...it makes the world go 'round
....ella estuvo tan cerca de mi....de mis brazos...tan solo 5
centimetros mas ,,,y abrazarla...como avisorar el Cielo ...mas no sucede....
Amar.
el tema es dificil .... entra en un area en la que soy totalmente incompetente.
Ademas, a quien se le puede ocurrir hablar sobre el tema 'AMOR"?
Obviamente, cuando hay una mujer en nuestros pensamientos, alguien a quien
se ama, estar enamorado. Cuando es algo imposible...barreras.... infranquea-
bles...wrong woman, wrong time.
Como se puede decir con 4 letras la palabra que - hubieran un millon- no bastarian
para hacer comprensible la sensacion que se pretende describir: amar.
Cuan real es mi amor? Es real si es verdadero? Y que es verdadero? Quiero decir,
la medida que indica amor, casi amor, nada amor, creo amar, soledad, necesidad,
pasion, "infatuation", en vez de.....existe?
El amor no se razona, ni explica o se analiza.
Se vive, se siente !!. Eso es todo, creo.
- por que razon escribes estas cosas? Estas enamorado...no seas estupido!!
considera tu edad, hombre...ademas de otras cosas..conozco a la Dra......
- La respuesta es afirmativa...caso perdido - como otros antes-
muchas primaveras, veranos e inviernos nos separan, estoy de acuerdo contigo.
No me odio ni me quejo..La quise desde el primer momento, ya mas de 4 anos.
Ya entonces me encontre diciendole !que mujer tan fascinante!! , que fue un areflexion
para mi mismo, pero que salio en voz alta....despues que ella tomo su pelo por ambos
lados de su bello rostro, haciendo un comentario personal, lo levanto por sobre su cabeza
y luego -en un delicioso gesto casi infantil- lo dejo caer desde arriba...a ambos lados de
su rostro cae... goce el momento.
No soy un "sore loser"...he aprendido a perder ...
pero no puedo negarme a mi mismo. No se pide perdon por amar....es tan
deliciosamente femenina!!!..No se puede dejar sin decir lo que nos impresiona.
No se pide perdon por amar.... entretanto,
aun con el tema...
...
Mi amigo ET tenia razon, que supo de el (amar) y se cloneo de Terraqueo para
indagar sobre el misterio de esta fuerza tan fenomenal que hace girar el mundo
y que atrajo su tremenda curiosidad y atencion.
"Cuanto quisiera poder revivir aquel ayer que vivimos tu y yo.".....palabras que a
nadie he dicho, simplemente un deseo, un sueno expresado en la letra
de una cancion que hice.
Se puede vivir sin vivir? Se puede vivir sin amor? Porque vivir, no es "durar"...
Pense en durar como dura la flor, como dura una hora, un minuto o una eterni-
dad.
La letra de la cancion continua: "Me ensenaste...se puede morir sin vivir, morir
sin amar, sin rendir, sin mirar, sin plantar, sin escuchar, recoger o aceptar,
A time to live....a time to die....
Se puede morir sin vivir...el cronometro mide...paso a paso, el paso del tiempo..
horas,.. dias, anos..., eternidad. Mas solo el contenido del tiempo es lo que
cuenta, lo que en el se encierra, el sueno realizado, el amor entregado." Me ense-
naste que el tiempo de vivir es mayor que el tiempo del Rolex o del Omega -
que miden en buen envase....solo digitos, uno tras otro... frios, implacables, mudos,
uniformes, carentes, unimaginativos, maquinales...".
La cancion continua: "No era mi sino.. todo cambio al estar junto a ti....tu herencia
supera el paso del tiempo, lo trasciende... ahora tiene contenido, vida, realidad. Me quisiste,
yo te quise..solo son palabras...el contenido de nuestro tiempo es insondable,
imperecedero.....imborrable...y nosotros conocimos ese lado....porque la flor no dura, la flor
vive si es fecundada y da semilla, fragancia, belleza. Y si -muere- pero luego de
haber vivido.
El amor se vive, se siente!!!!! Eso es todo..
Increiblemente, entonces, el suceso talvez mas importante, mas trascendental que ocurra en
nuestras vidas - amar - ocurre sin ningun analisis o raciocinio previo del objeto amado.
La razon no entiende el amor ni este acepta razones que lo nieguen . Porque como ELLA
no hay ninguna otra persona en el mundo.
