170. EL DUENDE DEL VIENTO
THE WIND ELF
Parte 3/4 -Part 3/4
91(2) Espinas (Thorns) / 2021 journal 29/01/21
"No importa lo que haces,
sino cómo lo haces."
"It doesn't matter what you do,
but how you do it."
Fecha/date: 16/12/22
Explicación / Explanation:
Al final fue la visita de una amiga muy querida lo que de veras me subió el ánimo.
Aquel reencuentro me puso de tan buen humor que incluso me animé para pedir cita en la peluquería, lugar al que nunca tengo ganas de ir.
Y un par de días después, allí estaba, dispuesta a hacerme las famosas mechas balayage, y con la esperanza de salir del salón más rubia, más guapa y sin la esclavitud de tener que pensar en retocarme las raíces cada mes...
-Parece que por ahora, sigues en plena metamorfosis, ¡y lo que te queda!...-me dije en cuanto vi el resultado.
Un montón de horas perdidas para acabar con el pelo más oscuro que nunca y mechas grises en las puntas.
Un excelente trabajo por parte de las chicas, ¡que no veas si se tiraron horas conmigo! Muy profesionales, no lo pongo en duda. Pero a mí, aquel "pelazo al más estilo Instagram" sólo me sirvió para llevarme un gran disgusto.
Gastarme una burrada de dinero ( porque eso fue, una burrada) no me dolió ni la tercera parte de lo que me dolió ver mi imagen reflejada en el espejo y sentir como si me hubiesen echado diez años encima.
Si no me eché a llorar fue porque realmente creí que el pelo se aclararía tras unos cuantos lavados...
¿Unos cuantos?, ¡no recuerdo haberme lavado la cabeza tantas veces a la semana ni con productos de peluquería tan caros!(Porque claro, una melena tan moderna necesita mantenimiento, cosa con la que no contaba y que acabó pareciéndome una esclavitud mucho más tediosa que la de tintarme el pelo cada cuatro o cinco semanas)
Fue a consecuencia de ello, y supongo que debido también al abuso de todos los potingues que me aplicaron y me apliqué, que comencé a sufrir terribles picores en el cuero cabelludo que me durarían durante semanas...¡y aquello hacía que me sintiese todavía más irritable!
Y para colmo de males, en cuanto mi pelo comenzó a crecer, comprobé que aquel cambio de look, lejos de disimular las canas (que únicamente tenía en la parte frontal), hacía que se viesen mucho más.
En cualquier caso, lo que más me sorprendió fue comprobar lo deprimida que llegué a sentirme por encontrarme tan a disgusto con mi propia imagen, y que por esa tontería tuviese otra excusa para sentirme todavía más cabreada de lo que me sentía.
Desde luego, si mi imagen externa era un reflejo de mi estado interior... ¡qué lejos estaba de verme convertida en mi ideal de mariposa!, ¡menuda asco de metamorfosis la mía, que parecía que no daba pie con bola!
La cuestión es que durante días, por h o por b, no hice otra cosa que quejarme por todo...Especialmente, tras releer lo que había escrito en el post del dibujo al que había llamado Metamorfosis, y caer en la cuenta de de lo equivocada que estaba al pensar que debía centrarme en protegerme del exterior para evitar que se me colase algún intruso indeseable...
¡Lo que tenía que hacer era deshacerme de los parásitos que obstaculizaban la entrada para que no pudiese entrar nada bueno en mi vida!
Finalmente, fue una leyenda mije llamada "Los duendes del viento", lo que me llevó a la conclusión de que mi energía reactiva fuera de control era la responsable de que sintiese como si tuviese el alma llena de espinas...Eso me recordó a un dibujo donde contaba uno de mis encuentros con los Niños Santos.
Cuando volví a releer lo experimentado durante aquel viaje de setas, me quedé perpleja. Me di cuenta de que no llevaba meses, sino siglos, narrándome las mismas historietas, y también de lo harta que estaba de escucharme y no hacerme ni caso.
¿Cómo iba a cambiar algo en mi vida si con mis palabras hirientes no hacía otra cosa que desatar torbellinos de viento que lo cubrían todo de gigantes nubes de polvo?, ¿cómo iba algún día a poder avanzar sobre terreno fértil si todo lo que hacía era erosionar la calidad del suelo?. ¿cómo iba a saber por donde tirar si mis enfados cegaban mi visión?
