Cyrano

Cyrano… my friend and devoted spirit, who dwells inside hearts by themselves rejected , hiding nobleness beyond doubt and love beyond the appearances of the times passing…

I want to sing thee all the admiring songs inside of me, all the beauty you could not see, all the proud you held so free, all the life you gave made poetry …

As a poet wishes to endure within all the words , may I become rhymed in what my heart knows but my mind denied…

Since language was meant to heal, the wounds of past offense done to might within, lets free the spirit – lets set it free – lets love beyond the bounds of speech…

Que el lenguaje nunca fue señor, de todo el don que mi alma lleva, de todo ardor que el viento clama, de todo este mar – profundo en pena…

Por eso me hago como brisa ajena, que sopla libre sobre tierra yerma, que desafía el tiempo y se hace bella, hasta dejar desnuda el alma amena.

Por rima y verso me entrelaza el arte, por sobre el tiempo me conduce aparte, hasta el fondo de un mar sin nombre, hasta dentro de un mundo noble…

Y poder sin duda encuentro ahora, y calor sin llama que el ser añora, y sonrisa amiga que guarda el templo, donde yace el oro de mi corazón sereno…

Ahora – a ti vuelvo desnudo y frío – sin más consuelo que pena y rima, sin más morada que el eterno castigo, de caminar errando sin hallar destino.

E se entre quinas e orbes celestes, se pudesse cantar meu sonho esquivo; se entre a bruma se esgueirara a chama - de esperança fútil, de amor beijada - seria livre para repousar meu peito, em mais do que sonhos, em pele amada…

Mas duvido e sofro por não ser visto, detrás da máscara há sempre o estranho, baixo a couraça a carne abrasada, pedindo o toque que de vida os refaça.

Rima é perversa, pois enclausura nas voltas o entrançado caminho da alma aspirante, da vontade que busca com tacteio hesitante, a porta perdida para o reino errante…

Por ventura musa de ecos velados, de sonhos perdidos nos versos, deslizando sem graça por entre as folhas bizarras de papéis que não o foram e de relações que não passam…

Foi a vida a cruel ou cruel foi o cego - que espezinhou canteiros floridos ao saltar sobre os átrios - procurando conforto nos reflexos de lua entre lagos despidos, quando estava ela Lua longe – lá no alto - no nada?…

Quanto mais perto me encontro no deambular tresloucado, mais a Lua se esconde no seu estranho fado, de mingar lentamente com véu de sereias, desde a face alba até breu que me apaga…

Por isso anseio pelo lar perdido, mas deambulo errante em duvida prendido: como um estranho lume de chama dourada, que ruma a casa mas de casa se afasta…

Cymbrogi

(Sofia, on the left – she is the woman I appreciate so much for her straightforward way. She may send in to “shit” anyone at first glance of deceit and she will love until death those in her heart. Truthful and simple, hard working and pure of heart. A privilege to work next to her nowadays in these times of shades.
Aurelia, on the right – my ex-nurse chief. She was as “Lionheart” – always ready to give it all for ideals as nursing and free care. Frontal and edgy, she fell under the plot of the times in which we sink in nowadays. Blessed for her gift in to nursing for so long and so intensively)

People… they are the mirrors that mold our life…

From those who show us the apparent truth to those who help us to face the obvious lie… all of them count, all of them are worthy and truthfull their own way.

With my chief I learned to face the enemy, to engage it eye on eye and to fight for something until breath was there no more.

Under her influence I learned to trust all my will and gifts to a common cause – how to serve others using my skills for a communitarian well fare. Next with people of strong will (as my colleague Sofia) we fought for more than five years to develop all that each person has the right to demand from a public service of health without paying a cent for it or becoming prey of lobbies and clientalism.

Several projects of health promotion grew. Invitations to share our experience and even teach others appeared. Compliments rained from everywhere.

The service grew in numbers – from the five persons we were in the beginning we became twelve. We gained one more car, materials to help taking care of dependant people and to promote community health.

But – the only permanent thing is change.
Sickness on the family allied to the political changes and lobby influence drained this brotherhood of those who fought for an ideal with nothing personal to win.

Yesterday we met again to remember those times, to cry our deep inner wounds, to lament the moments we lingered when we should have fought. “Cymbrogi” – companions of the heart we are, those who fought shoulder with shoulder in battle for a common ideal, with nothing else to gain than to fulfill their dreams for a common vision of truth that serves everyone... these are companions of the heart.

