Lhasa de Sela — El Desierto

Lhasa de Sela (1972-2010)
— El Desierto (The Desert)


He venido al desierto para rear de tu amor  
(I've come to the desert to laugh at your love)
Que el desierto es más tierno y la espina besa mejor 
(As the desert's more tender and the thorn kisses better.)
He venido a ese centro de la nada pa' gritar
(I've come to this middle of nowhere to shout)
Que tú nunca mereciste lo que tanto quise dar
(That you never deserved what I wanted to give so badly.)

He venido yo corriendo, olvidándome de ti
(I've come running, trying to forget you)
Dame un beso pajarillo, y no te asustes colibrí
(Give me a kiss little bird, don't get frightened humming bird)
He venido encendida al desierto pa' quemar
(I've come on fire to the desert to burn)
Porque el alma prende fuego cuando deja de amar
(Because the soul is set alight when it stops loving)

 

Lhasa explains her father's philosophy about growth and breaking free, which inspired her song "soon this space will be too small".  

Each time we reclaim our freedom and break through the barriers that enclose our world, we come into a new and bigger world and face new barriers and circumstances. new dangers, new choices and new freedoms to be re-claimed. Just as the baby in the womb must think, "this is it!" at birth, so we think at death. But is it? Or are we too smart for our own good.

Arjuna said: A very beautiful & a very wise person. Loved the song, your translation, and her thoughts on growth.

Eden said: I think she is beautiful as well, so sad to hear she has died. I too loved the song, the words and the story of her father's idea. I've added these to my favorites. Thank you for introducing her to us.

Kathy said: To return with such a memorable tribute is so very good of you to share, Okei. You are among a few friends who stole some time away recently, and it is nice to have you return. Hope your visit with your family was a pleasant one. ~ Blessings!

Lin said: ((okie)) Wonderful to see you again. "Soon this space will be too small" Thank you !!!

Tamara said: (((*okei*))) thank you

okei said:  Thanks all! I would like to continue the arc of thought of her father... it makes me think of Freedom. We are all enclosed by our world and circumstances in various ways. And we must find our freedom within this world, to reclaim that which is ours. And sometimes this means to break down barriers into a new and bigger world, but this involves facing more unpredictability, more dangers and more choices... with more freedoms, and yet we are still not truly free...

Indeed, she has a very distinctive face, perhaps because of her native American roots. They call her a Mexican/American/Canadian singer, but she was beyond those kinds of labels. (And she sang songs in Spanish, French and English.)

Excerpt from which the above interview was taken with selections of her music and music she liked:
http://www.cbc.ca/apropos/episode/2010/01/16/january-16-17-2010/ 

Rebecca Elson

Ingredients:

A selection of poems by the late Canadian astronomer and poet Rebecca Elson from "A Responsibility to Awe" (2001).

Directions:

Dark Matter

Above a pond,
An unseen filament
Of spider's floss
Suspends a slowly
Spinning leaf.



Inventing Zero

First it was lines in the sand,
The tangents, intersections,
Things that never met,
And you with your big stick,
Calling it geometry.

Then numbers, counting
One and two, until
A wind blew up
And everything was gone,
Blank to the horizon.

Less than two for me
But cunning you,
You found a whole new
Starting point:

Let it have properties,
And power
To make things infinite
Or nothing,
Or simply hold a space.



Carnal Knowledge

Having picked the final datum
From the universe
And fixed it in its column,
Named the causes of infinity,
Performed the calculus
Of the imaginary i, it seems

The body aches
To come too,
To the light,
Transmit the grace of gravity,
Express in its own algebra
The symmetries of awe and fear,
The shudder up the spine,
The knowing passing like a cool wind
That leaves the nape hairs leaping.



Frattura Vecchia

Breaking bread beside the spring,
Yourself mute
And the village going to the mountain
Stone by stone,

A snake moves towards the water,
Mythical, precise, remote,
And you are taken by a sudden temporality,
Like water from a dry hill --

Each bit of landscape
A piece from somewhere else

Till, lying on your back
There is no mountain,
Only sky,
Only a cloud
Running.



