Au Fond de Toi

Au fond de la mer, je te verrai, aussi claire, sans rien avoir perdu. On s’y retrouvera. Oui, au fond de la mer, je te reverrai, aussi claire, et dans un moment donné, nous allons nous éclater jusqu’ à la fin du monde. Mais, reste tranquille ma chérie, on s’y retrouvera tous au fond de la mer.

Ton visage dans le courant; tes aires solitaires et la neige d’un autre vieille rencontre. Toi et moi seulement dans la même peau. Parce que, nous tous venons de là, de ses profondeurs et à la fin du monde, il faux rester à l’aise. Aujourd’hui on fait les démarches avec la pluie; les saisons des corps. Les esprits des vieux amies, dancent seductivement et viennent tous ensemble pour une nouvelle sortie. Sois contente mon amour; au fond de toi, on se retrouvera là.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Standing On Ice

Crying in public was not allowed, read the sign; from some distance I observed as she stood silently by the edge of the platform, waiting for the last train home. It was shivering cold that early evening; a big moon on the horizon; steam on the city skies. She looked young, dark complexion, petite, trapped in an oversized winter jacket. Perhaps in her mid-30s, wearing a cute Russian hat, and somewhat out of place carrying a multi-coloured purse with the line “walking on air” written on it. She moved gently, softly; in a transient state.  She noticed me and smiled; I smiled back. “Please stand back from the edge of the platform” the speakers glared. An awkward moment followed, then she stepped back, in her eyes the words; do you know me?

- I look sad, but I am fine. Traveling over an excruciating moment; thinking about my options, that’s all. I am an artist, self-employed, you know. I paint, draw, and take pictures. Working on a new show now, yes, for the summer. I want to let the trees speak, but, I don’t yet know how to do it …

There were signs in the distance; couldn’t quite make out the words. I noticed a few clouds moving on, other shadows displacing air, exhaling. I wish I could enter the realm of her imagination, find a crack to slide in, and join her alluring luminosity on different grounds. Then, I thought we could both be run over by a bus; become another number on the ledger of the gracefully departed. What virtue would that be?

- Trees tell stories; deep and long stories of everything they have seen, everything that have been from times immemorial; they speak in unison, yet, most people cannot hear their voice, only notice their winter skeletons; the autumn falls, the summer greens, the colourful springs. Trees tell us where we have been, where we are and where we’re going. How do you capture all that?

I paused for a moment to watch her breathing; from where I was standing it appeared she was looking at the blowing wind and a dark cloud over her head. Imaginary balls where floating around her; a rare luminosity glowing under her footsteps. She exuded confidence, yet, I sensed fear, suffering. I heard her murmuring something; perhaps a song without words, maybe naming artifacts for the archeologists of the future; blurry visions, confusing expectations, delusions of grandeur, the shinning of tall buildings.

- I am in between what was, is and will be; what separates us is illusionary, should you move closer, you will know what I mean. I have tried different techniques, for sure, even recording their moods, at the exact time when the four seasons converge, and the win caresses their sturdy skins. I can feel their calling. The world would be a better place if we were to listen, carefully, honorably, trusting.

The train came; swallowed by its large doors, its overwhelming banners, she steeped in, her scarf left behind. I stood on the edge of the platform, waiting for the next train home. It was cold that evening; a big moon on the horizon reminded me of neighbouring skies & broken geographies; “Please stand back from the edge of the platform” the speakers ordered.  Another silence followed, I stepped back; just at that moment, I saw her lips saying “find me; bring my scarf back” … I am still looking; her ghostly figure holding me back.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Supernatural

The stage was set; it included curtains, various props, people in the background, incense, flowers and her. I was of course the adoring audience, blending in, so to speak, somewhat awkwardly waiting for my cue. In she walks on the first act, her smile illuminating the stage, her deep eyes absorbing the room, and with it my own breathing becomes intense, my heart beating faster as if under some mystical spell.