Y quien es ella? No sabemos nada acerca de ella, de sus intereses, de sus proyectos,
en un nivel mas inmediato - de su educacion, preferencias o repulsas...de sus impulsos,
rabias o enojos o, aun, de sus alegrias y de..en fin no podemos responder si nos pregun-
tan, como, cuando o por que....por que precisamente esta mujer.
Esta ella consciente de su poder, del magnetismo de atraccion que libera... es acaso su
porte? Su fisico, su risa, sus curvas....su femineidad? Probablemente ella no hace nada,
sino SER
Esta consciente ella del impacto que su vision produce en mi, no digo en nosotros porque
el impacto solo lo recibo yo (o es que, varios varones, simultaneamente pueden
igualmente -con la misma intensidad- sentirse atraidos por la misma mujer , al mismo
tiempo? No lo creo, en el paso del tiempo, sin duda)
Lo que se nos da con nacer...un cuerpo, una mente unas piernas para caminar y correr , y
unos brazos para construir - todos estos elementos fisicos que nos ayudar a subsistir..son
solo una parte del cuadro, del "blueprint", del hombre. Hay tanto mas, tanto o mas vital
que descubrir, entender, reconocer al interior de ese ser y junto con hacerlo llegar -a lo
mejor- a entender quienes realmente somos y cual es nuestro destino.
Lo que se nos da para realmente vivir, sentir, gozar, sufrir y llorar...lo que se nos dio para
amar no tiene forma reconocible ni ubicacion fisica en el cuerpo humano. No tiene peso,
ni tamano... de no existir ese maravilloso legado...llamese abstracto, llamese alma, llamese...
lo que sea, de no existir -repito- la vida humana no tiene justificacion alguna. Es un don
Divino...no se compra ni se vende, es nuestra "marraqueta"...si se pudiera irreverentemen-
te decir. Se ha inventado que el corazon es el creador, es un mito, convenientemente
explotado, pienso.
La mujer no ha asumido el rol de preponderancia que le corresponde en el mundo, pien-
so y creo. El corazon no tiene nada que ver con estas cosas. Si el corazon de Dillinger
hubiera sido trasplantado - una especulacion- a un hombre que necesitaba el musculo vital,
no se habria convertido en un asesino, pienso.
El hombre es el creador material, el poeta. el sonador, el filosofo. Ella, fragil aparente,
con su voz "suelta y delgada"-como la retrata Neruda en algun soneto- lo inspira, lo
motiva. Ni revoluciones ni guerras hace ella...
-Que titulos entonces le adjudicas para situarla en la ubicacion que pretendes situarla?
Es mas valiente que el hombre, ser madre y procrear es un proceso de sufrimiento y de
firmeza de proposito como para desmentir cualquier afirmacion que se pueda hacer en
contrario. El instinto maternal vence cualquier obstaculo.
Ella se entrega a quien desea, cuando ella lo desee y en sus terminos. Ante tal posicion
el hombre no tiene alternativa sino -como lo hace - recurre a la violencia o a su fuerza
fisica.
- el mundo requiere de hombres y mujeres.
- Obvio, tocante al tema del amor, en mi mente situo al hombre como el "hacedor" de la
mujer y, vice versa. Virilidad y femineidad. Que ecuacion!!! Ambos plenamente conscien-
tes de sus roles, en una dimension mas humana, como seres menos "imperfectos", con
acceso a mayor grado y comprension del termino "amor" y "felicidad".
Tocante este tema, hay hombres y hombres...como mujeres y mujeres..... I hago la
distincion deliberadamente...hay estadisticas que comprueban comportamientos hu-
manos que no hacen sino que confirmar el hecho que hay tales diferencias, que se
traducen en lo negativo en abortos, propogacion de enfermedades venereas, Sida, etc.
La prostitucion es creacion del hombre. Incidentalmente, la droga adiccion no es sino
otra forma de prostitucion: la obtencion de placer pagando por el.El drogadicto es para
mi por lo tanto, un prostituto.
Las mejores cosas de la vida no tienen precio, no se compran ni se venden.
La mujer es la debilidad del hombre. Ella lo sabe muy bien. Hay 2 tipo de mujeres:
la mujer que "lleva su cuerpo" o la que es "llevada por el"
- Ahi me dejaste "colgado"
,
- Es un tema largo...no vale la pena.....Solo puedo decirte que soy un ente selectivo-
estupidamente selectivo -
no solo en el area de preferencias femeninas.Pero creo en el amor. Una amiga
mia en Usa - hablando sobre el tema - me preguntaba: Y despues del sexo,.....
que, Victor?
