At the behest of some friends, I have written a somewhat lengthy introduction explaining the symbols, forerunner-characters, prefigurations and other underlying devices to achieving greater effects at the end in Heaven with Andromeda, formerly known as Selena, the stranded Mermaid: symbolic of the “Latino people” in the lands of the United States of America.
These writings, titled Andromeda, are interwoven with those of Shanti (Aryan people), but I am here expressing myself in the spirit of my ancestor: the Latin people. I also took the pain to speaking loud my mind in both English and Spanish, because the latter would drain out every drop and dew of my former self.
Andromeda is a Latinized version of Shanti, and it is written in the zeitgeist of my Greco-Roman ancestry, hence the name Teodoro (a.k.a., Theodore).
It is a short novel compiled from a series of e-mails (epistolary letters begging for cohesiveness in the unrolling scrolls of fate and serendipity) between amorous Theodore and beautiful Jennifer Gem: an American woman with a penchant for Latinism in the passions of yesterdays.
Theodore, the main narrator, relates his heart-breaking experiences, his romances, losses and frights while living in USA.
The novel is written in two languages, English and Spanish, because, according to Theodore, in his own words, “could express myself better but in the language of his humble manger.”
The gist of the novel is the redemption of Selena, formerly a hapless mermaid, a ghost (una Llorona), into a stunningly beautiful woman, Andromeda.
Selena represents the former ethos of the Latin race, Andromeda, the latter, is symbolic of the great past of the Ancient Greeks
These writings, titled Andromeda, are interwoven with those of Shanti (Aryan people), but I am here expressing myself in the spirit of my ancestor: the Latin people. I also took the pain to speaking loud my mind in both English and Spanish, because the latter would drain out every drop and dew of my former self.
Andromeda is a Latinized version of Shanti, and it is written in the zeitgeist of my Greco-Roman ancestry, hence the name Teodoro (a.k.a., Theodore).
It is a short novel compiled from a series of e-mails (epistolary letters begging for cohesiveness in the unrolling scrolls of fate and serendipity) between amorous Theodore and beautiful Jennifer Gem: an American woman with a penchant for Latinism in the passions of yesterdays.
Theodore, the main narrator, relates his heart-breaking experiences, his romances, losses and frights while living in USA.
The novel is written in two languages, English and Spanish, because, according to Theodore, in his own words, “could express myself better but in the language of his humble manger.”
The gist of the novel is the redemption of Selena, formerly a hapless mermaid, a ghost (una Llorona), into a stunningly beautiful woman, Andromeda.
Selena represents the former ethos of the Latin race, Andromeda, the latter, is symbolic of the great past of the Ancient Greeks
Every character is symbolic of people's bygone ethos as haunting the lives of their progenies, Latino people, hence why the scenes ought to be interpreted in the Spirit Realm of our ancestors.
Complaciendo algunos amigos, he añadido un prefacio a la novela de Andromeda, en la cual busco explicar los símbolos, personajes y precursores cuyas situaciones pueden prefigurar a otros más adelante, de esta manera logrando obtener un mayor efecto en el Cielo con Andromeda, quien antes era una triste Sirena llamada Selena.
Maria is symbolic of the lofty nature of the mermaid, but the luring voices of the sea (seashore or the Hudson River’s banks) may rather remind us of lost doomed souls, ghosts, roaming aimlessly the uncharted spirit-realms of our existence.
Maria Stader, soprano de bella voz, podría simbolizar la noble naturaleza de Andromena convertida en una Sirena, por el monstruo Leviathan (Thomas Hobbes, British philosopher), mientras que aquellos tristes ecos por el mar, su réquiem, más bien nos recuerdan las almas afligidas, fantasmas y seres ya desencaranados y que deambulan en el mundo de los espíritus.
Geographically speaking, Andromeda's soul is perhaps not to be found in the Purgatory, but her disheartening weepings in the Spirit Realm, as a Siren, may rather remind us that the deeply-felt sufferings of the soul, like kinetic energy, could still linger-on in the hereafter.
