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.
