My Spirit is Running Dry

My Spirit is running dry

July 4, 2018

By: Gina Yoryet Román

I don´t normally have quiet moments, “Me,” moments because there’s always someone blasting the volume of tv, the radio or the stereo nonstop, day and night, or there’s someone pulling me away from one of my ABC’s. Although this is my excuse number one to have given up one of my greatest passions of all time, there are other factors lying underneath it all.

Last year, towards the end of December I went through a drastic and abrupt life change. I also made a transition to the next decade. In addition to that, once again I went through a huge loss. During that hasty progression, all I thought was, “I won’t be able to get through this winter, not so much the weather itself, but the never ending internal winter…but somehow I pulled through the deep cracks.

Now I’m back to where I started with a new beginning, yet I didn’t expect to encounter several downturns. Since my return, I’ve gone through one disappointment after another (personal, family, professional, among others). At times I’ve felt as though I am fighting this battle alone.  Last week I had to do some intense soul searching when I came very close to giving up my childhood dream turned into passion, my passion diverted into my reality, my verdict that reveals my essence and proves that obstacles are nothing but tiny matters. My spirit was withering painfully little by little until I came to terms with myself and rose to the occasion.

As much as I may want what Ayn Ran once said, I have to remind myself that this journey called life can be a tough cookie to crack.

“I want to see, real, living, and in the hours of my own days, that glory I create as an illusion. I want it real. I want to know that there is someone, somewhere, who wants it, too. Or else what is the use of seeing it, and working, and burning oneself for an impossible vision? A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.”

I also have to be cognizant of the fact that not everyone will have the same determined mindset than me, or much less will most people hold high standards in any way. I have to bear in mind that this venture can be, and will be a very lone spiritual path. As daunting as it may be, this is the road that I chose, the less travelled road. Given this, I have to plunge into it and retaliate against all odds by dreaming, brainstorming, writing, planning, strategizing even harder to reach the summit that is one step closer to me every day that goes by.

My lonely path began years ago, when I was in my twenties. Back then, I made one of the most important life-changing decisions and quit my corporate job. Never again have I looked back. Today when I contemplated the documents that are setting the next milestone in my life, I realized that just when my spirit may have been running dry, there’s always hope, and someone out there that wants it as much as I do. I know deep down in my heart that I can share my vision with someone, so tonight I can be at ease and know that…

There is a Glory, and one day the use of dreaming it, visualizing it, manifesting it, wanting it, working for it, fighting for it against all odds, will persuade me to focus more than ever.

In the Midst of Winter

In the Midst of Winter

May 24, 2018

“My dear, in the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.

In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.

In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.

I realized, through it all, that… In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible Summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

AlbertCamus

Otro Mundo si es posible

Otro Mundo si es posible

20 de mayo del 2018

One of my favorite poets and writers is Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken, and Mending Wall are very deep poems. They represent very profound inner emotions and I can’t help but ponder upon society and other people in my surroundings who are a bit at a loss in their journey.  The Road Not Taken clearly indicates our fate, if/when we sacrify something, we will get there sooner or later. Mending Wall resonates very unmistakably every time I read it. The social class issue is very evident in our worldwide society. In some places it is more palpable, in other places not as much. In India the social classes are even classified by names, in other places, they are not precisely given specific names, but they are there, like a glass ceiling.

In another world, I would tear down each and every wall. In my world, everyone’s life would be valued equally because of life itself, not because of the social class someone belongs to. Deep down, my mind fathoms an unbiased world, my heart tells me that it can happen, my spirit yearns for other circumstances, otro mundo si es posible because we are all one mind, one heart, one spirit, one soul, one body, one unit, one world…

“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down!” The hope is that, in time, through this exchange, these walls will become increasingly permeable and, eventually, extinct – one idea, one person, one brick at a time.”

“¡Hay algo que no es amigo de los muros, algo que quiere derribarlos!” La esperanza es que, con el tiempo, a través de este intercambio, estos muros se harán totalmente permeables, y finalmente, se extinguirán en: una idea, una persona, un ladrillo a la vez.” 

Mending Wall

“Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,

But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father's saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."

Reparando el Muro

“Algo hay que no es amigo de los muros,
Que hincha la tierra helada a sus cimientos,
Que arroja al sol las piedras desde el borde
Y abre brechas por donde caben dos.
Lo que hace el cazador es otra cosa:
Lo he reparado tras seguirlo a donde
No ha dejado ni piedra sobre piedra
Persiguiendo al conejo a su guarida
Para animar al perro. Éstas son brechas
Que nadie ve formarse –no hay ni pista–
Pero en la primavera hay que enmendar.
Se lo anuncio al vecino tras la cuesta;
Luego, un día, en la línea divisoria,
Nos encontramos a rehacer el muro.
El muro nos separa mientras vamos.
A cada cual las piedras que le tocan.
Unas, óvalos, otras, casi esferas,
Las hechizamos para balancearlas:
“¡Quédense ahí hasta que nos demos vuelta!"
Nuestros dedos se agrietan al asirlas.
Cierto, es juego campestre, como tantos,
Uno contra otro. Para más no da:
Donde vivimos no hace falta muro:
Él es de pinos, yo de manzanares.
Mis manzanos no van a ir a comerse
Las piñas de tus pinos, le señalo.
Él responde, “Buen muro, buen vecino".
La primavera es travesura, y pienso
Qué podría meterle en la cabeza:
"¿Por qué «buen muro, buen vecino»? ¿No es
Eso una pauta para donde hay vacas?
Pero aquí no tenemos ni una vaca.
Antes de repararlo hay que plantearse
A quién uno va a incluir, a quién excluir,
Y quién puede acabar con un disgusto.
Algo hay que no es amigo de los muros,
Que los derriba”. Quiero decir “duendes”
Pero no son exactamente duendes,
Y prefiero que él sea quien lo diga.
Lo veo con una piedra en cada mano,
Como un salvaje troglodita armado.
La sombra en que se mueve me parece
Más que sombra de ramas o de selva.
No indaga el estribillo de su padre
Y tanto le complace recordarlo
Que repite, “Buen muro, buen vecino”.