El Alma de Andromeda, geográficamente hablando, quizá no se halle en el Purgatorio, pero sus suplicios y penas con esos vientos por las orillas del mar, nos pueden advertir de que los sentimientos y sufrimientos del alma, como energía cinética, en algunas ocasiones, pueden sobrevivir más allá de la muerte.
Though I could tweak my writings with oxymorons here and there, I have rather juxtaposed opposite natures, good and evil, Maria vs Lilith, whose subliminal powers could exert as much influence in the dream-like state of the reader. Therefore, the more you read these stories, the more you would be drawn to plumb the incomprehensible depth and width of our spiritually-charged experiences, dancing into the hands of death, through this long journey on Earth.
A pesar de que puedo retocar mis escritos con algunos punzantes oximorones, agudeza de efectos literarios con palabras que se contradicen entre si, en esta presente temática más bien he yuxtapuesto naturalezas tan opuestas, Maria y sus rivales Lilith y Medusa, cuyos poderes subliminales pueden alcanzar ciertos efectos subconscientes, como es el poder del sueño o el trance en la mente del lector, podrían tener su fuerzas subliminal en nuestra psiquis. Por lo tanto, cuanto más leemos estas historias, pues más nos sentimos impelido a sondear lo profundo de nuestras experiencias espirituales a través de esta breve existencia por la Tierra.
It is worth mentioning those recurrent allusions to clouds, doves, filaments of haze, dreams, and so on, may simply veil our senses into a trance-like state, a seance, wherein our faculties could be enveloped to the apprehension of the Spirit Realm.
Vale la pena recordar al lector estas recurrente alusiones donde se hace mención de nubes, palomas, filamentos de neblinas, penumbras, sueños, entre otros símbolos, simplemente los empleo para velar vuestro sentidos en este trance, sesión con los espíritus, donde nuestras facultades parecen ser retomada por esta aprehensión por el Mundo de los Espíritus.
Largely based on true love-stories, as narrated by Theodore Diaz, however shocking, are based on real life-experiences with people of flesh and bones.
Estas historias de amor son relatadas por Teodoro Díaz, aunque un tanto inverosímil, están basadas en experiencias reales, con gente de carne y huesos.
In order to shield away from any unpredictable libel, I have prudently changed names, locations, but occasionally have kept the chronology (dates) to lend some reliable trustworthiness with those friends who still may remember these shocking love-stories (Washington Heights in the 1990s).
Para evitar algún incidente inesperado de difamación escrita, procuré cambiar los nombres de personas, localidades, pero ocasionalmente, y como para convencer al lector ya familiarizado con estas tragedias, pues fui fiel en mis relatos de fechas y cronologías, de tal manera que se me halle digno de confianza y veracidad.
Sobre La Mala Suerte y Sus Desgracias: Una Boda Es Dañada Por Falta de Seguridad - Summer of 1995 (A Wedding Is Spoiled for Lack of Safety)
Herein you could run-down the entire gamut of scandals and infamous practices, from damaged weddings to shocking cases of unrequited love (jilt), infidelities, ghost-haunting, hexes, a dreadful night-hag from Cuba, tampering with Santeria, but also awful stories of reprisals and other strange occurrences that still throw my mind back in a state of fear and apprehension.
Aquí por estas líneas podrás hallar todo una gama de escándalos, prácticas aborrecibles y desgracias del destino para cierta gente Latina: desde bodas dañadas, casos penosos de infidelidad, rechazos y mal de amores, brujerías, maleficios, fantasmas, pero también hallaréis casos de venganzas entre otras historias extrañas que todavía me llenan de escalofríos y terror.
Basically, Andromeda is a pithy, mordant philosophical critique on human nature. The lucky lady, once redeemed from her former self, a lovelorn siren, would dare instruct Theodore, a former jilted lover, on matters of jurisprudence, ethics and morality.
