The start of October in Albuquerque means hot air balloons will sprinkle the sky. Today, is like many of the traditional mornings, except for a few things. This year happened to be a cooperative year for balloon lift offs. The conditions for a balloon to leave the ground are finicky. In recent years it has been a sarcastic taunting by Mother Nature, timing her winds and rain, to leave the masses guessing. And this year the rains came, cooperatively, leaving the ideal windows for plumes of released balloons. Likewise this year was different for my heart.
Like a hot air balloon being un-packaged, my hope for cultivating or reviving the Chicanismo that nurtures the creativity in Albuquerque, in New Mexico, appears to be unfolding in my life. My sky, my winds, my rains, and my ideas are also ready to be primed for ascension. My soul, mi Alma, might be ready, like the sky, to have all these ideas ascend and drift across its jet streams. This morning I could feel the lower temperature as the sun rose.
I felt the brisk air as I pulled back the covers. I could hear the click of the heater’s blower turn on and the rustling of the air forcing its way through the duct work, pushing out the aroma of burning. With my mind focusing on anxiety, like the rolled and folded ideas being pulled of a cargo bag. I find it in me to methodically unravel and stretch the angst. The colder air in my home adds to the experience occurring in my mind.
A colder air helps a good mass ascension. My passion’s spark, heats up my inner furnace and blows encouragement into my ideas. The contrast between the trapped heated air and the frigid sky, creates the phenomenon of flotation. A delicate dance between the cold void of injustice and the hot passion filled canvas dreams. That hot air is like the Chicanismo spirit being driven against the canvas skin of my ideas and the synchronicity is what I call my dreams.