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diegocastaldi22-blog
// Diego Castaldi \\
i-am-aileen
I am Aileen
maryjvivanc5
Mary J. Vivanco
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March 27,2024
“Every story is made up. Even the real ones”
I’ve recently have paused when making any decisions, and I’m unsure the why regarding the slower heartbeat, the lessor effort and the smaller reasons I put together in my mind to justify this slow motion movement I’m experiencing. Perhaps the beginning of spring is giving me cause to accept a bit slower pace, a more moderate approach to putting left…
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Place Finds Us
“Sometimes your value isn’t seen until your absence is felt”
The very first time I came to Santa Fe, New Mexico was in December of 1972, I was 16 years old. My brother and I jumped a freight train in El Paso Texas, and, “Road the rails,” To the town of Belen, New Mexico, where we exited the train and hitchhiked to Albuquerque. Needless to say the trip was invigorating to say the least. I recall…
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Wide Open
“Once dust, you are now spirit, Once ignorant, now wise. He who has led you so far, will guide you further”
I’ve made it a point to pay closer attention to everything in front of me, to my left and right, above me as well as below me, behind me and in the ether around me. I’ve given up being in a hurry, and traded my running shoes for a much more comfortable pair of, “Observation slip ons.”…
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The Small Stuff Matters
“What we put into love determines what we get out of it”
Any day including today, any day after today and everyday is a blessing. Many have this idea that there are almost an endless number of days, stacked up like cards waiting to be played; nestled neatly in the box for other days, other times, other games and other players.
Today whiIe I sit writing, my thoughts go to living life to its…
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San Miguel and the Art of Inspiration
Be Interesting, not perfect
This morning, I awakened in San Miguel de Allende Mexico, not that it was a surprise, or I had been kidnapped and this is where my captors had chosen to take me; I am just here.
San Miguel Doorway, ©R.Redus, 2024
Inspiration comes in many ways for each of us, and for as similar as those inspirations are the results are unique like our fingerprint, or the information…
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1/4/24
“Forgiveness is the act of erasing an emotional debt”
As the New Year slowly seeps itself into my life, I can’t help but reflect on the past year. Last year conjured the range I believe of every emotion I’m capable of. I drifted from lofty places to primordial depths, I watched as the once certain chalky life I knew crumbled, while the tenacity of my stalagmite thinking endured with hopes of…
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Misogi, and a Preview of Fall
“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”
I returned from Ganado almost three weeks ago. In that three weeks, I was certain I’d not only return the me I knew before I left, but I’d also return to the, “Me, I thought I was.” That has not happened and for as much as I am happy for that I am also a little shocked that…
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The Sacred of the Adventure
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we have loved deeply becomes a part of us”
It’s the times when I’m still, quiet, when I miss the things I want the most while the trepidation of isolation gnaws at me like a dog to a bone. Things in my life have turned in a rather abstract direction, loses that will mark me for a few seasons. In an attempt to hold some vigil high above my…
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What you see is What??
“Share your weaknesses. Share your hard moments. Share your real side. It’ll either scare away every fake person in your life or it will inspire them to finally let go of that mirage called “perfection,” which will open the doors to the most important relationships you’ll ever be a part of.
I miss the pronghorn times, those days that had a predictable view to my east. Their white rumps in stark…
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I Can't See My Shadow
“Go where you feel most alive.”
I recall as a boy in the West Texas desert, I dreamed I’d be there forever. There were the tugs and pulls that solidified that sort of crinkled paper thinking, the things I barely missed or missed outright, that made me wonder what about next time, would there be a next time and I suppose that, “Next Time Reasoning“, kept me waiting like a kid in line for the…
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Making Stains
“No problem can withstand the assault of sustained thinking.”
This morning I watched the clouds roll past, gray stains on a pale blue picnic napkin. Slowly they made their way out of view. I became the small darker cloud that resembled a bird, sitting in a thick, smooth nest. Fly away, never to return, make the sky my domain, my sanctuary, my place of solace. The last fading star of the dawn…
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“It is impossible for a person to learn what they think they already know”
There are tulips in the fort of the yard. More than last year is my guess and I suspect less than next year. I’ll pay little if any attention to the number of flowers and spend most of my time having conversations about what exactly has transpired since last year in the lives of these red, orange, pink and variegated…
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Welcome to a New???
Welcome to a New???
“Having it for a moment is the same as having it forever”
Many things are beginning, many are or have ended, one of the beauties of starting at the gate for a 66th time. Pursuits, ideas, plans, musings and the like all sit neatly stacked on my desk, white dotted dominoes waiting to fall into some designated place.
Cerrillos Hills ©R.Redus 2022
My translations of this last year’s events speak…
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Dressed up Like New Mexico
Dressed up Like New Mexico
“You can’t unthrow the pebble”
I drove the long way home, down the Waldo Grade. Twists and turns down an 8 mile, washboard dirt road that eventually released me into the town of Cerrillos. The landscape is primordial, baked, hot, dry, that bleached, bone white, that only a desert can yield. The drive is mysterious. nothing is ever the same, and I don’t know anything of the road that I can…
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A Box Full of Dreams
A Box Full of Dreams
“Paradise is exactly like where you are right now…only much, much better”
My own impossibilities, a swirling dustdevil filled with bits of tumbleweeds, yellowed pages, twigs that nestle in my hair and form the nest where my thoughts wait, incubate, plan the assault on what I’ve discovered to be my impossibles. A void where my muffled words have spent an eternity spitting single letters into the…
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This is the End Beautiful Friend…
This is the End Beautiful Friend…
“I became to myself an imaginary figure of great excellence, daring and glamor.”
Some of us prefer confessions, while others prefer the darkness of the loamy, wet earth to share our secrets. It is in these places we speak a whispered, shallow sounding of ourselves, a prayer for a clean molt; our dried, bleached, remains, nails deep in the gray, coarse bark of a cottonwood along some riverbank,…
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