Cuando el camino se acabe...

He decidido amar nada más de ida

Amar sin esperar nada a cambio. Porque he encontrado que puedo pretender, si acaso, definir mis sentimientos, pero los de nadie más.

He decido amar sin correspondencia. Para ofrecer sin pedir ni desear, y que al no esperar nada, mi camino avance y se alargue, porque he notado que mientras espero, me detengo, y mientras estoy de guardia, me olvido de amar, pensando en ser amado

He decidido amar sin límites. Para no estar midiendo ni comparando, porque los límites inhiben la capacidad de mi imaginación para amar de manera original, y así llevar mi amor al más absurdo nivel de inconsciencia; hasta que sea por pura costumbre pura

He decido amar en paz. Para descansar mientras doy todo lo que tengo, porque he descubierto que entre más tengo y guardo, menos espacio me queda para renovar mi reservorio de amor, y así poder ofrecer una luz fresca, cada vez que sale el Sol

He decidido amar así, para nunca sucumbir a la tentación de una mentira o a la creencia debilitante en un poder que me dará algo a cambio de mi amor; porque me siento contento con solamente amar, y desvanecerme en la nada, cuando el camino se acabe…

Para mi Bro, Scot Johnson, with Love. 

Los bastardos unidos, reyes mundiales de la TV, a través de un descerebramiento paulatino viendo sus reality shows, revueltos en la programación con "noticieros" parciales y sus perniciosos talk shows, finalmente se invaginaron dentro de la misma industria de la TV, y ahora pasmados, los demás del mundo los observamos en nuestras teles, mientras ellos viven un The Truman Show colectivo, armados hasta la sepultura. La consciencia compartida de Jung, entinglada con los networks gringos, amasando ratings y justificando a quién invadir ahora en el mundo real….

A Peremptory Date For My Canada

Let me begin by stating that I am in love with Canada; deeply enough to defend it with the endearing blindness of true love.

Canada is my own personally chosen country, not the country where I was accidentally born in. I am Canadian; a sentence that rolls out of my heart easily and with conviction; albeit I was not born here.

Years ago, back in the late 90’s, I had the brilliant opportunity of working hand in hand with many Canadian professionals in a successful telecomm project in Mexico. English and French are two languages that I learned since childhood, so I was more able to relate to these nice Canadian folks that were living in Monterrey and Mexico City as expats, and I was positively surprised; their essence is fundamentally different from that of the “americans”.

Canadians are kind by nature, by definition and by culture. When I “discovered” Canada hiding behind the USA I could not help comparing both; I had already spent 10 years living in Texas, looking for my place in the globe. By the early 90s, during the Persian Gulf “war”, when Bush the 1^st “saved” Kuwait from the murderous hands of a former friend and partner from Iraq, and after living for 10 years in Texas, my eyes became wide open. It all started when I caught myself thinking that Bush senior, by not “eliminating” (synonym with killing) Saddam Hussein in this first Gulf War, had maliciously left the stage with a deliberate Hollywood style business plan for a “Part 2”, and a possible movie franchise: it was all virtually prepared for follow up incursions, with more and newer enemies/partners, and a lot more money to be made by an astonishing swelling of the already appalling war apparatus. Not cynical at all, that’s how I understood it.

I was already 32 years old, not the 23 year old kid that had moved to the USA with the same forthright believe of so many others that think it the country to be in, the country to support, work for, pay taxes to, and enjoy. In 1991 I could clearly foresee all that was going to happen to this nameless country, and the subsequent seasons of the new middle-east drama series. Long gone were the low budget days of Arafat, the Palestine Liberation Organization, and shady double edged characters like Henry Kissinger; the crib and the hands that rock the cradle of present day terrorism. I saw all the way to the present. A present that is now going through the motions of organizing and complementing international violence, generating fear and raising terrorist groups, with meanness as a trait and oh! So many, many lies.

Through the years I have watched the “americans” shifting rapidly. They went from shouting proudly anywhere in the world: “I’m an American!” expecting the waters to part in front of them, governments to fall to their knees, or any other subjects standing in their way to collapse, unto 2003, when the way to recognize an “american” tourists was by the multitude of Canadian flags displayed on them and their luggage, thus pretending to dodge the profound anger and resentment of far too many in the world, and avoiding the clear dangers of being insulted to say the least, but also rejected, kidnapped, or simply killed. “The leaders of the free world”

Canadians don’t like dramas so much, and stoicism is more ad hoc than emotional outbursts, more so if it’s only physical pain, no matter how bad it gets. I have noticed that Canadians nowadays resent the way they have been treated by the USA since 2001. They sincerely considered themselves to be their very close friend. You have to be Canadian to detect this; or understand comedy, the preferred means of complain in the true North.

