Blue Island Tulum

Fecha: 2008-05-14 03:33:50por: Iris Atima (info@irismexico.org)


Speak. This little time is enough before the death of body and tongue.
Speak, because truth is still alive.
Speak, say whatever is to be said.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz

The right one like the palm blooms,
Grows like a cedar of the Lebanon...
Still in the oldness they produce fruit,
They stay fresh and young.
Sal 92, 13.15

Our bodies sway in the deep ocean rhythm, do we observe the reef inhabitants or do we allowed them to see us? taken from our hands, we pray... by the Earth, by the love and the peace, because the wonder of what we feel arrives at those we love... zum heiteren Meeresfeste...

A cotton beach wrap over the sand is our front row place, to admire the ardent arrival of the spring and of the full red moon over the Caribbean Sea horizon, in our backs the sun sets behind the palm trees, and the stars are amused with our astonished hearts... the waves sway the memory of our quiet presence...

I wake up with the hug of the warm light, filtered by the breeze and the dance of the dry green changoleon to the compass ot the dreamcatcher with tender green thread and earth feathers... I breathe your nacked back and our matinal hug... Every new day is a hope, “everything is new under the sun”, every day is an unique event and an odd revelation, that never will be repeated. It is through digital images that I leave tracks to my memory, as Hansel and Gretel marked the crossed way with breadcrumbs... I live opening my heart and my senses as multiple eyes that smile to the present and hoard them in polyglot codes of subtle energy.

Mon bébé, I have the right to be wrong... to play in the pause of time, to sing even if I loose the tone, to swing me in waves and in the coffee bar, to play in the sand even if I almost swim in it, to dance alone three steps close to the rythmical Charamusca performance, to pursue butterflies between light rays, to add ginger and nuts to the evening lunch, to buy chocolate bars and brownies each third day, to feel the water sliding over my bronzed skin, to brush me from feet to head, to perfume me with a slow motion massage, to observe day by day how changes from green to yellow the palm tree leaves that I see from the shower, to meditate and to love for being healed and to heal... Mon amor, my trade is to play to be new every moment; sun splendor and rainbow, silver and moon orchid, speed of winds from the four points, sea depth and caress, firmness of the rock and miniature of the sand... to be the great Soul that inhabits me... to think liquid, open to the change, to forgiveness and to growth... and to release us, to undress us of the ego and luggage lists...

No more is the man (puruşa) that this universe,
the past and the things to come.
And he is the lord of the inmortal,
because he grows beyond the sustenance...
All the beings are his fourth part;
the inmortal, in the sky, their other three quarters.
with three fourth parts raised him the man up there;
the last quarter reborned down here
where it has extended in all directions,
to the beings to eat and to the ones who don’t eat. (1)

I adopt a palm tree like a friend to hug and to whom request advice, she teaches me to rescue me and to rescue us, still in the middle of the elements intoxication and midnight storms... The palm which I choose is one of those that were almost demolished by hurricanes, and nevertheless she is there, raised toward the firmament, generous she shares her beauty, conforts us with shade and vital energy...

Oui, frequently I praise beauty, generally I choose to listen, to ask... my speech needs to keep silence, to make an emptiness to open itself to the novelty... I choose to marvel myself as an infant, I want to avoid bibliographical presumption in the every day talks... I share with you a phrase I like: “Be cautious like the serpents and simple like the doves”... One evening in our pyramid bedroom, I sang you one of my favorite ballads that is about dreams, moon and the Goddess... All soul is in principle priest, noble and worker simultaneously... let’s honour our work and religion with the blow of poetry, music... the poetess is where converge the human reproduction blood and the hope irradiation, spiritual blood... is in the incarnated and luminous poets, from those who rise the Psalms, mantrans, setrams... for enjoyment of men and of the celestial hierarchies.

Some nights my nakedness loves you... I hug your love, ecstasys or silence... love is allways free... It is not constructed and not imposed, cannot be cut without being hurt, we should not to force its growth because the downhearted spirit dries the bones... Love enjoys in movement, is a tree full of juice and universal life sap, we spread love seeds and we will receive the fragance of its fruits... when the mysterious transforming agent of the ideal in real takes part in the happenings... this trip is a fruit with the color of the Sea that I see each morning, forty steeps from our window...

