cascabel de cobre

Dreaming Dancer Dreams

2012-01-21T13:43:00.000-08:00

By chance, I saw this clip of this gorgeous couple dancing bachata in a very unique style. And I took note: whenever I record the video for one of my "décimas del amargue"... these cuties MUST be in it (and hopefully wearing something very similar to what they're wearing here).

I looove so many things about them: the pink motif in their clothes, the contrast between her curvy hips and his ultra-slenderness, his beautiful mix of manliness and femininity, and their utterly funky dancing chemistry. My favorite moment is his little jump and slide steps around 1:20. Wow!

It has been by dreaming seemingly silly and far-fetched dreams that I've gotten to do a lot of what I've done thus far—specially in terms of music. So here I go again: I saw my dream dancers and I want them in my future video!

I think they're both in Puerto Rico. If anyone knows how to contact either of them, please let me know.

Dreaming dancer dreams,
RZ

May 16-19, 2012: National Latino Writers Conference in Albuquerque

2012-01-17T15:39:00.001-08:00

I went to the National Latino Writers Conference in Albuquerque last year and I'm looking forward to going again this year. I'm craving a second dose of the intense bout of learning and networking I experienced the first time around.

This year, I'm particularly looking forward to sessions with Cristina García, Jimmy Santiago Baca, Tim Z. Hernández, Demetria Martínez, Alisa Valdés-Rodríguez, and Marcela Landres (among others).

One of my favorite parts of the conference last year was getting my work reviewed and critiqued by some of the writers, agents and editors that are part of the conference faculty. And I'm looking forward to going through that process again this year.

Another favorite for me was meeting the many inspiring writers in attendance. Most of us got to read excerpts of our work during lunchtime general sessions. What a treat to hear so many diverse voices from across the US! And what a treat to meet kindred writerly spirits from my new backyard, such as Lorena Hughes of the Divine Secrets of the Writing Sisterhood blog who a few weeks later introduced me to some of her blogging sisters and also to the one and only Suze at Analog Breakfast. Other great folks I met at the conference were Sandra Toro, Liza Ann Acosta, Lydia Gil of La Bloga, and José "Pepo" Delgado.

So, you see why I was inspired and why I want to go back this year?

To download the full conference faculty listing and registration form, click on this National Hispanic Cultural Center link.

Planet Cornflower Blue Skies

2012-01-11T13:13:00.000-08:00

After much writerly hemming and hawing... I finally started Chapter One of my Notes from Planet New Mexico!

Challenge number one was conquering my fear of beginning. Ufff... painful indeed.

Challenge number two was much more pleasant: How to describe that peculiar shade of blue of New Mexico skies? What to call that intense, happy, happy, deceptively clear and simple blue?

Wikipedia's "Shades of Blue" proved quite helpful.

I think my answer is "cornflower blue." I googled a cornflower image.

Yes. I think so. Delicious-sounding, gorgeous-looking, deceptively clear and simple cornflower blue.

Do those of you who have witnessed New Mexico skies agree? Or would you go for a different shade of blue?

Incantation at the Threshold of 2012

2012-01-01T07:57:00.000-08:00

I invoke the strength and joy and inspiration I get from these two images: please light my way in 2012!

The first is "El Precipicio," courtesy of Yarisa Colón. The second is the image/thought that I'm strong like a molcajete mortar-and-pestle, according to Suze.

Thank you, queridas, for these gorgeous images that help me plan and dream: I will (metaphorically) step airily and boldly into the precipice. And I will be as molcajete-strong as Suze says I already am.

So it is and so it will be!

Mi Condena... or My Damnation

2011-12-28T15:48:00.000-08:00

One of my most satisfying projects of this past year was completing the composition and arrangement of the song "Mi condena / My Damnation" with guitarist Yasser Tejeda. We've only played it once, back in May, during The Mermaid's Feet concerts in the Bronx, as you will see below.

I composed the music and over-the-top décima-style lyrics of this "bachata jíbara" (if it's not over-the-top, it's not bachata) while Yasser came up with the perfect arrangement that mixes equal measures of playfulness and plaintiveness. "Mi condena" is now the prototype for a slowly developing series of "décimas del amargue" (décimas of bitterness) for our next album.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Predictions? Benedictions? Please let me know! It will be great to get your feedback as we go along.

So thank you for any thoughts, dear reader, and, thank you for the time and opportunity to get this song done, dear 2011. Now let's record this and maybe even release this, dear 2012!

Mi condena • My Damnation
Music and lyrics: Raquel Z. Rivera. Arrangement: Yasser Tejeda.

(Lyrics translated into English, below.)

La tristeza es mi martirio
Y la angustia mi prisión
Vergonzosa es la razón
De este abrumador delirio
De mañana prendo un cirio
Al pie de La Magdalena
Para que alivie la pena
Que me amarga a mi la vida
Voy sangrando por la herida
Del amor que es mi condena

Ese amor no pudo ser
Aunque mucho nos quisimos
Pero no bastan los mimos
Y tampoco con querer
Capullo sin florecer
Reina abeja sin colmena
Aun mi vida siendo plena
Siento un vacío sin fondo
Y es el suplicio tan hondo
Del amor que es mi condena

Entre la ira y el terror
Por las sombras me paseo
Y detrás del llanto no veo
Otra cosa que temor
Ese perpetuo dolor
Deseo que me envenena
Hiel amarga que me llena
Si él es carne de mi carne
Como hago pa’ olvidarme
Del amor que es mi condena

Sadness is my torment
And anguish is my prison
The reason for this delirium
Is truly shameful
In the morning I light a candle
At the feet of The Magdalene
So that she will relieve the pain
That is making my life so bitter
I am bleeding from the wound
Left by the love that is my damnation

That love could not be
Even though we cherished each other
But sweet caresses are not enough
And neither is wanting to make it work
I'm a bud that does not bloom
I'm a queen bee without a beehive
My life is full
But I feel a bottomless emptiness
And it's the terrible torture
Of the love that is my damnation

I stroll in the shadows
Between anger and terror
And beyond my tears
I can only see fear
And that never ending pain
Desire that poisons me
Bile that fills me
If he is flesh of my flesh
How can I possibly ever forget
The love that is my damnation

Synopsis: Jesus Never Had to Pay Rent

2011-12-21T10:45:00.001-08:00

Writing synopses of my novel or short stories has been a tricky, sticky, and quite unpleasant activity for me. But, from now on, I declare it pleasant, playful and fun. ¡He dicho!

My latest synopsis writing excercise was a few mornings ago, as I prepared my submission for the Santa Fe Writers Project Contest.

So, dear readers, forget that you haven't read my whole short story "Jesus Never Had To Pay Rent" (Chapter 1 of my novel Beba). Let's say that, out of the blue, you read a synopsis like the one in italics below. Would you be intrigued? Would you have pointers to tighten it up? Or even pointers to overhaul it completely? I'm all ears—and eyes!

Beba Fernandez is an extremely book-smart 26-year-old about to complete a Ph.D. in anthropology of religion. Yet her intelligence in practical matters leaves a lot to be desired. She has somehow fallen under the spell of Josue Laguerre—the main informant for her dissertation, the leader of an East Harlem Spiritist cult, and the lover who for years has lived off of her meager grad student wages. After years of putting up with him, in the heat of a fight, Beba finally gathers up the courage to break up with him and kick him out of her apartment. But he continues to hound her by astrally projecting himself into her dreams and even into her waking life. But wait a minute. Beba doesn’t really believe in spiritual apparitions and powers. So why are they starting to seem so real? Kicking him out of her head is proving to be the hardest challenge of all.

* Image borrowed from Heaven to Earth.

Danza: December 8, 2011

2011-12-15T18:37:00.000-08:00

The kids at Albuquerque's Madison Middle School said our danza azteca "rocked"!

* Photo by Albuquerque Journal's Marla Brose.

Rethinking the "Planet" in "Planet New Mexico"

2011-12-06T10:54:00.000-08:00

Is it fair for a traveler or a recent arrival to chronicle her experiences in a new place that seems to her like a different, fascinating "planet" and to celebrate that place's uniqueness by highlighting the word "planet"? Is there something off about the title I've chosen for my "Planet New Mexico" chronicles? Does "Planet" reek too much of exoticism, of narcisism?

Or am I "buscándole la quinta pata al gato" (searching for the cat's fifth leg) and complicating too much something that is actually joyfully simple?

Image borrowed from Kyle953 at DeviantArt.

What to do with John Donald Robb?

2011-11-28T07:01:00.001-08:00

What am I going to do with John Donald Robb (1892-1989)? What am I going to do with his wife Harriet? What am I going to do with the numerous New Mexican folk musicians like Jr. Daugherty that Robb feverishly recorded between the 1940s and 1960s?

So far, I've spent almost four happy, happy, weeks digging around Robb's 147 boxes of personal papers and recordings, housed at the University of New Mexico's Center for Southwest Research archives. I've only looked at a fraction of his materials, but this fraction has been more than enough to make me deeply enthralled. It feels like he's a character I'm reading about in an extremely disorganized novel. And—disorganization notwithstanding—I love that, just like in a novel, there are all these plot and character development twists and turns waiting for me inside each archival folder I look in.

Born in Minnesota, John Donald Robb became a hyper-successful New York City corporate lawyer in the 1920s and 1930s. On his spare time (what spare time!?), he studied cello and composition with world-renowned musicians. His dream was to devote his life to music. So in 1941, at 49 years old, he decided to take a leap toward his dream. And he came to New Mexico as head of UNM's Music Department.

O.k., so that's definitely the point in the story where I got hooked! Despite the differences in our time periods, careers, gender, ethnicity, affluence, political views... I so wanted to peer into the hazy mirror that I suspected Robb could hold up for me as a fellow NYC professional who shifted his focus into a New Mexico-based dream. But it wasn't just the spots where I could identify with Robb that called to me. I was also lured by our drastic differences.

And only a few weeks after getting started on my archival happy snooping efforts, it was time to give a public presentation at UNM. That was last Monday.

I was terrified. It had been a long time since I had to present on a topic that I was just getting acquainted with. But the audience seemed receptive and I actually had fun.

And now what? Do I keep going down this Robb-ly road? It seems like a shame not to when I've already invested a good amount of love and time on this project. And when it has been such a fascinating process and learning experience.

I have to confess this project intimidates me. A lot. John Donald Robb is a complex character in the midst of a New Mexican context that I'm barely begining to get to know. What's more, Robb seems to inspire quite strong feelings—in others, as well as in myself. I get by turns inspired, exasperated, puzzled and incensed by him.

I've run into many who openly idealize him and his work. I've run into a few that have pointed, fascinating, and seemingly fair criticisms. But there's also an undercurrent of ugly rumors and strong resentment against him that when I was first exposed to them, they made me want to jump back and run away.

But that would be cowardly, considering that this is FUN work that I want to do and considering that Robb is a complex character that I'm itching to explore more.

So, it seems that the best thing I can do is to keep digging and sifting through his papers, as well as through the strong and mixed feelings and thoughts that Robb brings up in me.

It's looking like, together, down this road we go. Are you ready John Donald Robb? May I call you John?

Muertos & Marygolds

2011-11-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

Gap-toothed little girl running skeleton, blond pitbull skeleton walking his human skeleton, Aztec dancer skeletons, Marie Antoinette-esque skeleton brought to life by a sexy & pudgy young man, little kid skeletons seated on a float chanting "No more bullies," shinny and bouncing lowrider cars crammed full of skeleton families, a Daddy skeleton riding a bike with two little daughter skeletons perched on the coffin-on-wheels he was propelling, about twenty skeletons flying rainbow streamers and banners for queer pride, a fifteen foot tall marionette skeleton, leather-jacketed skeletons on Harley Davidson motorcycles...

I loved my first Albuquerque Día de Muertos Parade!

Photos borrowed from the Muertos y Marigolds FB page.

A Dog Taught Me to Live

2011-11-02T08:49:00.000-07:00

Fidel had been looking for a labrador retriever puppy for months. He'd checked in quite a few pet shops but had not yet seen the one he wanted to take home. Last time he had a dog was thirteen years before, as a teenager still living at his mom's home in Mexico City. Back then he was a fan of pitbulls, but now he was craving a dog reputed to be exactly the opposite.

One day he was going to Lord Shiva's Feast at the Ganesh Temple in Flushing, Queens. He was no longer officially a Hare Krishna devotee, but he still loved to go to temples, occasionally. On the way, right in the midst of the bustling chaos of the commercial district, he saw a pet shop and could not resist. He went in, asked for labrador puppies, and the store clerk said they had just gotten eight. She showed him eight bouncy yellow fur balls. As seven of them jumped and yelped and ran around, one plopped down in front of Fidel and stared right at him.

Fidel named him Trigo. Wheat. He says it was Lord Shiva's present to him. But then he laughs and says that, sure, he had to pay hundreds for his "present." But still. He is grateful.

Trigo became the centerpiece of a circle of friends largely made up of struggling Andean street musicians and their ever-changing girlfriends. No one else had a dog, so Trigo got intense attention. Folks would show up at Fidel's door just to play with Trigo and bring him bones, squeeze toys, dog treats, the purple Barney cloth doll that became his favorite.

Every Thursday for six months, Fidel took Trigo to "good citizen school." It turned out Trigo was super smart, obedient and sweet tempered. Thank Xolotl and the rest of the Doggie Gods, because otherwise Fidel would have had a big mess in his hands traveling cross-country in a van full of cranky musicians and an uncooperative Trigo. But it was just the opposite.

Andean music took them and Trigo to California a few times. To Niagara Falls. Twice to Miami for periods of six months each. To Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado. They performed on boardwalks, on the street, at festivals, at pow-wows, in shopping malls and open-air plazas. Trigo was so good, that Fidel could even bring him on stage and not worry about him making a mess. He would sniff and look around, curious and observant, and patiently wait for the end of the set.

Trigo decided his spot on the van was on the last row, left hand side, so that Fidel could count on a pair of semi-closed eyes and wheat-colored ears flopping in the wind nearly every time he checked the rearview mirror. If anyone sat in that spot before Trigo did, he would come right up to them and just stare, panting, eager for them to get the message. If it was a new musician joining them, Fidel would intervene and explain: Perdona hermano, pero Trigo dice que ese es su asiento. Sorry brother, but Trigo says you're sitting in his spot.

And now that I mention the word "brother," I should say that actually became Trigo's nickname: Brother. Yup. Like that, in English, but with a playful lilt and emphasis on the "o," and turning "ther" into a near mumble, more like: brÓthrr!

Fidel's time as a Hare Krishna had introduced him to the beauty of simplicity and how little humans truly need in order to be happy. But it was Trigo that really reinforced the lesson. All he needed was water, dry dog food, to run and to be petted. That's it. Yet it was so easy to forget to put simplicity into practice. Life with Brother was for Fidel a beautiful daily reminder.

Some time went by and Fidel started thinking that their New York home base apartment was just not appropriate for Trigo. True, the dog needed very little to be happy. But he deserved more space, a yard. So Trigo was the main reason why Fidel started to look for alternatives and decided to move to Arizona. Eventually, Trigo was also key in Fidel's decision to move into the New Mexico house with the big backyard, which—fast-forward almost ten years—I also live in now. And Trigo was also crucial in the transformation of a flighty, happy-go-lucky, bohemian heavy drinker into the man I love today.

It was thinking of Trigo that Fidel brought home nine years ago a female black lab puppy he found on the street. She became the hyper-playful Onix who eventually had puppies with Trigo. Only one of those puppies was chocolate colored and that's the one that Fidel kept—a huge male named Mole who pretends to be fierce but is really an overgrown baby.

By the time I met him a year and a half ago, Trigo was eleven years old and having trouble walking. Though he had developed a grumpy streak that he expressed through constant barking, he still loved to be petted and was extremely sweet—except when it came to Mole. Trigo refused to give up the alpha male title. So even nearly toothless and hardly able to walk, he would bark up a hoarse storm and snap his jaws whenever Mole dared come near him. (Mole pretended not to hear him.) I loved what that said about Trigo.

I also got to love what Fidel's nicknames for his "cachorros" (he calls them all puppies) said about the cachorros and about Fidel himself.

Onix was Baby Onix or Gordita (Little Tubby One). Mole had an ever-changing list of names: ChocoLove, the Chocolate Guru, Osito de Chocolate (Little Chocolate Bear), Ternura Que Ladra (Barking Tenderness), and on and on. Trigo was simply Brother. Telling. Solid. Trigo got less frills, but his was the highest honorary title.

By last winter, Trigo couldn't get up much anymore. By the summer, he couldn't get up at all. So we had to be extra mindful and keep his water bowl always filled and within reach. He was too heavy for me to carry, so it was up to Fidel to get him out of the sun if it was too hot or out of the rain if it was chilly. Keeping him clean became a bigger ordeal. He seemed to be most comfortable outside on an earthy patch that could soak up his urine. Fidel carried him from patch to patch, as we cleaned up in his wake.

A few friends gently suggested Trigo was suffering too much and maybe should be put down. But Fidel was firm in his stance of caring for Trigo until he died on his own.

Still, Fidel asked me a few times what I thought. I was evasive. I had conflicting feelings. In theory, euthanizing Trigo seemed like the most humane thing to do. One day, I even went online and googled "euthanasia" and "older dogs." But my heart started pounding, I started crying and had to stop reading. If the thought disturbed me so much, I could only imagine how many, many more times more intense the process was for Fidel.

As fall settled in, Fidel asked that we brainstorm what to do. Last winter was hard on Trigo and that was when he could still move around a bit. So what to do as a new winter approached? We stalled and contemplated different ideas. Insulated dog house? Diapers? Keeping him indoors? Meanwhile, the fall routine was: At night, Trigo slept in the laundry room. In the morning, Fidel grabbed him under the front paws and carried him to a sunny dry spot. Come nightfall again, it was the same thing in reverse.

One morning Fidel surprised me by wondering straight out if the right thing was, in fact, to put Trigo down. We went back and forth on it but reached no conclusion.

Then a few days later, Fidel said—no expression on his face—maybe we should put him to sleep next week. And we did. That was the morning of October 17.

It was a heartbreaking process. Maybe I'll write about that at some other point.

I'll skip ahead to the moment we left Trigo's body at the pet clinic and were driving back home, both of us teary and quiet. Fidel broke the silence only once and said with a sad smile: "If you decide to write something about this maybe the title can be 'Un perro me enseñó a vivir'." A dog taught me to live.

Buen viaje and happy trails, Trigo!

Da pa lo do / There's Enough For Two

2011-10-24T09:44:00.001-07:00

I just saw for the first time the video of what was already my favorite Rita Indiana song, "Da pa lo do," from her 2010 album El Juidero.

The song is an evocative story about 2 little brothers whose single father struggles hard to provide for them both. As the kids squabble over having to share, their dad tells them over and over: Da pa lo do. There's enough for two.

The video is gorgeous and with so many great political and poetic details. It makes explicit what was already one of the possible interpretations of the song: that it's an allegorical take on the rivalries between the "brother" countries of Haiti and the Dominican Republic. (Check the disturbing comments on this version of the video, to get an example of the power and timeliness of Rita's video.)

I particularly love that the virgin makes her apparition in a motorcycle and closes out the video lightly swinging her hips as she dances with little kid angels. I also love that the virgin admonishes: not only is there enough for two, there's even enough for ten!

There's so much to love about this video. But... the virgin in blackface? I'm having trouble with that one.

Knowing the poetic and political savviness of Rita and her creative team, I am positive they made the decision to darken Rita's skin while fully conscious of the visceral feelings that blackface evokes for many, self included. Perhaps it's a touch of hyper-irony to prevent the video from sliding too much into sentimentality?

It puzzles me even more that Rita's black madonna—given the pink and blue colors she wears—is Ezili Freda, light-skinned according to traditional vodoun lore. Wouldn't Rita's skin-as-is been just fine?

Here are some of the comments the blackface move has inspired on "Da pa lo do" youtube video page:

I cant believe Rita is doing black face, that really is disappointing.
UncleYva 3 days ago

i agree,i dont like the whole black face thing...but then again back home, shes like..¨white¨ in europe or the states shes not...i really, reallyyyyy like the song, but i think she could have been in her color...no se..digo yo. still amazing song.
elliotsdottir 3 days ago

Venga que lo de la cara negra es solo una figura, podría generar algo de polémica, por lo religioso, pero no creo que la gente que conoce la música de Rita deba darle importancia a algo tan inofensivo! nein!
demonbalooni 3 days ago

I identify the most with "elliotsdottir" comment: I also think it would have worked better without the makeup. But the most important thing: I also think it is still an amazing song.

How about you, my readers? Any thoughts, speculations, interpretations?

Yearning for Balance

2011-10-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

How to dialogue with others without losing myself? How to stand strong and nimble enough so that I listen—really listen, maybe even change my mind—but without turning (again) into the pushover that I've been?

I'm yearning for balance.

* Image above from Joyspot.

Healing, Part 3

2011-10-15T06:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think too much, talk too much, write too much. Sometimes I forget that poking around in an open wound complicates the healing process.

So I'll try stillness and keeping my heart open.

* Image above: Ofrenda de luz y hojas nuevas (2011) by Tanya Torres.

Healing, Part 2

2011-10-06T07:38:00.001-07:00

* Photos by Claudia de la Cruz.

Healing

2011-10-03T05:38:00.000-07:00

Notes from NYC

My life in New York City got to be a bit too intense for me. That's part of the reason why I've been enjoying New Mexico so, so much. NM has plenty of charms on its own, but then there's the extra charm of NM not being NYC.

I came back to NYC for a week. Just after I got off the plane, I was crossing the Tri-Boro Bridge from Queens into Manhattan, looking apprehensively at the nightime skyline. It was so many times in the last 17 years that I crossed that bridge after getting off a plane, excited to be back in my city. Not any more. I was crossing the bridge with a sense of dread.

But you know what? Then I saw my old neighbors. And Judimar cooked for me. And I went to an art exhibit with Tanya at St. Paul's Church where nuns were rubbing elbows with tattooed artists. And then Manuela asked me to join her Legacy Circle Women's Drum Circle at a health fair in Washington Heights. And I saw so many beautiful faces. And I got to sing next to amazing, inspiring women.

From dread, I've gone to joy. Joy at being here. Joy at knowing I'll soon be going back to Albuquerque. Joy at realizing maybe I can be happy wherever I happen to be at.

El Mero Mero

2011-09-24T06:34:00.001-07:00

Notes from Planet New Mexico
September 19, 2011

Whenever Fidel describes Don Bustos, he says Don is "El Mero Mero" of Agri-Cultura Network, the Albuquerque urban agriculture project that Fidel is part of. I guess El Mero Mero could be translated as The Main Main Man or as The One and Only. It points to leadership and power, but, above all, it points to wisdom and knowledge.