I remember a joke from Rick Mercer, saying we have to accept that Canadians and “americans” are pretty much alike; that we dress very similarly, sound just about the same… but, maybe the difference is that Canadians are able to find themselves in a map…

The “joke” resonated from previous decades of research on geographic knowledge around the world, with very discouraging results in the USA; an immensely valuable work that was undertaken by the National Geographic Society -may it rest in peace, after being sold to Rupert Murdoch's 21st Century Fox- The National Geographic Society was one of the very last bastions of culture in the USA that positively influenced the world. Is there anything of value left out of the hands of corporate oligarchical jungle rule?

The constant and relentless erosion of education in the USA killed the National Geographic Society with a long time drop in magazine sales, subscriptions, patronage and government support. Basically, due to a sudden and fast descent of readers that parallels, through time and depth, the loss of education for the last generations of the 20^th century and the Millennials; and it is inversely proportional to the expenditure in the country’s privatized prison system.

Ignorance is an irreplaceable fuel for cruelty and fear. Injustice and inequality are the matches; then violence ignites.

Fear is ignorant, and grows uneasily among the uneducated; fear besieges the uncultured. A lack of education is quite dangerous, much notable amongst poverty stricken, unequal societies. Violent eruptions from the deprivation of culture can be far more destructive.

It is in culture where you find socially consequential moral values, not in religion; superstitious beliefs are rather confusing: how do you reconcile the Golden Rule, with stoning to death a homosexual person? Where do homophobic conceptualizations come from, if not from absolute ignorance and the far-reaching fear that transpires from it?

Via the cultural stream, you might convince people to respect a gay individual; to embrace difference. Scruples come from culture. The Golden Rule stems from culture. And you still need the three columns for a fruitful societal existence: Liberté, Égalité et Fraternité.

Ignorance confounds a country’s population, and severe cultural deficiencies in its governmental leaders permits them to actually drop an atomic bomb on human populations, and become saving heroes to its citizenship (except the ones banished into internment camps, officially called "relocation centers"). When your mind is infused with culture, you are no longer ridden with fear, and a tide of empathy replaces hate. You absolutely cannot even begin to conceive war, much less sending out a group of young soldiers to drop a bomb to kill hundreds of thousands, or 53,000 of your own boys to get killed far away from their controlled reality at home.

Presently, in order to comprehend how much fear a huge segment of the world feels towards the USA, you merely need to talk openly with many Iranians living in Canada. When you can closely see what the USA did to Afghanistan and Iraq, see whom they killed in those countries, how they killed them, and the level of destruction perpetrated, like the general population of Iran living next door to Iraq could appreciate, it is certainly scary to hear threats from the USA against your country because for a very long time, from their perspective, it is the only country invading, bombing and destroying other states that get in the way of their interests, so as an Iranian friend told me: “every time my stupid retrograde government verbally attacked the USA, we became really stressed, knowing we could be the next country destroyed by the americans…”

Ignorance seduces the poor into thinking that money will make everything alright. A shortage of culture can make the rich misuse their fortunes, and provokes most of them to feel totally entitled.

For me, the USA’s blinding and shiny curtain had fallen and I could see the truth about Canada behind it; a land that was being covered from the Mexicans by the USA’s splendor. I knew better then, and I started reading more and more about Canada.

I had been back in Mexico for 14 years and well, simply put, it is not a country for me: I despise lies, and I cringe with violence and insecurity; I hate corruption, gender inequality, poverty, contamination and historical amnesia. I get aggravated with indolence and cultural pollution. I pale with disgust around slyness and moral prostitution. And I profoundly loath the only government that has really been in power in Mexico, since an ambassador Wilson stroke a pact with el general Huerta in 1913, literally aborting democracy for Mexico, inexistent to this day. They don’t understand that counting votes does not by itself constitute a democracy.