La Novela de Andromeda, se podría tratar como un ensayo filosófico mordaz de la naturaleza humana. La joven afortunada, Andromeda, una vez redimida de sus escalas y aleta de solitaria Sirena, Selena, pues ya tendría las experiencias de la vida para instruir a Teodoro Díaz, un joven romántico, sobre asuntos tan complejos como jurisprudencia, ética, moral, cívica, las fuerzas del destino, religión y metafísica.
Andromeda, late in the night, once as a ghost in the form of a mermaid, Selena, from time to time, would haunt the Hudson River's banks, or sometimes would appear by the seashore, Long Island, singing an incomprehensible sad tune: Kyrie Eleison, (Lord, Have Mercy).
Durante las horas caídas de la noche, Andromeda, ya como un fantasma, la triste Selena, en forma de Sirena, deambulaba por las orillas Del Río Hudson. En algunas ocasiones, también se le podía ver aparecer por las orillas del océano, en Long Island, de esta manera cantando sus penas y elegías: Kyrie Eleison (Señor, Ten Piedad de Mi).
Those who had the gut to see her face, would describe her as an eerily beautiful woman with pale skin and hair blacker than pitch.
Andromeda, hauntingly swaddled in her bride-to-be white gown, according to some witnesses, would appear late in the night, especially in Springtime, during the crescent moonlight.
Aquellos que han tenido el coraje de verla tarde en la noche, la describen como una bellísima mujer de tez pálida y pelo muy oscuro. Con su vestido de novia, según el testimonio de algunos testigos, la espeluznante muerta haría su presencia ya tarde en la noche, especialmente en la Primavera, y durante la Luna Creciente.
Chapter I: How I Met My Mermaid?
Theodore Diaz, which means one who adores God, is the main narrator, and moved by the plaintive strains of Selena, Siren by the seashore (the embodiment of the Latin soul stranded in Northern foreign-lands) the Latin soul would like to seek an in-depth introspective quest to the former glory of Latinism in the heydays of William A. Bouguereau and Frederick Lord Leighton (nineteenth century's pre-eminent artists of classical values and aesthetics).
Teodoro Díaz, que quiere decir aquel que ama a Dios en su corazón, es el principal narrador de la historia de Andromeda, a.k.a., Selena, y conmovido por aquellos llantos en los cantares de la Sirena (el cual podría interpretarse como la encarnación de la Raza Latina), el hombre Latino decide buscar aquel glorioso antepasado de sus antecedentes.
These tragic love-stories are narrated by Theodore Diaz, a sojourner from South America, in a series of e-mailed correspondences (epistolary) with Jeniffer Gem, a nerdy young woman with a penchant for ghost-stories and Latinism.
Jennifer Gem, 26, originally from Phoenix, Arizona, USA, is the main correspondent and e-mail reader, but allusion to the names of Maria versus Medusa, is a recurrent motif throughout the thematic development.
A woman of bucolic background, Jeniffer is gifted with very lofty feelings of nobility, grace and amusing witty simplicity.
Well travelled in the lands of South America, Central America, she has a penchant for Latinismo alla French. Though bilingual in English or Spanish, the young lady would prefer Selena, es decir, Andromeda, in the passion of the Spanish Language.
Jennifer, mi lectora favorita, es un personaje ficticio, y simplemente la uso como interlocutor (una joven estadounidense a quien le gusta el Latinismo del siglo XVIII). Teodoro Díaz, a través de correos electrónicos, le narra la historia de Selena, quien simboliza la Raza Latina en los Estados Unidos de América.
Chapter II: Ecce Homo (He Aquí el Hombre) - Behold, the Man
As we read in Jennifer Gem's constant queries concerning the baffling hieroglyphs of the countenance of Helena Del Rosario (an unfaithful coquettish woman from Santiago, Dominican Republic) the good lady believes marked differences could draw the lines, a chasm, between the “downright weak and vulgar and the noble nature" of some human beings (regardless of status, gender, class or race).
