170. EL DUENDE DEL VIENTO
THE WIND ELF
Parte 4/4 -Part 4/4
"No resoples, respira"
"Don´t snort, breathe!"
Fecha/date: 16/12/22
Explicación / Explanation:
Cuando aquella tarde mi pequeño irrumpió en la cocina y comenzó a deleitarme con una especie de poesía (que nunca sabré si se inventó o había escuchado en alguna parte), me hizo tanta gracia que le animé a escribirla.
La sorpresa me la llevé cuando un rato más tarde regresó trayendo consigo la hoja que había arrancado de un viejo libro de texto.
No sólo contenía los versos de mi arquero, sino uno de los mejores retratos que me han hecho en la vida, la respuesta a una pregunta, y la frase "Una mamá diferente a muchas otras".
-¿Y tú, qué tienes en el corazón?- le había preguntado.
-¡Pájaros!, fue su respuesta.
-¡Qué bonito!, ¿y qué pasa conmigo, que parece que sólo tengo pájaros en la cabeza?- pensé mientras le hinchaba a besos.
Su regalo me emocionó tanto, que cinco minutos más tarde ya lo estaba colocando en el lugar más visible de la casa (en la pared de la cocina junto al frigorífico), momento que mi pequeño oportunista aprovechó para decirme que deseaba "La Enciclopedia de Pokemon" como regalo de Navidad.
-¡Por supuesto que la tendrás!, ¡tan seguro como que volveré a ser rubia!- le contesté, aunque en aquel momento lo que menos me importaba era mi apariencia física.
Ser mamá era precioso.
Mi autoimagen no tenía ningún valor si la comparaba con el amor que sentía hacia mis hijos, que siempre viajaría siempre conmigo.
En aquel momento pensé:
-Vosotros sí sois los duendes de mi casa- porque era gracias a ellos que había tantas sincronicidades en mi mundo, ¡y eso me encantaba!
Resultaba sorprendente como siempre parecían saberlo todo antes que yo. A menudo tenía la impresión de que podían leer mi mente, y que eso les daba ventaja sobre mí...
La muestra más reciente había sido el regalo de mi hijo menor, que me tomé como la recompensa a mi esfuerzo por desprenderme de algunos dibujos.
También mi hijo mayor era un especialista en mostrarme que las casualidades no existen, aunque su estrategia fuese totalmente diferente.
Primero me picaba con su aguijón y después iba soltando pistas acerca de cómo transmutar el veneno, no el suyo, sino el mío, ¡el que ya corría por mis venas! Resultaba agotador. No me daba tregua.
¿Cómo no iba a ser él el encargado de introducirme al gusano que me cegaba la visión y corrompía mi mundo?
De repente vi lo idiota que era al creer a mi mente cada vez que me decía que el principal objetivo de los chicos parecía ser el de sacarme de quicio.
No podía ser ese, de ninguna manera... Comprendí que los niños hacían lo que tenían que hacer, y que si de algo se encargaban era de mostrarme mis debilidades.
Tarea nada fácil debido a que andaba siempre tan dispersa...
Era debido a mi dispersión que había tardado tanto en darme cuenta de lo lejos que estaba de ser y sentirme realmente libre.
Era gracias a la labor incansable de mis chicos que por fin comenzaba a darme cuenta de mi sometimiento a una mente cada vez más agitada, más plagada de juicios, controles y expectativas absurdas.
Comprendí que mi esencia no podría coger las riendas de mi vida hasta que no me deshiciese de mis reacciones automáticas y de la ira que me consumía. Para poder oírla debía antes acallar al ruido tóxico con el que mi mente me castigaba cada vez que no lograba "salirme con la mía".
-¿Por qué te escucho y siempre me dejo engañar? ¡No tengo que hacerte caso!-le grité a esa voz en mi cabeza que tanto se queja, y que es la que realmente me saca de mis casillas.
Y tras hacerlo me acordé de lo que me habían contado los Niños Santos acerca de mi labor como mamá y de la maternidad.
No necesitaba información ni pensar más de lo que hacía, sino una cura de humildad.
Debía recordarme más a menudo que referente a los chicos, siempre tendría mucho más que aprender de lo que algún día les podría enseñar.