As I write this, El Mero Mero is outside in our backyard cold frame, shovel in hand, turning the land that will soon be planted. With him are the project's new trainees: José Luis, Johnny and Brandy.

Outside the cold frame, Fidel and Sasha are weeding the marygolds.

El Mero Mero has his own farm and also travels around the U.S. constantly. His skills and knowledge are much sough-after. He could be anywhere but here. But he's not.

As I was filling out yet another fellowship application, I looked out my home office window and just couldn't resist the beauty of these folks. So I went outside to document a snippet of their morning by taking some pictures.

As I snapped away, Don was talking about the irony of all the research money being pumped into universities to re-invent the wheel, since traditional agriculture in New Mexico has long been doing what these new research projects are trying to promote: sustainability, organic methods, and so on.

Don comes from a long line of farmers that stretches back many generations and hundreds of years. His farm in the Española Valley of northern New Mexico is called Santa Cruz Farm in honor of the local church. Don says he uses many of the same agricultural techniques and rituals as his ancestors. One of those rituals is every year getting the local priest to come over and ceremonially planting a patch of "Guadalupe beans," named in honor of La Virgen de Guadalupe.

He also explains that his farm was part of the Santa Cruz de la Cañada Land Grant, 46,000 acres of land "granted" by the King of Spain (ugh... I know) in the 1500s to be communally worked and administered by 16 local families. After New Mexico went from being part of Mexico to being part of the U.S. in the 1800s, the communal land was privatized. But Don is part of a movement to buy back that land so that it will once again be run collectively. Part of that movement is to re-organize land use so that, like in the old ejido system, the best agricultural land is saved for agriculture (rather than grazing, living, construction...).

It's so much information to digest, understand, remember. That's why I'm writing it down before I forget even more details.

I feel like so much of what Don is saying is just flying over my head. But I'll keep listening, learning, writing. The stories he's telling move me. It's the history behind them. But it's also the loving way El Mero Mero tells the stories as he works the land with a shovel and smiles his beautiful beautiful smile.

* I can't take credit for those last two photos! The first I borrowed from the American Friends Service Committee. The last is from Country Living.

On Batey y Macorix's Pathways

2011-09-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

Batey y Macorix: Senderos de Carbón / Carbon Pathways is the newest installment of the Young Roots Performance Series presented by Hostos Center for the Arts and Culture in the Bronx, NYC. The Young Roots Series mission is to "showcase emerging artists experimenting with the artistic roots of Afro-Latino traditions to create new branches that reach into the future."

Batey y Macorix (shows 9/30 and 10/1) features Sita Frederick, artistic director of Areytos Performance Works, guest artists Alexander Callender and Genaro Ozuna, musical director Desmar Guevara, and an amazing cast of dancers and musicians.

BATEY Y MACORIX: SENDEROS DE CARBON /CARBON PATHWAYS

Sita Frederick, Artistic Director

Desmar Guevara, Musical Director

Leticia Peguero, Producer

Nick Hung, Lighting Designer

Guest Artists: Alexander Callender, Genaro Ozuna

Dancers: Beatrice Capote, Chanon Judson, Alethea Pace, Richard Rivera, Pedro Raposo, Ricardo Urena

Musicians: Manuela Arciniegas, Fidel Paulino, Yasser Tejeda, Alberto Toro

An important part of the 2 year Young Roots Series is for all the participating artists to engage each other in dialogue. Since I had the honor of presenting my collaboration with Catarina dos Santos titled The Mermaid's Feet as part of the Young Roots Series, I'm taking this opportunity to get inspired by Batey y Macorix.

I watched the short promo video above (as well as the longer version) and was blown away by the importance of the project, the sticky and tricky waters of racial and ethnic identity that it navigates, and the artistic nuance and poetry of Sita's description of the project.

I love...

* ...that this project speaks to the universality of certain human experiences (in this case, migration) by focusing on the extreme specificity of the gagá and guloya dance/music traditions brought to the San Pedro de Macorís region of the Dominican Republic by immigrants from Haiti and the English-speaking Caribbean islands. As Sita says: this is about the surface of who we are on the outside versus the depth of who we are on the onside.

* ...that it hones in on the contentious issue of race as a central theme. From Sita's words in the promo video, I can anticipate that the piece will balance artistic subtlety and social critique. I so look forward to seeing how these artists grapple with finding that balance, since it's an issue that I deal with in my own work.

* ... the artists' choice to innovate and still serve a clear educational function regarding the traditions that their innovations are based upon. Sita explains that hers "is not a folkloric company but a contemporary company that is based in folklore." Still, she recognizes that fusing roots traditions with contemporary dance is a controversial issue. As Sita says, "not everyone wants to see their things borrowed and changed." Plus, there is also the matter of audience members often not being able to distinguish what is traditional from what is an innovation. If a bunch of roots traditions are mixed together with other dance languages, how do people get to learn anything about the traditions? That's why Sita and her company have opted to strike a balance by including in the show pieces where the dances and music stick to traditional parameters. As Sita explains, she is aware of the controversies surrounding "fusion" and that is why she doesn't shy away from it but proceeds with "as much honor and respect and integrity as I can."

Yet, another important aspect of this project, as Sita explains it, is for the artists to "make this our own" by being true to their artistic impulse to innovate.

Tricky indeed!

Sita's way of addressing this issue got me got me thinking (again) about the choices Catarina and I made for The Mermaid's Feet, as well as the choices Noemí Segarra and Henry Cole made for de rumbo de rumba. Save for a short capoeira section in our concert, Catarina and I presented songs where tradition and innovation were completely fused. Noemí and Henry's project is an even more interesting case in point, since audience members expecting a recognizably "rumba-ish" (in the Cuban music genre sense) presentation got many things, but not what they had imagined. (There was a fascinating post-performance dialogue between Noemí, Henry and audience members regarding this very issue.)

Thinking about our different approaches makes me want to stress that artists don't all have to deal with the tradition/innovation tension in the same way. Each of us artists and ensembles will have different needs, desires and opinions regarding how to make roots traditions "our own." We can all be aiming to honor tradition and approach our work with integrity... but it will look very different in each case. One size will definitely not fit all.

I just emailed a few questions about this all to Sita, as part of out artists' dialogue. I'm looking foward to what she has to say. Stay tuned.

Late Summer Thought in Planet New Mexico

2011-09-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

How could I not be intensely in love with Planet New Mexico?

The Pass-Along Manifesto

2011-09-01T07:06:00.000-07:00

I might be shooting myself in my writerly foot. But here it goes anyway: I disagree with Esmeralda Santiago's "The Pass-Along Writer." Here are two excerpts from it:

***
"'I loved your book so much, that I gave it to my sister. She passed it to her daughter, who brought it to her teacher, who lent it to his wife.' It’s gratifying that my work is read with such enthusiasm that readers want to share the experience. It’s wonderful when a reader is motivated enough to search for me on the internet, to find my website or on social media, and to comment on the work. But for self-preservation reasons, I must admit to feelings of dismay when they tell me that my book has been passed along this way."

"[...] thank you for reading my work. Thank you for wanting to share it. But please, if you can afford it, buy another copy for your friend, cousin, or teacher, don’t pass it along. In this way, you ensure that your favorite Latino authors will continue to be taken seriously, will continue to be published, reviewed, and placed eye level on the shelves of your favorite bookstore."
***

I know the publishing business has been going to hell in a hand basket. I don't know what the answer is to that problem. But it can't be to ask readers NOT to pass along our books.

I hear her. I also want to continue generating a steady and decent income from my writing. But urging readers not to pass along books just seems wrong. Ethically wrong. Ecologically wrong. Artistically wrong.

I love books. I treasure books. So why should all the books I've read and enjoyed sit idly in my personal library? It makes me sad for the books. And sad for the folks that could potentially be enjoying them.

I've been thinking about that for a while. So I recently gave away most of my books. I kept the ones that I know I will be consulting in the near future.

And what if I ended up giving away books I will need in the future? I'll just get them from the library. Or borrow them from a friend. Or buy them used. Or even buy new copies.

Maybe my viewpoint and Esmeralda's are not incompatible.

What if, instead of asking readers not to pass along our work, we ask them that (if they can afford it) they consider purchasing one copy to gift for each copy they pass along?

* Image above borrowed from Jen Campbell's blog.

In the Beginning Was the Three-Day Nap

2011-08-24T05:49:00.000-07:00

More Notes from Planet New Mexico
August 2011

He laid down and slept for three days straight. He didn't know what else to do.

A few months earlier he had been true to his heart and made a brave decision. He would no longer be a traveling guitarist and percussionist who played Andean music all over the Southwestern U.S. and slept in cheap motels when the pay was reasonable and camped when it wasn't.

Music had long been his passion. But for the past few years it was no longer fun. It was a chore. It weighed him down. To top it off, the pay had dramatically gone down.

So he took a leap of faith. That's exactly what he had seen his single mother do to raise her five sons in a rough Mexico City neighborhood. That's also what he proved he could do himself since the time he left home as a drug-addicted teenager and went to clean up and grow up at his neighborhood's Hare Krishna Temple.

But, despite his courage and best intentions, a few months after his latest leap of faith he didn't quite have it figured out. Not at all. He owed back rent and had been eating Ramen noodles straight for longer than he could handle. He was depressed. Disappointed. Scared.

So he slept for three days straight.

After he woke up, everything changed. A friend who worked as a cook at an Albuquerque Old Town bed & breakfast, called him about being the cook on the weekends. Then another friend told him about a new project in their neighborhood that trained folks in urban farming.

The farming thing initially seemed far-fetched. How could a musician suddenly become a farmer? How, indeed, if the musician in question was a self-professed "city Indian boy" who knew absolutely nothing about agriculture? But the project was designed to train folks with no experience whatsoever. So he decided to give it a try.

He began by planting the 1/3 of an acre behind the house he rented. A few months later, the formerly sandy soil was blooming with crazy amounts of lettuce, spinach, chard and cilantro. A few months after that, it was the tomatoes and marigolds. His neighbors got excited about the project. And a few of them asked if he wanted to plant on their unused land.

Two years after he took that three-day nap, he is managing seven plots of land around the South Valley, totaling a few acres. A few of his good friends have joined the project as partners, trainees and workers. A few other workers and volunteers he previously didn't know have also come in to the picture.

He is convinced the key to his blossoming fields is the Aztec dance ceremony he organizes in one of the plots at the beginning of each planting season. I don't doubt there is truth to his theory. But I'm sure the ceremony by itself would be nothing without his hard work as well as the hard work of the community around him. And that hard work would be impossible to sustain had the city Indian boy not grown to love working the earth as much as he loves playing music.

I love being his witness.

* Photos above by V. Necochea and R.Z. Rivera.

Commune

2011-08-18T08:18:00.000-07:00

"I felt like I had come home."

Variations of that same sentence are repeated a few times throughout the documentary Commune (2005) as the folks who once upon a time lived in California's remote Black Bear Ranch describe what it felt like to arrive at this exciting experiment in communal living during the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Since I'm borderline obsessed with what it is that draws people to communes and "cults" (oh, there it is again, that tricky word), I was of course captivated by the mention of the word "home" as key.

Another statement made by one of the former commune members—I think it was Peter Leaf—caught my attention: That one of the things that attracted them all to the commune was the "intense way" of relating to other people. I'm interested in the opposite idea implicit in that statement: that the way people relate in mainstream society is... Superficial? Boring? Not genuine?

The son of one of the commune's founders also said something that struck me: he believed the adults in the commune cared more about their ideas about how they should all be living, rather than the well-being of the people actually living together. Another ex-member said something that complemented the thought: "Wanting to save the world can be a huge ego trip."

One random thought: The folks I've known (self included) who are (or have been) invested in their own utopic dreaming and building refer back to their "ancestral" cultures for clues as to how to pattern the present and future. Something this documentary didn't address: Did the Black Bear folks envision utopia as going "back" to something? How did they decide what the rules were? How did they decide what they would aspire to and strive for?

It also caught my attention that one of the rules at Black Bear Ranch was that no two people should sleep together more than two nights in a row, lest they fall into the "bourgeois" trap of coupledom. Who came up with that rule? How?

Yet another interesting tidbit to me was that one of the difficulties of the commune, according to the members themselves, was agreeing on what utopia should look like. People's reasons for joining the commune varied, just as their notions of utopia varied.

I'm fascinated by this documentary's effort to documents those dreams and reasons. I want to see it again. There's so much in there for me.

New Songs

2011-08-11T10:51:00.000-07:00

I've been writing new songs. Working with Bryan and Yasser to shape them into kick-ass arrangements. Itching to record them. Hustling to get enough $ to get back in the recording studio.

I'm, again, dreaming big. And it's all a pleasant, exciting dream. Until I think of what comes after making the CD. Presenting it. Performing it. Confronting, again, my stage fright. Working with that vulnerable-looking creature I can hardly recognize as myself in pictures and videos of our concerts.

At least she writes good songs. And I like her voice.

Él es / He Is

2011-08-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

More Notes from Planet New Mexico
Summer 2011

M. and G. moved to a cute little house in Santa Fe. And they invited our Albuquerque danza circle to bless their home.

I was happy that the danza was scheduled to start at 6pm. The sun would be low enough for sun-shy me and I was looking forward to joining in. So off we drove, 45 minutes north, my lovely F. and me.

I will spare all details, except this: For the first time, I was appointed light bearer so I got the intense joy of holding the candle and shouting out "¡Él es Dios!" as we saluted each direction at the opening and closing of the ceremony.

That means the ultra-wired and cerebral part of me gets to rest as I do this. And it is such a relief. There is only the flame that I must keep lit. And the open sky. And the strong voice that rises from my chest and shatters self-consciousness, at least for a glorious little bit.

* Photo above by Margarita Olivera Monterd.

Zoe and Claude's Bluegrass Cypher

2011-08-02T08:33:00.000-07:00

More Notes from Planet New Mexico
July 31, 2011

Zoe and Claude are our handsome silvery haired neighbors. Among other things, they farm, keep chickens, and are part of an amazing cypher of bluegrass musicians. Zoe also bakes notorious pies and spanakopita, while Claude is a noted local folklorist and scholar. Below, a photo I found online of Claude:

Every August, Zoe and Claude have a huge party in their backyard with tons of food and probably a hundred or so people. My love had to work so, even though I felt shy about going by myself, I wasn't about to miss the chance to check it out.

I let myself in through the little white picket fence gate. I walked past Zoe and Claude's adobe house, past their garden, past a group of lanky young folks lounging in the back of Claude's vintage pickup truck, and right into the middle of the bluegrass musical action.

Three circles of musicians gathered to my left, to my right and right in front, toward the far side of the land. I wanted to be everywhere at once! (It took me straight back to The Bronx's Casita de Chema and the pleneros and bomberos who gather in a few simultaneous tight circles in the same way.)

I chose the circle to my left. Two middle aged men, one playing upright bass and the other playing mandolin, and a twentysomething woman on mandolin, accompanied a blondie twentysomething as he played the guitar and sang. Each took turns soloing. The woman joined in with a gorgeous harmony toward the end of the song. They stole my heart!

Next I went to another circle where a middle aged woman on guitar and another on mandolin were playing with three middle aged men on guitar and banjos, and another blondie twentysomething on banjo who wore a straw hat and a cute huge gap in his front teeth. A freckled redhead of about thirteen seemed quite content to hold her small guitar in her arms and watch the others play. One of the older men sang a tune about going home and the younger blondie joined in the harmony. The blondie didn't quite know all the words to the song, but he didn't let that stop him. They both had twangy, nasal, GORGEOUS voices that had me absolutely enthralled.

I tried catching the older singer's attention so I could ask him the title of the song. But he was always either playing or chatting, so I didn't dare interrupt. I lost track of him and never got the chance to ask. I hope I get to hear that song again. It's a song that I would love to learn.

I later moved to the third circle, featuring a clarinet and a few string instruments. They were doing a jazzy version of The Beatles "When I'm 64."

Great music, food, folks.

I was so happy to be there. I am so happy I was there. Happy I am here.

Ron's Bucket

2011-07-29T07:33:00.000-07:00

More Notes from Planet New Mexico
July 2011

There is an upside down white bucket balanced on a tall stick on Tapia Blvd., right at the entrance of the dirt path to Ron's land. It stands visible and proud like a flag, except it's a bucket.

A bucket? I make a mental note to ask Ron about it.

Ron is a tall, handsome artist who specializes in woodcarvings, among other media. He lives in a beautiful adobe house with adjoining art studio.

Two cute and perky mutts loudly announce our entrance, as we make our way to the back of Ron's land. We see him weeding the lettuce bed right in front of the huge asparagus field that Fidel and his folks have planted in the backyard. Ron talks agricultural shop with Fidel and seems mighty pleased with the transformation of his land from scraggly pasture to blooming field.

I get distracted by petting the dogs and pulling out stray weeds, so I forget to ask about the bucket. I only remember once I see it again as we're pulling out of Ron's driveway. So I ask Fidel if he knows the why of that bucket. He does.

It turns out Ron hung it so people could easily identify his driveway.

"But why? The house number is right there."

Ah, yes, but the problem is that the numbers in that street don't run consecutively, which makes it very hard for people to find the address they're looking for.

What?! How can that be?

Well, way back when, whoever was in charge of numbering the houses on Tapia Blvd was not a fan of little practicalities like sequenced address numbers and thought the best thing was for each landowner to pick whatever number they wanted. So, let's say Mr. Maestas picked #5 Tapia Blvd and his next door neighbor Mrs. Rael picked #1043 Tapia Blvd and her neighbor on the other side picked #1 Tapia Blvd.

Hence, the trickiness of finding an address on Tapia Blvd. And hence, Ron's bucket.

Happy Mary Magdalene's Day (& Notes on Musical Process)

2011-07-22T09:58:00.001-07:00

Today, July 22, is St. Mary Magdalene's Day!

The first thing I did this morning (after drinking coffee) was pick 7 yellow zinias from our backyard to place in front of Tanya Torres' "Surrender" (from her Mary Magdalene series) which sits on top of our piano.

Now I will keep celebrating the day by going down memory lane and writing about the creative process that brought me closer to She who is the myth that inspires me the most.

I want to concentrate this excercise in memory on the first song I ever wrote for Mary Magdalene: "Al pie de la cruz." I wrote it as a celebration of her virtues as a biblical character. And I also placed in it an implicit and burning question laced with anger: Why did the most faithful disciple and central character of the Passion story—according to the gospels, canonical and apocryphal—get demoted to whorely side character—according to what we collectively choose to remember from those gospels? (You can read the full lyrics in Spanish and English by clicking here. "Al pie de la cruz" is Track 2.)

I was angry at Mary Magdalene's demotion. I was angry at the dripping-with-sexual-double-standards implications of that demotion. I was angry at my Christian upbringing. I was angry at my naive attempts at trying to find spiritual/musical community in other traditions. But the process of writing the song and singing it many times felt like an exorcism of that anger that was, no surprise, laced with pain.

"Al pie de la cruz" came pouring out of me circa 2004 as a Dominican salve. It seemed most appropriate to praise Mary the Magdalene with a Caribbean creole genre that owes so much of its existence to the medieval "Salve Regina" in praise of Mary the Mother. It was a way to reclaim space for Mary the Other (a.k.a. the Magdalene) and for myself.

Though the following 2010 video breaks the chronological order of this story, allow me this brief flash forward, since I have no other example of the percussion-only salves style in which I initially imagined "Al pie de la cruz":

It was probably 2005 when I asked my Dad and brother if we could do a harmonic experiment to make "Al pie de la cruz" sound like an Anglican hymn. I was itching to bring together salves and Protestant hymns—two traditions of praise music that are so important in the musical road I have walked. Here's a tiny and rough-rough audio clip of Papi, my brother and I:

Al pie de la cruz (tiny acapella take) by Raquel Z. Rivera

A bit over a year after that, I found myself in pianist and sound engineer Desmar Guevara's studio, scared to death. After about six months of insisting, he had finally convinced me that my songs of praise for The Magdalene should be recorded in a CD. But I still thought I wasn't ready. I still thought my music and my singing just weren't good enough.

Desmar suggested we start by just jamming and experimenting. Pick any song and we'll start there, he said.

I picked "Al pie de la cruz." I said something like I want it to sound churchy, maybe even a bit gospely. I played for him the harmonies I had sung with Papi and my brother. Desmar worked his magic on the piano while I fought hard against my fear and my voice cracking. I was astonished at how beautiful we sounded and left his studio feeling such an intense high at the possibility of actually being able to arrange my songs and record them. Here's the rough-rough audio clip of that (for me) historic moment:

Al pie de la cruz (first jam with Desmar Guevara) by Raquel Z. Rivera

I still keep a copy of the 2/1/2007 email I sent Desmar right after our fateful first session, confirming that I was committed to working with him on recording my songs for Mary Magdalene. The email is titled "Perdí la cabeza o encontré en corazón" (I lost my head or I found my heart).

A few months later, guitarist and cuatrista Alejandro Negrón and I moved in to Desmar's studio for three straight days. Sandra García Rivera came by and lent us her backup vocals for a jam where we experimented with integrating Alejandro's cuatro.

Eventually, we decided on a piano-based version that Desmar and I co-produced: Juango Gutiérrez on barrel drums, Obanilú Iré Allende on cuá and güiro, Catarina Dos Santos and Alejandro on backing vocals, and Juan Carlos Acosta on bass. And that's the song on our album!

Here's the version of "Al pie de la cruz" that we did at our NYC CD release party. We presented the CD jointly with the visual-musical tribute I collaborated on with Tanya Torres titled "Song of The Magdalene."

If you, dear reader, or anyone you know would like to download a free copy of "Al pie de la cruz," I have that option set up on this reverbnation.com link for the next three days.

Happy Día de La Magdalena. ¡Salve Reina!

I am forever grateful to Desmar Guevara for insisting that I dare to "dream big."

Las 7 salves de La Magdalena in Latin Beat Magazine

2011-07-14T15:14:00.000-07:00

I am elated about the review our Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofia CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena just received in the June/July 2011 issue of Latin Beat Magazine! You can read the original in Spanish here or, below, you can read the English translation.