Es que......oye, el amor trae la culminacion del sexo, el sexo es inherente al amor
y como tal el goce y la felicidad que se derivan son ...no hay palabras para descri-
birlo.
El sexo, por sexo, o sea, recreacional......no se....Si hay acuerdo, bueno.... pero
me pregunto si hay sexo sin proposito. Pero esto no es amor....a menos que a
traves del sexo se produzca el acostumbramiento mutuo, lo que estaria bien.
La pregunta es sin embargo....cuanto dura?
Mas claro...adonde vas?
- quiero o queria plantearme a mi mismo mi propia ubicacion , si puedo decir, sobre
la experiencia del amor en mi vida personal...a donde voy...que busco,...existe el amor?.
no lo encuentre... por que no me di las oportunidades ni las cree... porque soy estupida
mente selectivo. Porque tengo que enamorarme de mujeres bellas o imposibles?
Los americanos enfocan este problema diciendo que la belleza "it' s only skin deep"... y aqui creo
que hay una verdad evidente, que es de que si prestamos atencion solo a la epidermis ignoramos lo que hay detras de ella.
La mujer que yo amo ahora es la mas bella ,asi como las que ame en el pasado fueron las mas
bellas en su momento (la amo calladamente, le dije)
Sabemos lo que es realmente bello? Dicen los gringos "Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder"
La belleza reside en los ojos del que mira...en lo que ciertamente coincidimos todos.
Me enamore de la mujer que amo por su rostro, sus ojos, sus facciones, su porte, su pelo,
pero mas que nada, creo, por sus ojos. Y por su femineidad.Como fuere, es un hecho
"real" que la femineidad existe cuando hablamos de una mujer...que "lleva su cuerpo"... que sabe
que es atractiva... y que es inteligente y que tiene gran caracter. y voluntad. Ella fue mi medico,
Paulina es su nombre...le hice una musica....le dije ...tentativamente: (todo fue tentativo) "Mirarla,
me produce un orgasmo visual!!. Dios sabe que eso exactamente es lo que siento verla....
.placer inmenso comparable a.... no es posible comparar, pero el climax sexual trasladado o
trasplantado a la calidad de nuestra vision asignandole una capacidad de SENTIR a nuestros ojos....
Es eso...exactamente eso... la amo!!! Viva el amor. Vive le difference!!!
If you happen to see her sometime, friend
I bet you'll like her as much:
her grace, her charm,her smile, and her.....
everything that surrounds her,
brightens and glow
as she walks over
the hush and the spell from folks, yeah..
tell all the world of her gracious self.
If you ask: Is it true you're alone..
remorseful and blue
lost in despair
as if knocked-down...
and if you ask... Is this love?
you don't have it and suffer,
then have it and pains you, oh
that's what love is.
If I reckon how wrongful was I..
and I beg on my knees her forgiveness to me,
I'll fight to die...to bring her home...
I swear I will, oh please God....!!
please Lord let me bring her along back to me
I'll proclaim the world:
I love her, I'll treasure her love.. yeah
Muse of my heart and my dreams!!!
if I act what I pray,
pray from my heart...
then I can bet you, my friend, I'll succeed, yeah
'cause I'm meant to be happy once more....
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cuanto quisiera...
poder revivir,
aquel ayer
que vivimos tu y yo...
De ti aprendi......
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EL ROSTRO DE LA GUERRA...........Hezbollah
Tomado de The New York Times, hoy, 6-08-06
AHMED Awali, guardia de seguridad, quedo sin dinero luego del nacimiento
de una hija. Lo dijo a un vecino, y pronto empezo a recibir paquetes de
comestibles. Como muchos pobres en el sur de El Libano, Ahmed Awali, 41,
guardia de seguridad en un edificio de departamentos, ha recibido ayuda
de Hezbollah a traves de los anos. Dice Ahmed que el no es miembro del
grupo y ni siquiera conoce los nombres de aquellos que le han ayudado.
Tyler Hicks/The New York Times
Ahmed Awali, a security guard, ran out of money after a daughter was born. He
told one of his neighbors, and soon bags of groceries arrived. Like many poor
Shiites across southern Lebanon, Ahmed Awali, 41, a security guard at an
apartment building in this southern city, has received charity from Hezbollah
for years. He says he is not a member. He does not even know the names of those
who helped him.