-Normal que no se rindan...-me dije agradeciendo la persistencia de mis hijos a la hora de ponerme exámenes.
Y entonces caí en la cuenta de que no eran ellos los que debían rendirse, sino yo.
-¡Ríndete, y ante lo que surja, no resoples, respira!, ¡y deja de pensar!- me dije cuando me sorprendí preguntándome si la nube de energía atómica que nos envolvía y hacía que saltasen las chispas, era sólo mía o la creábamos entre todos.
No hacía falta saber el origen, sino hallar la solución.
La cuestión no era ponerle nombre a lo que corrompía mis días, sino ponerle remedio para que no siguiera extendiéndose.
-¡Ay, la vida, qué rara es!, ¡y qué manera de vivirla la mía, que me la paso dando vueltas en círculo todo el rato!- me quejé.
Y fue entonces que me acordé de una vieja fotografía en la que salía mi hijo pequeño disfrazado de duende, y del video que grabé aquella tarde de Carnaval, en el que aparecía dando saltitos al son de la música por las calles del pueblo.
A sus tres años de edad era la alegría personificada.
-¡Quiero ser un duende con pantalones!- se quejó tan pronto se vio vestido con el disfraz que improvisé haciendo uso de un jersey verde de su hermano que le venía enorme y unos leotardos rojos.
Acordarme de aquello me hizo reír.
-¡Y yo también!- exclamé en voz alta. Pero sé que no se lo decía al recuerdo del niño pequeño que mi hijo fue una vez, sino a la parte de mí que debía encargarse de recuperar el poder.
Reconocerme en el monstruo que había dibujado no había resultado una experiencia muy grata, pero podía servirme de mucha utilidad...
Para empezar, ya me había dado cuenta de lo mucho que solía pensar en cómo me percibía y en cómo percibía a los niños, y de lo poco que me preguntaba cómo me percibirían ellos a mí.
Por supuesto que ni se me pasó por la cabeza preguntarles... De hecho, no volví a pensar en ello hasta que me pasé por la cocina, me detuve frente a mi retrato y no me quedó más remedio.
-Pareces un poco desaliñada, y no es de extrañar...¡Últimamente no te miras al espejo ni cuando te lavas la cara! ¡Y encima te ha dado por vestir de negro!...Un poco triste, ¿no?, ¿y qué me dices de tu expresión?, ¿las manos escondidas?, ¿a qué te cierras en banda ?, ¿y qué te dicen esos ojos raros? ¿qué estás eligiendo ver que parece que últimamente no ves nada de tu agrado?, ¿y por qué diablos te han dibujado sin boca?
¡Si parezco un "emo" de esos de su colegio de los que tanto me hablan!
¿Y esa frase, "Una mamá diferente"?, ¿diferente, en qué sentido? No es por ser mal pensada, pero sabiendo que de especial no tienes nada, ¿por qué te la tomas como un cumplido?. ¡podría ser un toque de atención! - me dije mientras abría y cerraba el frigo porque ya no recordaba lo que iba a buscar.
-¿Y qué hago?, ¡quiero alejar de mi todo lo que no me aporta felicidad, pero ya no sé qué me hace feliz!
¿Cómo voy a saber qué puede ofrecerle este universo adverso al ser tan diverso que me he creado, que sea divertido y le dibuje una sonrisa en la cara?...Está visto que lo de compartir su lado artístico no le está dando muchas alegrías...- me dije apenada mientras salía por la puerta de la cocina.
Y justo en ese momento, me di la vuelta y me percaté de un detalle.
¡Mi hijo me había dibujado en la hoja de un libro de mates en la que había una gráfica con una línea ascendente roja junto a la que había dibujado un pájaro!, ¡y también había un juego de maletas!
-¡Qué pillín eres, duendecillo! Ahora te entiendo, me dejas alucinada de lo bien que me conoces ¡Qué razón tienes!, ¡me hace falta un cambio de aires!- le dije a mi hijo mentalmente.
Interpreté que había llegado el momento de liberar pájaros de mi cabeza y bajarlos al corazón ¡A ver si con ello echaban a volar y dejaban de molestarme con su ruido!
