirearts.co.uk/), a little village in Derbyshire to celebrate my friend and colleague's Hen Weekend. We had a fab time! After a nice 5 hour walk (it was supposed to be 2 but we got lost a few times...) we stumbled into a 'hippy shop' and I decided I'd get those red Thai fisherman's trousers, which are great for yoga and fun times. As you can see, I've already made the most of them. The journal will be my reward for next week, then.

Goals for this week:

Finish writing all module information documents for all my 09-10 modules.
Write resit exams
Finish my 'Desert flies' story.
Prepare portfolio for MA application.
Morning pages + keep working through The Artist's Way chapters.

Happy Monday everyone!

En la banda sonora de nuestras vidas, generación X (o así nos llaman), su música siempre ha estado ahí. Gracias.

2009-06-26T09:12:00.003+01:00

Kandahar Break en Cannes

2009-06-25T22:41:00.005+01:00

http://www.movieset.com/kandaharbreak

Writing in Spanish: Empezamos (poquito a poco)

2009-06-17T19:21:00.000+01:00

Writing in Spanish: Empezamos (poquito a poco)

Saludos al Sol

2009-06-15T15:44:00.004+01:00

ESTE MUÑEQUITO SE SUPONE QUE DEBERÍA EMPEZAR A HACER SALUDOS AL SOL PERO NO LO HACE. ERROR TECNOLÓGICO. LO MISMO QUE ME HA PASADO A Mí ESTA MAñANA. Bueno, mañana lo intentamos otra vez. Booooo!

Kandahar Break. Un ejemplo de unidad intercultural, a pesar de todo.

2009-06-12T12:41:00.005+01:00

2009-05-27T16:17:00.001+01:00

YOGA for LIFE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfSDoD37t1Y&feature=PlayList&p=07008B87B9D63957&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=16Yoga

2009-05-26T17:30:00.007+01:00

Chau, Benedetti.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43JkLiPegBA

Qué puedo decir. Él es ya parte de mi anatomía vital. Gracias, Benedetti, por abrirme los ojos, las orejas, la mente, los labios a la vida. Por tu culpa no me salvo. Eso también te lo agradezco.
Chau, compañero del alma, compañero.

Y gracias a Héctor, que me descubrió a Benedetti y El Lado Oscuro del Corazón, y que no va a leer esto. Espero y deseo que sea feliz y que tampoco se salve nunca. O al menos no del todo.

El final (o principio) de la calle Horta

2009-05-16T12:05:00.004+01:00

Una calle desconocida. Estrecha, casi un tunel, un pasadizo secreto. Una calle que despierta o que se va a dormir. Un techo de nubes. Infancias de cientos juegan en los rincones. Como fantasmas, los vivos de ahora las traspasan. Las eluden, las acarician, las invocan, las olvidan. La vida, sin embargo, no se detiene. Con un par de restaurantes, la tienda étnica, la naturista, un bar- los adoquines del suelo siguen uniendo los sucesivos mundos en una espiral mágica. Cruzar esta calle es caerse en un agujero negro, como los del espacio, y salir de ahí revestido con los cientos de años que el suelo acumula. Con vida añadida. La vida de los otros en nosotros mismos.

El olvido de la memoria

2008-07-22T09:02:00.000+01:00

Hemos tenido una experiencia extraordinaria. Nos ha cambiado la vida. Hay un antes y un después. Nos ha hecho ver el mundo de un modo que nunca habíamos intuído antes. Nos ha hecho ver las mismas cosas que ya intuíamos, pero más vivas, más creíbles, más de verdad. Ahora nos creemos lo cotidiano. Vale la pena vivir, nos decimos. Pero no de cualquier manera. A partir de ahora todo va a ser intensidad, sentido, meta presente y meta futuro. De nuestra experiencia extraordinaria hemos salido vencedores, reforzados. Sin embargo, la ingenuidad dura poco. O nada. Segundos. Nos acordamos de los vencidos. De los desafortunados. De los heridos que aún se están recuperando, de los muertos. Nuestra alegría de ser los supervivientes no oculta su lado cruel. El azar nos ha hecho supervivientes. Nada más. Sentirse afortundado y agradecido por lo que se tiene; porque los otros no tienen. Sentirse contento por estar vivo; porque los otros han muerto. Quizás la fuerza interior no nos viene por haber sobrevivido, sino por haber sobrevivido esta vez. Por lo que también compartimos con los vencidos. Porque sabemos que un día también nosotros seremos ellos. Humanidad compartida. Solidaridad. Esto es lo que tenemos.