Hezbollah fighters move like shadows across the mountains of southern Lebanon;
its workers in towns and villages, equally as ghostly, have settled deeply into
people’s lives.
They cover medical bills, offer health insurance, pay school fees and make seed
money available for small businesses. They are invisible but omnipresent,
providing essential services that the Lebanese government through years of war
was incapable of offering.
Their work engenders a deep loyalty among Shiites, who for years were the
country’s underclass and whose sense of pride and identity are closely
intertwined with Hezbollah.
Their presence in southern Lebanon is so widespread that any Israeli military
advance will do little to extricate the group, which is as much a part of
society as its Shiite faith.
“The trees in the south say, ‘We are Hezbollah.’ The stones say, ‘We are
Hezbollah,’ ” said Issam Jouhair, a car mechanic. “If the people cannot talk,
the stones will say it.”
Hezbollah is nowhere but everywhere. In this city, the gateway to the fighting
and the location of several of southern Lebanon’s largest functioning hospitals,
clues about its fighters surface daily.
A doctor at one of the hospitals, Jebel Amal, said it currently had about 450
patients. Hospital officials, however, seemed eager to show off a few wounded
women and children, but would not allow access to any other patients.
On Wednesday, a mass funeral was canceled. Authorities cited the security
situation. Minutes later, the sound of rockets being launched swooshed from an
area near where the burial was to have been held.
“Just because I’m sitting here in this café doesn’t mean I’m not a resistance
fighter,” said Haidar Fayadh, a cafe owner, who was smoking a water pipe as his
patrons sipped tiny plastic cups of coffee near pictures of Sheik Hassan
Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah.
“Everyone has a weapon in his house,” he said. “There are doctors, teachers and
farmers. Hezbollah is people. People are Hezbollah.”
The group is at once highly decentralized and extremely organized. Mr. Awali,
whose job as a guard pays $170 a month, far lower wages than average, ran out of
money for food shortly after his second daughter was born. He mentioned this to
one of his neighbors, and days later, people with bags of groceries showed up at
his tiny one-room apartment.
“They just put it down in the middle of the room and left,” said Yusra Haidar,
Mr. Awali’s wife, sitting on a stoop outside their building, her young
daughters, now 6 and 9, eating grapes at her feet.
But it was the health insurance, when Ms. Haidar was facing a difficult
pregnancy, that saved the family. They applied for and received the insurance by
submitting photographs and filling out paperwork. Someone from Hezbollah — he
did not identify himself — came to inspect their apartment, and ask about their
finances, checking their application.
They were issued a medical card that they can use in any hospital in Lebanon,
Mr. Awali said. The $1,500 needed to pay for Ms. Haidar’s Caesarean section was
now taken care of. Mr. Fayadh’s brother also is covered by the insurance, an
alternative to state insurance that the group has made available to poor people
for only about $10 a month.
“This is what Hezbollah does,” Mr. Fayadh said, with the Hezbollah station, Al
Manar, flashing on the television screen behind him.
Most connections with the group are indirect. Its fighters are a part of the
population, and identifying them can be close to impossible. On a mountain road
not far from the Israeli border on Tuesday, a beat-up, rust-colored Toyota was
parked with its doors open. Several men in ordinary clothes were standing on the
road. They were in a hurry. One was carrying what appeared to be a hand-held
radio, the trademark Hezbollah talking tool.
“No photo, no photo,” he said, walking away from the car.
The next day, the same man, in the same clothes, was standing in a hospital
parking as hospital authorities were preparing to bury 88 bodies in a mass
grave.
“They are ghosts,” said Husam, a thin unemployed man in a black T-shirt who was
waiting for coffee at Mr. Fayadh’s shop. “Nobody knows them.”
Mr. Jouhair, the mechanic, says his son, Wissam, is a medic at the hospital in
Bint Jbail, a town that is now largely leveled after Israeli fighter jets bombed
it last week. Mr. Jouhair worked to avoid questions about his son, but it seemed
clear he had been helping heal wounded fighters.
Hezbollah’s help for Mr. Fayadh came in the form of a canceled electricity bill.
Some months ago, a bill amounting to thousands of dollars came for his café. He
could not pay it.
“Hezbollah intervened for me to get the price down,” he said, fiddling with his
empty plastic cup. “They said, ‘This is insulting for the people.’ ”
The bill came from Beirut. The electric company had sent out bills for a large
sum before, something that was particularly frustrating for Mr. Fayadh, who had
to transfer his four children from private to public school two years ago,
because he could no longer afford the $1,000 annual fee for each child. He
blamed the government of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri, which he said was
corrupt and arrogant, ignoring the needs of southerners.