Eventually, Jennifer and Maria Fidelidad (my Spanish translator) despite their different upbringing, would become intimate friends, and both have learned to unravel the baffling hieroglyphs of the soul beyond the preface of the first impression; nay, the outward physical appearance of human beings, without the inner tugs of remorse or the simmering pricks of the soul, "conscience," would be but an empty husk.
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It is noteworthy that the story of Andromeda, or Selena, starts with Kyrie Eleison, Mass in C minor by Mozart, where the name of Maria Stader, beautiful soprano, may prefigure the lofty qualities of the Mermaid Selena by the seashore prior to becoming an incomparable beautiful woman: Andromeda.
Maria Fidelidad, fictitious character (translator to the Spanish Spanish), is a wonderful Dominican-born woman who grew up in New York, Washington Heights (born in Santo Domingo, September 17, 1978).
Despite peer pressure to demeaning her trove-treasure legacy with her Latin Heritage, Maria Fidelidad is committed to keeping her chin high in the values of her Catholic ancestry.
Although Maria is a very beautiful, kick-ass dark-skinned woman, she finds it beneath her dignity to use such bomb-shell-artilleries for dishonorable means and ends.
Well versed in the Divine Comedy by Dante, Maria Fidelidad and Jeniffer Gem would rather use their god-given qualities for the Glory of their Creator.
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Andromeda - Preámbulo por Teodoro Diaz - Sinopsis:
Corregir un escrito, de cierto valor para uno, toma años, y es mejor hacerlo con el pasar de los años. Cada cierto tiempo nuestra mente parece retomar el vigor de la musa, y nuestras experiencias parecen ser recapituladas, cristalizadas y condensadas como por el Divino Rocío de la claridad, nitidez y lucidez.
Cuando traté de entender mi escriba interno, pues me percaté de que Selena más bien me hablaba como por un sueño, entonces entendí lo que decían algunos antiguos escritores, que el escritor es simplemente un médium para esta musa en la Divina Inspiración.
Una vez el ser interno se entiende en el desarrollo temático de su vida, pues entonces la historia se hace más coherente y congruente:
Andromeda (quizás la Personificación de la Raza Latina) era una bella mujer que se perdió por razones no muy clara en mis escritos, y sería mejor no ahondar en su naturaleza tan humana que así la hizo presa del Leviathan (que puede representar el pensamiento Inglés de Thomas Hobbes, filósofo británico y autor del Leviathan).
A pesar de su caída, sus virtudes y conciencia de una dama de pudor no la pierde, y esta condición la califica para ser purificada en el Purgatorio.
La bella mujer, Andromeda, ya como espíritu, y sin descanso deambula por la tierra, Selena, La Sirena, pues cantaría sus penas en las obligadas noches de su tristeza y penitencia (Purgatorio).
Como un Fantasma, Selena buscaría las orillas de esos mares tan insondables en la comprensión de su alma. Sus cantos tan bellos, pero tan triste, pues podían escucharse como aquella música inefable del viento gimiendo con las olas de aquel mar inescrutables, profundo y de tanto significado para una alma que conoce del dolor y la pérdida.
Eventualmente, y gracias a las oraciones de sus amigos, Selena, es redimida en el personaje de Andromeda, de ahí entraría en las Paz de su alma en el cielo.
Una vez allá, en el Paraíso, Andromeda se recuerda de aquel joven que otrora le amara con mucha pasión, y ella se conmueve por lo mucho que este hombre había cambiado.
Por lo tanto, ella se propone devolverle sus gratas memorias de su juventud, también le explica el profundo significado de sus sublimes cantos por la orilla Del Mar de Ayer: Señor, Ten Piedad de Mi.
A pesar de que ambos están separados por este mundo y el próximo, Andromeda le consuela con la promesa de que las almas buenas serán recompensadas en el más allá.