Her beauty is overwhelming; the most seductive skin colours I have ever seen. Her parents had immigrated to Canada many years ago, following the collapse of some colonial empire and the painful drawing of new geographical boundaries & bloodlines. There has to be something deeply registered in her genes to explain such magnificent creature, I reckoned. Then, she saw me, and I trembled! Aphrodite right before my eyes! I was completed unprepared to surrender; yet, it became increasingly difficult not to do so – there’s something about her that’s holding an alluring promise – surely, it must be self-delusion!

Through my poor lenses I try to picture her under a different light; I imagine her tapestry childhood; spicy meals in communal settings; the sounds of languages I don’t understand, but entrap me with shadows, movements, dances & hand puppets. She spoke of her exposure to ancient rituals, creation stories, folklore, warriors and the hours between night & day. I felt romanced, sat in some sort of smoky jazzy place, Coltrane in the room – then she said “I am not available” …

I wish I had my drum now, I thought to myself, that would be a better way to time her tempo; in-tune with the rhythms of her tongue. But, no drum was handy, and the echo of her lines bounced deeply on my body, wearily. Dam it! I said quietly, just when I thought removing the armour was what I needed to do. I saw smoke signals in the distance – unclear what they meant; you are way too late and sadly out of your mind …

She got closer; intensively looking at me. I stared back. We touched for a fleeting moment; then she felt back on her default position; some healthy cynicism, a touch of irony, a mention of Venus, and the Northern Lights, boundaries and a metaphysical table that was not really there. Forgive me, I said softly, I come from a land of Neruda, you know;  romance, heart and deep touch, it’s in my genes, can’t help it.

I am also older, mid 50’s; a little cranky at times, move a tad slower, open minded, seeking out a third act, trying to open a new chapter to be read as a duet – on the other hand, perhaps I am indeed too old for such infatuation, obsolete; and the love train left the station a few seasons ago. Non-sense, she said; it’s just I have baggage and unfinished business of my own. I think you’re incredibly sexy. Oh, I thought, this is her act of goodwill to the perennial seeker, or a twisted sense of humour I am just starting to appreciate in her demeanour.

I smiled; she smiled back with a hint of seduction in her marvellous eyes; just like that, I forgot the next line in my repertoire.  My heart was pounding; I can barely resist this creature of paradise; kept thinking, watch out! Falling in love now could be much, much painful than previous journeys – I must find the next exit! Is she a mischievous diva on her evening duties, or a courtesan teaser, a consummate master of self-adoration?

Is she actually real, or just an apparition? Her beauty is inviting; her body, valleys I would very much like to travel, her taste, savour … Should I invite her out for a walk? Dinner? A play? Or engage her in a conversation about the art of being present; the history of her tribe.

Fear strikes – fear to be nothing but a “filler” to manage time – a mere distraction, the occasional entertainment with no strings attached. Fear of being dumped in the “failed relationship disposable bin.” It’s getting late, I told myself; forget divas and pretentions; watch the clock, exorcize her now!

Time to listen to the great masters, pull yourself together! Perhaps what I fear the most is my own shortcomings; the choreography keeps changing, I see an exit door near the stage – my survival instincts kicking in, adrenaline rushing through.

Alter-ego playing games; the fall is imminent, so is the big crash … “I am not available” – I see no parachute handy, feel like a clown in Dante’s inferno; someone is cheering in the gallery, “jump, jump” (!!!) no rehearsal time. The safety net is gone.

Mon Dieu! These are troubles of my own making; it’s a nightmare now, death just around the corner, heartbreaking, delirium. Run old man! Run!! I am exhausted already; times alone seems to be his destiny.

___________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Social Worker

Healing the wounds of untold sorrows; mending souls of broken dreams; walking paths of concerns; empathizing; animating & encouraging. She doesn’t keep time; always available, present, serving; engaged. What’s her name? Her station in life? Does she have someone to soothe her own sadness? A companion to listen quietly, tenderly, respectfully, her many stories from the front line …

I have seen her move from one voice to another; her hands like a magic wand resolving, this, that and what is to come. Helplessness is a word not in her lexicon; she’s a woman of change, justice, love and of an enduring compassion. She sings; chants, travels light like none else I know. A supernatural gifted healer; she has the hands that bring comfort to those falling between the cracks. There she goes, reading files, memorizing names, her aura illuminating the moments of guidance, lifting the downtrodden, accompanying the abandoned; giving voice to those who have temporarily lost theirs.