That sentiment is expressed by many here, who see themselves as separate from
the Lebanese in the north and center of the country who support a government
coalition that is often referred to as March 14, for the day in 2005 when
thousands rallied to support them.
“I don’t trust them,” Mr. Jouhair said, as a Hezbollah station played on a radio
under a small tree near his tire changing shop. “They do not represent me.”
Hezbollah members also act as silent police, keeping tabs on neighborhoods.
Members in cars cruise about, stopping and asking questions at any sign of
commotion. Late Friday afternoon, in a suburb of Tyre, men gathered to speak to
a visitor and, within minutes, a bearded man in a button-down blue shirt and
belted slacks walked up to the group.
“What’s going on here?” the man said, squinting in the sun. “What is she asking
about?”
Residents identified the man as the Hezbollah security officer in the
neighborhood. He carried a hand-held radio and fielded three cellphone calls in
the course of a few minutes. He refused to identify himself. When asked about
Hezbollah in the area, he replied, “Hezbollah is us, from the smallest child to
the oldest man.”
The deep attachment to Hezbollah here has its roots in recent Lebanese history.
In the Israeli invasion in 1982, Shiites across the south welcomed the Israelis,
because they had come to fight the Palestinians, who had made their lives
difficult for years. But as the occupation dragged on, Israelis came to be hated
by the Shiites here, a feeling that is now passed on to small children growing
up in the Lebanese south.
“What is that sound?” said Hani Rai, a neighbor of Mr. Jouhair, directing the
attention of his small daughter Sara to the whine of a drone in the sky. “Voices
of Israeli planes.”
Sara, who is only 3, can already recite a chant glorifying Mr. Nasrallah.
Now, Hezbollah’s military branch is separate from its social works, but in its
early days it began together, organizing water delivery for people in Dahiya,
the Shiite area in south Beirut, the scene of some of some of the most complete
destruction in this war.
Several residents who knew Hezbollah members said they were trained and groomed
for up to five years before becoming full-fledged members. The military wing is
so secretive that sometimes friends and family members do not know a loved one
is a part of it.
Mr. Rai said he was stunned to learn that a close friend of his, Muhammad, was a
Hezbollah fighter. He learned of his membership only after his killing some
years ago. His body was returned to his family in an Israeli military prisoner
exchange, Mr. Rai said.
“When he would leave for a mission, he would say, ‘I’m going to Beirut,’ ” he
said.
Mr. Rai has also been helped by Hezbollah: It paid for a relative’s heart
operation.
In Tyre, even in this time of war, the group is still as elusive as ever. On
Saturday afternoon, after Hezbollah fought Israeli commandos for several hours
here just before dawn, men with serious faces, several of them bearded, walked
purposefully through the halls of Hakoumi Hospital. Several stood by a large
stack of coffins. One studied a list. Another looked distraught, his hair
disheveled, his clothes unkempt. When a reporter approached, they turned and
walked in the other direction.
“You are sitting here. Do you see anybody from Hezbollah?” said the hospital
director, Dr. Salman Zainedine. “I’ve been here for a long time. I haven’t seen
one Hezbollah body in this place.”
PAULINE
all is calm now
my time for love' s gone by
was (it) wrong for me to love you, adore you and want you
was my timing wrong, was my age, was the wrong girl...
whatever !! could I hide feelings, yes; honest feelings
harboured in my heart...?
no, sir, my answer is no...!!!.
If I was wrong in my pleading...
to claim for me your heart, body and soul, dear ..
was it wrong that I shed tears for you..
and yet, dear, would I hush feelings,
honest feelings harboured in my heart?
no doubt, I won't !!
and if you want me to call it quits,
what can I say ? but hush my heart, my painful heart once more
and I'll be on my way, sad, blue...
filled with memories that I will not forget
for all the rest of my days...----------------------------
Pauline...
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rien a dire....nothing to tell...nada que contar...no matter what language, rien, nothing or nada...riennadaornothing....is SAD
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simply music..
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Listen to my music (*)..at your own risk!!!!!
Music is for
EVERYONEI don't know if this is gonna work...it's my first attempt to link this blog to
my
media blog..."nonewsisgoodnews"
Will take it up from this point...
(*) except where otherwise noted.