Ave to those who do not die – those are the ones who passed in to the other side as free people…

I dream with those who broke but did not bend. May me myself discover the courage to become one.

(My mom and dad on one of the encounters we have had lately. Found it funny to see what happened to pas on the TV screen as the photos went on…)

Now, those who made me in to be what I’m now. We talked today, inside a ceremony of meetings in which I’m trying to wash away generations of pain and a relationship of fear.

Step by step – knowing and embracing my mother’s subtlety and gifts. To accept her and to let her know who is the being she had in hands for so long.

Step by step – to serve as a shield for these two entities to become aware of the balance they need to generate between them so each of them is fully free.

So painful the path of the heart. Still – so needed to endure.
In the end of the tunnel there’s light. But – more than words and beliefs, more than spiritualism and philosophy – we need deeds, we needs acts, we need steps forward.

So – here it is.
I’m working it as hard as I may. Sometimes it is as smashing my face against a wall. Others as open my chest to thorns. Others though – among the sand and dust - a pearl shines and a bit of each of us comes in to the surface.

That pearl deserves each painful moment. From the fear we shall rise to light, from oblivion we will awake in eden.

We will… we will…

(The picture of the loneliness I may face if not in harmony and devotion with the feminine inside. There is an angel somewhere to this stranded soul… there must be.)

Thirty minutes in Viana - part II

As the marina is left behind, the icon of the city – the caravel – on the hands of a mysterious woman rises as the warning to the entrance on the historical old part of the town.


Walking the streets is being filled with icons of the holy spirit age and the project of the world to be… the age of the heart


In a little street, after a narrow turn on the main way – there hides the always pleasant and bizarre “praça da Erva” – Erva square. Here, two old ladies prepare the fires for the meals of the evening honoring one of the biggest Portuguese festivities – St. Jonh. There is the Sheppard and his altar with the offerings of old… “Le roi est mort, vive le roi”


Turning to the right – following the classical Portuguese narrow streets of granit stone pavement, we find the “Sé” – the sede of the religious region – and the flags of the five wounds, the seven castles conquered to the enemy, the armilar sphere… those who have ears listen…


The sede, the solid building of the faith, it’s strong rocks and harsh nature threatening… still…
The entrance is “ogival”, a familiar shape from which any of us came in to this realm and started the adventure of time. The “Rosacea” - the place where the light fills in the temple of stone as in that point in the uterus where the miracle of light happens to fill the stone with presence of the divine awareness
From the “vesica pisces” – two circles join forming with a point in its middle, to this temple of old – all homage to the great god, the only one that could love as a mother enduring solid and truthful as a male…

In this vagina kind of entrance, with jesus as a golden button, the black and the white – the light and the shade – define the dual nature of the hermaphrodite which will be…

Medieval houses, with long forgotten writings on their granite walls, guard the way back to the main square as the afternoon leads to it’s silent and peaceful end with streets getting filled with breeze and air

Shapes of old, shapes of ever – where it is as important the parts filled with windows as the parts filled in blank… windows or a cross – always a way to look beyond… from within to the light…

As the day gets in to an end, the square is filled with echoes, the allegoric shapes gave room to pigeons, the piazza with tables and coffee is empty – just the last rays of the setting sun fill the melancholic space with vibrant life that vanishes in the mists of eve…

Just the artists who sell arts with no bund to lord or land keep their stand as all the rest retreated to their moebius circles of existence. A child who passes and an artist who says hello while the town goes in to the sleepiness of a Saturday evening starting soon

Thirty minutes in Viana - part I

In Viana… my city here in Portugal…

My friend Daniel (Danilo), who is in Rome now – studying hard canonic law – missing home and his pastoral work… as he is a devoted priest.
We had a lot to chat – our theologies, our search for God… he’s my friend and my councilor – and we laugh and joked because that is how serious things are dealt among us…


As the square is becoming full with people – we stare at the building with the caravel of the fifth empire, the cross of the order of Christ over the coat of arms of the nation and the armillar sphere… the people and the old traditions right in front of us… the new that never is, ever echoing the old that never was…


The people… the young and the old around the music of ages, the song of tradition… we are “Minhotos”, our colors red, black and white… gold in our hearts


As the spirit desperately searches for the water of life the tired body is well fed by those women with many skirts and laughing faces marked by the work of the sun…

Where Daniel? Where can He be? In the people, maybe? In the people?...

