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 in 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.

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© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

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)

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 by 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)

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.

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© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

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)

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)

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

Call me, you said. I will, I replied. Take me away from this incessant noise, you asked. I will, I promised. Sing to me softly at midnight, a lullaby of hope, something to look forward, you requested. I certainly will honour your wishes, I echoed. Be real once in a while, unplugged, grounded in the here and now, you demanded. I cannot refuse such an order, I said.

Flesh and bones we are made off; forget social networks for a moment, embrace me gently, softly, and tell me a story, I heard you saying. Of course, I shall, I replied. Look, the rain’s gone; it’s a clear sky; I can see the mountains, the forest, a winding river that nurture us all; take me there! Naturally beloved one, consider it done, I murmured.

I have been waiting for you for too long; please, don’t disappear in the business of our routines, you pleaded. I heard you, I shall be visible, you can count on it, I said joyfully. Let this time be our season, hold my hand, shall we dance? You inquired. I’ll be waiting for you at the edge of the midnight love; dance? We certainly will, playfully, enamoured with the living, I added. Let me hear your voice again, in any language. Call me, soon …

__________________

© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

The ones that were often considered a “loss cause” … The unpublished poet that never got a break and Those who never surrendered to the “invisible hand” …The ones that “got way” because they knew better … You who took a moment to greet me respectfully and Those who came to my rescue when the going got rough … 

The lover who no matter how far or close she was, her presence was always felt … The passionate muse that enchanted my aging with grace, playfully + The ones who claimed the highest mountains, and lived to tell the story … You, who no matter how challenging my peculiarities stood by me, unrepentant; certainly My former life-partners; for theirs is the path to freedom & enlightenment and The ones who knew exactly what to say, how to say it and what was needed to comfort me …

Of course, the ones who didn’t say much, yet, silently embraced me … The ones that always supported my efforts & trusted my intentions and All the mothers of the disappeared with their dancing companions … The constant “unwashed” who knew well the right side of history … The spirited accordion player; her frolicking ways to ecstasies and The horizontal explorer who enjoyed his/her sexuality without fear …

The muse who said yes! – then inspired me to become visible … The watchmakers who kept me moving forward in spite of sorrows, and misgivings and The ghost of the Grateful Dead & a fiddle on the roof of the chapel … The ones who were willing to forgive my trespassing & accept my follies … My beloved children from whom I learned to become a better man and The joyful ones who amidst their own suffering called when it was needed …

The engaged ones; who looked power in its eyes and courageously challenged its abuses … The artists & artisans who toiled their wares smilingly remaining truthful to their callings and The ones who knew when to lay their weapons on the ground & allowed virtue to speak … 

My sister; the wounded child who grew up to become the light … The ones who in the land of plenty knew how to share and My Icarus friends who kept the flames of hope alive … 

I would especially welcome the ones who understood what to serve; protect & cause no harm means. If you are standing by my ashes, please accept my gratitude. I’ll be waiting to receive you with honour, when your time comes.

PS. In Memory of our beloved Latin American poet, singer-songwriter and humanitarian Facundo Cabral (1937-2011) assassinated by vile sicarios on Saturday July 09, 2011 in Guatemala City. May his soul rest in peace and the culprits brought to justice.

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© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)

Casi analfabeta, marginalmente educada, en movimiento constante, producto de un fortuito encatre; huerfana de afectos, incierta alcurnia inconclusa, sin permiso original, destinatario imperfecto, la muchacha esa manana buscaba entender la retorica populista; el mensaje oficial del estado, la tropa y la masa. Curiosa, como espigados flamencos en una escena plana, sin carteleras ni guiones, preguntaba a sus vecinos el porque, el cuando, como y quienes; queria saberlo todo, el orden, la simetria de las cosas.