Softly; she moves with the grace of a flamingo, always aware of her surroundings.  That call is important to us, she tells her co-workers; don’t give up; funding is coming through. They kept coming in; a seasonal diner with no end date; dispensing hugs, shivering inside by the tears of a child receiving a comforting word from a stranger, a snap shot to remember. This time of the year is always heavy …, she said to me on an email. I also knew that, like many among us, she struggled with seasonal affective depression – indeed, jingle bells could be borderline torture.

I saw her recently at a downtown café; she looked wearily, her sight blurred, her hands trembling. I said a greeting in Spanish, she recognised me with a smile, revealing many sleepless nights; the night shift is a killer, she complained. Are you still at the same place? I asked. No, she said, I burned out badly, and then I got sick, took a leave for a while, but couldn’t return to it; the intensity of the place was too much for me to handle.

Of course, I added with empathy. I always thought you were extraordinary amiga – day in, day out. Seating at the outdoor café we sipped our cappuccino watching people going by in a hurry, some talking to themselves, or their cell phones, others strolling along at a leisured pace. I took her hands gently; she smiled. Don’t give up amiga, I murmured; you did what you could, and then some.

We said our goodbyes that day; I remember watching her disappear in the crowd in slow motion; as if it was a carefully orchestrated sortie, perhaps opening the salvos for her next act. Her lavender aroma in the air – I knew then someday I was going to be amazed by her glow. Common friends told me not too long ago she had gone to Africa, her calling of a bigger nature. Most fitting, I thought. Me? I was still at the downtown café holding her hands, silently.

____________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Light As a Feather

While driving errands on a sunny morning she said “a walk in to the wood would be nice” … It was her second appeal. I was thinking rice and beans; a move to San Juan del Sur; open skies and sandy beaches. Just a pair of jeans, some nice guayaveras. The essentials for living large, and perhaps some tobacco. I could feel the salty breeze on my face; savour a nice drink of rum, watching the evening go by. You know, she added “we need to lose some weight this year” – of course, I replied, perhaps some serious Pilates workout?

My plan was simple; establish a new centre for intercultural studies and social change. “Yes! She exclaimed, I agree. But, what about the kids? Do they need a special diet too?” Not sure about that, I replied; they look fine to me. Indeed, given my spouse’s obsession with body shapes, she could be in charge of all matters exercise at the venue. “You’re missing the point, she retorted; they look OK but, could be better, much better …”

I was conflicted during the drive; all my grand plans where in still in my head, had not mentioned to her for fears of a cultural clash of sorts – she tended to be impatient, needed results, yesterday. After all, our financial situation was rather ‘fragile’ to put it mildly. Days later, after a passionate interlude of beds and pillows, I managed to reveal my new venture to her. She was attentive, the idea was ‘intriguing’ – she commented, lukewarm. Could the kids adapt to a new land? New language, unknown food; they’d miss their friends too much.

Let’s pause on this, I suggested, there’s no rush. Then, for the first time in our long journey I felt out of place; it was as if our bodies where on distant lands, and the geography of my 3 year plan evaporated. You know, she added gently, “maybe there’s something deeper we need to talk about …” That was the clarion I wasn’t quite expecting, but, I also knew then and there that a walk into the woods was indeed in the horizon.

A month later, we separated. The plan gone; suddenly our marriage converted to ashes. It was hard to find something to hold on to, except the kids. Angels of a different kind, they were beyond the fire that slowly consumes institutional routines, predictability and good intentions. And that was a good thing; as they kept me sane amidst the turbulence. Their love constant, the intimacy of their domain strong. Divorce followed. We survived.

Years have gone by now; dark spaces an occasional companion. After the collapse, catharsis, for a few misplaced affections and suffocating commitments do not make for a whole life of richly nurturing emotional exchanges. I am now surrounded by solitary stretches of roads; some painful breakups; new kisses, promises to honour, the possibility of romance and lovingly journeys and of course, the perennial ghosts in the house.