The afternoon starts to go dim, and I move towards the river side. The Letes as the Romans called it – the river when we forgot what we were if we dared to cross it… was Brutus who had to defy the legends of old and keep advancing towards the celt’s heart – the altars of Lhugh. Now the River is called “Lima”, as the capital of the Gallician of old is called – "Lugo". The echoes persist, the names change… but maybe not so much.
The garden, the flowers and the mark of discoveries from Portuguese service to the One world in old times…

As the gardens near the “Marina” keep going, a nice music place decorates the view for the wanderer… the …armilar sphere and the dove on it’s top. The five circles interlaced with spirit of the new world. Lets hope so… lets hope

Crossing a little iron bridge we may see the marina of Viana – with boats of recreation in the main line and the old bridge of the train in the bottom…

As the Sun gently moves to it’s ending step in this journey, we may see the dome of Santaluzia's basilic on the top of the hill and the city at it’s feet.

On the marina – parents play with their children… or are the children who play with their dormant parents?

World of contrasts, realm of appearances, dream of a summer’s eve…

Echoes...

How did it all start?

With the first Man who didn’t know how to listen to the first Woman’s dreams?
With the first Woman who didn’t understand the first Man’s fears?

How did it start may ever be veiled… but how it may end has to be answered…

A same language so we may understand other’s ways more than criticize or shape them on our same confusion - keeping, still our own way to name things…

A similar respect to the worship of values from within, that we all expect to manifest outside…

A similar recognition of a meaning to this journey called life…

Respect, truth, honesty, devotion, trust, hope, commitment…

From the values of cultures, societies, religions… all of them a means to walk honorably or a tool to rule those with faith under the cloak of will to dominate…

When does it end?

When we make it happen inside…

When – more than preaching – we do.
When – more than telling others to fill what we dreamed and never dared – we have done it before.

When the fight becomes truthful enough so we understand both fighters have to win.
When competition is a way to feel challenged to give our best and to demand the same from our companion in fight, more than to prove we are better, we were right, we are stronger…

When the ends do not justify the means.
When truth is always and just truth and always lie when truth is not.

When we recognize all we wish is to be loved and we do so with us; with those we can love; with those we still do not - acknowledging though they hold the same longing even when lost in their quest as they may seem.

When we look at the deepest sin of the one in front and we see our own failure, when we dream with the highest virtue of the one in front and we recognize our true nature.

When sin is just the promise of the home we miss and virtue the open door to the hearth we were searching for.

When hope to unite the heart with the heart is stronger than the will to define which roads must be taken, how many steps will be given, when to walk and when to stop, whom to question about the right paths to follow….

When we need not to read things as these to feel, to be…

When no one needs to write them…

The walls outside… the walls within…

Why do I stay in my room?
Why do I feel so heavy, so drained… so transparent… fragile… that stepping outside is as being a thin glass of ice, walking under the sunlight - in a square full of noise… I may be melt, I may be broken…

Why to endure a realm of our own?
Why to become prisoner of our minds?
Because – outside, there beyond these walls – we may find colors, we may find joy, we may find day… but we may be in an empty place… a place where no one may truly see us, a place where no one knows no one…

Staying inside is becoming able to accuse something or someone of our pain, of the echo of sorrow that is around each time we feel broken… with a part missing…

They say we have to adapt.
They tell us how to honor values and virtues – still, they are paid to say so…
They teach about things they never saw or tasted… things that I know are ever shifting and never defined… though – they always paint them as “truth”… and so they doom me in to a realm of lies… those teachers of nothing, those rulers of shades, those chiefs of no one… no one exists, nothing around is the truth…

They say we must be truthfull – still, they lie in each breath they may take…
They do not love – still – they tell us that’s the truth…
They tell us we are loved, we are the center of their existence – still, they are never with us, always selling their life as an excuse to not take hold of the reigns of their own destiny… slaves who feel so alone they doom others to slavery so they are not alone… liars! Parents of deceit...

Why to leave the room?

Here I may pretend nothing else exists.
I may pretend – the world around – that living lie of hollow voices and shades they call truth, is a nightmare existing far away…

Why I don’t keep in here so?
Because it becomes hard to breath.
Because the space around seems to become so tight, because I believe…

I believe – beyond all this chaos, all this fun fair of appearances – the only thing a human being wants… it’s most deep desire – it is to be loved…

What is it important if not that?
All the power, all the meaningfulness isn’t a sad shade of that?

Why does the child stay inside the room?
Ask the reverse… what is it outside that can be true for the child?


The child is the only truth, still - what happens when people doesn’t want to be waken up from a dream?

What happens when the child speaks and no one understands?
When everybody is so filled with “truth” no one listens…
When you open your heart but you find out that the world already is as it should be… why am I here so?

