Inspiration
Articles to inspire authentic living on the topics of resilience, spirituality, and self-growth with touches of storytelling, depth, and humor.
You can browse themes below
Do you want to explore other resources? Check my favorite books and podcasts
The art of setting free
Recently, I had a very interesting conversation with a woman from India. She is a very lively, entertaining person and the conversation, besides offering lots of opportunities for a good laugh, was filled with interesting and thought-provoking topics. At one point, she mentioned how her father died a couple of years ago from a chronic illness. I immediately said I was sorry, and I was, I am kind of familiar with that feeling. But she interrupted me with her incredible candor to say a word that was new for me but it resonated in my brain and my chest with the echo that important words carry…
“Moksha.”
Although my daughter makes fun of me because according to her I am buddhist-wannabe and for being a yoga aficionado, I had never heard that word.
The woman, with the same lightness she used when mentioning her kids’ anecdotes, explained the concept. She mentioned that her dad had moved on and in doing so he had been set free from his disease. At the same time, he had liberated his family of the responsibility of taking care of him while he carried the chronic illness, something they did out of the immense love they professed him. They were bound to his disease because of love. He was set free, emancipated from pain and that was a good thing. Moksha…what a beautiful, complex and selfless concept.
Of Kryptonite and Super Powers
I had never been into super heroes. In fact, I despise them. I don’t like the idea of a character who is invincible. Call it Spider Man, Batman, Jack Bauer, Jason Borne or Jon Snow, if they survive the unsurvivable many times in a row I loose interest on them (well, not in Jon Snow, but that is the exception). Of course, as life loves to play tricks on us and gives of us a double dose of of whatever we despise, I was blessed with a baby boy who loves super heroes. At three and a half he is obsessed with them. One day he is a super hero, next one he is the bad guy.
I like my character with flaws. The good ones have a dark side, the bad ones never learned to deal with pain. And regardless of the side they identify most with, they will sometimes fail, many time they will succeed. Life is not a string of constant achievements because everyone eventually falls down, a few steps down, a whole wall or into the darkest abyss.
Like a fish out of water...an into the frying pan
While on vacation, I stayed by the shore making sand castles with my son. The transparent water brushing our skin, the soft sand on our feet and the shade of a palm tree over us. Next to us, a british man, his fit body adorned with tattoos, was building sand castles with his daughters. We had not crossed words but they seem like a nice, loving family. Suddenly a flapping sound called our attention. About eight feet away from us and to the left of the British family there was a ten-inch white fish with blue stripes that had been (apparently miraculously) being brought out of the water by the mild waves. The fish was flipping and struggling in the sand. The British man used every inch of his fit body to run towards the fish. In the meantime, a local man who worked at the kayak rentals was running towards the fish from the opposite direction. The local man gets to the fish a few seconds before and the British man is obviously relieved. However, the man grabbed the fish and quickly ran away. The British man opened his arms in disbelief and turned to me. “Why did he do that?” he says with a sweet voice. I didn’t know. The truth was that I was kind of shocked as well. When I first saw the fish out of the water I felt bad for it, seeing it ran out of air. The British man repeated the question and shook his head. Suddenly a colleague of the “fish-stealer” was looking at us with a smile on his face. The British guy repeated the question. The man responded with a huge grin on his face, “he was going to make himself a fish sandwich for lunch.”
I wished upon a star....and I discovered magic
Looking at the stars: one of the favorite pastimes of my childhood. There was something always so incredible enchanting about it. That sense of us being so little among the universe, the fact that it always changed and at the same time remained eternal and universal. I could not even count the amount of hours I spent looking for a shooting star or a comet with the sole intention of making a wish, because it seemed that that rare appearance could only symbolize that something special was about to happen. Growing up we lived in a hill on the outskirts of a big city with the gorgeous view of The Avila, a mountain that at approximately 9 thousand feet high offered constant Kodak opportunities. But the best part of our location is that the altitude and the fact that it was far from commercial areas or highways offered a privilege point of view of the celestial map.
One day my mother brought home an astronomy book that I took possession of without even asking. I loved learning from the constellations, started recognizing the patterns. By learning the names of some of the stars I got intrigued by their mythological origins and that is how my love for Greek Mythology was born. Now that I think about it in retrospect, what drawn me into Mythology were the stories, the characters how it showed something universal about our human nature in a very magical setting.
Although long gone are the days when I though I needed to write a compilation of Greek mythology books and I don’t look at the stars with the same frequency, there is something still so incredibly moving when I look into the sky and see that stars in all of its glory. It is almost like a call to forget my mundane existence and blend with the universe.
Coincidences
I love how the universe works and never leaves a thread loose....
While I have spent several hours in the studio lately trying to finish my latest painting, I have been going through several audiobooks. Today, half an hour before I had to put the brushes down I decided to start another one, “synchrodestiny” by Depak Chopra. I smiled when ten minutes into it I heard a quote that had appeared on the last chapter of the book I had just finished. Coincidence? Perhaps.
Things that happen in a gym’s locker room
Two young women stormed in the locker room. One of them, a tall girl who is contemplating herself in the mirror, is complaining about having to take her car to the shop among other things. The other one says empathically, “you are not having the best day, aren’t you?” The girl in the mirror turns around, walks to her friend and shares that there is more. She says in a not too shyly voice, “I am cheating.”
What a way to spark everyone’s curiosity!