I had to keep looking for the place where I was going to bring up my daughters. It took time, courage and some efforts, but I finally made it to Canada with my family unit, and became a grateful permanent resident in 2008. The present conservative party had been in power with a minority government since the start of 2006, and I was even then paying attention to Stephen Harper who had recently defeated the Liberal party which I had been observing closely since 2004, when deep in my heart I already knew I was going to live here some day.

In 2015, I officially became a Canadian citizen, with my wife and two daughters included in the momentous deal. I didn’t have to leave any documents behind, like my Mexican passport, and neither my beliefs, my customs, nor my habits or preferences. On the contrary, all of those were welcomed too, and we have always been encouraged to hold on to our culture, our language and our thoughts, and to share them. We were only expected to abide by the laws of the land (and I was running away from lawlessness), and to be kind (which I aspire to become). From the general population of fellow citizens, we have always felt undoubtedly welcomed.

So here I am now, scarcely two days away from my first Canadian federal election; I have my voter card and the ballot will be waiting for my choice, very near my home at the neighborhood’s elementary school, this 19^th of October, in British Columbia.

Federal elections campaigns have run in Canada for an average thirty something days in the last few decades, creating a sort of general rule, based on custom, as it is quite commonly established in these old British style parliamentary systems. Only this year Prime Minister Stephen Harper –a devout admirer of Bush Jr.’s tastes in political economy and management-, dissolved our government over 70 days ago, springing an election process. That is just one of the many sleazy tricks he has been abusing, mostly after he managed to achieve a majority government in the 2011 election. He has a lot more funds than the challengers, so he can gingerly afford a doublewide campaign, while the Liberals and the New Democrats had to stretch their wallets thin.

Today marks the first time I am writing my personal thoughts on Harper and his government, and I shall tell you why: I did not feel really free to speak out, much less publish online a critique on Harper’s (déjà-vu) horror machine, while only being a Permanent Resident Card holder. His way is the “american” republican way, and I could not trust him with my legal stay in the country; as simple as that. I preferred to wait until I was honored with the citizenship certificate, but Oh! Surprise! Perhaps not even now… We learned this month, us, the many naturalized Canadian citizens, that for Harper our nationality is 2^nd class. Apparently there are the “old stock” Canadians, as he held, and the late arrivals.

Harper stripped of his Canadian citizenship a convicted terrorist, because he had a dual nationality, just like I do. I certainly do understand that first you have to be a convicted terrorist for that to happen to you, so in theory I am safe, given that I would never even think of perpetrating any kind of violent act whatsoever… (The last few sentences are a petite disclaimer. Once this goes online, I’m under untold scrutiny efforts by my country’s intelligence agencies; after repeatedly using the words terrorist, Islam, Human rights and Harper in the same sentence, bells and whistles will alarm all over CSIS righteous radar).

Still, if this man stays in power with a majority after this election, who knows who else will be banished next since, actually, when he discovered that another convicted terrorist born in Canada had also later obtained a foreign passport compliments of his Iraqi father, Harper immediately wanted to take away that Canadian nationality too.

I keep referring to Harper as the culprit and not even the Conservative Party, much less Canada, because I choose to believe that this is not how the majority of Canadians feel. After all less than 40% voted for him, but this nonetheless made me realize that there are many “conservative” Canadians willing to overlook this divisive positioning from their candidate, just for the money: “less taxes”. And owing to fear: “protection” from the perennial foreign enemies who like Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four dystopia, are always at the brink of destroying us, and raping our women and kidnapping our future generations. It makes me ponder that there are far too many Canadians who need to increase their education and most of all reinforce their Canadian culture, beginning with Harper himself. I applaud the efforts made by Yann Martel sending to the prime minister’s office a book every month, in the hopes of educating him, because so many of the political views he so thoroughly embedded during his mandate, clearly show a lack of culture, a tendency to violence, to war and fear mongering, with a reduced capacity for empathy when compared to regular Canadians; the malignity of which can be as devastating as the last 15 years have been in the USA, home of the Homeland Security closet monster.