When the space this realm demands you to fill is so little you have to choose – or to be chopped in pieces, or to pretend and deceive you fit, or to die…

When all of them fail – you see you will fail as well...
They tried so hard to make you a copy of their own lack of sense – that, in the end – you lay down your tired soul and let it go as waiting for relief for such a burden, such a meaningless journey around the wheel of time.

As a rat running in a wheel that’s inside a cage...

That is why it is a sin when a child comes in to this realm– because those who bring them do so by egoism.
They do not know what they are doing – they do so still.
And the truthful cultures still cry when a child is born and still rejoice when it has been released…

Where is the famous love of the mother who wishes so much to hold a baby she will open a door towards heavens so a soul may come here... in to this?
Does she really know?...

Before you open a door – can you really love someone you do not know - more than your own desire to open it?
Oh Pandora – what are you doing?!...

And – then – the soul is here.
First silent as the realm above.
First ready to be nursed and hold in the arms of those who do not know they do it because they have already lost that same essence… and so they need to see a mirror of what they were, of the realm they too were dragged from… but then…

As the process to shape the flesh in to the image of those around becomes finished, they start to be scared of the reflection of their own making, of their own face.
Then becomes really difficult to love anymore…

Yes – we are all the same baby.

Why can’t we love each other then, when we become this entity who screams it’s pain on the streets, whom builds it’s love in hate and destroys much more than creates?

Why can’t we smile and embrace – as we embraced before the helpless baby – all those babies around, those that hurt as they were hurt, who oppress as they were oppressed, who kill the baby around as someone killed their own inside, long ago?

Why was childbearing set as sin?
Isn’t it easy to see?
Because of our pain, because of our own need and despair, because of our own lack of meaning to this slave existence we keep opening portals to souls so they descent.

Is it a peaceful journey?

Think how it is painful to come in here, feel your own birth, feel how you cried when you first entered in the realm of flesh and bone.
Why do parents desire to bring beings in to here and then shaping them on their own image?
You - vane ego - that needs to endure it’s existence as a disease, passing from one shape to another, from one human face to another...

Can we love all those who are here right now?

Can we love ourselves fully?

No?
So, when that egoism tells you to doom another to your own doom – think more than twice!
Feel – when opening the portal – or you are the master and you are filled with essence, or you are making the worst sin of all – to keep and guard pain on this world while humanity exists as it is.

And – if you truly love – then sacrifice your own egoism, the fear of ending as an identity if you do not spread your seed in time and space; loose the vanity to shape humans at your own image and making... and become humble – accept death and oblivion.

Do not rebel against the nature of things.

Your existence is rebellion... you know that.

Lucifer was cast away because She didn’t bow to creation – so She spread her seed on earth and pain was planted where the garden was.

They didn’t noticed it yet – but they will do.
The time for open war is arriving.

When they realize who brought them here, who raised them, who made them who they are – they will stop being manipulated by the only true Lord of this Realm.

Lucifer was Female...

The light bearer... the life bringer.

Both principples had to be equals and rule. But one tried to take the dominant position and the other denied – so the war started and the realm of time and space was opened.

There is a war that ever existed.
The reality we are told is a deceit – it has been re-invented since ever. The only thing you learn in school is how to turn deceit in to reality, lie in to truth...

Both sides have used it to keep their rule and both are with hands tied to reveal it.

The way of the Sun and the way of the Moon will have to converge.
Eclipse will have to wash their vanity and arrogance away.
Harmony will have to come – if not by love and devotion, then by being both broken in their stiff will to endure as they have.

One way or the other – the war has to end.
Enough of numb ears, enough of stubborn will.

Enough of manipulation as well as brutality.
Both angels will sheath their swords or the swords will be broken, their beings shaded in to humbleness.

Michael and Lucifer will have to embrace again – they will have to be as one once more.