En conclusión, mi aire descontrolado era el responsable de avivar mi fuego mal canalizado, y era por eso que, sin proponérmelo, me convertía a la vez en ambos, en el pirómano que provocaba los incendios que arrasaban con todo a su paso y en el pobre bombero que se volvía loco y no tenía descanso...
Ojalá me hubiese acordado entonces de lo que había escuchado sobre los doshas del Ayurveda y de mi bidosha en particular, allá por el 2020... ¡Creo que me hubiese ayudado mucho!
En cualquier caso, comprendí que lo que me tenía estancada era mi manera de comunicarme, ya que traía consigo demasiado ruido y rabia.
Lamentablemente, las palabras no se las llevaba el viento.
En aquel momento, vi más claramente que nunca como todas las que escupía por la boca como si fuesen dardos, regresaban siempre de vuelta, y el modo en el que me perjudicaban a mí y a todos los que me rodeaban.
¿Cómo no iba a parecerse mi hogar a un acerico lleno de alfileres?, ¿cómo no iba a dolerme todo como si tuviese mil heridas infectadas?
Ya sabía que eran mis reacciones automáticas las que tanto obstaculizaban que se diesen los cambios que deseaba ver. Pero, no entendía el por qué aquella energía corrupta, ahora personificada en un monstruo extraño, era tan fuerte que parecía haberse apoderado de mi voluntad.
¿Cómo viéndolo tan claro, no tenía la última palabra a la hora de decidir mi manera de expresarme?- me pregunté mientras observaba el dibujo en detalle.
Y entonces aprecié que la extensión de los dominios de aquel monstruo doblaba en tamaño la de mi propia cabeza... Siendo tan grande, ¿cómo no iba a dominar mi mundo?
-¿Y por qué tengo la sensación de que últimamente hace turnos dobles y parece empeñado en complicarme la existencia más fuertemente que nunca?- me pregunté desalentada.
La respuesta no se hizo esperar.
Enseguida comprendí que aquella energía, que nacía de mí y dependía de mí para existir, se hacía notar tanto últimamente, no porque tuviese más motivos que nunca para estar cabreada, sino porque al verse descubierta, temía tanto por su existencia que parecía dispuesta a luchar con uñas y dientes en pos de su supervivencia.
Por el momento me estaba ganando todas las batallas...
-¡Qué hijo de puta ese gusano de mierda! Algo tendré que hacer para que el viento sople a mi favor, pero no sé qué...- me quejé, y fue entonces que recordé la imagen de mi blog personificad0 en un pequeño gusano.
Aquello hizo que me preguntase qué tendría que ver la parte de mí que más me corrompía con una de las actividades que más amaba hacer todos los días.
-¿No será que he acabado convirtiendo a mi querido blog, al que tanto cariño le tengo, en un amante tóxico del que me tengo que deshacer?-me pregunté apenada porque sabía lo mucho que cuesta soltar lo que uno cree amar por más daño que pueda causar.
Y entonces, de manera instintiva cogí el móvil y me puse a revisar las fotos. Allí hallé la respuesta...
Encontré una foto mía que me había hecho mi hijo mayor mientras escribía, ¡y qué horror! Observé lo mucho que me parecía al bicho encorvado que necesitaba echar de mi vida.
No me gustó lo que vi. Vi a una mujer joven envejecida de forma prematura, sentada en mala postura con la mente divagando de acá para allá, echando humo por la boca, cegada por una pantalla de ordenador, tecleando sin parar, junto a la estantería que siempre dice que ordenará mañana.
Eso era yo, un bicho ausente con la mente llena de memorias desordenadas en mitad del caos, fumando de manera automática, con la mente en modo avión y preparada para atacar a la menor interrupción... ¡Porque los sustos que me llevaba cuando me sorprendían por detrás eran tan tremendos que propiciaba la salida del ogro que gritaba que le dejasen en paz!
¡Los Niños Santos me advirtieron de este peligro hace mucho tiempo! - exclamé en cuanto comprendí la razón por la que me habían mostrado el blog en forma de un insignificante gusano que necesitaba liberar.
Era un hecho que escribir me ayudaba y mucho a ver mis fallos, pero también lo era que la imposición de aquella tarea añadía demasiado estrés y conflictos innecesarios a mi día a día.