Mon coeur, I wish I had the necessary words, full of blood and faith to put in movement the luminous waters to save you... That God protects you today, against drowns and indecisions, so that you can fulfill your mission and obtain fruits in abundance... God behind and in front of you, with you and in you, around you and near you... God when you lie down once the birds are lull to sleep by the moon, when you rise with sunny hope, when the wind impels you in your route by the waters and the earth, when you face elements inclemencies, when life feeds you, when you look for your self through your steps, when you incarnate your hope in earth... God in each soul that thinks about you...

The best welcome hug was to find us interpreting with our bodies a Moon and Ocean impetuous orchestration... As well as there is the celestial water of the growth, progress and evolution sap, there is the inferior water of instinct, colective unconscius, all-consuming colectivity, floods and drowns... You lead me to passion and peace spirals; we get submerged in the masculine marine waters depth, relaxed and transparent or inhabit by enraged surf, and in the lunar and mysterious secrets of the feminine water in the natural wells... we live the ecstasy waters and the tears... the continuity river drags all the noble and blaspheme... “Everything comes from the water! Everything is conserved by the water! Oh ocean, grant us your eternal work!” (2)

As river of common soul
from the white pylon to the tufa runa,
from the brahmán to the roman flamen,
from the hierophant to the druid,
A sort of fluid God
runs by the mankind veins.
Víctor Hugo (3)

The virgin tear is the sea star of understanding and future hope, the awakening of the will, sleept, to the effort that is pronounced in the free will… Zoroaster wanted men who fight under the light standard. Buddha yearned for to wake up the spirit will and free creativity. Mani worked hard to mobilize the good will to say yes to the eternal spirit... We are forced to distinguish in the cosmic evolution river the “old muddy serpent” and “a sort of fluid God” and to choose. Hope, loyal creativity and tradition give life to the spiritual truth... Hope is the force-light that directs the spiritual evolution... is the Star, the Verb, the Alpha and the Omega, the primordial action and the incessant wait that attracts toward herself all what is in movement...

Mon ciel, I’m enchanted by the petit ritual that you celebrate each time we say cheers, and after we shake our glasses, you kiss me... I’m seduced by your fascination for the naked life, your attraction for the turtles wonder, the reef and the pelicans... You smile and open doors when you tenderly see me... “You look beautiful diving” is the prelude to a fleeting and eternal kiss, in the Iris of the water eye, in the Cenote Escondido, at noon of the last date in which we slept together before the end of this trip...

The trip binnacle is not an attempt to capture the memory on ink and paper, drawings, words, objects, pictures... the true binnacle inhabits the luminous window that has been opened in my soul; thanks to your sad eyes that trust me I can improve the confidence in my self, thanks to your thousand and one honey kisses I discover me vulnerable... I hope your memory embraces happy memories of us...


Geh langsam hinein, wie ein Badender, der ängstlich voll Liebe und Miβtrauen zum Wasser,
erst den Fuβ in den Schaum taucht,
und nun spürt er das Wasser höher steigen und wird schon mutig und entschlieβt sich schon fast.
und jetzt mit dem Wasser am Gürtel zögert er noch.
Aber er breitet die Arme aus, öffnet sie, ja, gibt sich ganz hin.
Kraftwoll erkennt er sich nun und wächst un wirft sich hinein,
drängt vorwärts, rührt Schaum auf, springt voll Vertrauen,
durchpflügt erregt die lebendigen Wasser und singt und is jung.

Geh also hinein mit bloβen Füβen. Geh hinein in die Brandung, geh auf den Platz.
Tauche in den Strom, der dich ruft, un sei darin ganz du selbst.
Oh, kleines winziges Herz, das pochen will,
um selbst auch das einmütige groβe Herz zu sein, das es umfängt.
Auf dem Platz. Vicente Aleixandre.


1. Rigveda X, 90, 2-4
2. Noche de Walpurgis de Fausto II. Versos 8435-8437
3. Les mages, v. 435-440
Los Arcanos mayores del tarot, meditaciones, Ed. Herder, 1987




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Fecha: 2008-05-14 03:33:50por: Iris Atima (info@irismexico.org)