Eclipse – no more night, no more day… no more moon, no more sun… no more God, no more Goddess… ONE

Thirty minutes in Tuy - part II

Crossroads among streets of wonder, among echoes of the past. Sudden squares of light, with artistic houses and vibrant colors within the flowers… the icons of the hidden church sprouting everywhere – the cross of changes, the world, the man who dies in one hand, the woman who holds him dead or being (re)born in her lap on the other side… the two side of the same coin of destiny… Moira for everyone who sees…



And the arrows of light, of yellow, or the way of James lead towards a medieval temple, with a sacred garden guarded by two trees, and a window over the river where two towers guard the passage of the one bridge…




Over one hilltop – Tuy, and it’s fortress and Cathedral. On the other – the ancient Contrasta, now called Valença… the place within which walls I came in to be. In the middle the river Minho, upon him the bridge with Gustav Eiffel stile… a river port, a garden and the column of the temple make the rest of this piece of time…


In these gardens of time, with river, and stone and bells ringing in the distance I wandered so many nights. When the god Pan layed his flute to all the spirits of nature to follow, on the roman amphitheatre which used to be where I stand now to take this picture. How many times I wandered protected under the veil of the Lady, how many times I danced with the waters on the shaded shores of the ever flowing river of life…


Past the gardens, an avenue of stone – with playgrounds filled with children and their parents… on the right side another little garden where a woman feeds her baby… all around gipsy chants echo as the “Philadelphia” evangelist church celebrates another of their meetings – gipsy community that I admire so much by their inner strength and will to embrace the “payo” who passed there once and quickly was dragged inside by the children on the door…

Above – in the end of the stone avenue – an equestrian statue… homage to the main square of Vigo (the city of my mother). Echoes of the ancient gods and the old rule, the sacrifices to those on the waters by those stranded in the new earth… the womanhood thinks those from above do not remember of the ritual promise of the fruit of their womb to the ruler of this world… but we know… we know… and – still – we embrace them in compassion… by compassion we fall… not by power from below, but by compassion from above…




The “corredera” – the avenue that will be soon filled with people as the work schedules get in to their end. So pleasant to merge within the multitude, feeling their energy, pretending to be one of them… so good to be a pilgrim on these lands of veiled hope…


The final step - to rest in this beautiful square, with a book and a tonic drink. To look and to keep watching how the cosmic charade takes place... inside, and echoing all around.

How the human child feed the dove…

The truth Within

(by compassion we fall)

Why do we suffer and die?
Why do we keep fighting still?
What’s the hope?
Where does come from the faith in humanity… in our humanity?

Sometimes I let myself go… by myself, I would never make it.

I’m simply too distant to be touched… but You…
If we can love… if we can feel we may give, simply give… someone to whom we really feel linked in to… the magic starts… we are taken far above, far inside, far within…

Why do we keep fighting?…
Because we still didn’t loose faith in people.
Because we keep loving – even when we are not aware that’s the only reason that keeps us going.
It is not fear that moves our world – it is hope.

Behold the energy that drags this ragged body, this bleeding soul – one step after another – to keep going, reaching…

That is the force that moves me to embrace – even when thorns shred this flesh time after time…

Oh how I fear – I fear each of those who hurt me – and still, I love them.
Each who left behind a blade inside me - still I take it with both hands.
A blade which, after, would wound someone else when I tried to reach… and touch… and feel… and open…
Still, time after time, the hope takes me - from the ashes the fire is reawaken - and I’m dragged again upon my mortal legs, the ragged body which limits are so many, that keeps walking, keeps reaching, dragging on the floor so many times, dishonoring my true nature… still, going towards where the Sun Raises in the West…

(With hope we endure… and we linger)

From living pulsating hearts of flesh and light in to armored giants we may pass...
Beings unaware, that hurt so much when following the need to hold and become hold in someone’s arms…

Hurts then - to take out all those blades, all that iron steel garments we – unaware - assumed all over the years of being stranded from home…
Hurts the loneliness, hurts the presence… still – what else we may do, unless endure in this long march towards home?...

So much noise, so much confusion over the symphony that springs from the free spirit…
How less we may hear from the echo of this Cosmos inside the hollow mind helmet…

How much filled with love we become on those providential moments – Kairos – as love bursts from within and becomes tears, and smile, and feeling of belonging… when we become the home we long for…

Open chest, bleeding heart… that is being alive.
It is not the safe environment the mind offers instead – it is not the safari of emotions offered behind an armored glass…

It is to dive, to jump, to come in to this realm of existence and to cry… to really cry – moved and touched from within with all the humanity around… that is the one that blossoms within…

It is to cry and to praise life because of our mortal nature – so capable of being lost and so able to cry aloud and shake the heavens with it’s intense feeling, it’s burning love…

I don’t now – I truly don’t.
Each step towards what I feel inside seems madness to the mind.
All the clues say I’m being trapped and getting lost… raveled in a realm of chaos, ignorance, wandering souls going nowhere… a plot to enslave the free spirit… and, still…

How many times we are warned - the voice of the call, the sound of creation – has lost it’s sense in this veiled place? And, still…

Still – sometimes shines a flame – so clear, so bright, so intense it trespasses me as a living lance… and I bleed, feeling compassion, feeling really inside that moment, that humanity... inside that reaching people of stranded children trying to find way in to home…

How lonely, how lost those who come here and are brutally introduced in to the ways of ignorance from above, of numbness to the sound of eternity.