Y es que al final, no importa qué haces, sino cómo lo haces.
Mi ansia por nutrir mi blog a diario se había convertido en una carga y en la puerta de acceso directo que permitía a mi monstruo de mecha corta colarse en escena y hacer de las suyas.
Meditar sobre lo anterior me llevó a tomar la decisión de dejar de escribir cuando los niños rondasen cerca, ya que sabía que me cabrearía cada vez que me interrumpiesen.
De este modo, evitaría que mi lado reactivo aprovechase esos ratos para atacar.
En aquel momento, ¡no sabía que escribir no era más que una pequeña grieta en una gran muralla en ruinas!
No sucedería hasta el año siguiente, que me haría realmente consciente del daño que me habían causado mis espinas.
Y no ha sido hasta el presente que puedo ver mi tendencia a propiciar multitud de oportunidades para ser pillada desprevenida, y el gran esfuerzo que me supone mantenerme presente en el aquí y el ahora.
Pagar por las consecuencias de mi ignorancia a lo largo de un horrible 2023 me sirvió para ver hasta que punto mis hábitos ayudan al monstruo iracundo que habita en mí a atraparme en un bucle del que es muy difícil escapar.
Fue la vida quién finalmente se tuvo que encargar de meterme en vereda, y lo tuvo que hacer bajándome a mi cuerpo y a través del dolor.
Ahora que todo eso pasó, puedo decir con una sonrisa que tuve lo que merecía...¡y hasta puedo alegrarme de pasar por ahí!
Lo importante es que aprendí la lección, o eso creo.
¡Lástima que me lo pusiese tan difícil, y que para lograrlo tuviese que verme despojada de casi todo lo que amaba, daba por sentado o había convertido en una distracción!
(Comenzando por mi apariencia física y salud, y terminando por las noches de fiesta, los paseos, las clases de yoga y lo que más amo hacer, pasarme horas dibujando)
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"Flow" Given to a beloved friend on 16/12/22
Explanation:
In the end it was the visit of a very dear friend that really lifted my spirits.
That reunion put me in such a good mood that I even decided to make an appointment at the hairdresser's, a place I never feel like going to.
And a couple of days later, there I was, ready to get the famous balayage highlights, hoping to leave the salon blon blonder, more beautiful and without the slavery of having to think about touching up my roots every month?
I was wrong...
-It seems that for now, you are still in a metamorphosis state, and what's left for you!...- I said to myself as soon as I saw the result.
A lot of wasted hours to end up with darker hair than ever and grey highlights on the ends.
An excellent job by the girls, who spent hours with me! Very professional, I don't doubt it. But for me, that "great hair in the most Instagram style" only served to give me a big disappointment.
Spending a lot of money (because that's what it was, a lot of money) didn't hurt a third as much as it hurt to see my image reflected in the mirror and feel as if ten years had been thrown at me.
If I didn't burst into tears, it was because I really believed that the hair would lighten after a few washes...
A few? I don't remember washing my head so many times a week or with such expensive hairdressing products! (Because of course, such a modern mane needs maintenance, something I had not had in mind, and which ended up feeling like a much more tedious slavery than dyeing my hair every four or five weeks).
It was as a result of this, and I suppose also due to the abuse of all the pots I was applied and I applied myself, that I started to suffer from terrible itchy scalp that would last for weeks, which made me feel even more irritable!
And to make matters worse, as soon as my hair started to grow, I realised that my new look, far from disguising the grey hair (which I only had on the front), made it much more visible.
In any case, what surprised me the most was how depressed I felt about being so unhappy with my own image, and that because of that silly thing I had another excuse to feel even more pissed off than I did.
If my external image was a reflection of my inner state, how far I was from becoming my ideal butterfly. What a disgusting metamorphosis of mine, which seemed to be a complete failure!
The thing is that for days, I did nothing but complain about everything... Especially, after rereading what I had written in the post of the drawing I had called "Metamorphosis", and realising how wrong I was to think that I should focus on protecting myself from the outside to avoid any undesirable intruder from sneaking in...
What I had to do was to get rid of the parasites that were blocking the entrance, which provoked that nothing good could enter my life!
Finally, it was a Mije legend called "The Wind Elfs", which led me to the conclusion that my out-of-control reactive energy was responsible for my feeling as if I had a soul full of thorns, and reminded me of the drawing where I recounted one of my encounters with the Holy Children.