Notwithstanding the overshadowing sense of solitude we all carry deep inside on our way home, the sacrifices we make, our service to duty, overburdened at times by futility, we keep, like a mystical phoenix, rebirthing. Let our imaginary wings take us further into the woods I say; who knows? We may, like an enduring love, find each other again, miraculously, light, as a feather.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Tweeting.

                                      

Feeling my age today; concerts on a Tuesday make for a painfully slow Wednesday; now I have a puking kid; something went wrong; Christmas Bureau is having a tough time; totally addicted to Dragon’s Den I can pitch an idea in my sleep; verbalize it, write it down, watch it blossom; Gosh, I am exhausted, is it Thursday already? I could not have achieved this milestone without you; remember to get some milk; seasonal mall music is already driving me insane! Touch gloves, neat idea; Tory majority is infuriating; Oops! Think I just went trough a red light; community economic development is good; Tory majority sucks! I need a plumber, suggestions? If you want tickets to the shit, you have until 4:00 p.m. to get them! Need a seat at the table, please?

Dubious political tactics tuning me off; luring opportunities now; are you measuring anything? How can help my struggling child with his home-work? It’s not panning out dam it! Tweeting and driving? Not a good idea, Oops! Yellow light this time; I don’t want burkas in my country! Kids are anxious, one more week; can’t sleep; Gosh, it’s going to be a long week; It’s a season of miracles, sure; does anyone know where the hell Boutros-Boutros Ghali is? Bravo Justin Trudeau! Your son is very talented WOW!

Need a recipe for Christmas cakes, have any? Kid is getting better, have to change my clothes though; a cup of tea would be nice; something is trending? I think I’ll stop following this jerk! Massive leak in my condo! At least the weather is nice; flurries coming through; collisions left & right; remember turkey drive; a cookie would be nice just about now; kid’s puking again; it’s a season to be jolly; running out of time on that freaking proposal! Oh my, help? …

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Escape from Intimacy …

A small song was staring at his face; the table clock   ticking … He could feel fresh blood dripping from his lips; a contorted stanza echoed in the distance. Loud, pounding sounds crashing the evening detachments. He couldn’t see through the veneer of smiles, and gentle courtesies; prophetic clouds of doom weaving in the horizon. He knew she wasn’t really levity, nor could she be easily found.

A church choir of dissonant voices welcome him in the morning fog; some kind of religious experience, exalted yet self-contained within a vessel of spoken words that meant nothing, an armoire of deep concrete-made moments passing thought his skin.

He spits; looks at the horizon, washes his mouth and tries to articulate a balanced voice. But, could it be that she never meant anything said? Where they ever in such a trance of deep & naked love? Was it possible to hold on to that tonality, the tapestry of his ardent calm and her comforting distance? The cacophony was deafening.

Looking back at the instance of their first meeting, he felt applauded, complimented and overwhelmed. The room was easy manageable, if sparsely occupied, it looked almost like an imaginary stage – one step forward, two steeps backwards. Time slowing down; her constant silence, revealing melancholia.

That moment suggested melodies, rhythms; blending oddities and stories; holding hands over a meal, looking deeply in each other’s eyes. An uncomfortable silence follows; too close? Too far? Too rigid? Too different? She laughed wide; her whole body did; frame by frame; her breathing fading in and out – then, he saw her glowing in the dark, dissolving.

The melody ended, too prematurely. The sudden realization he had been celebrating something that wasn’t fused oddly with something that had been lost long ago. There was nothing left but empty space; a large white screen unfilled, a bland new page.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

TOUCHED

In your eyes, smoke & mirrors; sleepless nights & a wondrous promise of better times to come. In your hands, gentleness; the surprising offerings of a lover waiting in-between for her time. In your voice, eagerness; the passion of a teacher living with convictions, relentlessly, dignified.

On your body, silluetes dancing in the shadows; suggesting moments beyond our daily dreams. In your walk, exquisite sensual cadence; the natural order of flesh & bones, an alchemist’ dance.