RAQUEL Z. RIVERA & OJOS DE SOFÍA
Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene
Review by Eric González
Latin Beat Magazine, June/July 2001

This CD got me straight in the heart! In times when it is almost suicidal to do non-commercial work that has a unique identity and folk flavor, Raquel Z. Rivera surprises us with a gem titled Las 7 salves de La Magdalena. This is one of those productions that penetrate the soul and brighten the day. Just as the title indicates, this CD is dedicated to Mary Magdalene, who Rivera describes as: “partner of fortunes and misfortunes of the historical Jesus. The apostle of the apostles, according to certain Christian traditions. She who Jesus calls fullness of fullnesses and completion of completions in the gnostic text Pistis Sophia. The beloved disciple and the wisest among Jesus' followers, according to the apocryphal gospels. The Mary whose importance was not dictated by maternity. The Daughter of Humanity. Redemptress. Ancestress. Amalia Belcán. All and none. One. The right hand of the light. The left hand of darkness. Our Lady of Lexington. The truth and the way that live within each of us.” Based on that heartfelt description, Rivera composed seven festive and emotive songs, based on Puerto Rican and Dominican rhythms, including the seis fajardeño "Nuestra Señora de Lexington / Our Lady of Lexington," the bomba yubá/sicá "Al pie de la cruz / At the Foot of the Cross," the aguinaldo "Canción de la Magdalena / Song of The Magdalene," the danzón "Serafín y Salomé," the salve jíbara "Salve Reina / Hail Queen," and the salve/príprí/aguinaldo titled "La 7ma salve / The 7th Salve." The arrangements were passionately interpreted by Bryan Vargas (cuatro, guitars and bass), Desmar Guevara (piano and cuá), Alejandro Negrón (cuatro and guitar), Obanilú Iré Allende Solana (bongó), Sandra García Rivera (vocals), Abraham Encarnación (güira), Catarina Dos Santos (vocals), Joan D’León-Metz (balsié, mongó, panderos, catá), Juan Carlos Acosta (bass), Juan Gutiérrez (barrel drums), and Yasser Tejeda (guitars). For those wondering if Las 7 salves de La Magdalena is a highly religious recording, my answer is that it is not. It is an immensely intelectual work, one that makes us remember the folklore of our lands and our roots. (www.ojosdesofia.com).

[Raquel's P.S.: Two slight but important corrections. I only composed six of the seven salves in the CD. Alejandro Negrón composed the gorgeous "Serafín y Salomé." Also, Obanilú Iré Allende Solana played cuá and güiro. And a heartfelt thank you, Eric González, for such an enthusiastic review!]

Sundance: Micro-Notes from Planet Arizona

2011-07-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

The Sundance takes place in a circle. A tall tree strung full of colorful cloths is the circle's axis. Around the open air circle is an arbor with a bit of shade. There, I dance shyly among the sundancers' supporters. Here's what touches me the most:

* The hypnotic rhythm of drums and songs with male voices singing low and women an octave above.

* The little clusters of helpers that gather around each sundancer once it's time for his or her offering. An offering is physically and mentally challenging, and I can only imagine the comfort that six or seven pairs of solicitous hands and faces must give the sundancer. Once the offering is made, the small group does a joyous run around the full circle of dancers.

* After four days of intense dancing prayers and other physical sacrifices, each sundancer gives a blessing to all the supporters. There are about 80 dancers and an equal number of supporters. I do as every other supporter does: I leave the arbor's shade and stand in line right in front of the prayer sticks, lower my eyes and open my hands. The first dancer fans me with feathers, the second taps the center of my palms with the feathers, the third touches his palms to my palms, the next caresses my forehead with the feathers... Each dancer gives his or her own peculiar blessing. Each is an unexpected pleasure.

* Someone blessed my palms with what felt like furry dandelion seed heads. From the bottom of my heart: thank you.

* I borrowed the dandelion photo above from simple-article10.blogspot.com.

New Mexican Décima: En una redoma de oro

2011-07-07T07:37:00.000-07:00

I just heard a gorgeous New Mexican décima. It was sung by José Gallegos and recorded in the town of Abiquiu, New Mexico, by John Donald Robb in 1947. You can listen to it if you click here.

I love the simple melody and that voice so full of emotion. And I love that I'll soon get to spend a month poking around John Donald Robb's collection at the University of New Mexico's archive thanks to the Greenleaf Visiting Library Scholar Award!

Below, I have transcribed and translated only the opening 4 line stanza and the first décima.

En una redoma de oro • In a Golden Flask

En una redoma de oro • In a golden flask
Traigo almendras de cristal • I carry crystal almonds
Para darle cuando llore • To give when he weeps
Al pajarillo cardenal • To the cardinal bird

Qué lucido resplandor • What magnificent splendor
El de la Virgen María • Of the Virgin Mary
En aquel dichoso día • On that great day
Cuando nació el Redentor • When the Redeemer was born
De aquella divina flor • From that divine flower
Nació el más fino tesoro • The finest treasure was born
Donde con tanto decoro • Where with so much purity
Su gracia y todo lo criado • Her grace and all creation
En una redoma de oro • In a golden flask
Se quedó sacramentado • Remained consecrated

The décima is a poetic form that much of Puerto Rico's mountain music is based on. It takes its name from XVI Century Spanish poet Vicente Espinel and it's widespread throughout Latin America.

Décimas are close to my heart for many reasons. Many of the songs I've composed are written in this poetic tradition. (One example from my CD is "Nuestra Señora de Lexington".) And now I'm so happy to get to know décimas in my new home turf.

* Photo above of a penitente morada in Abiquiu, NM, by Geraint Smith.

The Cross as Symbolic Key

2011-07-04T16:55:00.000-07:00

"People say: 'Why these oppressed people still singing to the cross? They should hate it.' No. Because they have had a contact with the source of power. They have had a personal experience with the symbol. The symbol has revealed the mystery to them."

—Maitreyi Villamán, author of "Keepers of the Mystery: Preliminary Study of the Fiestas de Cruz in the Dominican Republic," Working Papers Series, CUNY Dominican Studies Institute, New York, 1999.

I took the quote above from the short documentary The Rap & The Cross. Though quite rough in the technical film making sense, it is a wonderful audio-visual document for someone like me, interested in the various transnational incarnations of the Fiesta de Cruz (Feast of the Cross), in musical traditions led by women (especially older women), and in musical traditions where the sacred and the sexual intersect. The documentary also gives a great example of yet another pre-Christian tradition that was absorbed into Christianity.

Something about what Maitreyi said in the documentary really touched me, something about the cross being a symbol that has power beyond the dogmas and crimes of organized religion, something about the cross perhaps being a symbolic key to a cosmic mystery...

Something about this all resonates with my ideas-in-progress regarding "mitologías de la liberación" or "liberation mythologies"—ideas that for a while have been feeding both my academic and my fiction writing.

I'll let Maitreyi's words sit and work their magic. And then I'll see where they might take me.

* Image above, titled "Cruz y flores," by Jafeth.

Fire: Notes from Planet New Mexico

2011-06-30T17:14:00.000-07:00

The night time Albuquerque horizon is usually a lovely charcoal black expanse studded by clusters of faraway small town lights. But about a week ago, I saw for the first time that familiar skyline broken in the north by the eerie orange glow rising from thousands of acres of burning woodland.

The worst thing was knowing that particular forest fire is not the only one raging uncontrolled. There is one in Las Conchas, another in Pacheco Canyon, in Carlsbad, in Wallow...

When I moved here, I knew water would be scarce and precious in these beautiful high desert lands. I thought in terms of water and its absence, but not in terms of fire.

I remember being confused by Fidel's intense alarm when early in the summer we stepped outside our home and noticed how smoky it was. Not that I was indifferent to the thought of a nearby fire. But I just figured it was a matter of calling the fire department and they would quickly squash out the blaze. It hadn't yet sunk in that a little blaze can easily spin out of control and burn for days or weeks, despite firefighters' best efforts.

Yesterday, my sundown run with Mole & Onix through the Rio Grande Bosque across the street from our house got cut short by two park rangers who informed me that the trails are closed due to imminent danger of fire. The forest will probably not reopen until we get at least a little bit of rain, they said.

Fidel later told me that the rangers usually close down the forest around the 4th of July weekend. He thinks it's for the best. I agree. A cigarette butt, a little clandestine barbecue, a spark from holiday fireworks... ¡Uy!

It makes me shudder to think of all those tents selling boxes upon boxes of fireworks in store parking lots around town. More tents keep cropping up as the 4th of July gets closer and as those nearby forest fires rage on.

San Isidro of the South Valley

2011-06-28T05:55:00.000-07:00

My brother introduced me to San Isidro Labrador (Saint Isidore the Farmer) some years ago. Jorge Homar carries around a small estampita of the saint in his wallet. A cook and farming enthusiast, my brother is passionate about everything related to growing and preparing food. From the moment I realized the saint was working his magic from inside my little brother's wallet, San Isidro has had a piece of my heart.

Then I moved to Albuquerque's semi-rural South Valley to be with my love who is a farmer and is surrounded by a beautiful community of farmers. Last year, on San Isidro's May 15 feast day, I joined our neighborhood's procession and blessing of the waters. It was a beautiful and moving experience.

Every year, a different family is chosen to take care of the saint. Last year, our friend Jorge Alberto and his daughter Maya received the saint during the ceremony. This year, Fidel and I were chosen to be the saint's caretakers! Both of us were elated by the honor, until I realized I was scheduled to be in New York that same weekend due to an equally important honor—leading the Pleneros de la 21's Fiesta de Cruz sung rosary. So Fidel and I had to decline this year, hoping that we might get a chance to host San Isidro in our home in the near future.

Though I was 2,000 miles away, my heart was still here in Albuquerque's South Valley with my love and friends and neighbors celebrating San Isidro. I am grateful to Roberto Rosales who documented last month's event with these gorgeous photos I'm including here.

Margarita greets San Isidro.

Jorge Alberto gets ready for the ceremony.

Jorge presents San Isidro to its new caretakers.

Pablo, Andrea, and San Isidro.

Danzantes.

Fidel.

Blessing of the water 1: Petals for San Isidro

Blessing of the water 2: Petals for San Isidro

Blessing of the water 3: Petals for San Isidro

*** Photos by Roberto Rosales.

The Why Write About What

2011-06-24T06:59:00.001-07:00

A friend recently asked me some important questions about my writing—questions I had never thought of asking myself.

"You stopped writing about Puerto Rico. Why?" she asked.

"I just moved on to other interests after my first few years in New York. Plus I've been long feeling like Puerto Rico has changed so much that I just don't understand it anymore. I don't feel like I can accurately write about it. But maybe a more basic reason is that I just don't have the desire anymore to try to figure out what's happening," I said.

"Don't you feel like you should be writing about Puerto Rico? Like it's your responsibility? That you should be contributing to making things better over there?"

My first instinct was to say no. But it sounded kind of harsh, so I gave it some thought before I answered. Still, the only reply that rang true was "No."

I do feel I should be contributing to making things better, yes. But the place and the topic don't really matter, as long as I feel I am doing something good. Her questions make me wonder how I switched from being so focused on Puerto Rico matters, to other topics.

For the first few years I lived in New York, I was still very engaged in writing about Puerto Rico. But slowly my writing focused more and more on Puerto Ricans in New York. Perhaps I considered the Puerto Rican community in New York an extension of my "commitment" to Puerto Rico. (I'll have to think about that more. I'm not sure.)

But then I became more and more interested in focusing as well on New York Puerto Ricans' neighbors: especially African Americans, Dominicans and other Caribbeans. And then I ended up being as interested in Dominicans as I am in Puerto Ricans.

And then, after 17 years in New York, I moved to New Mexico and at first I was scared of how the move would affect my writing. How would I stay true to my writing passions when my immediate community now has such few Dominicans and Puerto Ricans?

As the months in Planet Albuquerque pass by, the answer seems to be that ethnic and regional specificity is becoming less and less important to me. The ethnic- and regional-specific way that people do things still fascinates me. But even more than understanding what people do, I am interested in understanding the why. Why do people do certain things? Why do those things move their hearts? Why do they move mine?

* I borrowed the image above from PMStudent.com.

Utopia vs. Apocalypse

2011-06-23T13:46:00.000-07:00

I'm so grateful to Yari for the link to the radio show featuring J.C. Hallman, author of In Utopia: Six Kinds of Eden and the Search for a Better Paradise.

Wow! Hallman talks on the show about many things I had not thought about: religious vs. secular utopias, monasteries and nunneries as types of religious utopias, right-wing vs. left wing utopias...

From discussing utopia, Hallman and the show's host went on to discuss its opposite: dystopia and its many branches, including the Apocalypse and apocalyptic scenarios.

Something about that connection really clicked for me. I'm enamored of utopias, disturbed by dystopias and terrified of the Apocalypse. But it never occurred to me to think of the Apocalypse as a type of dystopia.

Oddly, the connection comforts me. While my interest in utopias and dystopias has been fueled by my adulthood intellectual curiosity, my visceral (and embarrassing) fear of the Apocalypse is rooted in childhood trauma.

I'm hoping that thinking about the Apocalypse as a type of dystopia will help secularize the concept for me. I look forward to never again feeling that familiar cold creepy anxiety mounting every time I hear phrases like "the rapture" and "the mark of the beast."

I'm hoping.

Alabanzas in Chimayó: Notes From Planet New Mexico

2011-06-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

June 17-18, 2011

El Santuario de Chimayó is one of my favorite places in Planet New Mexico. It's in a gorgeous little valley in the highlands of the northern part of the state. A huge mountain looms nearby and a pretty little river runs right next to the sanctuary.

The adobe church is gorgeous on the outside. The inside is both beautiful and spooky.

Last night there was an all-night vigil on the grounds below the sanctuary, in a big open space full of trees, right next to the river. The vigil was in honor of el Señor de Chalma (the Lord of Chalma), a.k.a el Cristo Negro (the Black Christ), first venerated in the town of Chalma in Old Mexico. He is a much-beloved figure in Mexican Catholicism and owes much of that power to pre-Columbian traditions.

Fidel and I drove the approximately 76 miles north from Albuquerque and arrived around 11 pm. We parked in an open field surrounded by huge trees, next to about 12 other cars and pickup trucks. We didn't need a flashlight, thanks to the glow of the waning moon.

Beyond the trees, someone blew the conch shell and the initial alabanzas began. We couldn't see anyone yet, but we could certainly hear them. Strong male voices were complemented by a few female voices doing that peculiar throaty harmony that intrigues me so. The loudest of the female voices was markedly out of tune, full of emotion, beautiful.

As we got closer to the voices, we realized that among the trees there was a little tent city where the smaller kids were already sleeping. And right beyond, in a nice-sized gazebo, about thirty folks strumming their conchas and singing their hearts out in front of the altar.

Two powerful lamps were shinning on the altar from one of the gazebo's supporting beams. This altar was smaller than the one at the home ceremony in Los Lunas, but still elaborate. The huge table in the center held vases full of multi-colored flowers. A long single file of tall white candles in glass votive holders spanned the full length of the table. A large picture of an older man and woman among the flowers, commandeered one corner of the table. Later, I found out they were the parents of M. and her brother, two of the danzantes hosting the ceremony; their mom and dad had been devoted to the Lord of Chalma and both passed away during these very same early summer celebrations.

Laid out right in front of the altar was a huge, heavy-looking wooden cross. The longest beam was maybe 6 feet tall. The cross was raised up parallel to the ground by two supporting plastic triangles to about the same height as the altar. Right underneath the cross, there were more white candles burning.

As we sang alabanza after alabanza, the main ritual activity was "dressing" the cross with the sendal—a long, lilac and lacy piece of fabric. J. and V., a married couple in their thirties to early forties, were in charge of dressing the cross with the sendal and also with flowers. It took quite a long time to dress the cross. J and V. sewed the sendal over the cross, with the aid of a few helping hands, including A's, the teen aged young man who is usually in charge of blowing the conch shell. After the sendal was securely in place, a few more helping hands—this time all women—sewed flowers onto the sendal. (There were bunches of flowers also affixed to three small poles sticking out of the cross, but—oh fabulous memory of mine—now I can't remember who worked on these.)

Every 3 years, the task and honor of dressing the cross is rotated. This was J. and V.'s last year. As part of the ceremony, they respectfully asked another young-looking couple if they would accept taking over from them for the next 3 years. J. explained that though the proposed couple were not danzantes, they had faithfully participated in this ceremony for years; and since commitment and love for the ceremony is the most important thing, they were certainly good candidates.

The man turned to the woman and explained in English what J. had said in Spanish. Because of her mestizo looks, I had automatically and wrongly assumed she understood Spanish well; I got a kick out of my assumption being challenged and I also liked the fact that though the ceremony was carried out in Spanish there was still an openness to transcending language barriers. The woman quickly agreed and so the man announced in Spanish they would be honored to accept.

I drank a lot of coffee, partly to guard against sleep and partly because it was a nice antidote to the cold. Most folks wore thick woolen ponchos and even blankets wrapped around their heads and shoulders. I had on a thick sweater and my ski jacket.

All the songs were call and response, with the lead vocalist establishing the chorus in his or her first verses and then spinning new verses as the chorus got repeated after each verse. The first few folks to sing lead were the elders in the crowd and they knew most of the verses by heart. But as the younger folks took their turn, they relied more on printed books called alabanceros and also on handwritten pieces of paper.

It was the first time I had the pleasure of listening to and singing so many alabanzas back to back. Some of them I recognized from the ceremony at Los Lunas. But I heard so many new ones that I loved. For some mysterious reason, among religious songs it is the ones in praise of the cross that have always moved me the most—even in my fervently atheist days and even nowadays when I am still weirded out by Christian martyrology.

At least one of the alabanzas I recognized as a corito from my Evangelical childhood: "Demos gracias al Señor, demos gracias, demos gracias por su amor..." How Caribbean Protestants and Mexican Indigenist Catholics happen to share liturgical songs is something I want to find out more about.

My favorite alabanza went something like this, but in Spanish: it sprouted from the earth, it surged toward the light, the Holy Cross, upon which our Lord died.

When Fidel took his turn, he also sang one about the cross that I also liked very much (and not just because my love was singing it): "Salve cruz bendita (2x) / madero sagrado / que cargó en los hombros (2x) / mi Jesús amado." ("Hail blessed and sacred cross that my beloved Jesus carried upon his shoulders.") It had the same melody as another alabanza I had heard at the San Isidro blessing of the waters in our Albuquerque neighborhood that says in part: "bendice la agüita, bendice la agüita..."

Around 4 am, the alabanzas wound down and the cross was fully dressed and ready for its upcoming blessing and danza. The way that danzantes ask for a turn to speak takes the usual Mexican courteousness to the next three levels. Sometimes most or all of a person's turn to speak is taken up by asking for permission to speak and giving thanks to: God, the "conquering souls" that watch over the ceremony, the guardian spirits that rule the spot where the ceremony is taking place, Indigenous deities like Totatzin, Tonantzin... The person speaking also asks permission to speak from his fellow compadritos and comadritas, diminutive terms I find infinitely endearing. They mean little co-father and little co-mother.

Another thing that I like about the way people speak during these ceremonies—particularly noticeable in this speaking-heavy part of the velación—is that often whenever a statement or proposal is made the proponent asks everyone else "are we in agreement?" and everyone else replies "Él es Dios" (He is God). People also enthusiastically throw in "Él es Dios" when they are moved or when their name, family, or círculo/mesa (worship/danza circle) is mentioned.

In the course of that highly ritualized dialogue, I was surprised to find out that some of the folks at the ceremony had come from Arizona and Colorado. And the folks from Arizona were headed later that morning for another ceremony in Colorado. Talk about commitment. (That's when I remembered where I had seen the woman from Arizona: at the Los Lunas ceremony. And at that ceremony I think there were some folks from Texas and California too. I want to find out if they happened to be in town or if they came into town expressly for these ceremonies.)

By the time everyone who wanted to speak, spoke, it was close to 5 am and I was hoping hoping hoping we could get some rest before the morning's danza. This was my first all-night velación, so I wasn't sure.

I was happy to hear one of the comadritas in charge of breakfast say that we could get a few hours of rest and that she would have chilaquiles ready at 8 am. Our wake-up call would be the sound of the conch.

As other folks were climbing onto the back of their pickup trucks and into their tents for a few hours of sleep, Fidel and I readied the back of our own pickup with the two sleeping mats and three sleeping bags that would be our bed. This time I did take my eyeglasses off. The last thing I remember before I drifted off to sleep was a lighter shade of blue creeping up the sky from behind the mountain.

. . .

The proverbial curtain goes down. Much too soon it comes back up to the sound of the 8 am conch. I ignore it and go back to sleep for another hour or so. I wake up again, this time to the rustling of Fidel putting on his danza clothes and asking if I am hot. Ugh! I am. It's a sunny, quickly warming morning and I am underneath three sleeping bags still dressed with my thick sweater and ski jacket.

Once all the danzantes are dressed and ready, the conch bellows. Three young men lift the cross on their shoulders and everyone gathers behind them, singing another alabanza in honor of the cross. I'm torn between walking up the hill with them or running ahead to the top so I can just watch. I run ahead. The sight of their solemn and at the same time joyful procession makes my eyes water. The pain, irony and resilience demonstrated by that syncretic mix of Catholic and Indigenous traditions is mindblowing. I know, it's parallel to what happened in the Caribbean with African traditions and Catholicism. But I'm still getting used to the sights and sounds of this particular Mexican experience.

By the time all the danzantes reach the top of the hill and gather in a circle in the plaza right next to the Church, it is already 10 am and the summer sun is blazing. The conch blows again and we turn to salute each of the four directions. My tears start rolling when we face east, towards that huge mountain full of scraggly vegetation, intense blue sky right beyond.

I get an intense desire to stay in the circle once the dance begins. But that means taking off my huge floppy hat and sunglasses, and refraining from drinking water while we're dancing. So I fight the urge and decide, again, not to. I opt to take Tanya's advice and let my soul do the dancing from the sidelines.

Once the church bell rings at 12 noon, the danzantes have to take a break, so their drumming doesn't interfere with the mass. I go inside the church to check out the mass. The middle-aged priest starts and ends his sermon by quoting Bobby McFerrin's song "Don't worry, be happy." Ha! I like that. And his logic for weaving the song into his sermon speaks to one of the reasons why religion doesn't make me run the other way as it once did. If religion can serve to keep people happy and stress-free, that is certainly one point in its favor.

As soon as the mass ends, the danzantes gather again and the priest goes outside and does a quickie blessing of their thickly adorned cross. The danza resumes. But Fidel needs to meet with his farming mentor who has fields in a nearby mountain town, so we have to leave before the whole danza and the final round of alabanzas are over.

As Fidel changes his clothes, I head to the river. It pains me not to be able to jump in completely, but I forgot to bring a change of clothes and spending the rest of the afternoon in a wet long skirt and long-sleeved blouse is not something I can handle.

I dip my feet and scoop up water for my face, neck, and arms. The water is delicious and co-o-o-ld!

