Change

 

Our reality is in constant change.

Those we love change,

our surroundings change,

our environment changes, and,

much to our dislike, our bodies change too.

Upon further thought & perhaps more frightening,

even our familiar ways & beliefs change.

Change happens in such a gradual and

almost imperceptible way that

most times we fail to see its reality,

or maybe,

we instinctively block it in our minds and

become unyielding, stubborn persons.

Our anxieties & fears of the unknown

become the agents of

a rigid mind that refuses to see the metamorphosis

of our existence & surroundings.

We tend to dwell on thoughts about

the way things were

and believe change only brings new problems,

not thinking it may bring new possibilities,

another perspective on life,

perhaps more exciting & satisfying.

Remember that

no matter our resistance or refusal

to accept the flows of life,

our reality is in constant change.

Let’s open our minds,

let’s be flexible,

let’s embrace change & enjoy the journey

wherever it may take us.

 

Mildred Santiago

09/24/21

 

Believe 

At some moment in our existence,

be it during childhood, adolescence or later,

we begin to construct a vision of

how our lives will be.

Our parents, surroundings, beliefs,

time & experiences help

form & elaborate that vision

to the point where we not only see it,

but we feel it and even

taste the joy of success.

At times this vision becomes so important that

it overshadows our present life,

we journey unmindful of the here & now;

day by day we exist, inasmuch as

we are absorbed by the future.

We forget that our present guides us into the future.

We forget that life is not predictable,

things do not always happen as visualized;

even the most carefully detailed plans can fail.

What then?  Do we give up?

Or do we learn to trust our instincts & experiences

that tell us we are capable of walking

the unknown, uncharted path,

believing it is fulfilling,

believing it is rewarding, and,

most of all,

believing in ourselves.

 

 

Mildred Santiago  2021

                       Writing 

For years I taught students about writing,
about how to capture the reader's attention,
about the importance of an introduction, and,
about how to develop & conclude an essay.
I recall emphasizing not to use clichés,
writers need to use fresh, descriptive words
that make their thoughts known with clarity
and, most of all, with feeling.

Many, many times I said,

"Remember, no worn out, trite phrases that

fill lines but not the heart and soul."

Years later, here I am,

trying to follow my own advice

and write a line or two about a

long forgotten memory tucked away

in a deep corner of my heart.

Maybe I could write about growing up in

Brooklyn and how much fun I had

with my brother & sister playing outside

with the kids from the block:

Red light-Green light, tag, May I,

hopscotch, roller skating, and more.

Or, maybe I could write about walking to school

and making the unavoidable stop at the candy store

to buy Bazooka bubble gum wrapped in a

Bazooka Joe comic strip for just two cents.

Yes, I want to write, but I don't feel the muse.

I allow daily dos and must dos distract me,

I use them as excuses, justifications for

not allowing myself to think, write, read,

and then write some more.

Maybe I should be still, meditate and

get in touch with my inner self

so I can coax memories & feelings

out of their hiding places.

Or, maybe all I need to do is

pick up a pen and begin

writing, writing, writing.

My Unicorn

 It's been over a year since I last published on my blog,  At this point I don't know who may still be receiving my post but here it goes.  For some reason I began thinking about unicorns and decided to do some research.  To my surprise, this mythical animal has been around for centuries and worldwide. In all the writings the unicorn is always presented as being a magical, supernatural being with different meanings, The most prevalent tale is that only pure virgins could ride it and how the unicorn saved them from harm.  I choose to present my unicorn in a positive view and also on a rescue mission.I hope you enjoy it.

 

My Unicorn

The other night I had a strange dream.

I was standing in the midst of a dense forest

surrounded by intimidating, overpowering trees

that seemed to be closing in on me.

I was afraid.

Suddenly, a majestic, mysterious & mythical

white unicorn came galloping through the woods.

The trees moved aside and even bowed before

this sleek & powerful animal.

The Unicorn stopped before me,

she neighed and moved her mane from side to side;

it seemed she was inviting me to mount.

I admit I was frightened at first, but

her presence emanated strength & energy,

her bright large eyes encouraged me

and did away with all my negativity.

Then, as happens in the presence of Unicorns,

I was floating in the air and

magically landed on my Unicorn’s broad back

(aren’t dreams wondrous?).

Together we galloped in and around the dark

labyrinth of trees and vines until

at a distance I saw a gleaming light.

Overwhelmed with peace & assurance,

I knew then all was well;

my Unicorn and I were on the right path.