When I went back to reread what I had experienced during that mushroom trip, I was perplexed.
I realised that I had not been telling myself the same stories for months, but for centuries... And also how tired I was of listening to myself and not taking action!
How was I ever going to change anything in my life if my hurtful words did nothing but unleash whirlwinds of wind that covered everything with giant clouds of dust?
How was I ever going to be able to move forward on fertile ground if all I was doing was eroding the quality of the soil?
How was I ever going to see where to go if my vision was completely blinded by my anger?
In conclusion, my uncontrolled air was responsible for stoking my poorly channelled fire, and that was why, without intending to, I was both the arsonist who started the fires that ravaged everything in their path and the poor fire fighter that got crazy and could not have a rest...
I wished I had bearing in mind what I had heard about Ayurveda doshas and mine in particular in 2020... I think it could have helped me a lot!
What made me feel stuck was my full of noise and anger way of communicating. Unfortunately, words were not ever blown away by the wind.
At that moment, I saw more clearly than ever how all the words I spat out of my mouth like darts always came back and harmed me and the others.
How could it not look like my home to a pincushion?, how I was not going to feel the pain of a thousand infected wounds?
I already knew that it was my automatic reactions that hindered the changes I wanted to see. Yet that corrupted part of me, now personified in a strange monster, was so strong that it seemed to have seized my will.
Seeing it so clearly, how was it possible that I felt I still didn’t have the final say in the way of expressing myself? - I wondered as I looked at the drawing in detail.
I could immediately see that the extension of the domain of that monster was twice the size of my own head...It was not surprising that it dominated my world!
-And why do I get the feeling that lately he does double shifts and seems bent on complicating my existence more strongly than ever? - I wondered discouraged.
The answer was swift.
I soon understood the reason why I was noticing more than ever that energy which was born of me and dependent on me to exist.
It was not that I had more reasons to get cross than ever.
That energy reacted more against me than ever because it knew I had discovered it. It feared so much for its existence that was determined to fight tooth and claw for its survival.
For the time being, the monster in me was winning all the battles...
What a bastard creature! I will have to do something to make the wind blow in my favor, but I don’t know what...- I complained, and it was then that I remembered the image of my blog personified in a small worm.
That made me wonder what the part of me that most corrupted me would have to do with one of the activities I loved most to do every day.
-Could it be that I have ended up turning my dear blog, which I loved so much, into a toxic lover that I had to get rid of? -I wondered, feeling very sorry because I knew how hard it is to let go of what you think you love no matter how much harm it may cause you.
Then I instinctively picked up my phone and started going through the photos. There was the answer...
I found a picture of myself that my eldest son had taken while writing, and what a horror! I noticed how much I looked like to the hunched bug I needed to kick out of my life.
I didn’t like what I saw. I saw an aged young woman sitting in a bad posture with her mind wandering around, blowing smoke through her mouth, blinded by a computer screen, typing non-stop, next to a messy shelf.
That was me, an absent bug with a mind full of messy memories that wouldn’t pay attention to the chaos, smoking automatically, in airplane mode and ready to attack at the slightest interruption... When someone approached me from behind, I got so scared that the ogre in me escaped and cried out to be left alone.
The Holy Children warned me of this danger a long time ago! - I exclaimed as soon as I understood the reason why they had shown me the blog in the form of an insignificant worm that needed releasing.
It was a fact that writing helped me and a lot to see my failures, but it was also a fact that imposing myself that task added too much stress and unnecessary conflicts to my day to day life.
In the end, it doesn't matter what you do, but how you do it.
My craving to nurture my blog every day had become a burden. It had opened a direct access door that allowed the short wick monster to enter into scene and play its role everyday.
Meditating about the aforementioned led me to decide that I should stop writing at times when children were around because I knew I would get pissed off everytime they interrupted me.
This way my reactive side could not use those moments to attack.
At the time, I didn't know that the habit of writing was just a small crack in a great crumbling wall!
It would not be until the following year that I would become truly aware of the damage my thorns had caused me.
And it is only now that I can see my tendency to provide a multitude of opportunities to be caught unawares and the great effort it takes to stay present in the here and now.
Paying for the consequences of my ignorance throughout a horrible 2023 served me to see the extent to which my habits help the raging monster in me to trap me in a loop from which it is very difficult to escape.