I start singing, first a Brazilian song to Oxum. Then the bomba I composed for Anaízo. Then one of the salves I learned with the old women at the Baní Cathedral in the Dominican Republic: "No hay palo como la cruz, ni luz como la del día, no hay un hombre como Dios, ni mujer como María." ["There is no trunk like the cross, nor light like that of day, there is no man like God, or woman like Mary." That's the version I learned, but in my rendition I switch "hombre" (man) for "ser" (being) so I can be truer to my heart.]

Something about this salve's tender and earthy poetry strikes me as so similar to the alabanzas from last night and this morning. Then something else strikes me: for so long I've been fantasizing about going back to the Dominican Republic and spending quality time in religious ceremonies where people stay up all night singing praises to the cross and the saints, where people find strength and comfort for themselves and their families and where they also strengthen their bonds to friends and neighbors. That's when it really hit me: I can still choose to travel in search of these things. But it's wonderful to know I also have them right at home. In fact, I always had them right at home—wherever home happened to be at the moment. I just never quite realized it.

* The photos of the sanctuary at the beginning of this post, I found in various websites by googling images under "Santuario de Chimayó.". The last two pics of the sanctuary grounds, I took.

The Junior-Sized Guru & Me

2011-06-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

The Junior-Sized Guru & Me:
A Short Story In Progress

(Author's Note: Any similarities to real people or events is purely—I repeat—purely coincidental.)

When Josue first dreamed up El Maniel, Inc., I jumped on board as his enthusiastic assistant. His vision was not only to establish an Afro-Puerto Rican music group, but a corporation that would also do educational work and events production—all with a strong communal and spiritual foundation.

I spent countless hours making calls, putting together press kits and press releases, scoping out and securing places to hold dance workshops and events, picking up food for him and the rest of the crew. I hated doing organizational and promotional work. It bored me to tears. But I wanted badly to see the project finally take off. I wanted to see Josue succeed. Plus I was singing backup vocals. I wanted to see all of us succeed.

One year passed. Then two.

I labored for love in El Maniel, Inc. But I noticed that no matter how hard I worked, Josue always found fault in what I was doing: I wasn’t dedicated enough or understood well enough or was letting my ego get in the way. His criticisms usually came out of the blue and, if I protested, I was assured hours of being lectured. He would accuse me of being afraid to see him succeed, of being jealous of him, of boycotting his work and dreams. Mind you, all of this while I was the only one footing the bills.

One day I got fed up and announced I was leaving El Maniel, Inc. I told him in person, just a few minutes after rising from the warmth of his sleeping arms, over our morning coffee.

He met my announcement with a shrug. Then I left for work.

The morning was hectic at the ad agency. I must have proofread a certain phone company’s letter to the client fifty times. I made the mistake of logging in to my email account at the start of my lunch hour. I only read one. From Josue121@yahoo.com.

I hoped it was a peace offering, acknowledging that our working styles were very different and maybe even thanking me for my efforts in helping carry the company thus far. Silly me.

* * *
Dear Beba,

I want no misunderstandings. So let me ask you again: You are no longer interested in being part of my project, right?

Please correct me if I’m wrong. And even if I’m not, you are always welcome back, no judgments attached. We’ll still be meeting tonight, like every Tuesday, at the Pleneros office at 7pm.

I am very aware of all the time and energy you have invested in El Maniel, Inc. I also know you wouldn’t have invested all that time and energy, if it hadn’t been worth your while.

That which I share with others has great value and, like the best things in life, is free. I share it with others, like it was shared with me. Ultimately, that which El Maniel, Inc., brings to people’s lives has little or nothing to do with Josue Laguerre.

I have been given a mandate: to be a cultural warrior during an era when identity is the single most important weapon for people, especially for us African descendants that have for so long been enslaved and downtrodden. El Maniel, Inc., is my army and I will run it as such. Mine is an army of maroons who refuse to comply with this society that enslaves us.

There are no friends or enemies, only teachers. Each and every person, even animals and plants, teach us something. We just have to be receptive to the lessons.

Oftentimes we want to be teachers without first having been students. But that is impossible. We are obsessed with knowing without accepting that we have to first embark in the process of learning.

Long ago, I realized that my harshest teachers, even those that seemed downright cruel, have been the ones who have taught me the most.

Do we really want a sweet-tempered and kind teacher that will congratulate us for our efforts when we are failing the class?

I have deep admiration for the teachers that seem tyrannical in their strictness and their desire to discipline us as God constantly does. I no longer struggle or rebel against my teachers but instead appreciate the stick that disciplines in God’s name and which promises "Whom I Love, I chasten." Prov. 3:12, 13:24; Heb. 12:6-8; Rev. 3:19

I suggest you read these books:
1- Illusions: Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah.
2- King, Warrior, Magician, Lover
3- The Art of Selfishness
4- The Holy Bible

All except the Bible are quite short.

Thanks for blessing us with your presence in El Maniel, Inc. You have learned a lot from us as we did from you.

Peace,
Josue
* * *

I stared at the computer screen, incredulous. My fingers worked on automatic pilot to type out a curt response.

* * *
Dear Josue,

You are a pretentious freak.

How ironic you run your so-called maroon community like a plantation. How ironic that you proclaim yourself God’s humble servant yet behave arrogantly as the earthly representative of His Ever-Watchful Eye.

For those reasons, I resign, permanently, from my post as your sidekick. I stated clearly before and I will repeat it again: I want no part of El Maniel, Inc.

Peace,
Beba

P.S.
Funny you are now recommending I read “a short book” called Illusions. You obviously forgot who originally lent it to you.
* * *

Merely a half hour later I had a response from he who must always have the last word.

* * *
Dear Beba,

I’m so sorry our relationship is so filled with resentments and regrets. I’m so sorry the way I am “’till today” has made our interaction and communication so difficult. Even though we are human, Boricua, and children of the African diaspora, there are huge differences between us. I would say those differences are “cultural.” “Culture” is the manifestation or the “mode of expression” of a being with a “collective identity.”

Cultural misunderstandings are the most basic cause of our conflicts, not my leadership style. From your cultural perception I should treat you like an “equal,” like an “insider.” From my cultural standpoint that would be a grave mistake.

If sometimes, consciously or subconsciously, I consider you an “outsider,” it’s because, my love, I don’t see you “in.” When you are “in,” there is instant recognition of others who are “in.” Of course, this happens at an infinite variety of “levels” of interaction and in many different ways. But it happens!

I DO NOT doubt in my heart that you are “good” and that your intentions are “noble”. But I cannot attribute “in-ness” to others just on the basis of their “good nature” or “perceived kindness”. I do not have that “authority”. I do, however, have the “authority” to “interpret” what I know and “re-create” or “remix” the knowledge I have acquired, regardless of how I acquired it.

I cannot “speak” it in “familiar” terms with those who do not share the “language” (culture) with me. I can, however, interpret as long as I do not “expose” (reveal) the language or culture code.

I act like the Ever-Watchful Eye, not because I want to be, but because I have been appointed to the job.

Peace,
Josue
* * *

I was tempted to write back.

* * *
Josue,

“Fuck” “you.”

Beba
* * *

But I didn't. And that night I slept, again, in the coziness of his embrace.

Junior-Sized Gurus

2011-06-15T16:39:00.000-07:00

I wonder if the junior-sized gurus I've run into actually seek out this type of (scary) writing on developing a cult-like following and mind-control or if they just have a natural knack for it. These articles (in the embedded links) read to me like check lists for certain folks I have known. Yuk!

* In the photo above: Jason "Mayhem" Miller. In Jason's defense, his "join my cult" offer is only clowning around.

Utopian Aspirations, Dystopian Results

2011-06-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

"Utopia is about being a part of a community." Sam Green, filmmaker.

"Utopia is about how we would live and what kind of a world we would live in if we could do just that." Ruth Levitas, author and scholar.

I.

As a college freshman, I used to compulsively wander the section on utopian communities and related theories at my university library. I was upset by all the social injustice in the world, all the emphasis on exaggerated consumption and material possessions. So I first gravitated towards these books looking for an analysis of our reality and, above all, proposals for alternatives. I devoured Marx, Engels, Bookchin, Capetillo, Leguinn...

I was sixteen and a strident atheist who was still angry at the Evangelical indoctrination I received as a child. So theories of community seen through a secular lens were good with me, but once they started sounding vaguely like religion or even spirituality I ceased being interested. Not that I ran into much of that at Brown University. The folks and the books I surrounded myself by imagined utopia through philosophy, economics, and alternative ways of development and social relations. But popular spirituality, roots, ancestors... I didn't think about any of that. No one around me was talking about it. I was not at all interested in it. All of that came much later. But when it came, it shook me up, it took me over, it ran me over. So much so that for a while I wasn't able to recognize myself.

II.

Last weekend I went to concurrent exhibits at 516 ARTS gallery titled Worlds Outside This One and Across the Great Divide. They're all about utopian proposals and experiments. The photos I've included in this post are part of the performance event The Swimming Cities of Serenissima.

Walking around the gallery, I kept trying to understand what it is about utopian impulses and tight-knight communities that both attracts and repels me. It has to do with many things and the easiest one to name is how easily utopian aspirations end up looking more like the opposite: counter-utopias, anti-utopias, dystopias.

III.

I'm not saying I was in a cult. I'm just saying I felt like I was in a cult. And that's why I had to get away. That's the feeling that I'm still trying to shake.

I'm not saying it's as simple as me being the innocent victim of a repressive small, tight-knight community. But I did feel repressed. I felt uncomfortable, stifled, lost, disempowered, scared. I sank really, really low while I was there. And maybe that's not at all on them, maybe that's all on me. Or maybe it's some on them, some on me.

Maybe that kind of experience is better suited for folks who are stronger, folks who know how to handle conflict better, folks who know when to lovingly send others straight to hell, folks who know how to take these things easy and with a grain of salt, folks who are open-hearted yet have a solid core, folks who can take criticism better, folks who are not as self-conscious, folks who have had more practice at loving and struggling within community.

Or maybe a large part of my internal conflicts have to do with not being willing to accept the responsibilities and commitment of working in a community. Maybe I just admire community in the abstract. Maybe I'm just a selfish individualist.

Or maybe it's not about any kind of deficiency I have. Maybe it's just my personality, my temperament. Maybe it's a matter of preference. Maybe I just don't like giving people that kind of access into my life. Maybe I just prefer social intimacy with very few people at a time. Maybe having someone else tell me what poetic/spiritual images my psyche must respond to just kills it for me. Maybe I just have to retain some feeling of independence to feel at ease.

There's something powerful that happens when everyone agrees to be emotionally moved by the same ritual. I treasure being able to participate in community ritual practices, but I detest feeling boxed in by those very rituals and that very community. I'm also repelled by the shadows of those around me and, above all, by my own shadows. How to open my heart and at the same time protect myself?

Community fascinates me. Community ceremonies, in particular, fascinate me. And the truth is without community I have felt moorless, uprooted. But in community I have felt like I have to struggle so hard to retain my balance, my autonomy.

Ironically—but I'm sure not coincidentally—I've landed myself in a parallel universe/community to the one I escaped in New York. I guess this stuff keeps coming up for me because there's something here for me to work out.

Mind you, I'm not saying this is a cult. I'm just saying I don't want to end up—again—feeling like I am in a cult. And that's why I'm trying to strike a tricky balance: keeping my heart open while at the same time keeping my distance, stepping lightly, going slowly and writing about it all.

IV.

It occurred to me to look up the meaning of "cult." I wanted to make sure that a cult is, by definition, what I am trying to describe: an anti-utopia; an "alternative"community with lofty intentions but dubious results; a place chock-full-of dogma as well as full of twisted and stifling power dynamics; a community distinguished from the "mainstream" by its relatively small number of participants and/or the secrecy of its practices.

It turns out that, indeed, the one I'm using is the most common definition, especially since 1965. But, it turns out it is also a definition with a history of problematic use, particularly by "established" religions seeking no discredit "new religious movements." Tom Wolfe puts it like this: "A cult is a religion with no political power."

So now I'm not sure anymore that "cult" is the best term to use. But if not "cult," what would be the best word to describe the simultaneous beauty and ugliness of a certain small and tight-knit community with utopian aspirations yet often anti-utopian results?

* Photos of "Swimming Cities," by Tod Seelie.

Alabanzas in Los Lunas

2011-06-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

Alabanzas in Los Lunas:
Notes from Planet New Mexico
June 5, 2011

Fidel and I are heading south of Albuquerque to a ceremony in Los Lunas. The ceremony actually started last night and folks have been up all night long singing alabanzas in honor of the Virgin of the Light—namesake of the group hosting the celebration. We meant to go last night, but after Fidel's hectic thirteen-hour day harvesting and packaging vegetables my love had to admit he was in no condition to pull an all-nighter.

So we arrive in Los Lunas at 10am, just in time for Fidel to catch almost all of the danza. And sun-shy me? I sit under a tree and watch. Then, after two hours of dancing, it's time for the cleansings and final prayers.

The afternoon sun is blazing. Thirty or so danzantes head over to the porch's shade, their skin and clothes coated with sweat and desert dust. Copal resin smoke wafts out from the house through the open windows and door.

The word starts spreading among the folks on the porch that we should all go into the house. As I step inside, I'm greeted by the familiar smell of Florida Water cologne, smoke and flower petals. I'm caught off guard by the pungent flashback to so many New York ceremonies in my recent past. The visuals reinforce my eerie growing feeling of being in a parallel universe to my former New York life.

The far end of the rectangular room is taken up by an altar full of Catholic and Indigenous Mexican images, flowers and pictures of people I presume have passed on. Some of the images I know well: St. Michael and St. James. Others have only become familiar to me in New Mexico during recent times: Our Lady of Remedios and the Lord of Chalma. It's the first time I see an image of the Virgin of the Light. It's a busy image: the Virgin, in a white dress and blue cloak, cradles Baby Jesus in one arm and with the other she holds up a man (¿a soul?) by the wrist. She has angels all around, crowning her head, at her feet, and also at her side, offering her food.

H., a stocky middle-aged woman with long hair flowing down her back, is at the helm. She stands right in front of the altar. A younger woman helps her spray Florida Water over two large sticks thickly adorned with flowers. H. calls the children first. Kids and parents with babies in their arms make two lines. Each person kneels as H. and her partner glide the flower sticks over heads, torsos, backs. Then the next person's. And the next person's.

After all the children are ritually cleansed, the adults start lining up. Fidel motions me forward and whispers that, once cleansed, I should not give my back to the altar but walk away backward, facing the altar. I'm hoping I get H. And I do. She smiles with pretty full lips and two missing front teeth. I close my eyes, as I feel petals tickling my scalp, my nose, my ears, my neck. H. surprises me by lifting up my braids and rubbing the flowers against the back of my neck. A chill creeps up my back. It feels good. As I've seen the others do, I thank her and shake her hand as I get up. Then I walk backwards away from her.

A teenager with big beautiful eyes rimmed with thick eyelashes blows the conch. His chest is bare, like most men here. But unlike the long hair of most, he sports a furry buzz cut. It's curious to me that it's the men who show more skin. Most women wear long skirts and modest blouses. This young man's name is A., though I've heard folks teasingly call him The Last of the Mexicas as a play on The Last of the Mohicans. I'm curious to find out why.

Each time A.'s conch booms, everyone in the room turns in the same direction to salute first the four winds. Then the sky. Then the earth. Then infinity.

The men and women holding the small stringed conchas start strumming and so begin the gorgeous songs called alabanzas. Singing them makes my heart happy and light. The lyrics praise the cross, Christ, commitment, community, the Virgin, the saints. I love how strong and present these voices sound. I think of my teacher and mentor Tito Cepeda who just passed away. I think of the love we shared. My eyes water. I think of the love I will always feel for him. At this very moment, his body lays at First Avenue Funeral home in East Harlem, my former neighborhood. I can't be there, but I can't think of a better reasonable facsimile than being here.

I look around me and see intense devotion imprinted on facial expressions, on raised hands, on bodies swaying. Somewhere to my right I hear a throaty woman's voice an octave above all the other voices. It makes me smile. I can't see who it is, but I sing with her. Dios te salve María. Dios te salve María. Dios te salve María.

Everyone sinks to their knees. And it's a Padre Nuestro. And an Ave María. Many, many times. One after the other.

I join them in everything, except in making the sign of the cross. All these years hanging out with Catholics and I still can't bring myself to do it. I think it's my personal, private reminder that I will participate but only on my own terms. I will never again let others dictate the way in which my heart relates to the Unseen. Not the Evangelicals of my childhood. Not the atheists of my adulthood. Not the espiritistas, santeros, paleros or run-of-the-mill Catholics of my recent past. Not the Indigenist Mexican Catholics of my present.

Amen.

Photo above: "Towards Los Lunas," by Max Surplice.

Last Night I Slept With My Eyeglasses On

2011-05-29T14:00:00.001-07:00

Last night I slept with my eyeglasses on
In the back of a pickup truck
Under a starry desert sky
On the outskirts of Gallup

And I want to translate that feeling into a sweet and simple song

(Image above from amazingstories.com.)

The Sun

2011-05-26T06:15:00.000-07:00

The first time I danced a danza azteca last year, I started feeling shaky and woozy and almost fainted about halfway through the danza. I sat on the grass and put my head down for a bit. Then I asked for permission to leave the dance circle and, feeling defeated, took cover in the shade.

I wasn't sure if it was the intense emotion I was feeling over participating in such a beautiful ceremony. Or if it was the intense May midday sun we were dancing under. Or the lack of water. Or the Albuquerque altitude.

More than likely it was all of the above.

I have gotten to know a bit and love a lot about the danza. Last Winter, I even managed to get through quite a few danzas without my body threatening collapse.

But then the Spring sun came back and now I'm not so sure if I should keep coaxing my body into getting used to dancing at midday with a bare head, no sunglasses, under no shade, and without drinking water through the duration of the danza.

I vaguely understand that the danza is as much about communion as it is about sacrifice and disciplining the body. And this is nothing compared to what I've heard about the Sun Dance where people abstain from eating and drinking while dancing the whole day.

When I was a teenager in Puerto Rico, I used to spend hours under the sun, baking to a nice toasty golden despite Mami's protests. You're going to regret it, Raquelita, she would say. Your light skin and eyes are not built for such abuse, mamita.

Back then, I hated being pale and freckled. Mami insisted that, twenty years down the line, I would hate even more being wrinkled and with age spots from sun damage.

In my late teens, the migraines I started suffering from traipsing around under the Brazilian NorthEast's sun convinced me to start treasuring the shade, sunglasses, sunblock and big hats.

By my mid-twenties I agreed with Mami. Yes, I am pale and freckled. So what? I was built like that.

Now fast-forward to my late thirties and I'm participating in a danza tradition developed by rich in melanin and dark-eyed folks.

All the people I dance with, including those with pale skin like mine, assure me I just have to keep doing it. That I'll get used to it.

But do I want to?

I love the sun. I also fear it. And respect it. And I recognize my limitations.

I do feel like such a wimp, bowing out from such a beautiful practice for what seem like wimpy reasons.

But are they wimpy reasons? Is flirting with skin cancer a wimpy reason?

We had a big danza in March with members of other danza groups. I decided to keep my sunglasses on until the last possible moment. At that last possible moment I was already in the middle of the circle and I just decided to play dumb and keep my sunglasses on. I silently implored the spiritual guardians of the danza to be understanding of my small act of disobedience and to be forgiving of my limitations. The sunglasses helped me some. But even still, I had to ask permission to leave the circle halfway through because my body, again, was threatening to collapse.

As I sat in the shade, fanning myself and drinking not only the water I had brought for myself and Fidel but also the water I had brought for our dogs, I started noticing my burning skin and lips. Even with SPF 40 my skin had burned! Particularly painful were my chest and my scalp, where I had sadly neglected to put sunblock on. I was in pain and peeling for over a week.

After that, I thought it was settled. I just can't handle dancing in the sun. It's o.k. I'll dance when we do it indoors or when the sun is low in the sky.

Then I went to New York for a month and a half. I came back to Albuquerque fiending to dance. So, last Sunday, I joined the noon danza circle again. I slathered myself with a few coats of sunblock, making sure to include my scalp and chest this time around. The first few dances, I did with energy and love and tons of enthusiasm. Mario danced "Fuego." Carrie danced "Malinalli." But by the third danza I was rapidly going downhill. I tried dancing with my eyes as closed as possible, trying to block out the sun's glare. Of course, that is very hard to do when I don't know by heart the steps of the danza and I have to be looking at other people so that I can keep out of their way when they do their fast dips and turns. But I kept on. I was feeling fainter and I kept trying to at least remain in the circle. So, along with the other danzantes, I moved right then left, back and forth, but without raising my feet much. I attempted to do a slow turn as the others where doing fast turns, but after half a turn, I had to stay in place, trying to get my bearings straight, concentrating on not letting my body crumple onto the ground like it so much wanted to. At least all throughout, I kept shaking my ayakashtl, alias maraca. And I didn't fall.

At the end of the danza, one of the elder dancers gently but firmly said that we all had to remain moving, even if we didn't know the steps. The danza is a prayer circle built upon collective movement, so we have to keep that energy flowing, at the very least we have to keep our feet moving. She politely didn't mention names, but of course she meant me. I was the only one having trouble keeping up. I wanted to explain... But I didn't. I was happy when another danzante voiced a slightly different opinion. He said he thought keeping up with the body movement wasn't as important as what is in our hearts, our intentions.

I was grateful for his words. But I kept thinking...

I'm really just not built for this.

I do love the sun. And I love it best from the shade.

* First image is from supernaturalbotanicals.com. The second image is by ihsankhairir.

Fiesta de Cruz - May 14, 2011

2011-05-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

I had barely finished flipping out over my 2 big The Mermaid's Feet concerts when I started flipping out about being one of the two lead voices for Los Pleneros de la 21's Fiesta de Cruz in East Harlem.

Initially, I had been elated to be chosen to sing the Fiesta. For over 10 years, I've been faithfully there to sing coro. It's one of the community religious events that most touches me. Partly, it's because—despite my distaste for Christian dogma—there is something that profoundly moves me about the story of Jesus on the cross. And partly, it is also because—despite my distaste for the Virgin Mother myth—I can recognize a powerful current running through marian devotion... a current which I have come to terms with by transforming and personalizing it through my mary-magdalenian devotion.

But one thing was being happy that I had been chosen to sing these beautiful songs with amazing musicians in front of the always impressive Holy Cross altar full of white and yellow candles and flowers. And another thing was facing up to the fact that the place would be full of people who would be, among other things, watching me.

What is it with me and being watched? I have no idea. It mystifies me that I get stage fright over being watched, but not over being heard.

I know I may never find out what that is about. But what I can't do is let it stop me.