Harper came up with a new bill, C-51, where the overall package is so utterly ugly to anyone concerned about civil liberties, it gives me the shivers, and he is ending his electoral campaign by creating a huge storm over a recent niqab controversy. Two cases (only 2 as of today), of ladies who wanted to attend their citizenship ceremony with their faces covered by their beliefs. The fabric of misogyny, abuse and backwardness for many; most of those many educated or in possession of a moral acumen. These women were willing to uncover, though not in public, but in front of a Canadian female judge to prove their identity, abiding to the law; just not during the public ceremony protocol. I don’t like it, but that is a subjective judgement. I don’t understand why people want to come over, and then try to make us change to how it was back in their homes, however, if our way is so much better, they will one day tend to leave behind what they don’t want anymore, as the vast majority of immigrants have done, more so with the following generations already raised here.

The process where some old fashioned parents try to deal with this incorporation is not always a pretty picture, but in the end, they integrate. I also know that in Canada the possibility for women to change and assimilate has cost them even their lives in several cases, due to family honour killings; one of the most hideously perverted deformities of those religious fanatics who’ve so miserably lost any moral compass.

Polarizing everyone with emotional arguments such as “presenting yourself to Canada as a new citizen with your face open, as we all are”, Harper has stated that this contravenes Canadian values: « Éléments couvrant le visage durant les cérémonies de citoyenneté à l'opposé de nos propres valeurs, embrasseraient une pratique à cette occasion qui n'est pas transparente, qui n'est pas ouverte et, honnêtement, qui est enracinée dans une culture qui est anti-femmes »

Harper went legally ballistic versus one of these women who would do her citizenship ceremony before the election, and he mostly pushed the envelope in French and mainly in Québec. Apparently most of nos amies from Québec are intolerant of that, according to the Conservative party’s campaign experts. After all, mother France already has legally acted against the niqab. But we know how well Islamic matters are hovering in La France.

Our government people remain fortunately healthy, so the courts rejected Harper’s wishes to declare illegal a covered face in such ceremonies, and a judge provided an immediate date for this woman to declare her oath and become a citizen in time to vote, against Harper I would assume. When she received her certificate, she shed tears of bittersweet joy, I am sure; on my ceremony, in my love struck candidness, my tears were mostly of joy.

But there is also a coincidence: we learned that Harper felt things were getting nasty in the campaign’s horizon, mostly due to the fact that his platform is based on “economy” and “security”, both of which are acutely failing him; people in the PM’s province of Alberta where an oil based economy is cracking, unpredictably took the left road this year after 40 years as a Conservative government stronghold; oil price is down and none of his pipelines were permitted. In addition, he is still waiting for a real terrorist attack against us, preferably from his most favoured enemy ISIS, to demonstrate his points on the inevitability of such attacks, of which only he can protect us, shielding us from the diversified global axis of evil… So he hired a controversial Australian campaign fixer, Lynton Crosby, who is credited with helping David Cameron confound the polls and secure a majority victory in last May's UK election. Lynton Crosby has also been linked to tactics that have rallied voters fearful of immigration, behind the campaigns of his clients. To enrage the ignorant into a vote.

Harper will tell you he has saved us already several times from Islamic doom, but he cannot elaborate because it is severely secret; even to the RCMP in some cases, so classified it is. Snowden showed us how the Harper government has actually participated and helped in the USA’s secret agencies feuds, spied on us and on behalf of the “americans”, which brings up another little detail of his closed quarters way of managing the Prime Ministers Office: a flagrant lack of transparency, and a clear muzzle on his caucus puppets.

Yet the fiery reaction against the niqab is grounded in fear. The ignorance about Islam. It is not a dignified matter to present as your political platform. He may like and sing songs from The Beatles, but he is no longer sensitive to the lyrics. We need him out forever, and thenceforth try to rebuild our humane and respectful path. What I dread will be harder to re-establish from all of what Harper damaged, is our image and country’s reputation to the rest of the world.

Money matters are non-matters at this level. Reparations to most harm incurred inside our country is a more attainable enterprise, and we now know this is dependant on education, so all those budgetary cuts over culture, science and arts that Harper slashed through his years of obscurity, could be returned to where they are required, in order to fund the evolution into a kinder, better nation. There are many amongst us that are failing to recognize and appraise how seriously this man vilified us abroad, because they only have introspecting eyes, not willing to look beyond our borders, or further than the USA or the Mexican beaches; some simply lack the knowledge to comprehend, and Harper takes advantage of them.