Y tras llegar a aquella conclusión, vi la imagen de mi chico como el bebé feliz en brazos de la madre que un día fui para él. La que, cada noche después de cenar, bailaba con él en la cocina mientras le besaba las orejas y ambos reíamos a carcajadas.
-Haz las maletas, que te vas de viaje. Próximo destino... ¡México! -me dije llena de euforia, como si realmente fuese dicho y hecho.
Explanation:
When my little boy burst into the kitchen that afternoon and began to regale me with some kind of poetry (whether he made it up or had heard it somewhere, I'll never know), I was so amused that I encouraged him to write it down.
I was surprised when a while later he returned with a sheet of paper he had torn out of an old textbook.
Not only did it contain the verses of my archer, but also one of the best portraits I have ever been painted, the answer to a question and the sentence "A mother different from many others".
-And, what do you have in your heart?- I had asked him.
-Birds!- was answer.
-How beautiful!, and what's wrong with me?, it seems that I only have birds in my head- I said to myself while I was kissing him.
I was so touched by his present that five minutes later I was already putting it in the most visible place in the house (on the kitchen wall next to the fridge), moment that my little opportunist took the opportunity to tell me that he wanted the Pokemon Encyclopaedia as a Christmas present.
-Of course you'll get it, as sure as I'll be a blonde again!- I replied, although at the time I couldn't care less about my physical appearance.
Being a mother was beautiful.
My self-image was nothing compared to the love I felt for my children, because that would always travel with me.
At that moment I thought to myself:
-You are the real house elves! - because it was thanks to them that there were so many synchronicities in my world, and I loved that!
It was amazing how they always seemed to know everything before I did. I often had the impression that they could read my mind, and that this gave them an advantage over me....
The most recent token had been my youngest son's gift, which I took as a reward for my effort to let go of some drawings.
My eldest son was also a specialist in showing me that coincidences don't exist, even if his strategy was totally different.
First he would sting me with his sting and then he would drop hints about how to transmute the poison, not his, but mine, the one that was already coursing through my veins! It was exhausting. He gave me no break.
How could he not be the one to introduce me to the worm that was blinding my vision and corrupting my world?
I suddenly saw what an idiot I was to believe my mind every time it told me that the boys' main goal seemed to be to get on my nerves.
It couldn't be that one, no way.... I understood that the children did what they had to do, and that if there was one thing they did, it was to show me my weaknesses.
Not an easy task for them because of how much I used to scatter myself.
It was because of my dispersion that it had taken me so long to realise how far I was from being and feeling truly free. It was thanks to the work of my boys that I was finally beginning to realise my subjugation to an increasingly agitated mind, more and more plagued by judgements, controls and absurd expectations.
My essence could not take control of my life until I got rid of my automatic reactions and the anger that consumed me. I could never hear it unless I first silenced the toxic noise my mind punished me with every time I didn't get my way.
Why do I listen to you and always let myself be fooled?, I don't have to listen to you!- I shouted at the voice in my head.
And then I remembered all the Holy Children had told me about concerning motherhood.
I needed no more information or thinking, but a humbling cure. I needed to remind myself more often that concerning my kids, I would always have more to learn than I could ever teach them.
-It's normal that they don't give up..- I said to myself, grateful for my children's persistence to give me lessons.
And then it dawned on me that it was not them who had to surrender, but me.
-Surrender, and whatever comes up, don't resist, breathe, and stop thinking!- I said to myself as I caught myself wondering if the cloud of atomic energy that enveloped us and made the sparks fly, was mine alone or was it created by all of us.
It was not necessary to know the origin, but to find a solution to it.
The question was not to name what was corrupting my days, but to put remedy to it so that it would not continue to spread.
-Oh life, how strange it is, and what strange way I find to live it, going round and round in circles all the time!- I complained.
And it was then that I remembered an old photograph of my youngest son dressed up as an elf, and the video I had taken the Carnival afternoon, in which he appeared jumping to the sound of music around the streets of the village.
At three years old, he was joy personified.
-I want to be an elf in trousers!- I remembered him saying to me as soon as he saw himself dressed in the costume I had improvised using his brother's green jumper, which was too big for him, and some red tights.
Remembering that made me laugh.
