Gods for a day

I reckon that the only thing Nietzsche, Bugs Bunny, Julia Cameron, Abraham, my reverse role-models, a shitty childhood, meditation practice and the Crossroads have in common is that they all taught me again and again that the Power is in the decision you make, or pass. Or miss. We are all well-equipped to thrive and expand in life, there is no reason to feel oppressed at all, at least in most cases. But in a culture like the one we live in, we need constant and regular reminders of that if we are to fulfill our potential and break free for real. And this is why joining the Global Revolution on October 15th was such an exhilarating experience.

I walked with neighbours and friends for over five hours to the city center. I joined LGTB activists and chanted about union and revolution on a megaphone covered in Pride flag stickers. I hugged strangers. I felt a cute guy's ass. I starved. I eventually sat exhausted on the cobblestone ground at the very centre of the Iberian Peninsula. And that made one of the highlights of my life.

On that day, yesterday as of this writing, countless common men and women left home and took the streets, wherever they lived. They chanted about justice and freedom, they spoke for themselves, and stated that nobody spoke for them. They walked in Beauty, and Love. It was something I had never seen before. And there is just no justice words and storytelling can do to that first-hand experience of self-transcendence.

One degree in Journalism and all these years of life experience have not helped. I am still slightly amused and seriously outraged at the way media and haters tell the story. They make one car set on fire by some problem child the whole of what there is to hundreds of thousands of people vibrating on the clear frequency of Love in unison. They make us look like haters, victim-complexed and whiners, when in actuality we are just the opposite.

We were not merely protesting. We were definetely not hating. We were affirming to each other (and to the short-sighted liars chickening on the top of this slaughterous pyramid) our manifested Power, our glory when we come together for the sublime purpose of co-creating, and our total absence of fear. In a state like this, sharing a such a beautiful moment with millions worldwide, we were coming together as more than people. We were purely divine.

Nobody knows where this is going, because there is no Yellow Brick Road to tread. We are not following somebody else's agenda. Real Democracy Now is an horizontal and very organic movement that has swept over all of the planet by now. There are still lands untouched, but that will not last long. I hear occasional cries of doubt among friends who are supportive of the movement and its ideals. And I have only one thing to tell them: whatever comes next, it is up to us only. The "system" is not an alien entity stronger and more resolute than you and me. The system is all of us together, assenting or dissenting, making decisions, or passing them. Or missing.

Insatiable

I never really understood it when people came up to me and whined about having a boring life. I have certainly lived in a boring place, but my imagination would never ever let me rest. If I could not gather with likeminded individuals for a story circle, or a poetry slam, or Tango, or a potluck, I could still sit and fantasise about that. Or write about doing that. Or read online about it. Or compensate the block with whatever creative opportunity was available to me. I have never been bored on a long bus ride. I never needed to read or talk to summon up images, ideas or drama. All I needed was Time.

As I carve free time in my current life circumstances, I feel like I will never have enough. I have managed to set up the gay milonga with couchsurfers and non-couchsurfers going every second Saturday of the month, and it is actually afloat. I have got a solid schedule for homework from the German class and this terrible housekeeping thing that I hate so vividly. I apply three of Abe's processes (Focus Wheel, Affirmation, and Meditation) daily and I listen to the Vortex workshops on the metro every morning on my way to work, plus I do Morning Pages and Triple Soul work before breakfast. And I seem to be writing very regularly. But now that everything sounds fine, and I can finally get back to my comfortable limit with two creative projects going on simultaneously, I discover that not only can I afford music lessons every other week, La Tabacalera de Lavapiés (one of the coolest social enterprises in town) is offering Mandarin lessons for free again.

I might be compulsive, or all this is really irresistible, but I seriously want to learn to say no. Today is Sunday, and I spent the whole week catching up with emails, cleaning, cooking and doing homework. Compensating for a busy week and Saturday with delayed work. Maybe at some point I might as well behave like a dull person, and just rest.

Image: Overstimulated, by Jon Burgerman.

Six Years Later

Once upon a time I was a helpless, full-time wannabe. Growing up in the rural suburbs of a dull city, all I could think about was ways to escape, and not until I was done with university and finished my first round of Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way" could I leap beyond the fields those idiots surrounding me back then knew. I tore the chrysalis, spread my wings and flew away. I finally found a place I was not ashamed of calling home. That was back in 2005. My real life had finally just began, and it all happened within that year--including meeting the man I married.

I began this blog. I took classes, I experimented, I explored, I exploded, I was hired, I was fired, I was hired again, I got lost, I got found, I was told lies, I learned how to tell a fabulous story, I learned the truth about myself and the Universe, I had the best sex of my life during that year. I made more real friends within 6 months than over the first 20 years of my fucking life. I loved till I bled. Then I dipped my fingertips in the blood, and painted beautiful things on the ground I stood, and wrote poetry on the walls bordering the way. I walked in Beauty, and I recorded the stories I had to tell.

Then, instead of growing roots, I decided to move forward. I moved to Spain. Now there was no doubt I was totally out of the fishtank. I was a foreigner, I could barely speak the language, I made people laugh unintentionally. Best part is, I met a million others like me. A whole online social network of us. I was exhilarated, and I didn't want the fairytale to end.

And then I got sidetracked. I can only assume it happened when I decided that instead of exploring brand new creative possibilities, I wanted to deepen in what I was paying off more beautifully. So I acquired my fourth and fifth languages, travelled further out into the North and East, became a queer tanguero, learned a million new recipes till I could cook the perfect veggie meal. And resolved to get a paid day job. And dumped music. And writing. No wonder after all this time I look around and cannot see my creative work, other than a very creative life I've been living.

I do not complain, but this Autumn I got many people from that magical year come back to the spotlight of my online social life... One is published. The other is talking about the process of being published. The other just silently shines a little light from the other side of the planet, and the light shines all the way through to me. And the São Paulo gang, one by one, is slowly gathering on my Google+ Friends circle.

After six years, all I have to show for is what I have lived. The memories. The stories I have to tell, but have not told so far.

Are you willing to listen?