Nowadays, after Harper’s “american” ass-licking wars in the Middle East, and his irritating and embarrassing sermon spouted to the “failing” European Union economy during a G8 summit, bragging about his unbeatable Canadian economy prowess; then his fraudulent position against China, unwilling to talk to them because of their merciless reputation regarding human rights, to end up cavorting with them when he finally figured it out and discovered he needed them, not the other way around. What a fiasco. What discomfiture! He reminded me of Charlie Sheen’s infamous “winning!” declaration.

He has been downright uncanadian for a while now, and today several countries disdain us, and some who didn’t know about us, now discern this about us: we participate in USA’s interests wars. We are in it for the money. We are willing to sacrifice the life of our troops in far away wars, “american” style, longing to be at least a Jr. “leader of the free world”. They consider we are willing to tell lies and deny it is a question of money, with no other principles attached; not for democracy, not for human rights, not for charity. We throw bombs where we are told, for a piece of the capital pie. Such a bleeding shame.

To think the world loved Canada -at least the ones who knew us-; that the “americans” would camouflage themselves with our colours… at this moment in history, I would probably be better off staying out of danger by using my Mexican passport travelling through several parts of the world, (not in the USA, of course). And to think Harper was able to rescind that entirely gracious image we enjoyed worldwide, in merely 9 years. How long do we think it will take us to get it back? Is that even a conceivable notion anymore?

This Monday is a peremptory date for my Canada. May kindness illuminate my fellow voters to mark their choice.

Coquitlam, BC

Oct. 17, 2015

Episodios Familiares

Helix Aspersa

Cuando yo tenía escasos 11 años, vivíamos en casa de mis abuelos Gastón y Maruja. La comida del Domingo era la única comida de la semana que mi abuelo hacía en casa, pero era inquebrantable. Así era con todo lo decidía hacer d'ici à l’avenir; como es el caso de nunca más en su vida volver a volar en un avión, después de un accidente que sufrió volando con un tío suyo en un biplano, a principios del siglo 20. Jamás en su vida se volvió a subir a un avión.

Los demás días de la semana desayunaba en la cafetería Súper Leche, ésa que desapareció en el fondo de la avenida San Juan de Letrán con el desastroso terremoto del año 1985. Ahí se reunía de Lunes a Sábado con sus amigos, todos muy curiositos, y la mayoría aparentemente doctores; discutían todo siempre con cierta seriedad; a diferencia de mis papás y sus amigos que con más frecuencia charlaban y reían, que con seriedad. Los temas de mi abuelo nunca eran ligeros, y parecía que nadie entre estos amigos suyos jamás bromeaba.

Las cenas se las echaba en su casa y en su cuarto, en cama, viendo la televisión. La pitanza consistía en un par de plátanos horneados con azúcar morena y canela, y una botella de agua mineral marca Peñafiel. Hacía ya muchos años que se había vuelto frugal y había dejado atrás las grandes comilonas y los excesos, que de cualquier manera nunca fueron tan exagerados, excepto los Domingos…

Un día mi abuela Maruja me preguntó si había visto caracoles en sus enredaderas. Las altas bardas que guardaban la casa estaban cubiertas de una vetusta y densa enredadera, de una hiedra de hojas grandes muy verdes y oscuras al madurar. Alrededor de la casa había toneladas de hojas vivas, humedad y sombra en clima templado; habría caracoles, desde luego.

La historia de siempre, pensé: unos que se quieren comer lo que otro considera suyo, y los persiguen como plaga. Mi abuela me pidió que le juntara todos los caracoles que encontrara entre sus enredaderas durante la semana, y me daría un veinte de cobre por cada uno que le trajera. ¿Vivos? pregunté, pensando en si la recompensa ofrecida era vivos o muertos. Y pensaba que si me pedía que ya estuvieran muertos, no podría ser. Ella tendría que matarlos, yo no. “Vivos y con la concha entera”, me aclaró. ¡Perfecto! un plan divertido, y al final una recompensa para irme en mi bicicleta a la tienda a comprar un comic o una revista, quizá. ¡A lo mejor hasta un libro! de la librería Libros Libros Libros, en Barrilaco, si juntaba suficientes caracoles…

Me conseguí de por ahí una jaula para canarios abandonada, le metí pastos y hojas con lo que les ofrecería un pequeño hábitat para que su encarcelamiento no fuera letal, y los mantendría en una sombra fresca y húmeda. Y además convencí a Laila mi hermana de ayudarme a encontrar caracoles durante esa semana en las tardes, después de la escuela. Juntamos muchísimos caracoles, y les perdimos la cuenta desde el Martes. Para el Miércoles, Laila ya se había aburrido del tema.