So I just deal with the physical signs of distress that torment me before I sing in public: diarrhea, migraines, raw skin on my hands, cold sores on my lips. And then I step to the challenge.

So there I was, in front of a room full of beautiful folks, kicking and screaming on the inside. Why why why do I end up in this position over and over again? Why do I say yes to singing in public?

As soon as we began singing "Por la señal de la Santa Cruz / De nuestros enemigos líbranos Señor" my eyes watered and I knew the answer.

I say yes because I love to sing. Because I love these songs. Because I love Los Pleneros de la 21. Because I love the folks that gather for the Fiesta de Cruz, in particular the older women that sit right up front and know all the verses to the long Fiesta de Cruz rosary and who sing with mouths and hearts wide open. Confident. Peaceful. Passionate. Soaring.

Because I love Juango's intensity and love and playfulness, as he musically guides us all through the rosary.

Because I love Nilsa's power and shyness and purposefulness as she prays and then raises the cross on the altar steps.

I loved being there. I loved singing those beautiful songs. I loved looking at the older women in the first two rows and singing with them. I loved Georgie and Yari and Tanya and Juan to my far left side, smiling wide. I loved Judimar bopping along to the rosary that, to her, as well as to me, sounds just like the Protestant coritos we enjoyed singing as children. I loved looking at Bryan and wanting to imprint in my memory that feeling of freedom and rapture, and promising myself that next time I play with him I will reach back to tap into that memory.

I felt so high and moved and happy, I didn't even mind when at the end of the letanía in Latin (Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison...), a woman visibly upset that I had skipped the last bit of the letanía, kept singing with a defiant look on her face after the music finished, so as to properly finish the sung prayer and teach us all the right way to do it. I just smiled and, along with everybody else, enthusiastically joined in the response "Ora pro nobis." Years back I would have been mortified. But I knew I had done my best and poured all my love into that letanía. Plus I had made my letanía as close as possible to the way Nelly Tanco sang it for so many years. So I was satisfied. And I was able to dispassionately revisit what it was about these types of interactions that for so many years robbed me of my voice and power. No longer. On the contrary. That type of moment is now a reminder of why I must do this. Why I will continue to do this.

Mayo florido para cantarte
Mayo florido para adorarte
Para adorarte, para adorarte, para adorarte, ¡para adoraaaaaarteeee!

* Images: © Ana L. Alicea 2011.

The Mermaid's Feet - footage by Arte Institute

2011-05-16T15:52:00.000-07:00

I am extremely happy with this footage by Arte Institute, chronicling The Mermaid's Feet concert I recently did at Hostos Center for the Arts and Culture with my sister-mermaid Catarina dos Santos!

The Mermaid's Feet - interview/rehearsal video

2011-04-20T04:17:00.000-07:00

I'm so happy about my upcoming shows May 6 and 7 at Hostos Center for the Arts with Catarina dos Santos. (Click here for details.) Check our interview/rehearsal video!

Lady Gaga as Mary Magdalene

2011-04-18T05:38:00.000-07:00

I just heard about tomorrow's premiere of Lady Gaga's video for her song "Judas."

My initial reaction? A plea to the universe: Please please pleeeeeease let her Mary Magdalene be something else than a repentant prostitute!!!

Mary Magdalene can be interpreted so many different ways, but the repentant prostitute is truly truly played out. That is part of the reason why my CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena and joint project with Tanya Torres titled Song of the Magdalene are both about exploring new ways to re-tell the Magdalene story.

Then I read this article about a few Latino Catholic groups being outraged by the song. If the article is quoting those groups correctly, their outrage is out of perspective indeed.

O.k., so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the video and draw my own conclusions. But at least I got a taste of it by listening to the song online.

I actually found it funny. The song is over the top (surprise, surprise) and I got a kick out of the Mary Magdalene being in love with Judas angle. But, of course, I'm dissapointed that (yawn) The Magdalene is again the repentant prostitute.

The Process Is the Reward

2011-04-16T04:31:00.000-07:00

I love making music. I love the process of hearing a song in my head and stopping whatever I'm doing to record it, so I don't forget. I love obsessing over said song for weeks and weeks, fussing over the lyrics, over the details. I love getting together with one or a few musicians to arrange the songs. I love going to the studio with an engineer/coach/friend like Desmar, Willian or Yasser and having fun recording the music that gave me so much pleasure to create.

Studio work does give me a little bit of stress, I have to admit. But, after having gone through it a few times, I know it's a matter of tricking myself into relaxing. I make funny faces and noises so my jaws are not tense. I stretch. I shake out my arms and shoulders. I stick a little estampita of Mary Magdalene in my line of sight so I can sing to her as I record. It's all a bit nerve-wracking, but all in all the recording process is another fundamental part of why I love making music and want to keep making music. The joy is huge and the discomfort small, by comparison. So I put up with some fear and pain to reap an enormous reward. The process itself, even with its challenges, is the reward. (Just like with my non-music related writing. More on that later.)

Oh... and radio play! I looooove getting radio play. I'm a radio ham! By the time the song gets on the radio, all the stressy parts that come with the joyful parts of the process are done. So I just enjoy.

Ahhh... but then there's performing. That process is mostly stress. And it's something that I know is in my best interest to deal with if I want to keep doing what I love to do. O.k., I concede: performing is a wonderful opportunity that I'm grateful for but it takes a lot out of me. I can't do it every day. I don't want to. The process is very painful and is not in itself a reward, so I'd rather save it for special occasions. I would much much rather be at home or in the studio, writing or making/recording music.

That last bit about writing is very important. I'm a writer who sings and records. Not the other way around. I'm a writer who loves to spend most hours of most days in peace and solitude, because it allows abstract and mysterious things in the air and in my subconscious to come pouring out of my fingers as writing and out of my mouth as music.

I know and treasure the struggle and discipline and pain of getting up to write every day. That's what I do and want to keep doing with my life. In that process, joy by far overrides pain.

I've been struggling recently with the choices I'm making as a musician because I've been turning down or not pursuing gig opportunities that other musicians would be happy to accept. Sounds crazy that I'm turning things down, right? After investing so much love and time and money on my CD, why not pursue and accept those opportunities? Am I shooting myself in the foot? How dare I say no? Who am I to say no?

I've been obsessing over this since yesterday afternoon, when I turned down yet another opportunity.

See, I think accepting those opportunities make sense for musicians who delight in performing, who want to spend most of their days/nights performing. So even if the money and other conditions are less than ideal, there's still the absolute joy of getting to do what you most love to do—that thing you would do every day and be happy and wonder how you got so lucky that you get paid to have fun.

But that's not me.

I feel so conflicted about this. It reminds me of my parallel conflict over spending most of my time teaching or giving public lectures. I don't want to live like that either. Neither performing, nor teaching, nor giving public talks are an end in itself for me. Doing them every once in a while is definitely worth it, makes sense and gives me a sense of accomplishment at (yet again) having gracefully faced and conquered my fears. But every day? No. NO.

So my mantra today: The process must be the reward. The process must be the reward...

*Image borrowed from www.livemusicnewsandreviews.com.

and announcing... THE MERMAID'S FEET

2011-04-10T12:41:00.001-07:00

I am so happy to announce THE MERMAID'S FEET, two upcoming concerts I have with Catarina dos Santos and our respective bands at Hostos Center for the Arts and Culture in the Bronx on Friday May 6, 7:30pm, and on Saturday May 7, 7:30pm. Come through! (You can get a sneak peek by watching our interview/rehearsal video here.

THE MERMAID'S FEET:
A Dialogue in Song Across the Oceans
May 6th, at 7:30 pm
May 7th, at 7:30 pm
Hostos Center for the Arts and Culture
450 Grand Concourse at 149th Street, the Bronx, NY
$15 regular, $7 students/seniors
Tkts & info: 718-518-4455
For online tickets CLICK HERE.

THE MERMAID’S FEET is a collaborative effort between East Harlem-based vocalists Catarina dos Santos and Raquel Z. Rivera who draw on roots music of the Afro-Ibero-American world, highlighting women's experiences. The project title makes reference to the female-centeredness of dos Santos' and Rivera's music and to the ocean that touches all the countries whose musical traditions they draw from: Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Brazil, Portugal, Cape Verde and Angola. Rivera is a practitioner of the Caribbean salve, bomba and jíbaro traditions; Dos Santos’ work blends Portuguese, North East Brazilian, Cape Verdean and Angolan musical languages such as samba de roda, afoxé, batuku, and semba, in a innovative collaboration with Brazilian, Portuguese, and African musicians.

Raquel Z. Rivera will be accompanied by Ojos de Sofia featuring Bryan Vargas (musical director, guitar and cuatro), Yasser Tejeda (guitar), Donald Nicks (bass), Camilo Molina-Gaetán (percussion), Jonathan Troncoso (percussion), Kaila Paulino (background vocals) and, of course, Catarina dos Santos.

Catarina dos Santos will be accompanied by her band featuring Marcos Vigio (guitar), Zé Rui de Pina (cavaquinho), Leco Reis (bass), Mick Trovoada (percussion), Gil Oliveira (percussion), and of course, Raquel Z. Rivera.

Funded in part by the Rockefeller Foundation's New York City Cultural Innovation Fund 2010-2012.

Photo by Erika Morillo.

Jibara de Albuquerque

2011-03-24T07:51:00.000-07:00

I just came back home to Albuquerque. And the first thing on the agenda was helping Fidel install the irrigation system for his Asparagus Fields (Forever). It felt so incredibly right! (Mind you, the photo was taken during a break. Sit around was not all I did, I swear.)

I've been feeling so at peace, so in love, so at home... And then Fidel played for me a buscapié style of son jarocho from the Gulf Coast of Mexico and I was musically smitten. The buscapié starts out like a décima in jíbaro music but then it takes a different direction and it's missing one line at the end, so I get the pleasant feeling that something is left unsaid.

As I compulsively listened to the buscapié over and over again, I knew a new song was starting to brew within me. But what was it about? One of the lines in the song I was listening to spoke about asking "God to take care of our flag". That's when it hit me! My song was about exactly the opposite. About renouncing flags. Yet being at home.

Most of the songs I've written so far are about heartbreak and about looking for home. (Now that I think about it, even my CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena is about searching for home through the metaphor of Mary Magdalene!) This is my first song about being in love and being at home.

Below are the lyrics-in-progress with a rough English translation. Below the lyrics is a ROUGH rough sketch of what the song might sound like—keep in mind I have only worked on the lyrics, not the music, so for this version I borrowed the musical background from Evaristo (Varo) Silva Reyes.

I welcome comments, suggestions and corrections for this work-in-progress!

Jíbara de Albuquerque

Ya yo no quiero bandera • I no longer want a flag
Yo soy de aquí y soy de allá • I am from here and I am from there
Yo soy de aquí y soy de allá • I am from here and I am from there
Ya yo no quiero bandera • I no longer want a flag
Soy de adonde a mi quieran • I am from wherever I am loved
De donde el sol me despierte • I am from where the sun wakes me up
Donde me encuentre serena • I am from where I am serene
Donde esté clara mi fuente • I am from where my waters run clear
Ya yo no quiero bandera • I no longer want a flag

Soy jíbara de Albuquerque • I'm a jibara* from Albuquerque
En este Valle del Sur • In this South Valley
En este Valle del Sur • In this South Valley
Soy jíbara de Albuquerque • I'm a jibara from Albuquerque
Soy de donde yo me acueste • I am from wherever I go to sleep
De donde viva mi amor • I am from wherever my love is
Como aquí estoy de repente • And since I am here now
Digo que ahora de aquí soy • I am from here
Soy jíbara de Albuquerque • I'm a jibara from Albuquerque

Mi amor a mi me decía • My love used to tell me
Sal de tu casa mi reina • Leave your house, my queen
Sal de tu casa mi reina • Leave your house, my queen
Mi amor a mi me decía • My love used to tell me
Te propongo vida mía • I propose to you, life of mine
Vivir conmigo y mis perros • That you come live with me and my dogs
Pa compartir la alegría • So that we can share happiness
Para sembrar el desierto • So that we can plant the desert
Mi amor a mi me decía • My love used to tell me

Jíbara pies de sirena • A jibara with mermaid feet
En medio de este desierto • In the middle of the desert
En medio de este desierto • In the middle of the desert
Jíbara pies de sirena • A jibara with mermaid feet
Ya nado sobre la arena • I can swim through the sand
Igual que en el Rio Grande • Just as if it was the Rio Grande
Vuelo sobre las mesetas • I can fly over the mesas
Voy nadando por el aire • Since I swim through the air
Jíbara pies de sirena • A jibara with mermaid feet

Jibara de Albuquerque by Raquel Z. Rivera

* A jibara is a woman from the countryside of Puerto Rico.

Wise Words from the Klezmer Fiddler

2011-03-15T16:56:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting the world's leading klezmer fiddler Alicia Svigals at a panel discussion at Queens College that we were both part of.

I loved her wit, her spunk, her playing and her honesty.

Among many other things, she spoke of her difficulties being the only woman in an otherwise all-male klezmer group. Then she spoke of the challenges she faced in an all-women's group.

She cautioned against idealizing women-only spaces. Sure, there was less overt conflict. But there was covert conflict galore. While the men battled things out openly, women tended to make taking care of each other's feelings a priority. But that last bit bred resentment.

She also said that the same competitive and aggressive male energy that she sometimes found annoying, was something she ended up missing once she was at the all-women's group.

The lesson learned for her is that the ideal music space includes good doses of both female and male presence. She said we need that yin to balance that yan.

I'm still thinking about what she said in the light of my own experiences playing in the all-women's group Yaya and in other groups with different gender configurations. I'm still processing, but what Alicia said resonated in me.

So I'll be mulling these wise words from the klezmer fiddler. As I keep enjoying her fiddling.

* Alicia Svigals photo at the top of this post by Tina Chaden.
* * ¿Viste, Tanya? ¡Nos sigue saliendo el tema del violín!

I'm a Radio Ham

2011-03-06T08:44:00.000-08:00

Playing onstage is torture with beautiful rewards. But getting radio play is plain and pure joy!

So it turns out that right up there with brainstorming new songs and arrangements, getting radio play is my favorite part of making music. I get to skip stage fright and jump straight to the good part. There's no fear of making some horrible mistake. Or poker-faced audience members. There's only wide open space and my songs riding the airwaves.

Every time I hear of another station playing Las 7 salves de La Magdalena, it's magnificent news all over again.

Here's the list of treasures so far: WFMU (New Jersey), WBAI (New York), WHCR (New York), KFAI (Minneapolis/St. Paul), WHRW (Binghamton), WWUH (West Hartford, Connecticut), Wisconsin Public Radio, WRTU (San Juan, Puerto Rico), 740AM (Puerto Rico), 1300AM (Mayagüez, Puerto Rico), 97.5 (Dominican Republic), Radio France International.

I'm feeling an extra-special joy these days, now that Las 7 salves is getting play across the Atlantic.

It started with the mini-review that appeared on le site de la Radio Télévision Belge Francophone. (They initially scheduled to feature us on their February 28 Le Monde Est un Village radio show, but then rescheduled for March 18.)

19h30 – RAQUEL Z. RIVERA et OJOS DE SOFIA
Curieuse liturgie… mise en musique dans le CD ‘Las 7 Salves de la Magdalena’, la Marie-Madeleine des fortunes et infortunes de Jésus. Reposant sur des musiques traditionnelles ou des compositions, ce nouveau disque est une façon insolite d’évoquer un personnage haut en couleurs… latines.

There were many words I had to look up in the dictionary, but right off the bat I got and enjoyed "curious liturgy." I also got a big kick out of Raquel Z. Rivera et Ojos de Sofia.

Then, I found our songs "La Que Sabe" and "La 7ma salve" getting play on B92.fm in a country I couldn't immediately recognize. Hhmmm... What language is that, I wondered? "Klik na plej dugme pušta datu numeru ili plejlistu u vašem B92 FM audio plejeru."

I searched and searched through the website and finally found a word I understood: Belgrade. Serbia? Las 7 salves de La Magdalena is getting play in Serbia?! Woooohoooooo!!! I loved listening to the show and only being able to understand our song titles and my own name pronounced "Raquel Zed Rivera". (The section starts around minute 35:00.)

The next day, I got another beautiful surprise. A radio DJ in Israel's 106FM was kind enough to write me and let me know he had bought our CD and played it on his March 3, 2011 show. השמעות ראשונות משלל אלבומים חדשים. כיף גדול. (I have no idea what it says there, but it was at the top of the show's playlist.) I was on the edge of my seat listening to the show, trying to figure out when he was introducing Las 7 salves de La Magdalena. I could not understand one word, of course, until he said "East Harlem" at minute 27:37.

Wow... "Al Pie de la Cruz / At the Foot of the Cross" getting radio play in Israel, back to back with Gogol Bordello's "Alcohol"!? Hilarious and absolutely appropriate.

I love love looove getting radio play. So if anyone has ideas regarding radio DJs, producers or shows that might be interested in Las 7 salves de La Magdalena... I'm all ears (and eyes).

I might unfortunatelly still be shy onstage but it looks like I'm a bonafide radio ham! *

* Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofia's Music Director (and dear friend) Bryan Vargas has long been saying I am a stage ham too, it's just that I haven't accepted it yet. I hope you're right, Bryan.
* * Radio dial image at the beginning of this post taken from UrbanRadio.com.

The Story that Refuses to Be Written

2011-03-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

Now it's my other fabulous confabulator Yari who has emailed me a great blog post on the joys and difficulties of creative writing.

I'm loving this post by Tysa Goodrich at Coyote Scribe titled The Intimate Life of a Writer. Mid-way through her post, there's this quote by Mark Twain that forced me to stop reading and blog:

“There are some books that refuse to be written. They stand their ground year after year and will not be persuaded. It isn’t because the book is not there and worth being written — it is only because the right form of the story does not present itself. There is only one right form for a story, and if you fail to find that form, the story will not tell itself.”

Could that be why, despite having a decent and complete draft of my novel Beba, I know there is something awfully wrong with it? Could the problem be that I haven't found the "right form" so the story refuses to tell itself?

I've revised Beba. And revised it and revised it and continue to revise it. But I don't feel much closer to where I need to get.

Every other type of writing I've done, after feeling lost for about half of the text, I get clear and the essay/chronicle/article/song/blog post/non-fiction book is on a roll. It's like the story exists outside of me and it's just a matter of finding the way to channel it.

But with Beba I only felt like I was channeling while I was writing those first scattered/disjointed/exhilarating 200 pages. That was when I didn't know where the story was going, when I trusted that if I wrote long enough the story would start telling itself. But it never did.

Tanya has long been telling me that she has the feeling I let my true voice be stunted by all the expert manuals and expert advice that I started to read and hear and heed after I felt stuck.

Mark Twain has just agreed.

Breve pataleta

2011-02-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

Ayer tuve el honor de estar de invitada por vía teléfonica a un programa radial de WHCR FM en Nueva York. Los co-anfitriones fueron maravillosos y me hicieron buenísimas preguntas y comentarios.

Luego de mi intervención me quedé escuchando el programa y disfrutándome la música, los comentarios y las llamadas de los radioescuchas. Casi llegando al final del programa, un excelente percusionista y conocedor de la música dominicana que estaba de invitado en el programa compartió muchísima información musical. Yo estaba feliz escuchándolo hasta que lo oí corregir algo que yo había dicho durante mi participación en el programa (sin mencionar mi nombre, valga la aclaración). Al tipo de salves que a mi me gustan les llamé "salves a cappella". Este músico aclaró que no se llaman así sino "salves a La Virgen." Sentí el familiar sobrecogimiento del estómago. Y la fea cantaleta interna que por veces me atormenta:

Qué bruta. Ahí voy de nuevo. ¿Ves, Raquel? Mejor quédate callada. Qué vergüenza. Qué fraude. Qué va a pensar la gente... Tú sabes ese término "salves a la Virgen". ¿Porqué no lo usaste? Esa mala memoria tuya es sendo liability. No deberías estar hablando de estas cosas. You've been educated beyond your intelligence. Te dan espacio para hablar simplemente porque tienes un Ph.D. Pero no te mereces ese espacio.

Ahora me parece muy tonto ese ataque de odio propio. Hasta un poco cómica me parece ahora la pataleta de ego que me dió.

Pero en el momento no fue nada chistoso. Me sentí super mal. Me dió una rabia intensa conmigo misma por no recordar en el momento ese término que usan los dominicanos. De ahí brinqué a sentir rabia con el percusionista por corregirme. Total, yo estaba tratando de hacer la conexión entre las salves dominicanas y los alabados nuevo mexicanos y ambos se cantan sin acompañamiento musical, o sea, a cappella. Fue una simple frase descriptiva, pensé. Coño, que manía de hiper-corrección. Y de ahí volví a saltar a tirarme tierra yo misma: No, el problema eres tú, Raquel. Por eso es que te deberías limitar a escribir y cantar. Por eso es que no debes hablar. Que hable la gente de verdad conocedora como él.

Ahora que me pasó la pataleta, veo que no pasó nada. Tengo mis limitaciones. Y tengo mis dones. Y, sin acomplejarme por mis debilidades, voy a seguir hablando.

On Writing

2011-02-25T07:33:00.000-08:00

My dear confabuladora Tanya has for many years brainstormed with me and helped me through my intense ups and downs while writing my novel-in-progress. She just sent me a link to a great blog post at Epic Black Car titled "Part Two of the Evil Secret to All Writing."

I love the writer's spunk and wit. That Epic Black Car post inspired me to also write about writing. So here go my morning musings...

After struggling for nearly seven years with my novel-in-progress, I definitely need to rethink my writing strategies.

In fact, it's very telling that as soon as I gave myself permission (a week ago) to put away the novel (yet again) and work on other things... I feel good! I enjoy waking up. I have much more energy. I'm excited about the future. and, most important of all, in the last few days I wrote two pieces that I actually enjoyed writing. Enjoyed!

The first piece is my monthly column for 80 Grados (due out next week). I went to an exhibit of Latino artists, had a fun time walking around the gallery with Fidel, loved the funky cumbias and música norteña that Frontera Bugalú was playing at the opening. Then I went to the artist talk by Pepón Osorio and Amalia Mesa-Bains and came out extremely inspired.

Then I thought I would write about Pepón and Amalia's talk but then the introduction to the piece kept getting longer and longer, as I described the work of two other artists at the show (Kai Margarida-Ramírez de Arellano and Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz). So I decided that the article would just be a celebration of these three Puerto Rican artists at this largely Mexican/New Mexican/Chicano exhibit.

As I was putting the last touches on that article, I went to an Aztec dance that made me feel incredibly good. I wasn't sure exactly why or what made the feeling possible. So the next morning I sat down to write and, in the process, answered why and what. The process was full of the magic that is THE REASON why I started writing in the first place: to figure out what was happening inside my heart, to understand and record what I was feeling.