La pena es que el recuerdo se nubla. La intensidad decrece. Los colores de los paisajes y rostros adquieren la unidimensionalidad de las fotografías. Lo cotidiano ya no es extraordinario. Nuestra aventura es un dato. Una historia que contar. El sentimiento se ha ido. Nos volvemos a enfadar porque alguien se nos ha colado en el supermercado. Nos volvemos a estresar porque no hay nunca suficiente tiempo. Volvemos a vivir corriendo. A sobrevivir corriendo. Sin el agradecimiento de cada segundo, sin la importancia de cada gesto de alguien a quien queremos. Como aquel que dice, sin inmutarnos pero paradójicamente angustiados. Como diría Benedetti, "nos pensamos sin sangre; nos dormimos sin sueño; nos salvamos"; Quizás el olvido es eso. Un intento suicida de salvarse. Un fracaso.

Mi deseo de hoy: Una vez más, no quiero salvarme. Que nuestra experiencia extraordinaria nunca nos deje.

Adioses

2008-07-15T08:54:00.000+01:00

Nunca te imaginas lo que va a pasar cuando dices adiós hasta que lo dices de verdad y hasta que te vas de verdad. Llevo meses diciendo adiós. Desde mayo. Digo adiós pero no me voy. ¡Aún no tengo dónde ir! Adiós a estudiantes, compañeros de trabajo, jefes, conocidos. No me imagino que en verdad no voy a volver. Los adioses a amigos los he ido aplazando. Sí pero no. Adiós, pero nos vemos la semana que viene. Aún no me voy. Aún una copa más. Pero ahora el juego ha empezado de verdad. Algunos amigos se han ido de vacaciones y cuando vuelvan ya no estaré. He vaciado mi despacho (¡ardua tarea!), tengo la casa llena de cajas todavía sin organizar. Esperando más. Nunca son suficientes. Libros, como ladrillos, configuran una nueva geografía doméstica a un espacio que ya no es el mismo, que va perdiendo sus días, sus olores y sus momentos. A la geografía antigua de mi casa, la estoy metiendo en las cajas, junto con toda esa basura sentimental que uno acumula a través de los años.
El sábado por la mañana abrí los ojos y me lo creí. Por fin pude verlo. Está sucediendo de verdad. Me voy. Y no es sólo el irse. Es el darse cuenta de que no estoy dejando sólo una ciudad y unos amigos, sino que dejo atrás una etapa de mi vida para empezar otra. No importa las veces que vuelva a Manchester para visitar a todas estas personas que tanto quiero, que lo haré, nunca volveré a vivir este espacio de mi vida que ahora termina. Mi vida ha cambiado sus significados sin pedirme permiso. Volveré ahí en los recuerdos. En las fotos. Y en las batallitas que contaremos los que las vivimos. Los supervivientes del PGCE.
Sin lugar a dudas los últimos cuatro años de mi vida han sido los mejores (hasta ahora) y los recordaré siempre como los más felices. Estaré eternamente agradecida a las personas que los han vivido conmigo. Gracias especialmente a Estela, Fiona y Laura, con quienes estoy convencida que seguiré compartiendo toda mi vida. Y claro, está Rory, que se viene conmigo. Nunca podría haber encontrado a un cómplice mejor.

2008-07-02T11:00:00.000+01:00

Éste es uno de mis cuadros preferidos. Ha vivido conmigo casi

ocho años y me lo llevo a todas partes (la copia, claro, ¡que yo no fui quien lo robó de Noruega!).

Es una imagen de lo más inquietante. Una figura entre la vida y la muerte y más allá del tiempo pero en el tiempo. Una mujer que une generaciones de vivos y muertos y que siempre cambia y que siempre es la misma. Que siempre es mujer. De generación en generación.

Hace pocos días vi la película Caótica Ana. Si no la has visto, deja de leer. Bueno, o no. Tampoco revelo demasiado. Si sí la has visto, escribe algo, anda. Y nada, que me vino esta imagen a la memoria. Y, hablando de memoria, me hizo pensar en todos los posibles (seguros) recuerdos a los que no puedo ponerles palabras. Los que no conozco pero están ahí, haciéndome mover, pensar y actuar cada día. Los que me hacen elegir y sufrir y ser feliz y, vaya, existir. Recuerdos de otras generaciones pasadas que han hecho posible mi vida presente. De otras personas que me han hecho a mí como soy. Una Historia que no está escrita en los libros. ¿Inconsciente?¿Reencarnación? ¿Memoria colectiva? ¿Olvido colectivo? La Madonna de Munch está conectada tanto con el pasado como con el futuro y los dos tiempos parecen igual de desconocidos. Perdidos en una espiral a la que no podemos acceder sin perdernos a nosotros mismos. Círculo vicioso, dirían los pesimistas. Eterno retorno, los filósofos. Bueno, en definitiva, esta idea del círculo y del no irnos para siempre, del poder volver siempre nos ha atraído, ¿o no?. Pues si todo es un círculo, ¿podemos recordar el futuro? En realidad la película no trata en absoluto del futuro y tampoco sólo del pasado, sino de la convergencia de los tiempos en cada uno de nosotros y, en especial, de cómo cada mujer somos muchas mujeres (¿o bien hombres?). Interesante. ¿Cómo encontrar y definir nuestra individualidad cuando somos muchos? Bueno, ahí va un pensamiento. En fin, la peli es genial. La recomiendo mucho muchísimo.