Ese Miércoles vino Arturo el jardinero, y él me confirmó que de seguro mi abuela se quería deshacer de la plaga, y se extraño cuando le expliqué que ella me los había pedido vivos, cuando él se ofreció a traer “veneno” y echarle a todas las enredaderas para acabarlos eficazmente. El Sábado me preguntó mi abuela cómo me iba con el asunto de los caracoles, y le aseguré que eran más de los que ella esperaba, insinuándole que fuera calculando su adeudo. “Magnífico, darling” me contestó en su acento Colombiano. Y me pidió que se los tuviera listos el Domingo por la mañana.

Cada vez que los quería contar para calcular la recompensa, perdía la concentración numérica porque me quedaba embelesado con sus anatomías y movimientos imposiblemente lentos y tan ajenos, de un mundo muy distante al mío. Entre mis observaciones y mi enciclopedia, me fui enterando por ejemplo que esas antenas tenían ojos en las puntas; y de cómo iban mordiendo y devorando las hojas. Y aquel rastro extraño, brillante y baboso que dejaban a su paso, o que contuvieran ambos sexos. Me intrigaba la textura de su piel por el lomo, y me daba algo de asco en envés baboso de sus cuerpos que parecían no decidir de qué tamaño ser, y se alargaban o acortaban, enflacaban o engordaban, o se metían líquidamente dentro de su casa móvil, y sellaban la entrada. Finalmente me pareció que si como quiera mi abuela los tendría que contar al recibirlos, para que perdía yo ese tiempo en ello, y seguí juntando y observando a mis caracoles.

El Domingo temprano encontré a mi abuela en la cocina, desayunando. Quise entrar con mi jaula pletórica de hierbas medias secas y caracoles, pero al ver eso mi abuela me sacó de la cocina al patio trasero, y ahí llegó ella al rato con una palangana grande de la lavandería, y me dijo que fuera echando los caracoles ahí, sin hojas ni tierra, mientras los contábamos. A la mitad del camino comenzó a insinuar que eran demasiados, y luego dijo que quizás debería regalarle algunos a su amiga Concha Dalcovich, la que mató de cinco balazos a su marido, muchos años antes. Lo de regalarle caracoles a Concha me pareció primero que nada muy extraño y luego cuando reparé en que su amiga se llamaba igual que la casa de los caracoles, no podía parar de reírme…

Antes de acabar, mi abuela se cansó y me dijo que tenía $20 Pesos y que me los daba y ahí que quedara la cosa. Me tarde bastante en calcular cuántos veintes de cobre cabían en veinte Pesos, y lo que más recuerdo no fue si estimé que yo tuviera más o menos de 100 caracoles, sino que de seguro podría encontrar algún libro por esa cantidad, y como siempre he sido muy pragmático para los asuntos del dinero -por eso no tengo mucho-, los acepté con tal de ya irme en mi bicicleta a la librería.

“¿Ya los vas a matar, abuela?”

“Claro”

“¿Cómo?”

“Se mueren cuando los hierves”

“¿Los vas a hervir para matarlos?”

“Para cocinarlos”

“¿Te los comes?”

“Son deliciosos; a mi marido le encantan; se los voy a servir hoy de sorpresa. Vienen Concha y tu tía Ana a comer”

“Ah…”

“Quieres ver cómo se hacen”

“Ajá…”, contesté temeroso; “¿a qué saben?”

“Ya verás”

Ya no recuerdo qué me compré con mis $20 Pesos, pero recuerdo el evento culinario en la cocina. La receta era realmente muy simple: lavó muy bien a los caracoles vivos y en sus conchas bajo el chorro abundante de agua fresca en la coladera de las pastas, luego los hirvió en el perol donde se hacían los cocidos y el espagueti, con sal y vinagre, y algo de hierbas finas. Mientras, preparó en la batidora una mantequilla a la provenzal; con cebollines, ajos, pimienta en grano, limón y perejil picado. Los caracoles tras la ebullición se separaron de sus conchas, los colamos y terminamos de desalojar de sus casas, y entonces con los dedos embadurnados metimos algo de la mantequilla preparada adentro de cada concha, luego un escargot, y por último se sellaba la entrada de la concha con más mantequilla. Con el horno a 200ºC, metimos las charolas con un montonal de conchas, y tras un tiempo que recuerdo corto, la mantequilla estaba doradita, y listos para servirse. El último secreto fue echarles unas gotitas de Pernod, para que supiera más Francés, reveló mi abuela; “así es como le gustan a Gastón”. Además había sopa de cebolla que preparó mi mamá; pan fresco, la inefable botella de vino rojo Francés que traía mi abuelo los Domingos, y una tabla de quesos para el postre…