It was life that finally had to get me back on track, and it had to do it by bringing me down into my body and through pain. Now that it's all over, I can say with a smile that I got what I deserved... and I can even rejoice in it!
The important thing is that I learned my lesson, or so I think.
Too bad I made it so hard for me, and that to do so I had to be stripped of almost everything I loved, took for granted or had turned into a distraction.
(Starting with my physical appearance and my health and ending with nights out, walks, yoga classes and the thing I love to do most, spend hours drawing).
Eurythmics - Thorns in my side
"Los duendes del viento"- Leyenda mije
Yendo más allá de nuestros doshas-Ayurveda María de Ezcurra
How could it not look like my home to a pincushion?, how I was not going to feel the pain of a thousand infected wounds?
I already knew that it was my automatic reactions that hindered the changes I wanted to see. Yet that corrupted part of me, now personified in a strange monster, was so strong that it seemed to have seized my will.
Seeing it so clearly, how was it possible that I felt I still didn’t have the final say in the way of expressing myself? - I wondered as I looked at the drawing in detail.
I could immediately see that the extension of the domain of that monster was twice the size of my own head...It was not surprising that it dominated my world!
-And why do I get the feeling that lately he does double shifts and seems bent on complicating my existence more strongly than ever? - I wondered discouraged.
The answer was swift.
I soon understood the reason why I was noticing more than ever that energy which was born of me and dependent on me to exist.
It was not that I had more reasons to get cross than ever.
That energy reacted more against me than ever because it knew I had discovered it. It feared so much for its existence that was determined to fight tooth and claw for its survival.
For the time being, the monster in me was winning all the battles...
What a bastard creature! I will have to do something to make the wind blow in my favor, but I don’t know what...- I complained, and it was then that I remembered the image of my blog personified in a small worm.
That made me wonder what the part of me that most corrupted me would have to do with one of the activities I loved most to do every day.
-Could it be that I have ended up turning my dear blog, which I loved so much, into a toxic lover that I had to get rid of? -I wondered, feeling very sorry because I knew how hard it is to let go of what you think you love no matter how much harm it may cause you.
Then I instinctively picked up my phone and started going through the photos. There was the answer...
I found a picture of myself that my eldest son had taken while writing, and what a horror! I noticed how much I looked like to the hunched bug I needed to kick out of my life.
I didn’t like what I saw. I saw an aged young woman sitting in a bad posture with her mind wandering around, blowing smoke through her mouth, blinded by a computer screen, typing non-stop, next to a messy shelf.
That was me, an absent bug with a mind full of messy memories that wouldn’t pay attention to the chaos, smoking automatically, in airplane mode and ready to attack at the slightest interruption... When someone approached me from behind, I got so scared that the ogre in me escaped and cried out to be left alone.
The Holy Children warned me of this danger a long time ago! - I exclaimed as soon as I understood the reason why they had shown me the blog in the form of an insignificant worm that needed releasing.
It was a fact that writing helped me and a lot to see my failures, but it was also a fact that imposing myself that task added too much stress and unnecessary conflicts to my day to day life.
In the end, it doesn't matter what you do, but how you do it.
My craving to nurture my blog every day had become a burden. It had opened a direct access door that allowed the short wick monster to enter into scene and play its role everyday.
Meditating about the aforementioned led me to decide that I should stop writing at times when children were around because I knew I would get pissed off everytime they interrupted me.
This way my reactive side could not use those moments to attack.
At the time, I didn't know that the habit of writing was just a small crack in a great crumbling wall!
It would not be until the following year that I would become truly aware of the damage my thorns had caused me.
And it is only now that I can see my tendency to provide a multitude of opportunities to be caught unawares and the great effort it takes to stay present in the here and now.
Paying for the consequences of my ignorance throughout a horrible 2023 served me to see the extent to which my habits help the raging monster in me to trap me in a loop from which it is very difficult to escape.
It was life that finally had to get me back on track, and it had to do it by bringing me down into my body and through pain. Now that it's all over, I can say with a smile that I got what I deserved... and I can even rejoice in it!
The important thing is that I learned my lesson, or so I think.
Too bad I made it so hard for me, and that to do so I had to be stripped of almost everything I loved, took for granted or had turned into a distraction.
(Starting with my physical appearance and my health and ending with nights out, walks, yoga classes and the thing I love to do most, spend hours drawing).
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