On your skin, the courage to remain; scars that remember war, fractures, suffering, loss and redemption. In your smell, embraced spices from exotic lands; deeply rooted scents of an unwritten love story. In your phrasing, playful notes singing; chanting, reasoning, speaking for a life worth living.

In your lips, deep colors; smiling, laughing, seducing, and waiting to be kissed. Touch me, hug me, you seem to be saying (…) Stay a little longer beloved one; let me cover us both under your divine halo, safe.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

The Days of the Week

Monday just sits there, uncommitted and uncertain, staring at us, as if waiting for something meaningful to occur. Tuesday on the other hand offers the opportunity to regroup, arouse the creative spirit again; then on Wednesday we’re rolling, figuratively speaking – in the middle of something vital, like updating our FB status for instance or catching up with the latest vanity in-vogue; on Thursday “things” are actually happening, calls have been made & returned, junk mail deleted.

By Friday, plans are in motion; we see opportunities emerging; Saturday is play-time, the promise of something bigger or at least somewhat exciting, even original; Sunday we rest & ponder, get our hands dirty in our compost bin, do the laundry, overlooking the bills piling on the kitchen counter, or better yet, go for a walk to contemplate the simple things in life.

Then, Monday returns; the waiting begins, we check our in-boxes, we wait for an eluding love story that is still to be written, chat with an old friend whose voice is always comforting; play solitaire. Deeply inside, you well know it’s just another day; sounds, sights, laughter, tears, smiles, absences, distances, and regrets.

Keep breathing.

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

A Man of Honour.

In Memory of Jack Layton, 1950 – 2011

Leader of the New Democratic Party of Canada

Friends; we rarely see political leaders anywhere with a capacity to inspire, engage the citizenry in public life and evoke deep feelings of political – cultural renewal in our country. Jack Layton, Leader of the New Democratic Party of Canada (NDP) was one of those rare gems of a human being capable to engender respect for his opinions, his knowledge of the issues affecting ordinary people, his extensive experience in political advocacy and policy making and admiration for his acute sense of “joie de vivre” …

I am not a pundit on Jack Layton’ social conscience and activism; I became aware of his work, while he was city councillor in Toronto in the 90’s, a tireless worker, sensible to the plight of the homeless; gay & lesbians; violence against women, and so forth. In fact, I read one of his books then on the very subject of Homelessness in Canada, and what an education did I received!

He illuminated in accessible terms for those of us who still struggled with our second language, what matters in building healthy communities, what was and is essential. Good-will, ethical reasoning; the moral courage to do what is right, and a strong dose of compassion and love.

I always thought of Jack as being a cultural creative at the centre of his political life; yet, he also had the innate wisdom to seize the “pragmatic moment,” so to speak, to articulate our deepest aspirations and to seek balance and moderation in our public discourse. I would venture to say he was a modern social democrat, not a hard-core ideologue, travelling with the times, adapting to changing social, political, cultural and economic circumstances of our nation, our world; he remained accessible, and to many an inspiration.

Like many I watched and celebrated the outstanding electoral victory of the NDP during the last federal election; indeed, it was an historic moment in Canada’s contemporary political life, charged with the power of the imagination and the profound responsibilities that comes with going from 51 MPs to 105. Jack took the NDP from a struggling third party status, to being the Official Opposition, and ‘government-in-waiting” – no small feat by any measure!

But, if I may, what I liked about Jack the most was is genuine demeanor; he was personal, he talked with people, not at them. He listened well, and he showed his empathy for ordinary people in his deeds. In Quebec that found deep resonance, and the Rest of Canada responded with almost similar wonder.

As far as I could tell from a distance, there was nothing false about Jack Layton; transparency, his middle name. Representing his constituency and capturing the aspirational feelings and core values of middle-Canada, where most people are, I think, this was his time, and he lived it to his fullest, in the loving company of his spouse Olivia, his kids, friends; and distinguished colleagues in the House of Commons.

We were blessed to have such an Honourable Man in our midst; I am certain he won’t be forgotten anytime soon and that with the passage of time, he will rightly occupy a shining place in the Canadian Pantheon of those rare political Leaders than come now and then whom we call “indispensables” …

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

August 21, 2011 Canada