- No soy educada, ni culta, ni refinada; Tampoco dada a los artificios, perezosa o falsa; mi lenguaje es rudo, directo, a veces torpe, aspero; pese a ello, mi curiosidad no tiene limites, quiero escucharme, que se me diga alguno unico; saber quien soy, como llege aqui; en que estacion me encuentro; Es que acaso sali de la nada?

Los ecos de una ciudad apresurada la envolvieron repentinamente; se sintio remecida,despierta. Absorbida por la niebla matinal, su arropada figura denotaba una resolucion firme, clara; queria comprender todo, especialmente los detalles, ser liberada y dejar de ser invisible. Se detubo frente a la biblioteca del vecindario – y se pregunto en susurro sobre la diferencia entre la fabula y la ciencia; quienes honran la historia, la aprenden y quienes la acomodan a conveniencia. Su deseo era remover el velo de su organizada, militarizada, cuadrada ignorancia. Su mision tempranera? Expandir su conciencia.

- Revivir los espiritus de otras eras, entender la caida y los alzamientos; las muertes ineludibles, su proposito inescapable, el mundo de lo cierto, probable, demonstrable, medible. Queria tambien saber de lo oculto, lo hereje; la fantasia de su propia historia en el firmamento. Buscaba tambien la belleza pura, incorruptible, deseaba prepararse para desafiar la crudeza obscena de los eruditas al mando. Cantar con voz clara, mismo si desafinada.

Horas de lectura; tenues luces iluminando su creciente entendimiento, la siembra de sabiduria. Despertaba refrescada, rodeada de libros grandes, pequenos, tomos diversos. Cuentos, fantasias, ciencias; vernaculares, magistrados eternos. Agazapada, silenciosa, por dias interminables visito ese modesto templo. Tomaba notas, tornaba las paginas cuidadosamente; cada libro para ella era un tesoro de incalculable valor. Converso tambien con el bibliotecario quien le conto de heroicas batallas, imperios, conquistas; independencia, la primera asamblea nacional.

- Me entiendes? Te queda claro? Aqui nos toca ser testigos; a ti de cambiar el mundo, mejorar tu sonrisa, tu vestido, tus zapatos, tu alimento; tu cobijo. En este templo no hay trampas, ni reformas, o enemigos; Afuera? Pues ten cuidado con los compradores de silencios; en este bendito recinto, la historia no se vende ni te la cuenta el viento. Cada vez que cruzas el umbral del conocimiento, seras una mujer diferente, renovada; estas dispuesta a serlo? Envidia? Pregunto ella. Avaricia? No se si bien le entiendo.

- Si, dijo el bibliotecario, eso y mas. Codicia, rapaces insasiables, los que lo tienen todo; los que dictan tu vida, te ordenan, te acomodan, te compran y luego te tiran a la basura como insignificante desecho. Pero mira, hay algo que debes entender, el “saber” es poder; es tambien, peligroso – te recomiendo Miachiavelli, para comenzar; es una lectura obligada.

Las palabras la dejaron tremula, agotada; al cabo de varias horas de incesante lectura y charla, decidio salir una vez mas a la nada; transeuntes, vocinas, glotones, venderores callejeros, olores a empanadas, tamales, berenjenas y sopas improvisadas. Las encrucijadas de una vida por vivir la esperaban; en algun rincon, la trampa la obervaba.

Lentamente, la muchacha bajo los peldanos del conocimiento, de las citas educativas – por hoy terminaba su visita con Galileo, Rumi, Greene, Neruda, Da Vinci, Bouvoir, Marquez, Lorca, Homero; las Cruzadas. En ese momento, alli anclada, con los ojos muy abiertos, mente despejada, dicernia, procesaba. Sintio correr por sus venas una euforia descontrolada, singular, extraordinaria. Camino con certeza hacia la plaza; rodeada de palomas blancas, pudo por fin pronunciar su nombre en voz alta: soy Nina – tu musa una illusion. Yo? Pues quiero ser escuchada!

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© Leo Campos Aldunez

Edmonton, AB (Canada)