-And so do I!- I exclaimed out loud, but I know I wasn't saying it to the memory of the little boy my son once was, but to the part of me that had to take back the power.
The fact of realizing what I was becoming had not been a pleasant experience at all, but it could be so useful!
At that moment, I realised how much I used to think about how I perceived myself and how I perceived the children, and how little I wondered how they would perceive me.
Of course, it didn't even cross my mind to ask them.... I didn't think about it again until I passed by the kitchen, stopped in front of my portrait, and had no choice.
-You look a little dishevelled, and no wonder... You don't even look in the mirror when you wash your face these days! And you are always dressing in black!... A bit sad, isn't it?, and what about your expression?, hidden hands?
And what are those weird eyes telling you? What are you choosing to see, you don't seem to be seeing anything you like lately? And why the hell has he drawn you without a mouth?
You look like one of those "emo" from your kids school they talk about so much!
And what about that phrase?, "A different mum", different in what way? I don't mean to be picky, but knowing that you're nothing special, why do you take it as a compliment?, it could be a warning! - I said to myself as I opened and closed the fridge because I couldn't remember what I was going to get.
So what do I do if I want to get rid of everything that does not bring me happiness,but I don't know what makes me happy anymore?...
So, what do I do to find out what this adverse universe can offer to the diverse being I've created for myself that is fun and can bring a smile to my face? Trying to show my artistic side does not make me too much joy lately, I am afraid... - I said to myself as I went out of the kitchen door, saddened.
And just then, I turned around and noticed a detail.
My son had drawn me on the page of a maths book on which there was a graph with a red ascending line next to which he had drawn a bird flying, and there was also a set of suitcases next to me!
-What a rascal you are, you little elf! Now I get it, you're blowing me away. You know me so well! How right you are, I need a change of scenery!- I said to my son in my mind.
The time had come to free the birds from my head and bring them down to my heart. Let's see if they could fly away and stopped bothering me with their noise!
And it was then that I saw my son as the happy baby in the arms of the mother I used to be. The one who, every night after dinner, danced with him in the kitchen while I kissed his ears and we both laughed out loud.
-Pack your bags, you're going on a trip. We're going to Mexico!- I said to myself, full of euphoria, as if it really were said and done.
Rojitas las Orejas - Fito y Fitipaldis
When my little boy burst into the kitchen that afternoon and began to regale me with some kind of poetry (whether he made it up or had heard it somewhere, I'll never know), I was so amused that I encouraged him to write it down.
I was surprised when a while later he returned with a sheet of paper he had torn out of an old textbook.
Not only did it contain the verses of my archer, but also one of the best portraits I have ever been painted, the answer to a question and the sentence "A mother different from many others".
-And, what do you have in your heart?- I had asked him.
-Birds!- was answer.
-How beautiful!, and what's wrong with me?, it seems that I only have birds in my head- I said to myself while I was kissing him.
I was so touched by his present that five minutes later I was already putting it in the most visible place in the house (on the kitchen wall next to the fridge), moment that my little opportunist took the opportunity to tell me that he wanted the Pokemon Encyclopaedia as a Christmas present.
-Of course you'll get it, as sure as I'll be a blonde again!- I replied, although at the time I couldn't care less about my physical appearance.
Being a mother was beautiful.
My self-image was nothing compared to the love I felt for my children, because that would always travel with me.
At that moment I thought to myself:
-You are the real house elves! - because it was thanks to them that there were so many synchronicities in my world, and I loved that!
It was amazing how they always seemed to know everything before I did. I often had the impression that they could read my mind, and that this gave them an advantage over me....
The most recent token had been my youngest son's gift, which I took as a reward for my effort to let go of some drawings.
My eldest son was also a specialist in showing me that coincidences don't exist, even if his strategy was totally different.
First he would sting me with his sting and then he would drop hints about how to transmute the poison, not his, but mine, the one that was already coursing through my veins! It was exhausting. He gave me no break.
How could he not be the one to introduce me to the worm that was blinding my vision and corrupting my world?
I suddenly saw what an idiot I was to believe my mind every time it told me that the boys' main goal seemed to be to get on my nerves.