In Opposition

One moon between us,
Two seasons,
What else?
A few stars,
No wind.

In these moments
When we both walk,
How odd,
How we stand
The soles of our feet
Touching
Almost,

Only the planet's breadth.



After

We are there, on the hillside
Evening coming down.

And you begin to lean
Against some longing
Till it shifts,
The whole stone weight of it
Begins to roll,
To thunder.

And I cannot move,
I cannot make my body
Step aside.
I cannot.

And after, when the night grows still again,
I settle on my back
Saying only, "How sweet,
That fresh crushed meadow scent."

Not saying how my heart leapt
Like the small frogs
In the tall grass
In its darkening, rushing path.



Chess Game in a Garden

Under the breath of roses
We lie
In a summer of white words
Knotted like clouds,
I on my back
Watch a bee crawl up
Into the bonnet of a blossom,
Back my queen into a corner,
Feel the power you command
Hold me in the cup of your hand.

The flowers lean in on us,
Touch us.
I turn
On my stomach,
Watch the grass blades twitch,
Watch your knight leap up
Tap down
Felted base on a bare board
Champing for space.

We move at angles
Guarding our strategies,
Our pawns,
Our pain,
Our claim
To a blue streak of wisdom
On a windy day.



Flying a Kite

It seems to me the kite
Has all the fun,
The view,
The weightlessness
The wind,
Ecstatic shudders,
Tail streaming out,
The urging higher,
The exhilarating dives,
And me down here,
Left holding the string.



The Ballad of Just and While

Although I am about to drop,
I'll just do this before I stop.

I'll dust the stairs, put out the bin,
I'll bring the still wet washing in.

A woman's work is never done:
I'll finish something I've begun.

But one thing's not enough for me.
With 'while' I could be doing three.

And 'just's' a wedge to squeeze in more.
(Excuse me, I'll just sweep the floor.)

It's just the same at work as home.
I calculate, I write, I phone ...

But things cannot go on this way.
I think I've done enough today.

Let while be something outside me:
The turning earth, the waving sea.

Let just be me upon some beach,
Just sorting pebbles within reach.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Ingredients:

http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com

Directions:

Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

 

Fierce Longing

There are moments
when making love
when a door
to something else
opens.
I am never prepared.
There is no preparation
for the way it takes me
and leaves me.

Sometimes it is brought
by a movement of tenderness:
soft lips that brush my forehead
and murmur my name
as the fire burns through
me making
my hips rise
and my blood moan.

Sometimes it is brought
by a moment of great courage:
eyes that dare to meet
and hold mine as the flood
of silky amber honey
takes us both over the edge.

And sometimes
it is brought
by the sting of what is not
and the memory of
tenderness and courage
that has been.

And when that moment
catches me
and tosses me
I am helpless.
The words spill
unbidden
into the night:
"I want ... I want ... I want..."

Unfinished
they leave me
dangling
suspended over the chasm
of my own bottomless
desire.
Reaching
aching
grasping
for that fleeting something
I glimpsed
or imagined
just beyond.

Gone before
I could name it.

The breath catches
a strangled sob
tears me
opens me
and I fall back
eyes wide and
dazed
on damp pillows
my face
wet with tears.

And his eyes
stare
bewildered
frightened by the fierceness
of my longing.

 

Night Tears

There is a crying
that happens at night
that does not come
while the light is with us.
There are things that cannot
be evaded
once the sun goes down.
Small nocturnal creatures
with sharp white teeth
silently gnaw at the edges of
belly and heart
when the darkness descends
and the void inside
grows larger.

It can split you open.

And the bone
in the centre of your chest
aches
like the cracked wishing bone
from the turkey breast.

And if we are strong enough
to be weak enough
we are given a wound
that never heals.
It is the gift
that keeps the heart open.