As I wrote the piece about the Aztec dance, I once again felt "guided" by unknown forces or maybe it was just that wonderful feeling of flowing. The images and words kept pouring out of me and I kept amazing myself at seeing my feelings transform from abstract sensations to words on a page.

Then my favorite part of the writing process came: the piece kept picking up speed and I was enjoying it but I didn't know how it was going to end and—suddenly—I saw the end. And it was an ending that intuitively made sense and made the text feel round, complete—like it already existed beautiful and fully formed somewhere outside of me and I just transcribed it into the computer in front of me. (Contrast that to the endless shifting and plotting and drafting and scheming and forcing and tweaking that I feel I have to do with my novel—in fact, with all my fiction writing.)

What a relief to feel again all of this excitement and joy while writing! It doesn't mean that I won't keep challenging myself to polish my novel and keep working on my fiction writing skills. But this relief I feel is a great reminder that writing the novel is only an exercise. And it can have unpleasant moments. But it cannot turn into a constant source of torture and sadness and sense of failure. I will not let it. No.

This relief is also a reminder of my strengths and weaknesses. I am a strong writer of articles, essays and chronicles. It's no surprise—I've been doing it professionally for almost twenty years. I am a beginner writer of fiction—I've been doing it for barely seven. So it's no surprise that fiction writing has been kicking my ass. No big deal.

I'll just keep writing. And enjoying the process.

Once again, thank you Tanya, for being part of the joys and struggles of my creative process. And for letting me be part of yours.

* Image at the top by David Airey.

Danza for Cuauhtémoc

2011-02-24T07:36:00.000-08:00

Danza azteca/Aztec dance in honor of Cuauhtémoc's birthday
Sánchez Farm, Albuquerque, New Mexico
February 23, 2011
6:30pm

The sun is going down behind the trees that surround Sánchez Farm. There are 7 of us in the circle.

Plain, light-colored clothes. Not a feather headdress or imitation gold bead in sight. Simple long skirts for us women. Bare chests and legs for the men. Red cloth around all our foreheads and waists. Ayoyote rattles around most everyone's ankles. Ayacachtli rattles on most everyone's hands.

Carrie lights the candle and cries out loud and full of emotion with her high-pitched voice: "¡Él es Dios!" We all face east as Fernando plays the huehuetl drum and Fidel blows the conch. Twice to the east. Twice to the west. Twice to the north. Twice to the south. All the meanwhile, Fernando sings a song about Cuauhtémoc being like a little light.

Fernando assigns us into positions in the circle. Fidel is east. Lucinda is west. Julie is north. I am south. Gadiel stands south west and holds up the estandarte (standard).

Carrie as light-bearer and Fernando as drummer stand in the middle of the circle. To my surprise, Fernando appoints me regidora—she who goes around the circle signaling who dances next and taking their place in the circle as they dance in the center.

Me? Regidora? What? But I still don't know the ceremonial sequence of the danza well! I still don't remember the dance steps well!

No importa. It doesn't matter. We'll guide you.

Right before anyone begins a dance or switches positions with someone else, they have to cry out "¡El es Dios!" (He is God). Despite my long-standing annoyance at the assigning of maleness to "God," I love that phrase. I love saying it. In my head and in my heart, it's the same as saying "She is God" or "We are God." When in Tenochtitlán do as the mexicas do. And when in Albuquerque do as the Círculo Solar Ollin Xochipilli does.

So, as regidora, I get to let my heart fly seven times, as my voice saying "¡Él es Dios!" signals the beginning of a new dancer coming before the drum.

I have to look at Fidel's feet to remember the steps that draw out a cross on the earth—something that I also get to do seven times right before each new dancer steps in the middle of the circle.

I get lost many times. Do the wrong steps many times. I move in place as everyone else does their quick turns to the right, then the left. (I simply can't do those those turns. I get dizzy.) I fall behind on the steps. But I enjoy tremendously that we are still moving as one. To the left. To the right. We make the circle tighter. We make the circle expand. I love stamping my feet on the sandy earth of Sánchez Farm. I love swaying low, turning a bit, doing the backward steps that remind me of the way crabs walk.

I love being here. I love knowing that, at it's core, what I love about this is the same thing I love about b-boy/b-girl cyphers. It's the same thing that I love about intimate bomba cyphers.

It dawns on me I wasted so much time feeling out of place or trying to figure out what my place was within those cyphers. I wasted so much time intellectualizing and dissecting the rules. I wasted so much time focusing on the ugliness that inevitably always rises up.

Even as I participated in those other cyphers, I used to find peace in thinking of myself as belonging to no tradition, to no place.

Now I'm inspired to think of myself as belonging to all traditions, to all places—which is really not that different from what I used to think before. It's just two sides of the same coin. And in the end, they are just ideas, words.

I rather just dance. And love.

This is mine. I am from here. I am from wherever I wake up. I am from wherever I am loved.

By now, it's already night time. The sky and stars above us feel very close.

We salute the four directions again. Then we sing the alabanza that signals the end of the danza. Don Lorenzo Candelaria—clad in his straw hat and denim overalls—has been standing on the sidelines with his huge german shepherd Rayo who looks even bigger next to Don Lorenzo who is tiny. They come join us in the circle for this last bit. Rayo howls along with the conch.

Everyone gets to speak, if they want to, at the end. Carrie talks about how grateful she is that we have the opportunity to give praise together in this way. Fernando reminds folks of the upcoming danzas. Fidel remarks how appropriate it is that we danced at sundown. Cuauhtémoc means águila que desciende (descending eagle) and represents the sun going down or consciousness getting to rest through sleep or through death. It's a beautiful moment of the cycle, he says.

It is.

¡Él es Dios!

* Sunset image at the beginning of this post taken from ABQ Style.

Hallucinating in My Dreams

2011-02-21T11:07:00.001-08:00

Last night I watched A Beautiful Mind, a movie whose protagonist is schizophrenic and has to cope with people he hallucinates into existence.

No doubt inspired by the movie, last night I dreamed I was hallucinating someone into existence. In the dream, I was telling Tanya about all the projects I wanted to accomplish in the near future. As I talked, I was getting more and more tense and upset, worrying about all the things I had to get done. That's when, within the dream, I hallucinated a brown-skinned hand and arm on the periphery of my vision. I knew it was a hallucination, and like the character in the movie, I knew I had to learn to live with my hallucinations but not give in to them completely. I never turned around to see who the hand and arm belonged to. They looked and felt like an older woman's. She didn't speak but stroked my arm and held my hand conveying a simple message: relax, calm down, no need to worry. I didn't tell Tanya about the imaginary arm consoling me. I just heeded the arm's advice and kept talking to Tanya, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as if neither hallucinations nor what I expect of myself where anything to worry about.

A beautiful and truth-filled dream.

The Mermaid's Feet: on finetuning our project title

2011-01-31T09:49:00.001-08:00

Ok, so the lovely Catarina Dos Santos and I are developing a joint music presentation titled...

In English: The Mermaid's Feet
In Spanish: Pies de Sirena
In Portuguese: Os Pés da Sereia

The trick is that using three titles seems a bit much. We're wondering if perhaps we can combine the Spanish and Portuguese versions of our title into one. But we haven't yet decided what's best.

Pies de Sereia
or
Pés da Sirena
or...

We also like the idea of combining Spanish and Portuguese in the title since the project focuses on both Hispanophone and Lusophone musical traditions of South America, the Caribbean, the Iberian Peninsula and Africa.

Or maybe we should just stick to the English title and that's it.

For us, this is an excercise in conveying a concept BUT it's also very important to us that our title attract people through its simplicity/stickiness/poignancy.

Thoughts? Suggestions?

* Image above titled "Pies de Sirena" taken from Romulu85's photostream on Flickr.

Pies de Sirena

2010-12-30T16:44:00.001-08:00

My next music project is titled Pies de Sirena / The Mermaid's Feet / Os Pés da Sereia. And it's a concert collaboration at Hostos Community College with my dear friend and fellow singer-songwriter Catarina Dos Santos!

First I was elated to be given this opportunity. Then I started to flip out and worry about... a million things.

I've been trying to talk myself into relaxing and enjoying the process. But it's been tricky.

This morning, as I was reviewing ideas for the promo pictures for our project, it dawned on me: This is fun! This CAN be fun. If I let it.

I will let it. I will let it. I will let it.

This is the photo that inspired me. It's light-hearted and playful. And it's playing with the concept of mirror images and opposites.

I envision a promo shot where Catarina and I are looking at each other in a similar mirror-like fashion. I imagine our photo not as clownish, but just as joyful.

Yes! This is and will continue to be fun.

I will let it.

Balance

2010-12-28T07:56:00.001-08:00

"Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor."
-Thich Nhat Hanh

Ayer vi en la Plaza Vieja...

2010-12-25T11:42:00.000-08:00

La Guadalupe que en 1959 talló un devoto en un árbol centenario detrás de la Iglesia San Felipe de Neri.

Las luminarias de navidad frente a la misma iglesia.

Mi coco con Luis Días

2010-12-24T08:11:00.000-08:00

He tenido un coco serio con Luis Días desde que lo vi tocar en vivo en la Casa de la Cultura Dominicana en NY a fines de los '90. Luego de eso, lo iba a ver tocar en cuanta oportunidad surgía. Tuve la felicidad de hacerle coro par de veces con Pa' lo Monte en Café Largo. Tengo la felicidad de conocer músicos que atesoran y comparten las cuchucientas grabaciones underground de Luis que hay por ahí.

Luis me intimidaba. Me fascinaba. Un año después de su muerte, es lo mismo.

Dediqué mi columna de este mes para 80 grados a recordarlo. Se titula "Recordando al Terror: un año sin Luis Días". Pero siento que de tanta emoción y querer, ni pude empezar a expresar lo que quería.

Es terriblemente intenso lo que su música y su recuerdo evocan en mi. Hay algo ahí que tengo que procesar, entender, formular y escribir. Pero no se exactamente qué es. (Confesión: o.k. el carisma musical y lo indomable y lo loco de Luis me recuerda mucho a Papi. Pero este coco con Luis es mucho más que eso.) Confío que si dejo este sentimiento seguir fluyendo y me sigo empapando de la música, imagenes y cuentos de Luis, llegaré a entender. Y compartirlo.

Albuquerque, otro día

2010-12-23T09:58:00.000-08:00

Más razones para mi enchule con Albuquerque

* Durante nuestra caminata con los perros esta mañana, vimos un coyote corriendo a máxima velocidad por la orillita del río.

* En nuestro patio hay ahora mismo una hermosa tropa de gente plantando espinacas y arúgula.

* Anoche comí peach cobbler en casa de una amiga. MMMMmmmm... estaba hecho con duraznos de su patio.

* En mi nuevo vecindario abundan los huertos caseros y las gallinas. También hay gente con caballos. ¡Y ayer me di cuenta que nuestros vecinos tienen cabras pastando en su patio de alfrente!

Me estoy gozando este Albuquerque. Dicen que es una ciudad. Para mi se siente más como un chulísimo pueblo pequeño que constantemente se guilla de campito.

question and realization

2010-12-17T08:55:00.000-08:00

O.k., so I have all these projects lined up and I need to prioritize:

* Radio promo campaign for my CD

* Write new proposal for my novel Beba and engage in new round of talks with agents/editors

* Apply for academic and arts grants

* Start new academic writing projects (salves, décimas, alabados, connections between jíbaro music and bachata, women in religious-based roots music...)

* Start new creative writing projects (Papi El Gato, women in religious-based roots music...)

* Figure out ways to merge academic and creative writing projects

* Get gigs for live music performance

* Get gigs for university talks

As I've been moving these items up and down in order of priority, it occurred to me that it will be a good exercize to create an idealized list of priorities... a list that takes into account ONLY what my desires are and not practical matters (i.e. $). I was thinking about it this morning as I stretched and it's easier said than done. I'm so used to thinking in "practical" terms.

So I'll keep mulling over that list of priorities.

What did become really clear as I stretched is that—even if money was not a concern at all and even if my honey would agree to move back to NYC—there is nowhere else I would rather be right now than New Mexico. That realization feels wonderful.

Now back to mulling over the question.

Atea Cristiana / Christian Atheist

2010-12-14T16:15:00.000-08:00

(Primero in Spanish. Then English text below.)

Mi CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena lo están tocando en emisoras cristianas. ¡Y acabo de encontrar un video de nuestra canción "Nuestra Señora de Lexington" en www.cristotube.tv!

Por otra parte, un perfil que recientemente salió sobre mi en El Nuevo Día me describe como "atea" y "mística profana".

La verdad es que ni me considero cristiana ni me considero atea (aunque, si me presionan, tiendo más hacia lo segundo). Y confieso que la primera vez que alguien etiquetó mi CD como "cristiano" me horroricé. Pensé que había hecho algo terriblemente mal en mis canciones para que alguien las malinterpretara de esa manera.

Pero ahora que veo que otras personas interpretan las mismas canciones como ateas, ¡pues ya no me preocupo!

Quizás lo bueno de mis canciones para La Magdalena es que la gente puede ver en ellas lo que quiere ver.

- - -

My CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene is getting airplay on Christian radio stations. And I just found the video for our song "Nuestra Señora de Lexington / Our Lady of Lexington" on www.cristotube.tv!

Then again, a profile that was recently published by El Nuevo Día describes me as "atheist" and as a "profane mystic."

The truth is I consider myself neither Christian nor Atheist (though, if pressured, I'll say I tend more toward the latter). And the first time someone labeled my CD as "Christian" I was horrified. I feared I had done something terribly wrong in my songs if someone could misinterpret them like that.

But now that I see other folks interpret the same songs to be atheistic... I no longer worry!

Maybe the good thing about my songs for The Magdalene is that people can see in them whatever they want to see.

Una magdalénica cantautora

2010-12-13T08:44:00.001-08:00

A continuación, una versión en español del artículo que Carolina González escribió sobre el lanzamiento de mi CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena. El artículo fue originalmente publicado en el New York Daily News del 15 de septiembre de 2010 junto a la foto de Susan Watts que aparece arriba. Para leer la versión original en inglés pulse aquí. A continuación, la traducción al español por Judimar Negrón.

Raquel Z. Rivera es una magdalénica cantautora

¿Y si el personaje bíblico María Magdalena no fuese el prototipo de “la mala,” sino la mano derecha de Jesús?

En Las siete salves de La Magdalena, un nuevo álbum de pegajosas canciones devocionales, Raquel Z. Rivera no solo pretende cuestionar la creencia generalizada sobre dicho personaje, sino también trazar un camino espiritual alternativo y creativo.

“Me interesa la devoción como algo poético”, dice Rivera en su estudio ubicado en East Harlem. “Yo sí creo, pero no de manera literal.”

Según la visión de Rivera, derivada de textos gnósticos y de obras de teólogos como Karen Armstrong, María Magdalena no es la prostituta arrepentida que muchos asumen, sino uno de los discípulos más cercanos a Jesús, y un importante modelo a seguir para la espiritualidad y creatividad femenina.

Pero por favor, no confunda el trabajo de Rivera con una intención de evangelizar o con las teorías de conspiración típicas en una novela de suspenso de Dan Brown.

Ella lo considera más como parte de sus propias prácticas y creencias espirituales en constante evolución, desde ser criada en una iglesia protestante en Puerto Rico, a convertirse en atea a los 10 años, y luego practicar religiones afro-caribeñas.

“Lo que siempre me gustó de la iglesia fue la música, los himnos, las panderetas,” dijo Rivera, de 38 años, aludiendo al uso frecuente de éstas en iglesias protestantes latinoamericanas.

Vestidos de blanco, Rivera y un grupo de músicos puertorriqueños y dominicanos radicados en Nueva York, tocaron un ciclo de siete canciones el pasado viernes en la antigua iglesia, ahora convertida en espacio de presentaciones, St. Mark’s Church-in-the-Bowery. El evento también contó con la colaboración de la artista Tanya Torres, quien presentó una exhibición de 14 obras inspiradas en Magdalena.

Conocida por sus investigaciones de vanguardia sobre el rol de los puertorriqueños en el desarrollo del hip-hop, las cuales incluyen su libro New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone, Rivera ha formado por varios años parte de una comunidad de músicos folklóricos caribeños.

Siendo cantante de varios grupos radicados en Nueva York como Alma Moyo, Yaya, y Yerbabuena, aprendió sobre la bomba, plena, salves, gagá y otros tipos de música.

Rivera describe las canciones como “jíbaro-heavy,” con instrumentación sencilla (guitarra, cuatro, bongós, güiro) y las agudas voces nasales típicas de la música de las regiones rurales en Puerto Rico y la República Dominicana.

Las canciones no son copias de las tradicionales ya existentes, pero algunas sí siguen patrones tradicionales.

“Canción de La Magdalena” es un aguinaldo de rabo y cabeza, en el cual se toma la última línea de cada verso para utilizarla como la primera del próximo. Otras canciones combinan elementos de varias tradiciones, así creando algo nuevo. “La 7ma salve”, por ejemplo, está descrita como una “salve/pri-prí/aguinaldo,” combinando tres formas musicales.

Para algunos de los músicos con quienes Rivera ha trabajado anteriormente, no es común tomar tales libertades creativas; pero dentro de la comunidad de músicos de East Harlem y el Bronx quienes colaboraron con ella para este proyecto, encontró varios espíritus afines como el pianista Desmar Guevara y el guitarrista Yasser Tejeda.

“Estuvieron muy abiertos a la experimentación,” dijo ella, “estaba muy sedienta de sentir que esto es mío”.

* Traducción por Judimar Negrón.
** Foto por Susan Watts / Daily News.

La Que Viene Volando de La Luz

2010-12-13T08:21:00.000-08:00

Albuquerque, 7am

2010-12-09T09:14:00.000-08:00

Canción de la Magdalena en la revista Caras

2010-12-08T17:04:00.000-08:00

Las 7 salves de La Magdalena: un tributo musical
por Benjamín Muñiz
Caras, noviembre de 2010

Nada detiene a Raquel Z. Rivera. La escritora con un doctorado en sociología ofrece su primer CD, dedicado a una María Magdalena mítica. Raquel compuso y canta Las 7 salves de La Magdalena en el álbum. Se unen tradiciones musicales de la Isla y República Dominicana para insertarse en otra tradición de carácter espiritual, que sitúa al personaje bíblico en un lugar distinto. Esta María Magdalena es la discípula amada y predilecta de Jesús, y por tanto, abre otro camino para acercarse a la Divinidad. Las pinturas de Tanya Torres, llenas de luz, color, de rosas amarillas y mantos anaranjados, complementan las canciones y dan rostros bellos a un personaje inspirador. Entra a Canciondelamagdalena.com.

Letanías de una mística profana

2010-12-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

Diálogo magdalénico e inter-mitológico

2010-12-01T08:30:00.000-08:00

Aquí un clip de Canción de la Magdalena en la Librería La Tertulia de Rio Piedras (21 de octubre de 2010), featuring esta servidora, mi confabuladora magdalénica Tanya Torres y nuestro teólogo favorito Luis Rivera-Pagan. El evento fue co-auspiciado por la Maestría en Gestión y Administración Cultural de la UPR y El Seminario Evangélico de Puerto Rico. ¡Gracias a tod@s l@s que hicieron posible este diálogo inter-mitológico!

Tomorrow Never Comes

2010-11-08T06:03:00.000-08:00

"Tumorou? Tumorou never con."

That was one of Abuelo Chago's favorite lines. Sure, he used it as an excuse for his exceses. But it turns out that bit of ying is just what has been missing from my yang.

I've been obsessively striving, planning, plotting... to the neglect of what is.

You were right, viejo: I'm here. It's always now. Tomorrow never comes.

Puerto Rico, October 16: imágenes y recuerdos

2010-10-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

A beautiful photo from our Las 7 salves de La Magdalena CD release in Puerto Rico. In the foreground, pianist Brenda Hopkins Miranda. In the background Bryan Vargas, Javier Curet, Magic Mejía, Tito Matos and Jorge Homar Rivera. I am so honored Brenda played "Al pie de la cruz" with us! (Photo by Josué Guarionex.)

Two other magical moments...

"Nuestra Señora de Lexington":

"Al pie de la cruz" (salves/palos "remix"):

Llorar como una magdalena… ¡no!

2010-10-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

Llorar como una magdalena… ¡no!
por Ramón López
Claridad, 14 al 20 de octubre de 2010

Más adentro de la música excelente del trabajo Las 7 salves de La Magdalena de Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofía–cuando el disco se escucha de cerca y de lejos- hay un murmullo de saludos de cuentos entrecruzados que forman y multiplican una comunidad de relatadas vidas de mujeres. Algunos son recientes como grabar siete canciones construidas durante años con los músicos exactos y disponibles que Raquel ha ido conociendo –cuentos de encuentros de amigos- en una ciudad tan pluralizada que hospeda cuentos de todo el mundo pero que por lo mismo alimenta el apetito de tener cuentos propios que son de una gente propia y que por ejemplo son puertorriqueños. También son dominicanos y son cuentos cercanos de Alma Moyó y de Yaya y de volver a escuchar cuentos cristianos pero ahora con una mente despierta que ordena los cuentos según la voz personal de la narradora. Son cuentos de sangre intelectual con imaginación corporal y tienen que ver con hallazgos de luces en tradiciones oscurecidas.

Oigan este cuento de Raquel. A María Magdalena, socia y compañera de andanzas del Jesús histórico. Apóstol de los apóstoles, según ciertas tradiciones cristianas. La que Jesús llama plenitud de las plenitudes y consumación de las consumaciones en el texto gnóstico Pistis Sophia. La mujer que lo entendía todo y el discípulo amado, según los evangelios apócrifos. La María cuya importancia no estuvo dictada por la maternidad. La Hija de la Humanidad. Redentora. Ancestro. Amalia Belcán. Todas y ninguna. La mano derecha de la luz. La mano izquierda de la oscuridad. Nuestra Señora de Lexington. La verdad y el camino que habitan en nuestro interior.

Hay un cuento dictado por los hombres de poder de un antiguo cristianismo hinchado de dogmas de concilio terrible cuyas palabras amenazaban con ostracismo y tortura y muerte y que todavía insiste en esconder el evangélico cuento inmenso de María Magdalena en el cuento de paso de una puta pecadora arrepentida y humillada que recibió un perdón del mesías y se convirtió en sirvienta incondicional. Hay un cuento asfixiante de las mujeres cristianas despojadas de sus ancestrales y protagónicos cantos tambores y cultos y silenciadas en nuevos templos de hombres obsesionados con la divinidad de una madre y virgen María y atemorizados con la intensidad de otra sabia y líder María.