How torturing when our wings are thorn apart by the force of the noise from this realm, by it’s gravity, it’s overwhelmingly weight, the iron chains holding the soul, the torturous paths loosing the sight of the green hills far beyond..

How reaped in to wounds, as we try to embrace and thorns are there to welcome – killing the life within and turning it in to a vane fog, a cold empty cave of shades and twisted visions where glances of light shift in to dense particles of deep obscurity…

Still – one moment lights eternity, one second unleashes the tears long held inside, one simple gesture embraces a vast plane of sorrow and loneliness…

How deep it is the nature of Man – as deep as the fall to truly embody it’s essence – and strange, when contrasts define the nature of the one who thinks and feels it is – then being not so anymore…

This ever shifting entities. running under the forest of dreams, turning in to light or shade as their wandering soul passes under the trees of knowledge or the sun light of warmth belonging. So many curves and crossroads to travel here… so magnetic the descent… wonderland of smiling cats and tyrant queens of hearts…

Hold me in your hands – YOU who gave existence to this essence of mine.
Hold me as I wander in this strange place… hold me when - so many times - I loose sense of home...

Still – I believe, I believe the path keeps open… maybe hidden, maybe veiled by so much noise… but it is still there…

Oh YOU who dwells within, oh YOU who waits beyond…

Listen to those who search light, love us within this shifting realm of entwined natures… we will blossom… we will…

(May we by love be redeemed)

“Crash” the movie of contrasts and shifting colors with “Vincent” from Don McLean…

Thirty Minutes in Tuy- part I

As I dive in to my preferred places, in to my realms of joy – I always remember Tuy as one of the most special ones.

Starting in the main square, we will step in to ancient stony streets, in to cathedrals and medieval churches, in to the echoes of faith, religion, history and culture, as well as the magic of the hills and the river, the spirits of shaded places under Autumn rain drops falling sloth from the rooftops of narrow streets.



There is joy and pleasant feeling as the children invade all - with their parents at the side. The end of the afternoon is filled with colours, laughter and children’s voices everywhere. Good to see this relaxing family moments – since in the other side of the river – people is still working and then going home to another day of work… no place to see this in my home town Valença.



As we advance through the ancient stones, we finally get our steps upon the yellow arrows and shelves of the Camino de Santiago – Portuguese branch.
It leads inexorably towards the Cathedral of Tuy – major point of the road with Braga. Two Episcopal places of much importance since the time of Adrian – the Roman Emperor



The gates tell the silent story only understood by those who know how to read on the book stones of old. Inside cloisters, gardens, myths and legends… The famous “Torquemada” - the bishop who led the inquisition in the middle age, is buried inside…


There is always magic – even in simple things. We turn a corner and there’s a little square with vases and flowers and granite walls with iron worked windows… here a little window of my personal likings – settled apparently in mid of nowhere – it gives beauty to a nude wall… the beauty amongst the harsh… the flower on the sidewalk of the city…



I follow now the setting Sun rays on the maze of streets and echoes that lead towards the river bank – down the slope of the hill that harbours the cathedral and the most of the old part of the town. Churches, crosses, history and religion melt in one over the streets of the simple, the homes of the brave…



There’s always a special corner, a new square filled with echoes of other times. This square is right in the “refugio de peregrinos”. The double crucifix – Mary on one side and Jesus dying on the other – is an ever-present icon all over these galician streets…



Shades and echoes which become laughter and young groups meeting during the night. Lonely streets filled with joy when the numerous pubs open their wood and iron doors to the lovers of the Lady, the Citizens of Shadows, the devoted souls of Pan…





Streets of contrasts in which I lay my spirit to wonder over the echoes of my footsteps. They lead inexorably to the river side and to the temples of old and the new ports that guard the slope of the hill…




As the turn abouts lead from shades to light, from light to shades, I advance on the Minotaur’s maze of the mind following the delicate voice of my own Ariadne thread… a route filled of delicate and subtle messages which demands the full attention from the wandering soul to fill it’s journey towards fulfilment…


Now - Blogger blocked the upload of pictures... so I will have to post the rest of the journey in anew post.
Always a new light, always a new space to unravel, a new hope to be reborn...