                                                                                       Mildred Santiago    10/07/2020

Books: Another World, Another Reality

I love to read.  Books hold an extraordinary fascination for me.  I believe that one significant reason for this passion is that my father was an avid reader.  Whether it was a book, magazine, newspaper, letters, or studying the Bible, reading was one of his preferred daily activities. I wanted to be like Dad.

As a child, I recall that one of the best days of the week was Sunday.  Dad always bought The Daily News on our way home from church.  That day the newspaper was thick with stories, sales ads, and a colorful comics section which was my favorite.  It didn’t matter that I couldn’t read all the words, I was still able to follow the story through the sequenced drawings.  My favorite was Dondi, the orphan, followed by Dick Tracy and Beetle Bailey.  More important, I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Sunday paper alongside Dad.

            In kindergarten I remember my teacher reading stories and Mother Goose Rhymes. After she read aloud, we had permission to visit the special reading corner and select any book we wanted, make ourselves comfortable and enjoy it.  Back then, kindergarten was fun.  I can’t pinpoint the exact age I discovered fairy tales, but I do recall the fever hit me hard. My favorites were the Hans Christian Anderson (The Princess and the Pea, The Emperor’s New Clothes, Thumbelina, The Match Girl, and others), and the Brothers Grimm tales (Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, Rumpelstiltskin, and more). When I read those books, I was in the story. I was the princess in a tower waiting to be rescued or the princess who outsmarted the evil dwarf, and of course, I was the one who lived happily ever after.  Those stories and others provided an escape into a different world that offered a possibility to be happy in spite of problems and evil people.

            As I got older, I kept progressing to other types of books that held my interest.  One book I remember well is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I was present in the lives of the four March sisters and understood their likes and dislikes.  I was inspired by how they faced the difficulties of life with steadfastness and uniqueness of characters. Reading was not only a pleasure activity, it was also a learning tool.  In the same vein, one of the sweetest stories I have ever read is The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.  The story still fascinates me today, to the point that I have a copy of the book in my personal library.  I suppose the theme of overcoming adverse circumstances through true friendship and kindness is what appeals to me.  An abandoned garden comes to life under the care of the main character, Mary (who is only 10 years old when the story begins), and her new found cousin, Colin. The secret garden becomes a catalyst for the healing of the emotional wounds that both children have been carrying for some time.  The same way the garden blossoms, so do their lives and the lives of the adults around them.

            I could go on and on mentioning all the fabulous books I have had the privilege of reading and how my taste for them has evolved over the years through natural curiosity, maturation and formal education.  An example of this is that due to my university education in Puerto Rico, I was introduced to an untold number of novels, biographies and poetry written by renowned Caribbean, Latin American and European Spanish language authors.  Reading in Spanish continued to feed my soul along with the added bonuses of strengthening my identity as a Latina, enriching my vocabulary, and improving my writing.  However, most important, these experiences confirmed that reading has always been and will be a source of pleasure in my life.

            Have you read a good book lately?  Have you allowed yourself to get lost in a book?  Have the words on a page caused you to laugh, cry, sigh, hold your breath, or want to scream as you stumble down a muddy, dark road with the main character?  Every once in a while we need to go on an adventure that only requires we turn pages and allow ourselves to be transported into a different world, even if only for an hour or so.  It is a most exhilarating and renewing experience that does not have to cost much.  Try it.

The following poem is about the importance of reading in my life.

Reading

The power of reading is real,

I have experienced it many times.

When I needed to escape my reality,

I read books that transported me

to that happy-ever-after land

where my spirit was soothed.

When I needed to learn and grow,

I read books that allowed me to discover

the immense world around me,

and even the universe beyond,

and my spirit was nourished.

When I desperately needed to know

about life after death and

how to survive the grief of loss,

I read books that opened my eyes

to a mysterious, eternal world

that should not be feared,

and my spirit was healed.

When I needed to laugh or cry,

I read books that asked no questions,

made no judgments,

and graciously accepted my laughter,

or the tears that stained its pages,

and my spirit was comforted.

When I needed to make a new life for myself,

I read books that gently and profoundly prodded,

books that awakened a hidden self,

books that fed my hunger for knowing,

books that satisfied my craving for change,

and my spirit evolved.

During all those times of need,

be it known that I was blessed,

blessed to have people around me,

people who cared,

people who loved,

people who inspired and motivated.

But I also believe I was blessed to have books.

Thus, I need you to know again and again,

the power of reading is real,

I have experienced it many times.