En este disco el seis la bomba el aguinaldo y la salve entretejen los cuentos de centenaria lentitud que narran cómo las mujeres han recobrado mucho del canto y no tanto de los tambores mientras musicalizan los cuentos de urgente inquietud de las diásporas caribeñas. Aquí suenan Celina y La Calandria y las cantadas procesiones dominicanas y las gozadas fiestas de cruz y los toques de santo y los coros pentecostales y las dispersas músicas emparentadas del Caribe que se reconocen conversas en músicas amistadas de Nueva York y que Raquel puede juntar en su cuerpo porque posee la voz de mujer pueblerina y afilada que eleva el galillo para que vibre bonito y que chille con dulzura y que no ronque con rabia y que anuncie mujeres en congregación de alabanzas devocionales con la pinta de la luz que envuelve a Magdalena en las pinturas de Tanya Torres. Sólo falta convertir a Magdalena en nombre de plena para que le dé fuerzas a Elena.

Hay una fluidez en estas canciones que tiene mucho que ver con el sosiego de la poesía cantada de Raquel y las aguas refrescantes del cuatro y el piano y la tierra suelta de las percusiones. Hay una brevedad de ciclo completo que quiere ser más completado porque al reunir las distancias de las geografías musicales de islas costeras con lomos de cordilleras surge una frescura que ofrece sanaciones en la ciudad de semáforos ruidos idiomas y amores que más nos anima a rebuscar nuestras procedencias y que avisa a los que vuelven y los que quieren irse que los cuentos de las músicas son inmensos y breves y son sedentarios y portátiles y también dolorosos y sanadores.

Por la noche pongo el disco y me voy fuera de la casa y lo escucho de lejos y mientras camino paso por mi arbusto de un jazmín que no sé nombrar pero tiene forma de trompeta y embriaga al que se acerque con su fragancia de sanaciones blancas y paso por mi árbol de café de la India que está en plena florecida desparramada en su olor de sanaciones blancas y llego hasta mi palo de gardenia que acapulla florece y marchita su perfume de sanaciones blancas y piso el suelo serpenteado por esa enredadera de jazmín blanco salvaje sin olor que más que una planta abundante es una plaga insistente de sanaciones blancas y al desear las sanaciones blancas de mis matas de azucena que no florecen aún escucho canciones de Nueva York hechas por Raquel Z. Rivera para ofrendar alabanzas y devociones a María Magdalena en la musicalización de un tibio guarapo de montes y costas de ínsula boricua y península dominicana. Esas mujeres que cantan y a las que Raquel encarna cantando conocen los cuentos de la importancia espiritual de las flores blancas y saben que la música es como un baño de plantas medicinales.

El lanzamiento de Las 7 salves de La Magdalena se llevará a cabo en la Fundación Nacional para la Cultura Popular (Calle Fortaleza #56, Viejo San Juan) el sábado 16 de octubre a las 7 p.m.

Para más información sobre el CD: www.ojosdesofia.com

Canción de la Magdalena de gira en Puerto Rico

2010-10-01T08:16:00.000-07:00

Canción de la Magdalena
Lanzamiento de CD y exposición de arte en honor a la María Magdalena mítica

Las artistas Raquel Z. Rivera y Tanya Torres lanzan un proyecto multidisciplinario que explora la figura mítica de María Magdalena, mediante un CD musical titulado “Las 7 salves de La Magdalena”, obras de arte y un libro de artista.

SAN JUAN, 30 de septiembre – Canción de la Magdalena, una colaboración artística entre la cantautora Raquel Z. Rivera y la artista visual Tanya Torres, se presentará en varios lugares de Puerto Rico en octubre de 2010, entre éstos:

15 de octubre, 7 pm: Museo Porta Coeli, San Germán
16 de octubre, 7 pm: Fundación Nacional para la Cultura Popular, Calle Fortaleza 56, Viejo San Juan
21 de octubre, 10 am: Universidad Metropolitana, Ave. Ana G. Méndez 1399, Cupey
21 de octubre, 8 pm: Librería La Tertulia, Ave. Ponce de León 1002, Rio Piedras
23 de octubre, 7 pm: Centro Cultural Marina Arzola, Guayanilla

Los eventos del 15, 16 y 23 de octubre consistirán en un concierto por Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofía y una exhibición de arte por Tanya Torres. Las actividades del 21 de octubre incluyen una charla y un conversatorio con las artistas. Los conciertos del 15 y 16 de octubre contarán con la participación del director musical de Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofía, el cuatrista y guitarrista Bryan Vargas, y también de la cantante Catarina Dos Santos, y el percusionista y cantante Magic Mejía. Todas las actividades son gratuitas.

“María Magdalena es la prostituta redimida de la Biblia para unos, la esposa de Jesucristo para otros, pero mediante nuestro proyecto Canción de la Magdalena, celebramos este personaje mítico como musa y fuente de inspiración creativa,” manifiesta la también escritora Raquel Z. Rivera, autora del libro New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone y co-editora de Reggaeton.

Canción de la Magdalena consiste en un libro hecho a mano, una exhibición de pinturas y un CD titulado Las 7 salves de La Magdalena. El arte y la música del proyecto están dedicados a la María a quien las artistas llaman cariñosamente “Nuestra Señora de Lexington”, en referencia al lugar de la ciudad de Nueva York donde ellas viven y crean su obra. Canción de la Magdalena, producto de cinco años de conversaciones, estudio y creación artística, toma su título de la edición de 21 libros creados por Tanya Torres, que incluye una canción de Raquel Z. Rivera.

“El libro une ambas partes del proyecto: la musical y la visual. Es completamente hecho a mano, y escribí cada página en un alfabeto inventado sobre hojas de papiro que traje de Egipto, donde originalmente se encontró el Evangelio de María,” señaló Torres, quien fue directora de Mixta Gallery en El Barrio (East Harlem), Nueva York, y quien comenzó a crear libros en 2001, cuando le diagnosticaron cáncer en la tercera etapa. “Un libro es un objeto de devoción, y el proceso de hacerlo es una fuente de sanación para el alma. Intentamos expresar nuestra devoción a la María Magdalena, que es para nosotras una fuente maleable de inspiración artística.”

Ambas artistas enfatizan en la conexión entre la verdad y el mito en su arte y su música. “La Magdalena puede mantener cualquiera de sus títulos acostumbrados: la discípula más amada, apóstol de apóstoles, la posible heredera de la Iglesia; o puede convertirse en cualquier cosa que una persona necesite que ella sea: una visionaria, un mito en evolución, encarnación de verdades,” dijo Torres, mientras que Rivera, quien es doctora en Sociología e investigadora afiliada al Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños de Hunter College, expresó que “Yo creo en la Magdalena apasionadamente, pero no literalmente. No soy religiosa. La Magdalena es simplemente mi mito favorito. Ella es la verdad y el camino que vive en cada uno de nosotros.”

Canción de la Magdalena recibió fondos del Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, Association of Hispanic Arts y Upper Manhattan Empowerment Zone, y es coauspiciada por el Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, City Lore y St. Mark’s Church-in-the-Bowery. El proyecto continuará viajando por la ciudad de Nueva York y por Puerto Rico en septiembre y octubre, y se espera que llegue a otros países de América Latina y Europa. Uno de los libros de la edición hará una serie de posadas, o visitas a hogares, por la ciudad de Nueva York mientras los otros seguirán su rumbo por otros lugares del mundo. Para más información acerca de Canción de la Magdalena o para convertirse en uno de los guardianes del libro, visite: www.songofthemagdalene.com o www.canciondelamagdalena.com.

El CD y las obras (originales y reproducciones) estarán a la venta en todas las actividades. El CD está a la venta en la Librería La Tertulia (Rio Piedras) y también por Internet a través de iTunes, CD Baby, DigStation, Amazon, etc. Para comprar originales o reproducciones del arte de Tanya Torres, visite: www.canciondelamagdalena.com

# # #
Acerca de las artistas:

Raquel Z. Rivera
Raquel Z. Rivera es escritora de ficción, no-ficción, poesía y canciones. Nacida y criada en Puerto Rico, ha vivido en la ciudad de Nueva York desde 1994. Es doctora en Sociología e investigadora afiliada al Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, Hunter College. Es co-editora de Reggaeton (Duke University Press 2009), y autora de New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone (Palgrave Macmillan 2003) y de numerosos artículos académicos y periodísticos acerca de la música y la cultura popular caribeña y latina. Sus ensayos, cuentos y poesía han sido publicados en varias revistas, periódicos y páginas web literarias. Miembro fundador de los grupos de música neo-tradicional puertorriqueña y dominicana Alma Moyó, Yaya y Yerbabuena, Rivera también ha cantado con artistas dominicanos de renombre internacional como Luis Dias y Xiomara Fortuna. Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene (2010) es su debut discográfico. Visite su página web: www.raquelzrivera.com

Tanya Torres
Tanya Torres es una artista y escritora puertorriqueña que vive y trabaja en la ciudad de Nueva York, donde vive desde los 15 años. Se graduó de City College of New York con un B.A. en Educación del Arte y un M.F.A. en Grabado. Estudió también en la Universidad de Puerto Rico y la Universidad de Alcalá de Henares en España. Su trabajo artístico ha sido presentado en la Organización de Naciones Unidas, la biblioteca del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, el Museo de la Familia Dominicana del Siglo 19 en Santo Domingo, República Dominicana, y el Museo Porta Coeli del Instituto de Cultura Puertorriqueña, entre otras instituciones. Sus libros pertenecen a colecciones privadas y públicas, entre ellas la del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños y la biblioteca de la Universidad de Puerto Rico. Es artista en residencia en la Escuela Pública 57 en El Barrio (East Harlem), Nueva York, donde crea una serie de murales en mosaico y murales poéticos desde 2007. En 2002, El Diario/La Prensa la seleccionó como una de las 50 Mujeres del Año. Tanya enseña talleres de arte y poesía en hospitales, organizaciones comunitarias y otras instituciones que sirven a sus comunidades. Canción de la Magdalena es su proyecto artístico más reciente. Visite su página web: www.tanyatorres.com

CONTACTO:
Raquel Z. Rivera
646.266.7182
raquel@ojosdesofia.com
www.ojosdesofia.com

Tanya Torres
646.267.9681
tanyaetorres@yahoo.com
www.tanyatorres.com

En Puerto Rico:
Benjamín Muñiz
787.602.3107
sarava@gmail.com

A Mary Music Maker!

2010-09-15T07:23:00.000-07:00

Carolina González wrote a great article featuring my debut CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for the Magdalene in today's New York Daily News. Click here or read below.

Photo by Susan Watts/ Daily News.

Raquel Rivera is a Mary music maker

Her catchy new CD is devoted to Mary Magdalene
BY CAROLINA GONZALEZ

Wednesday, September 15th 2010, 4:00 AM

What if the biblical Mary Magdalene were not the quintessential bad girl, but rather Jesus' right- hand follower?

In "Las Siete Salves de La Magdalena" ("Seven Songs of Praise for Mary Magdalene"), a new record of devotional, yet catchy, songs, Raquel Rivera aims not just to revise the popular view of the biblical character, but to sketch out an alternative spiritual and creative path.

"I am interested in devotion as a poetic thing," said Rivera at her East Harlem studio. "I believe, but I don't believe literally."

In Rivera's view, derived from Gnostic texts and work by religious scholars like Karen Armstrong, Mary Magdalene is not the repentant prostitute of popular belief but one of Jesus' closest disciples and an important model for feminine creativity and spirituality.

But don't mistake Rivera's effort for preaching or the conspiracy-mongering of a Dan Brown thriller.

She sees it more as part of her own evolving spiritual beliefs and practices, from a Puerto Rican Protestant upbringing to atheism at age 10 to practicing Afro-Caribbean religions.

"What I always loved about the church was the music, the hymns, the panderetas," said Rivera, 38, referring to the tambourines popular in Latin American Protestant churches.

Dressed all in white, Rivera and a band of New York-based Puerto Rican and Dominican musicians performed the seven-song cycle last Friday at the church-turned-performance-space St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery. The event also featured an exhibit of 14 Magdalene-inspired paintings by artist Tanya Torres, who collaborated with Rivera on the project.

Best known for her pioneering research on the role of Puerto Ricans in the development of hip hop - which includes the book "New York Ricans From the Hip Hop Zone" - Rivera has been active for several years in a community of Caribbean "roots" musicians.

As a singer in New York-based groups like Alma Moyo, Yaya and Yerbabuena, she has learned about bomba, plena, salves, gagá and other musical forms.

The songs are, as Rivera describes them, "jíbaro-heavy," with stripped-down instrumentation - guitar, cuatro, bongos, güiro - and the high nasal vocals typical of the rural regions of Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic.

They are not copies of already existing traditional tunes, but some follow traditional structures.

"Canción de La Magdalena" ("Magdalena's Song") is an aguinaldo de rabo y cabeza, which takes the last line of each verse and uses it as the first line of the next verse. Others mix elements of various traditions to create something new. "La 7ma salve" ("The Seventh Salve") is labeled a "salve/pri-prí/aguinaldo," combining three song forms.

For some of the musicians Rivera has worked with, taking liberties is unusual. But within the community of East Harlem- and Bronx-based musicians she collaborated with for this project, she found kindred spirits, such as pianist Desmar Guevara and guitarist Yasser Tejada.

"They were very open to experimenting," she said. "I was very hungry to feel this is my own."

cgonza66@hotmail.com

9-10 CD release party NYC

2010-08-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

My Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene CD release party will be September 10, 7pm, at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery (2nd Avenue and 10th St.).

There is no cover charge.

We'll have live music by Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofia, feat. Bryan Vargas, Catarina Dos Santos, Desmar Guevara, Juan Gutierrez, Obanilu Ire Allende, Manuela Arciniegas...

It will also feature an art exhibit by Tanya Torres. Our joint CD release and art exhibit is titled Song of The Magdalene. It will be a playful and heartfelt celebration of the myth Tanya & I have named "Our Lady of Lexington".

The music is streaming here: www.ojosdesofia.com

Please help me spread the word. ¡Gracias mil!

un abrazo,
Raquel

My New York CD Release: Sept 10!

2010-08-06T05:33:00.000-07:00

Join us for the release of my debut CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene and for an art exhibit by Tanya Torres. Both the CD and the artwork are part of our musical and visual traveling homage to the mythical Mary Magdalene titled Song of The Magdalene / Canción de La Magdalena. The CD release and art exhibit will be held at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery (10th Street and 2nd Avenue), on September 10, 2010, 7pm.

Why The Magdalene?

2010-07-22T05:45:00.000-07:00

Today is July 22nd: St. Mary Magdalene's Feast Day!

The Magdalene is the myth and symbol that inspired my soon-to-be-launched CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena and my collaboration with artist Tanya Torres titled Song of The Magdalene.

But why her? Why The Magdalene? My introductory essay to Las 7 salves de La Magdalena, below, is my attempt at an answer.

7 SONGS OF PRAISE FOR THE MAGDALENE: INTRODUCTION

Las 7 salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene are a musical tribute to the historical and mythological character that has in the last decade been the axis of my literary and musical production. While I’ve been writing lyrics and melodies as a tribute to Her, my musical partners have been exponentialy adding light and life to that tribute, and my magdalenísima co-conspirator Tanya Torres has been giving her a body in paintings and mosaics. For years, we’ve been living this slow but steady process of creation. And now, finally, we’re ready to share the music and art that Magdalene has inspired within us.

The musical seed of these 7 songs of praise is the marian devotion of salves as practiced in the Dominican Republic, of aguinaldos in Puerto Rico and of the songs of the Feast of the Cross in both countries. The conceptual seed of this CD is a paralell marian devotion: the one I feel for the other Mary, The Magdalene.

* * * * * * *
It was in 2006 that Tanya and I decided to channel our shared devotion for Mary of Magdala into a joint artistic project in homage of the symbol and myth that She is. We had already started painting and writing songs for her. We had already started our obsessive dialogues and readings: interpretations and re-interpretations of Christian theology, the apocriphal and gnostic gospels, the myths, fiction, music and visual traditions of twenty centuries A.M. (After Magdalene).

Everything good that we had and that we wanted to bring into our lives had to do with Magdalene. Wisdom was Magdalene. Heterodoxy was Magdalene. Ataraxia was Magdalene. From all the spaces that She occupies, we imagined her as guiding our process of celebration and discovery. Eventually, we started calling her Our Lady of Lexington, aknowledging her as the holy patroness that was shining a light on this bit of Lexington Avenue in El Barrio (East Harlem) where Tanya and I reside and create.

On the personal tip, Mary Magdalene became the central metaphor for my independent theology, what I started calling my liberation mythology and Tanya started describing as her theosophy of the imagination. I had been raised Evangelical, then turned atheist as an adolescent and, as an agnostic adult, became immersed in popular Afro-Caribbean spirituality. But along all those paths I kept running into walls, turbulence, pain. Magdalene became my guiding myth in reconnecting directly with the Great Everything, especially with myself. Magdalene became the key to making peace with all the roads I had walked. She became the light shining on the path I’m walking now.

* * * * * * *
I developed a passion for Mary of Magdala just before the millenium came to a close. A young deaconess raised in El Barrio, Danielline Martínez, gave at San Romero de las Américas Church the sermon that turned upside down everything I knew until then about The Magdalene.

The Bible is a historical and literary document, inspired by The Divine and filtered by our limited humanity, Danielline said that day. I was pleased to hear it inside a church. But, up to that point, I had heard nothing new.

According to the canonical scriptures, Magdalene was not a prostitute, said Danielline. Say what?, I thought. The New Testament says Jesus cast seven demons out of her, that she gave of her resources to support Jesus’ ministry, that she was present at Mount Calvary, that she was the first person to see the risen Christ. But her name never actually appears alongside references to the anonymous biblical “sinner” (pressumed to be a prostitute) who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and expensive ointments.

The story of Magdalene being a prostitute became officialized thanks to a sermon in 591 by Pope Gregory the Great where he spoke of the anonymous sinner, Mary of Bethany (sister of Lazarus and Martha) and Mary Magdalene as the same person. Centuries later, the Vatican admitted the error in 1969: The Magdalene and the tearful sinner are not the same person. But despite the attempt to correct the widespread misconception, Mary of Magdala is still best known as a redeemed prostitute.

I have nothing against prostitutes or against redeemed prostitutes. But what irks me to no end is that folks insist on stamping Magdalene with a terribly ill fitting label. How convenient: the most important woman in the social, political, religious and philosophical movement led by Jesus got demoted by the “fathers of the Church” to repentant prostitute, to little more than a footnote.

She who Orthodox Christians celebrate as apostle of the apostles. The wisest among Jesus’ followers, according to the apochriphal gospels. She who Jesus calls “fullness of fullnesses” and “completion of completions” in the gnostic text “Pistis Sophia”. The light of the Church, according to one of the medieval songs in “Legenda Sanctissimae Mariae Magdalenae.” The Mary whose importance was not dictated by maternity. Those images fired up my imagination.

* * * * * * *
Who is the most famous repentant prostitute of all time? The Magdalene, no doubt.

In paintings by El Greco, Titian, Artemisia Gentileschi, El Españoleto, Gaspard Dughet, Georges de la Tour, Murillo, Paolo Veronese, and others, all titled “Penitent Magdalene,” she appears with her mythical alabaster jar, a book and/or a skull. It’s this last item that hypnotizes me: symbol of contemplation and wisdom, of rejection of frivolity.

Here are a few examples:

All those Spanish, Italian and French penitent Magdalenes painted with particular zeal in the 16th and 17th Centuries are gorgeous, intriguing, fascinating. Usually teary and blond, sometimes bony and other times plump, these Magdalenes are mystical celebrations of repentance and surrender that still always dwell on her alleged concupiscent past. The result? A viscously lascivious subtext. The underbelly of the moralizing sermon is swarming with lustful interests. The redeemed prostitute: the holiest, the sexiest, the tastiest.

So to this day, the myth of the prostituted Magdalene persists.

People! Didn’t the Catholic Church admit decades ago that Pope Gregory made a lamentable mistake in interpreting the scriptures when he conflated The Magdalene and the anonymous repentant sinner? What happened? How many times does it need to be repeated?

I am irritated to no end with this our collective obsession with the penitent Magdalene. Why the focus on the sins of she who was most faithful among Jesus’ followers? Why not focus on Judas who (one version of story says) betrayed Jesus with a kiss? Why not focus on Peter who denied him three times and, what’s worse, who was the rock upon which a message of liberation became re-built as an instrument of power.

* * * * * * *
Tanya’s painting titled Mary Magdalene of the Roses (included in my CD art) and all her other Magdalenes have helped me much in understanding and procesing my fascination and simultaneous horror over the stubborn myth of The Magdalene as sexy penitent prostitute. Tanya’s Magdalenes have been just the visual balm I needed. Tanya’s Magdalenes are not in penitence, but in contemplation, harmony, adoration. They do not blondify Her darkness. They are a colorful symbol of the myth that best helps me understand the everything and myself.

Magdalene: Apostle of the Apostles, Daughter of Humanity, Sophia Embodied, Fullness of Fullnesses, Completion of Completions, She Who Knows, Lamb, Redemptress, Ancestress, Amalia Belcán. All and none. One. Right hand of light. Left hand of darkness. The truth and the way that lives within each of us. My Magdalene. Our Lady of Lexington. ¡Salve Reina!

¿Porqué La Magdalena?

2010-07-22T05:38:00.000-07:00

Hoy es 22 de julio: ¡Día de Santa María Magdalena!!

La Magdalena es el mito y el símbolo que inspiró mi próximo a ser lanzado CD Las 7 salves de La Magdalena y mi colaboración con la artista Tanya Torres titulada Canción de La Magdalena.

¿Pero porqué ella? ¿Porqué La Magdalena? Mi ensayo de introducción a Las 7 salves de La Magdalena es mi intento de proveer una respuesta.

LAS 7 SALVES DE LA MAGDALENA: INTRODUCCIÓN

Las 7 salves de La Magdalena son un tributo musical al personaje histórico y mitológico que ha sido en la última década el eje de mi creación literaria y musical. Mientras yo he ido escribiendo letras y melodías para rendirle tributo a Ella, amig@s músicos han ido añadiendo a ese tributo luz y vida, y mi magdalenísima socia Tanya Torres la ha ido pintando y plasmando en mosaicos. Llevamos años en ese proceso de creación lenta, pero segura. Y ahora, por fin, estamos list@s para compartir esa música y ese arte que Magdalena ha inspirado.