I needed to get ready so I missed all the juicy details. I spent the next few minutes imagining how their conversation went, who was she cheating with, why, what was she going to do now, etc., until I get distracted by a reflection on my field of vision. A woman had a hairdryer in her hand. She was naked and proud of it. No judgement, I am used to it. We have been together in the sauna many times before and she is always like that, au naturale.
Threading the path to our North Star
There are women whose dream is to have a shoe closet like the one Mr. Big built for Carry Bradshaw: the shoe displays, the lights, an universe of heels and colors and tons of accessories that are more decorative than functional. Although I would not oppose to a closet like that (as long as shoes are arranged by color), there are other places that provoque my soul to vibrate at a much higher frequency.
A bookstore and its sister, the old-book section at a library; an art supply store with tons of items to play with and create the mountain of work I will never get to actually produce. Lastly, and the strange thing is that this one does not connect with my career choices: a fabric store.
My heart always jumps when I see the rolls of fabric. As a kid in a candy store, the awe accumulates in my stomach and comes out in a sigh. Maybe it is that sense of not knowing where to start, the physical need to rejoice in the different textures that caress the tips of my fingers, or perhaps the sensation of getting drunk on color overload and creative patterns. My soul gets greedy, I want them all! So like in a labyrinth I get lost comparing all the textiles, imagining what I would do with each of them: beautiful gowns that I don’t have an occasion to wear, summer dresses, swimsuits, handbags, upholstery for that piece of junk I found at a tag sale.
Flexibility vs Balance
About eighteen years ago I went to my first yoga class. At that time, the instructor was a very wise woman in her seventies. She would read very inspiring stories during savasana. One day she made a comment that has stuck with me for years. She said that we are either flexible or have good balance but it is difficult to have both.
I have since raised the question many times of what I am. Without a doubt I incline more towards flexibility. I am not Elastic Girl, but I do notice that I tend to be able to stretch more than I would expect was normal for someone with my lack of experience. However I am that student that in more difficult poses always falls. As I am trying to improve my practice I have been questioning what I could do to at least not fall as much, provoked by a low-key sense of embarrassment and annoyance (the ego, the ego, I know!)
Happy valentine’s day!
Thinking today that in this era of fact checking, google, wikipedia, bias media, even Alexa, there is only one place where the facts are not as important as the perceived truths: relationships. In every relationship bonded by love and/or affection what we do and what we say does not hold most value if is not aligned with how it is perceived. We can be as good as we think we are, as loyal as we strive for, as affectionate as a teddy bear, but if the other end does not perceive it as that, then the message gets lost in translation. So for all the lovers out there, don’t be content with sending the right message. Make sure it arrives safely to your intended destination.
The loving eye
Las year I had the wonderful opportunity to study with one of my favorite painters, Antonio Lopez Garcia (b. 1936 in Tomelloso, Spain) for the second year in a row. This exceptional artist with his eighty-three years-old wisdom, opened my eyes in a very dramatic way. It literally felt as if he had drilled through the cement glasses I had been wearing. His poetic words and his guidance guided me through the beautiful path of relearning how to see, not only as an artist but as human being.
According to Zen Buddhism, I experienced what is called “Beginner’s mind.” It involves casting away all our preconceptions to see the world with renewed openness and eagerness as if we were learning something for the first time, as if were curious kids whose brains want to absorb the world around them. Despite all the years I had been painting before I was able to attend Antonio Lopez’s workshop, the experience taught me more than any other class, book or practice hours in the studio.
From all the knowledge, my favorite lesson was to learn how to observe the world with mindfulness, with care. After a few days, I felt as if I was in love with the world in a way I had never been before. The sun was beautiful, the clouds, the gentle rain, the leaf that fell at my feet, the amorous manner in which an older couple walked holding hands, the particular way my soul vibrated while listening a song, the shared laugh with friends. I was not passing through life, I was living. I started appreciating the beauty in all the things we usually overlook: the uneven pavement, the cars stuck in traffic, the sad face of a cashier.
About honesty and pain and watching angels sleep
A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with a friend about how sometimes people choose not to tell truths to their loved ones because they are afraid of hurting them. For some reason, some words came through me and I expelled them without filter. The weight of them did not hit me until later. At that moment I told her: “We all have a different level of tolerance for the truth.”
That sank in me….deep.
Yesterday, I stayed a few seconds observing my three-year-old son while he was still asleep. That peaceful face, his cute lips, the way he puts his hands as if he was praying, the glow of innocence. My heart swelled while I rejoiced in the moment, thinking how much I love him and how I want to protect him from pain for the rest of his life. I did the same thing with my daughters too when they were younger but now they had grown and if they find me looking at them while they are sleeping they would probably scream, “moooom, creepy!” So I don’t do it anymore. However that desire to protect them has not evaporated. They have had their shares of pain, and for the most part, I had been completely unable to shield their hearts.
Life Lessons From Art History
Today it would have been Virginie Avegno Gautreau’s birthday, better known as Madame X. She was the subject of one of John Singer Sargent’s most iconic paintings and a personal favorite.
Sargent had earned an esteemed reputation as a portrait artist by that time, one that was strongly influenced by his constant success in the Paris Art Salons and ample clientele. The painter was fascinated with Gautreau defiant personality, her exotic looks and elegance and ability to attract attention as a cherished socialite. I don’t know why Sargent then decided to take the biggest risk of his career.
He Asked Gautreau to pose for him. He spent days around her sketching her in different poses and then decided to paint her in a standing pose, featuring her profile, her svelte figure, her tiny waist in that provocative dress. It was in fact one the simplest and most brilliant paintings he had done. But it was not what catapult “Madame X” into the hall of fame of art history, it was a fallen strap.