What is murmured between the bridge and the water

Photo by Jeff Nissen on Pexels.com

Not always in the rumor of the water we know her secrets.

Warm or cold, it floods us or bathes us in the course of her passage.

Not always, you are always there.

Inviting to drown sorrows walking towards your depths.

You sing or I sing in the emptiness of the sea shells.

Treasure chests that were lost in the bellies of two-legged squid, but never in those of the fisherman who seeks sustenance.

Wet maps that have erased their marks between salts of tears of pirates or conquerors who dreamed of setting foot on land and anchoring in castles.

I, who have seen you quench all thirsts, who have felt you moisten bare skin with scales.

I rise before you, serving as a relief to the passerby, who loaded goes with messages of stories that bind hearts or unleash wars.

I have been made of your stones, your sand and your murmurs.

I have shouted with the anguish of those who throw themselves into the emptiness of emptiness of your abysses, silencing the loneliness left by oblivion.

I have also fallen, through negligence or carelessness of man, that once was a fish and dreamed of connecting two worlds.

Maybe that’s why he comes back to you. With those same hands that were fins one day, tired of swimming, he started to walk, and came to the surface to build me and rest upon me. 

He comes to remember how to breathe, and see the horizon in your immensity. 
Man thinks, yearns. He puts his fins in his pockets to get a coin, the one that gives value to the land. And he throws it to ask fate that in siren songs, they dive and from their ancient world, magically, human vanities can be satisfied.

Spanish version:

Lo que se murmura entre el puente y el agua

No siempre en el rumor del agua sabemos sus secretos.

Cálida o fría nos inunda o nos baña en el recorrer de su paso.

No siempre, siempre estás ahí. 

Invitando a ahogar las penas caminando hacia tus profundidades.

Cantas tú o canto yo en el vacío de las conchas de mar.

Baúles de tesoros que se perdieron en las barrigas de calamares de dos patas, más nunca en las del pescador que busca sustento.

Mapas mojados que han borrado sus marcas entre sales de lágrimas de piratas o de conquistadores que soñaron pisar tierra y anclarse en castillos.

Yo, que te he visto saciar todas las sedes, que te he sentido mojar las pieles desnudas de escamas. 

Me elevo ante ti sirviendo de alivio al transeúnte, quien cargado va con mensajes de historias que unen corazones o desatan guerras.

Me han hecho de tus piedras, de tu arena y tus murmullos.

He gritado con las angustias de quienes se lanzan al vacío del vacío de tus abismos, acallando la soledad que deja el olvido.

También he caído, por negligencia o descuido del hombre, ese que alguna vez fue pez y soñó conectar dos mundos. 

Por eso quizás regresa a ti. Con esas mismas manos que fueron aletas un día, cansado de nadar se echó a andar, y salió a la superficie para construirme y posarse sobre mí.   Viene cuando acaso recuerda cómo se respira, y puede divisar el horizonte en tu inmensidad. 

Piensa el hombre, anhela. Mete sus aletas en los bolsillos para sacar una moneda, esa que le da valor a lo terreno. Y la lanza para pedirle a la suerte, que en cantos de sirenas, se sumerjan y que desde su antiguo mundo, mágicamente, se puedan satisfacer las vanidades humanas.

Hot little sips

Agua caliente / Hot water. Photo by PatriciaLezama

Some time ago, the first thing I usually do when I get up is go to the kitchen, put on the kettle to drink a large cup of hot water. I sip it. And while that happens, I meditate. Or I think that’s what I do. I had always told myself that I didn’t know how to meditate, at least not like some close people do. Now I think I meditate with each sip, while I feel how the warmth of the water goes down my throat, warms my belly, warming my spirits. That water runs through my body and connects me with the dawn to plan my day. What is urgent, what my body needs, what my family requires of me, and what are the household chores.

I sense I should write down all these duties to be able to prioritize them, therefore, making my day more efficient. Organize, create routines, be disciplined. That’s how I’ve read it should be, and so I’ve heard it from people I admire. But somehow lazy or stubborn, this but still exists. And I continue to plan my day my way. It works for me, for now. I learned that in my meditation, that some habits work for a while, then they change, they transform. Today, after so long without writing a few lines, this cup, with its water already warm, brought me here. Sip by sip.

How do you meditate? Do you plan your day, week, month, year?

NW Digest: Technobiophilia

Please enjoy this resource rich post from Mark over at Naturalist Weekly while I work on my tree. 🙂

Naturalist Weekly

Technobiophilia is a term coined by Sue Thomas. Thomas is a scholar, lecturer, and freelance author who has been studying the intersection of technology and culture since 2003. In her 2013 release, Technobiophilia: nature and cyberspace, Thomas brought this idea of technobiophilia to the forefront.Technobiophiliais defined as “the innate attraction to life and lifelike processes as they appear in technology”. (1)

Thomas expands on this definition by stating:

My research showed that, even in today’s media-rich environment, we are still pulled towards the natural world. This could mean exploring a forest trail, swimming in the ocean, or just tending your garden. But it could also be a visit to a park in Second Life, gazing an animated waterfall cascading down a screensaver, or ‘liking’ photo of a sunset shared on Facebook. Our urge for contact with nature can restore energy, alleviate mental fatigue, and enhance attention, and it is…

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