It couldn't be that one, no way.... I understood that the children did what they had to do, and that if there was one thing they did, it was to show me my weaknesses.
Not an easy task for them because of how much I used to scatter myself.
It was because of my dispersion that it had taken me so long to realise how far I was from being and feeling truly free. It was thanks to the work of my boys that I was finally beginning to realise my subjugation to an increasingly agitated mind, more and more plagued by judgements, controls and absurd expectations.
My essence could not take control of my life until I got rid of my automatic reactions and the anger that consumed me. I could never hear it unless I first silenced the toxic noise my mind punished me with every time I didn't get my way.
Why do I listen to you and always let myself be fooled?, I don't have to listen to you!- I shouted at the voice in my head.
And then I remembered all the Holy Children had told me about concerning motherhood.
I needed no more information or thinking, but a humbling cure. I needed to remind myself more often that concerning my kids, I would always have more to learn than I could ever teach them.
-It's normal that they don't give up..- I said to myself, grateful for my children's persistence to give me lessons.
And then it dawned on me that it was not them who had to surrender, but me.
-Surrender, and whatever comes up, don't resist, breathe, and stop thinking!- I said to myself as I caught myself wondering if the cloud of atomic energy that enveloped us and made the sparks fly, was mine alone or was it created by all of us.
It was not necessary to know the origin, but to find a solution to it.
The question was not to name what was corrupting my days, but to put remedy to it so that it would not continue to spread.
-Oh life, how strange it is, and what strange way I find to live it, going round and round in circles all the time!- I complained.
And it was then that I remembered an old photograph of my youngest son dressed up as an elf, and the video I had taken the Carnival afternoon, in which he appeared jumping to the sound of music around the streets of the village.
At three years old, he was joy personified.
-I want to be an elf in trousers!- I remembered him saying to me as soon as he saw himself dressed in the costume I had improvised using his brother's green jumper, which was too big for him, and some red tights.
Remembering that made me laugh.
-And so do I!- I exclaimed out loud, but I know I wasn't saying it to the memory of the little boy my son once was, but to the part of me that had to take back the power.
The fact of realizing what I was becoming had not been a pleasant experience at all, but it could be so useful!
At that moment, I realised how much I used to think about how I perceived myself and how I perceived the children, and how little I wondered how they would perceive me.
Of course, it didn't even cross my mind to ask them.... I didn't think about it again until I passed by the kitchen, stopped in front of my portrait, and had no choice.
-You look a little dishevelled, and no wonder... You don't even look in the mirror when you wash your face these days! And you are always dressing in black!... A bit sad, isn't it?, and what about your expression?, hidden hands?
And what are those weird eyes telling you? What are you choosing to see, you don't seem to be seeing anything you like lately? And why the hell has he drawn you without a mouth?
You look like one of those "emo" from your kids school they talk about so much!
And what about that phrase?, "A different mum", different in what way? I don't mean to be picky, but knowing that you're nothing special, why do you take it as a compliment?, it could be a warning! - I said to myself as I opened and closed the fridge because I couldn't remember what I was going to get.
So what do I do if I want to get rid of everything that does not bring me happiness,but I don't know what makes me happy anymore?...
So, what do I do to find out what this adverse universe can offer to the diverse being I've created for myself that is fun and can bring a smile to my face? Trying to show my artistic side does not make me too much joy lately, I am afraid... - I said to myself as I went out of the kitchen door, saddened.
And just then, I turned around and noticed a detail.
My son had drawn me on the page of a maths book on which there was a graph with a red ascending line next to which he had drawn a bird flying, and there was also a set of suitcases next to me!
-What a rascal you are, you little elf! Now I get it, you're blowing me away. You know me so well! How right you are, I need a change of scenery!- I said to my son in my mind.
The time had come to free the birds from my head and bring them down to my heart. Let's see if they could fly away and stopped bothering me with their noise!
And it was then that I saw my son as the happy baby in the arms of the mother I used to be. The one who, every night after dinner, danced with him in the kitchen while I kissed his ears and we both laughed out loud.
-Pack your bags, you're going on a trip. We're going to Mexico!- I said to myself, full of euphoria, as if it really were said and done.
Rojitas las Orejas - Fito y Fitipaldis
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