Estas 7 salves son canciones de adoración que tienen como semilla musical la pasión mariana de las salves de la República Dominicana, de los aguinaldos de Puerto Rico y de las canciones de las Fiestas de Cruz en ambos países. La semilla conceptual más amplia de este CD es una pasión mariana paralela: la que siento por la otra María, la María de Magdala.

* * * * * * *
Fue en 2006 que Tanya y yo nos propusimos encauzar nuestra compartida devoción por María Magdalena en un proyecto artístico conjunto que le rindiera justo homenaje al símbolo y mito que es Ella. Ya habíamos empezado a pintar y componerle canciones. Ya habíamos comenzado a tertuliar y leer obsesivamente sobre La Magdalena: interpretaciones y re-interpretaciones teológicas cristianas, los evangelios apócrifos, literatura gnóstica, los mitos, ficción, música y tradición visual de veinte siglos D.M. (Después de Magdalena).

Todo lo bueno que teníamos y queríamos atraer a nuestras vidas tenía que ver con La Magdalena. La sabiduría era Magdalena. La heterodoxia era Magdalena. La ataraxia era Magdalena. Desde todos los espacios que Ella ocupa, la imaginábamos guiándonos en nuestro proceso de celebración y descubrimiento. Eventualmente la empezamos a llamar Nuestra Señora de Lexington. Era Magdalena indudablemente la santa patrona que nos iluminaba este pedacito de El Barrio que atraviesa la Avenida Lexington donde Tanya y yo residimos y creamos.

A nivel personal, Magdalena se convirtió para mi en la metáfora central de mi teología independiente, de lo que yo empecé a llamar mi mitología de la liberación y Tanya empezó a describir como su teosofía de la imaginación. En mi infancia yo había sido evangélica, en mi adolescencia fuí atea y en mi adultez temprana desde el agnosticismo me adentré en la espiritualidad popular afro-caribeña. Pero donde quiera había encontrado muros, turbulencia, estrechez, dolor. Magdalena se convirtió en el mito que me comenzó a guiar en el proceso de conectarme directamente con El Todo, especialmente conmigo misma. Magdalena se convirtió en la clave para hacer las pases con todos los caminos andados y en la luz que alumbra el camino por recorrer.

* * * * * * *
Me apasioné por María de Magdala justo antes de romper el milenio. Una joven diácono criada en El Barrio llamada Danielline Martínez pronunció en la Iglesia San Romero de las Américas el sermón que viró patas arriba mi visión de La Magdalena.

La Biblia es un documento histórico y literario, inspirado por Lo Divino y filtrado por nuestra limitada humanidad, dijo Danielline aquel día. Me agradó escucharlo dentro de una iglesia. Pero hasta ahí, nada nuevo.

Según las escrituras canónicas, Magdalena no fue prostituta, señaló Danielline. ¿Qué qué?, pensé yo. Dice El Nuevo Testamento que Jesús expulsó de ella siete demonios, que ella contribuyó de sus recursos al ministerio de Jesús, que estuvo presente en el Monte Calvario, que fue la primera persona a quien se le apareció el Jesús resuscitado. Pero jamás aparece su nombre junto al de “la pecadora” (que se asume fue prostituta) bíblica que lavó los pies de Jesús con sus lágrimas y caros ungüentos.

El cuento se vuelve semi-oficial durante un sermón del Papa Gregorio El Grande en 591 donde se refirió a la anónima pecadora, a María de Betania (la hermana de Lázaro y Marta), y a María Magdalena como la misma persona. Siglos después, el Vaticano rectificó de su error en 1969. Pero Magdalena de prostituta redimida para siempre quedó.

Nada tengo en contra de las prostitutas, tampoco de las prostitutas redimidas. Ah, pero eso si que no: no me le endilguen a La Magdalena etiquetas que no le pertenecen.

Resulta que la mujer que relegaron los “padres de la iglesia” a prostituta arrepentida, a nota al calce, desempeñó un papel protagónico en el movimiento social, político, religioso y filosófico encabezado por Jesús. María Magdalena: la socia y compañera de andanzas del Jesús histórico. La que los cristianos ortodoxos celebran como apóstol de los apóstoles. La que Jesús llama “plenitud de las plenitudes” y “consumación de las consumaciones” en el texto gnóstico “Pistis Sophia”. La luz de la Iglesia, según uno de los cantos medievales recopilados en “Legenda Sanctissimae Mariae Magdalenae”. La mujer que lo entendía todo y el discípulo amado, según los evangelios apócrifos. La María cuya importancia no estuvo dictada por la maternidad. Esas imágenes me arrebataron y encendieron mi imaginación.

* * * * * * *
¿Quién es la pecadora redimida más famosa? Sin lugar a dudas, es La Magdalena. ¡Qué lindo! La líder y maestra, la más sabia entre los apóstoles, queda reducida a pecadora arrepentida.

En pinturas de El Greco, Titian, Artemisia Gentileschi, El Españoleto, Gaspard Dughet, Georges de la Tour, Murillo, El Veronés, y otros, todas tituladas “Magdalena penitente”, aparece la doña con su mítico recipiente de alabastro, un libro y/o una calavera. Es esta última la que me hiptoniza: símbolo de contemplación y sabiduría, de rechazo a la frivolidad.

Aquí varios ejemplos:

Son preciosas, intrigantes, fascinantes ese fracatán de petitentes Magdalenas españolas, italianas y francesas que fueran pintadas con particular fervor en los siglos 16 y 17. Usualmente llorosas y rubicundas, a veces alargadas y a veces rotundas, estas Magdalenas místicamente celebran el arrepentimiento y la rendición pero siempre traen a rastras su alegado concupiscente pasado. ¿El resultado? Un subtexto viscosamente lascivo. La prostituta redimida: la más santa, la más seductora, la más apetitiva. Debajo del sermón aleccionador, indudablemente pululan lujuriosos intereses.

Hasta el sol de hoy, el mito de la prostituída Magdalena persiste.

¡Señores! ¿No admitió hace décadas la Iglesia Católica que el Papa Gregorio cometió un lamentable error al interpretar las escrituras y que Magdalena no fue prostituta? ¿Qué pasó? ¿Cuántas veces hay que decirlo?

¡Qué obsesión con La Magdalena penitente! ¿Qué tanta culpa ha de purgar la que más fiel fue? Allá Judas si entregó a su maestro con un beso. Allá Pedro que lo negó tres veces; y lo que es peor, que ayudó a convertir en instrumento del poder aquel ministerio que comenzó como mensaje de liberación.

* * * * * * *
La pintura de Tanya titulada María Magdalena de las Rosas (incluída en el arte del CD) al igual que todas sus otras Magdalenas me han ayudado mucho a entender y procesar mi fascinación y simultáneo horror por el terco mito de La Magdalena como sexy prostituta penitente. Las Magdalenas de Tanya han sido justo el bálsamo visual que necesitaba. Ellas no están en penitencia, sino en contemplación, en armonía, en adoración. Ellas no arrubian a mi morena. Ellas son colorido símbolo del mito que mejor me ayuda a entender y entenderme.

Magdalena: Apóstol de los Apóstoles, Hija de la Humanidad, Sofía Encarnada, Plenitud de Plenitudes, Consumación de las Consumaciones, La Que Sabe, Cordero, Redentora, Amalia Belcán. Todas y ninguna. Una. Mano derecha de la luz. Mano izquierda de la oscuridad. La verdad y el camino que habita en nuestro interior. Mi Magdalena. Nuestra Señora de Lexington. ¡Salve Reina!

Las 7 salves de La Magdalena

2010-06-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

I am deliriously happy to announce that—after four years of hard work—my debut CD with Ojos de Sofía titled Las 7 salves de La Magdalena is ready!

You can listen to the music on the music player below, or you can go to Reverb Nation or MySpace. The CD and downloads are available for purchase on iTunes, CD Baby, DigStation, Amazon, and many other sites.

The CD release event will coincide with the launch of my joint visual/musical project with artist Tanya Torres titled Canción de La Magdalena / Song of The Magdalene. The New York City launch will be on September 10th, 7pm, at St. Mark's Church. The Puerto Rico launch will be on October 16, 7 pm, at Fundación Nacional para la Cultura Popular.

Stay tuned!

desde el South Valley

2010-06-02T06:35:00.001-07:00

I.
El Festival de San Isidro fue hermoso. Alrededor de 25 personas nos congregamos en la placita de San Isidro. Un padre católico rezó. Un grupo de danzantes mexicas saludaron a las 4 direcciones y danzaron. La pareja de mediana edad que el año pasado sirvieron de "padrinos" de la imagen del santo, se la entregaron al nuevo y mucho más jóven padrino y a su hija de 8 años. Luego fuimos todos en procesión al son del tambor llamado huehuetl y los sonajeros de los danzantes. En el camino se nos unió más y más gente, hasta que nos hicimos un grupo como de 70 personas. Una vez llegamos junto al agua de la acequia, el padre hizo otra oración y los danzantes entonaron un canto-rezo que todos coreamos pidiéndole a San Isidro: "bendice la agüita... bendice la acequia". Luego los niños y algunos mayores echaron pétalos al agua.

II.
Hoy me fui sola a bicicletear por el barrio al atardecer. Es medio campito... estilo parcelas en Puerto Rico. Precioso. En estos días hay unas flores blancas muy olorosas en unos árboles altos por todo el camino. Mmmmmmm... divinas. Una estructura media escondida con unos santos bastantes spooky me llamó la atención. El letrero afuera decía "Capilla de San José de los Ranchos de Atrisco". La acabo de googlear y resulta que es una de las estructuras más viejas del vecindario y ¡data de los 1600! Tiene algo que ver con una hermandad católica que me intriga mucho llamada Los Penitentes. Ahora mismo estoy leyendo una novela sobre ellos.

Sin cabeza

2010-06-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

¡Yarisa Colón presenta su nuevo poemario titulado Sin cabeza en Puerto Rico este jueves 3 de junio! Cómo me gustaría estar allí celebrando. Ya me leí el manuscrito y los poemas son alucinantes. Estoy loca por ver la versión final, cortesía de la singular editorial Atarraya Cartonera. Bueno, l@s que tengan la fortuna de ir... disfruten por mi.

Albuquerque Sand Dunes at Twilight

2010-05-24T12:25:00.000-07:00

Past Last Horizon road we turn right onto the dirt path at the water tower, left at the huge tractor tire, then park where some prankster decided to place an overturned boat in the middle of the Albuquerque desert. Just beyond, the sand dunes rise. It's twilight. The wind blows hard and the sand stings our eyes. As the sun sinks beyond New Mexican mountains, Jorge kneels and prays, Marsaya prepares to levitate and I practice time traveling.

Photo by Sayrah Namaste.

Trenzas para San Isidro

2010-05-12T11:18:00.000-07:00

¡Me acaba de reclutar el "mayordomo" de la fiesta de San Isidro para que le haga trenzas a sus niñitas antes de la ceremonia del sábado! Así que a las 8:30 am estaré peinando a las bellas chimicuinas y luego ¡a ver qué otras cosas hermosas pasan con San Isidro durante su día!

San Isidro Labrador

2010-05-04T12:16:00.001-07:00

El sábado 15 de mayo es el día de San Isidro Labrador y—todo lo bueno mediante—estaré en Albuquerque celebrando el día del santo patrón de los agricultores. Ya San Isidro se había ganado un pedacito de mi corazón porque mi hermano es entusiasta de la agricultura y tiene una estampita de San Isidro. Pero ahora que mi más amado albuquerquiano es "farmero" y tiene en su patio un maravilloso sembradío y está rodeado de una hermosa comunidad de farmeros urbanos... Isidro me está llamando más.

Como siempre sucede... estaba en la ducha y se me ocurrió esta salve para San Isidro. ¡A ver si mi amado se inspira a tocarlo con la guitarrita de los concheros y la volvemos una "salve conchera"!

Resurrección

2010-04-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

"It may not be empirically true, it may defy the laws of logic, but good myth will tell us something valuable about the human predicament. Like any work of art, a myth will make no sense unless we open ourselves to it wholeheartedly and allow it to change us. If we hold ourselves aloof, it will remain opaque, incomprehensible, and even ridiculous."

—Karen Armstrong, The Case for God (2009), p. 8

Reina de Las Lechugas

2010-04-03T04:20:00.001-07:00

al son de risas digitales le reclamo que este enchule sólo puede ser producto de la macumba alias brujería que me ha estado haciendo. más risas digitales y me confiesa que sí, que es cierto, que tiene la muñequita que me representa sentada como reina entre su sembradío de lechugas.

El alba

2010-03-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Acabo de enterarme de esta tradición nuevo mexicana llamada "alabados". ¡Super similar a las salves dominicanas que tanto me apasionan!

Este video es parte de un hermoso proyecto de preservación de los alabados. ¡Quiero conocer a la videógrafa y a los cantores!

Hhmmm... esto me hace soñar que quizás luego de completar mi proyecto de grabación de Las 7 salves de La Magdalena, puedo comenzar Los 7 alabados de San José. ¡Y ya tengo el primero!

Lakshmi & Vishnu

2010-03-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

Salud. Abundancia. Prosperidad. Luz. Fortuna. Sabiduría.

Amén.

¿Será?

2010-02-19T14:26:00.001-08:00

¿Será que puedo ser serpiente de agua y también de arena?

Ayer y hoy

2010-02-18T14:39:00.000-08:00

Ayer a esta misma hora estaba muy a gusto sentada a la mesa en el albuquerquiano patio arenoso de mi amorcito compartiendo sopa de pollo con un grupo de "farmeros" (mi amorcito entre ellos). En el boombox tenían puesto soul, chicano-style, como el soundtrack para el almuerzo y también para terminar de montar los greenhouses del patio.

Y ahora estoy en el lobby de un hotel hiper-chic de Tallahassee con mucha luz neón y mucho cristal, rodeada de businessmen jóvenes y otros beautiful people, comiéndome unos sofisticados espárragos en salsa blanca envueltos en masa phyllo. En el sistema de sonido tienen puesto no se si es techno o dance, pero lo que sea me irrita los oídos y va a tono con la decoración.

Acabo de hacer el check-in. Y está fuerte el contraste.

Sueños de anoche y esta mañana

2010-02-16T08:31:00.001-08:00

1.

Soñé anoche que iba a cantarle salves a María con las mujeres de Yaya. Era un evento en una iglesia, pero no era una misa. No recuerdo qué era. Hacía tiempo que no cantábamos juntas y yo me sentía muy feliz. Me arrinconé con María T. en una esquinita para hacer una lista de las salves que podíamos cantar.

Pero por alguna razón Manuela y yo decidimos salir rápido a hacerle un favor a alguien en una van prestada. En el camino viré demasiado rápido para esquivar un carro y se nos volteó la van. Manuela y yo estábamos bien pero la van quedó atorada en un hoyo.

Yo buscaba excusas para no asumir responsabilidad por el accidente: "Tú ves, esto me pasa por estarle haciendo favores a fulano." Miraba debajo de la van buscando razones para echarle la culpa a los rotos de la carretera. Y estaba ansiosa porque quizás no podíamos volver a tiempo a la iglesia para cantar.

2.

Mientras me desenredaba el pelo esta mañana, la mente y el corazón se me pusieron a soñar despiertos. ¿Y si yo me consigo el grant de la NEH y de alguna manera me las ingenio para incluir a las doñas que cantan canciones de alabanza tanto en el Nuevo como en el Viejo México? (María es María es María es María. Una iglesia es una enramada es un temazcal.) ¿Y si yo me pongo creativa en esto de buscarme grants y finalmente me decido a hacer algo en sociedad, sólo que no en el noreste sino en el suroeste?

3.

Terminé de desenredarme y fuí a la cocina dónde él estaba haciendo una sopa mañanera. Y me dijo: "¿Sabes que soñé que me encontré muchas monedas en una iglesia. Y luego se convertían en billetes."

(Imagen de arriba: Feather and Smoke Dreamcatcher by Patricia Kemke.)

Libertad

2010-02-16T08:16:00.001-08:00

"Es que necesito sentirme segura que me quieres mucho mucho. Sólo así puedo pensar en negociar mi libertad," dijo ella.

"Mami, ¿te diste cuenta cómo lo estás viendo? Como que el juntarnos tiene algo que ver con esclavitud. Si vamos a estar juntos es para que los dos estemos mejor. La idea es que estando juntos tengamos más libertad," dijo él.

Uy

2010-02-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

"The megalomaniac pleasure of creation... produces a type of elation which cannot be compared with that experienced by other mortals," dijo sobre los escritores un psicoanalista llamado Edmund Bergler por allá por la década de 1950.

Uy.

Según Bergler, ese placer megalómano es la razón y recompensa para seguir escribiendo.

Esa y otras citas igualmente deprimentes aparecen en el artículo "Blocked". Por ejemplo, según el escritor inglés Anthony Burgess: "The anxiety involved [in writing] is intolerable. And... the financial rewards just don't make up for the expenditure of energy, the damage to health caused by stimulants and narcotics, the fear that one's work isn't good enough. I think, if I had enough money, I'd give up writing tomorrow."

Repito: uy. Son repelentemente tenebrosas estas visiones, pero no puedo evitar reconocerme un poco en ellas. Ya van muchas veces que me he preguntado porqué insisto en escribir si el proceso me duele tanto. Respuesta: porque aunque sufro intensamente 3/4 partes del proceso, el otro cuarto es un placer incomparable. (Diría Bergler: ajá, megalomanía. Digo yo: no, no creo que eso sea todo.)

Aquí un antídoto cortesía de Junot Díaz. Aunque ahora que lo pienso de nuevo, no estoy segura cuán efectivo es lo que propongo como antídoto. Junot pagó ese Pulitzer bastante caro. Y no a todos nos toca tan esplendorosa recompensa.

(Image above: Spiral Tree by Curran Kelleher.)

De mitos, metaforas y religion

2010-01-16T12:33:00.000-08:00

Aqui tomando nota de lo que ha dicho/escrito Joseph Campbell sobre las religiones y los mitos/metaforas. Me parece de tanta ayuda este ejemplo tomado de The Power of Myth:

"The reference of the metaphor in religious traditions is to something transcendent that is not literally any thing. If you think that the metaphor is itself the reference, it would be like going to a restaurant, asking for the menu, seeing beefsteak written there, and starting to eat the menu.

For example, Jesus ascended to heaven. The denotation would seem to be that somebody ascended to the sky. That’s literally what is being said. But if that were really the meaning of the message, then we have to throw it away, because there would have been no such place for Jesus literally to go. We know that Jesus could not have ascended to heaven because there is no physical heaven anywhere in the universe. Even ascending at the speed of light, Jesus would still be in the galaxy, Astronomy and physics have simply eliminated that as a literal, physical possibility, But if you read "Jesus ascended to heaven" in terms of its metaphoric connotation, you see that he has gone inward – not into outer space but into inward space, to the place from which all being comes, into the consciousness that is the source of all things, the kingdom of heaven within. The images are outward, but their reflection is inward. The point is that we should ascend with him by going inward. It is a metaphor of returning to the source, alpha and omega, of leaving the fixation on the body behind and going to the body’s dynamic source."

Tan sencillo como eso. Sin embargo, los que "creemos" literalmente insistimos en "comernos el menu". Y los que no, frecuentemente pensamos que la solucion a los excesos de los que creen literalmente esta en botar el menu.

Me reafirmo en que este invento musical-visual con Tanya para Maria Magdalena es una oportunidad de, a traves de la practica artistica, llamar al balance, a la templanza.

Parafraseando a mi mas querido albuquerquiano (albuquerquense?) en cuanto a la necesidad de balance: "Ni pelona pelona, ni con dos pelucas".

Mi Re-Reconquista

2009-12-15T03:41:00.000-08:00

Ya había entendido hace unos años un poco del porqué ha sido La Magdalena dentro de la tradición cristiana la que se ha convertido en el eje de mi mitología de la liberación. Una vez oí a Tanya decir algo así como que las herencias no se escogen y eso me ayudó mucho a entender porqué yo he sentido que tengo que hacer mi paz con el cristianismo. Es cuestión de estar en paz con mi pasado y con la herencia que cargo.

Pero hace unos momentos me entró a la mente una imagen que me lo aclara más: No hacer mi paz con el cristianismo es equivalente a dejar que me corran de mi propia casa. ¡Esa también es mi casa, coño! Y mi "familia" no tiene más derecho a ella por creer de manera literal.

Dondequiera que me meta para nutrir mi espiritualidad, voy a ponerme a cuestionar: dogmas, a otros, a mi. Y me doy cuenta que "en mi casa" me siento más en libertad para cuestionar y fastidiar y ser yo. Se me ha hecho muy difícil cuestionar desde dentro de tradiciones que no siento mías.

Por eso La Magdalena es la santa patrona de Mi Re-Reconquista.

Desire Is Love Waiting to Happen

2009-12-05T15:32:00.001-08:00

"Desire is Love Waiting to Happen," Father Frank said, among many other things that blew my mind considering they were coming from the mouth of a Catholic priest. O.k., so I already knew from Tanya that he is an artist/priest and not at all run-of-the-mill. But still, I was blown away.

Father Frank also said he loved my song "Lo que La Magdalena dijo" that Tanya used as text for her recent edition of handmade books La Canción de La Magdalena.

Just this morning I had been editing my essay "Mi Magdalena" and contemplating severely censoring myself in the CD booklet version. My songs are full of heresies, but the poetry in them seems to me to take off some of the sting. But my essay is just so plain angry. It's loud. Snarky. When I wrote it, the most important thing for me was to understand and write my truth. But now, communicating my insights and love for Magdalene is also very important to me. So this morning I was wondering how much I should temper my words in order to be most effective. I told Father Frank about my apprehensions about communicating with regular religious folks. Should I tone it down? Wasn't he even a little bit bothered by what I'm proposing in my music?

"You loved my song? So my saying Magdalene was the lamb of God, just like Jesus, doesn't bother you?"

"Not at all," he said.

(He went into a brief fascinating aside about the concept of God sacrificing his son. Nothing at all about an authoritarian "God" who planned to make his "son" suffer so that we would be saved. Instead, Father Frank explained it as a story of redemption where the main character, "the son," is an amazing human being whose goodness is met with the most horrible cruelty, an example of the worst that human beings can do to each other. The son redeems all of us by being faithful and loving throughout his ordeal, and by us realizing we have to be faithful and loving and cannot keep inflicting so much pain on each other.)

"How about my saying Magdalene was equal to Jesus?" I asked. "That she was just as amazing, just as wise? That she was just as much The Light and The Way?"

"Let me ask you this," Father Frank said. "If Jesus was standing right here next to you and he heard you say that, what do you think he would say?"

I smiled. I saw what Father Frank was getting at.

"Jesus would say I'm right."

"Then why would you censor yourself?"

Below is Father Frank's embroidery titled "Magdalene":