P.S La Madonna de Munch fue encontrada después del robo, creo.

La Playa del Papagayo

2008-05-31T01:54:00.000+01:00

¿A que parece bonita? Pues bien, bonita, lo que es bonita, lo es y mucho. Sin embargo es uno de los lugares más angustiosos donde he estado. Al salir del hotel preguntamos a una señora que parecía entendida en el asunto de la geografía cómo se iba a la famosa Playa del Papagayo. Después de unas direcciones más bien inespecíficas donde cualquier lugar en la isla parecía estar en linea recta, la señora en cuestión nos dijo "son unos veinte minutos andando". Así que emprendimos nuestro paseíto (bajo el sol y el viento vientísimo) con nuestras "flip-flop", mochilas con toallas, bolsa (incomodísima) con el equipo de buceo. ¿Veinte minutos? ¡Tres horas, el paseíto! ¡Tres! Luchando contra el viento, subiendo áridas colinas y bajando todo lo que habíamos subido (una inclinación no adecuada para el calzado que llevábamos). En fin, llegamos y, de hecho, disfrutamos la aventura. Paisajes increíbles. Ah, y comimos en un restaurante espectacular en Marina Rubicón, llamado "El maño". La vista era espectacular. Todo árido, desértico, el típico paisaje volcánico de Lanzarote. Una playa gigantesca. Y muy poquita gente. Parece ideal, ¿no? Pues había algo realmente extraño en aquel lugar. Un silencio como si nos hubiéramos metido en un embudo y algo nos empujara a un hoyo de viento. La arena imitaba a las olas en el aire y nos golpeaba la cara, ahora sí, ahora no. Y quemaba y dolía. Duramos cinco minutos. Rory se fue a nadar mientras yo me quedaba luchando para mantener la toalla en tierra; protegiéndome los ojos de los granos kamikace de arena diabólica. Me quedé mirando la punta de la isla de Fuerteventura cubierta de bruma. Pensé que, si estaba tan cerca, deberíamos ir pero que, de momento, lo que teníamos que hacer era volver a tierra firme (firme de verdad); salir del embudo de viento. No sé con qué o con quién nos encontramos ahí, pero no nos apeteció quedarnos ni un minuto más. Creo que fue el viento, que siempre tiende a abrir puertas que preferimos mantener cerradas.

Playa Blanca

2008-05-31T01:47:00.000+01:00

Desierto, cielo y mar. Una lucha de opuestos. Fusión de iguales

Me pareció como un cuadro de Rotkho. Tres bandas de colores que se delimitan, se definen, se dan poder de existencia las unas a las otras.

2008-05-31T00:49:00.000+01:00

Ones:

Catalán para ‘olas’, plural de ‘ola’.
Según la Real Academia De La Lengua Española:

1. f. Onda de gran amplitud que se forma en la superficie de las aguas.
2. f. Fenómeno atmosférico que produce variación repentina en la temperatura de un lugar. Ola de fuego, de frío.

¿Por qué ones?
1-Son movimiento que se reinventa a sí mismo. Siempre se van, pero siempre vuelven. Con más fuerza, con menos. Suaves o destructoras. Pueden con todo, menos quedarse quietas en una orilla. Todo, menos irse para siempre. Ciclos. Nacimientos. Transformaciones. Naturaleza. Dejarse ir. Perder control. Recuperarlo. Jugar. Trabajar. Dormirse en su balanceo. Morir un día. No para siempre. Recordar.
2-Las otras olas, invisibles, llegan a todas partes, afectan, producen reacciones, movimiento, fuerza. Nos exigen adaptación. Viajan por la tierra, el aire, el fuego y el agua. Y sus significados, con los que fabricamos el mundo.
No podía haber llamado a este blog con otro nombre.
¡Bienvenidos!