Me comí un par de pedazos de migajón de pan remojado en aquella exquisita mantequilla dorada, así que mi instinto alimenticio reptiliano estaba listo para aceptar el reto, cuando mi abuela anunció que había llegado la hora de probarlos. Desde ese día dejé de considerarlos una plaga, sino una bendición alimenticia, y para mí un Helix Aspersa es un caracol común del jardín, y un escargot es una delicadeza gastronómica.

Lamentablemente, los hombres con anti-empática facilidad separamos cosas iguales con conceptualizaciones distintas, y le podemos llamar guerra a una matanza, cacería a un asesinato, o investigación, a martirizar monstruosamente a muchos animales para nuestro futuro beneficio; humanidad alienígena ¡qué amplia y perversa diferencia nos une a los demás animales! Aunque tengan antenas con ojos en las puntas…

Mi definición personal (y nunca humilde) de: religión

Hoy como nunca, con cargo a las religiones, estamos obliterando el maravilloso potencial humano, convirtiéndolo en cruentas noticias de odio y destrucción incesante, con base en la temible premisa de nuestro presente: Lo que más importa, es el dinero; pero el dinero, no es lo más importante...

Religión:

Milenario e inexplicable sistema artificial humano de creencias culturales supersticiosas, elaborado y mantenido inescrupulosamente por grupos sociales minoritarios para detentar el poder sobre los pueblos, por medio de la generación de miedo y culpabilidad basados en la ignorancia y en la negación del raciocinio, con el fin ulterior de lucro económico continuo y permanente.

Religione:

Millenario e inesplicabile sistema artificiale umano di credi culturali superstiziosi, elaborato e mantenuto senza scrupoli per gruppi sociali minoritari per detenere il potere sopra i popoli, per mezzo della generazione de la paura e della colpevolezza con basi in l’ignoranza e la negazione del raziocinio, con il fine ulteriore di lucro economico continuo e permanente.

Religion:

Millénaire et inexplicable système artificiel humain de croyance culturel superstitieux, confectionné et maintenu sans scrupules par des groups sociaux minoritaires pour détenir la commande des peuples, par moyen de la génération de la peur et de la culpabilité basés en l’ignorance et en la négation de la raison, avec la fin ultérieure du profite économique continué y permanant.

Religion:

Millenarian and inexplicable artificial human system of superstitious cultural beliefs, designed and maintained unscrupulously by minority social groups in order to hold control over the populations, by means of guilt and fear generation based on ignorance and the denial of reason, with the ulterior quest of continuous and permanent economic profit.

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"Ya no tengas miedo de pensar, aprender o razonar, ni de sacar tus propias conclusiones. Sobre todo de decírtelas y decírselas al mundo para empezarlas a vivir plenamente. Ya no tengas miedo de lo que esperan de ti todos o cualesquiera de los demás. Ya no tengas miedo de estar volando con el solo sustento de tus propias alas, dependiendo solamente de tus aleteos, sin nada superior a ti que te mantenga en el aire, y ya no temas que al final de tu final, detrás del horizonte hacia donde vuelas, no haya nada. Libérate y vive el presente. Lo que vendrá mañana hoy no existe, y a las promesas en futuro de una vida eterna después de la vida presente, déjalas en el pasado, que como ya dejó de existir, no son más. No tengas miedo de estar solo, y de que tu destino sea modificable y solamente tuyo y de nada ni nadie más. En eso consiste la verdadera libertad: en saber que cuando tu tiempo termine, te sentirás exactamente igual que cuando aún no existías, y eso no tiene nada de malo..."

Frida (1990-2015)

Maestra de Maestras

Frida (1990-2015) REP...

Aujourd'hui, je me sens vieux et fatigué.