El narrador de su historia, Teodoro, se conmueve al verla tan bella como Andromeda, ya renovada en el Cielo, entonces buscaría entender cosas que ojo no ha visto ni oído ha escuchado.
La bella dama, recordando las oraciones por su alma, promete hacer sus periódicas apariciones en sueños, a veces asomándose en forma de una paloma por la ventana, a veces descendiendo de entre las nubes para así mostrarte las virtudes de arriba en su Cielo de Infancia.
Selena, Como Sirena: básicamente es una crítica filosófica sobre la naturaleza humana; pero al final, cuando me re-encuentro con Andromeda, ya redimida de su anterior naturaleza de Sirena, pues me sorprendo de que ella me instruya sobre jurisprudencia, ética y moral (Chapter de XX-Last Glimpse of Heaven With Selena).
On Chapter XI: Galipote, A Demonic Entity From Colonial Times: Juan D' Los Palos, quien es un galipote, representa el instinto de la lujuria en el hombre, que como bien sabes, es uno de los pecados capitales, y si uno no domina este instinto, pues ya puede arruinar nuestras vidas y las vidas de otros. Este chico recibió una paliza por una chica ya instruida en el Leviathan de Hobbes.
Juan D' Los Palos, Dominican Galipote, is a shape-shifting demonic man with a "remarkable libido," and as you may know, lust is one of the seven sins, and without control, such metamorphosis could be the cause for twinges, convulsions and wriggles.
Poor man, Don Juan, thought he could play Rubirosa with an intelligent woman well-versed on the Leviathan by Hobbes, and his end was alike shameful and disastrous.
Sobre El Fantasma de Una Mujer Con Vestimentas de Novia (1987, La Aparición de Una Llorona)
(Chapter VIII: The Ghost of A Bride-To-Be (1987), pues nunca se pudo resolver este misterio, es decir, si esta mujer era en realidad una muerta o simplemente una actriz británica, y que sufría de una extraña enfermad de huesos. Ella era una mujer despiadada.
La Llorona:
The Ghost of a Bride-to-Be (1987), her mystery was never solved, that is to say, whether she was a ghost or just a British woman suffering from an excruciating bone disease. The lady was weak to the bone.
Algunos creían que esta mujer había sufrido muchas decepciones con los hombres, y su alma, tan herida con "mal-de-amores," pues se gozaba en destruir los corazones de sus pobres victimas: Ay! Ay! Ay!
Una y otra vez, Selena, mientras se purifica de su naturaleza de Sirena en el Purgatorio (Chapter VI: En El Purgatorio con Selena) me advierte de la integridad como asuntos de seguridad y sabiduría, y sus consejos sobre el peligro del Internet (Facebook, Texting Strangers Recklessly, LinkedIn) a quien compara como un océano de peligros insondables, pues lo tomo muy en serio.
Chapter X: Sobre La Mala Suerte y Sus Desgracias: Una Boda Es Dañada Por Falta de Seguridad - Washington Heights: the spoiled wedding of the bride-to-be took place in the summer of 1995 at a local church, and it is one of the unhappiest incidents in my life.
El Señor Mario Vasconcelos Muere de Amor por Helena Del Rosario: The heartbreaking experiences of Mario Vasconcelos (fictitious character) with his unfaithful wife, Helena Del Rosario, was based on a real-life love-story at a local Protestant Christian Church.
El Reverendo Freddy Montez, fue un gran pastor de ovejas, y en muchas ocasiones tuvo que vivir escenas y experiencias muy tristes en la Ciudad de Nueva York.
The Leviathan (Sea-Monster)
A mythological sea-creature found in the Old Testament, Book of Job, embodies the philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, British philosopher.
Due to the faithful prayers of her friends and relatives, the soul of Andromeda, a.k.a, Selena, escorted by angels, is finally taken out of the Purgatory (The Seashores of her Kyrie Eleison) to dwell in Heaven.
Paradise Chapter XX: once in Paradise, Andromeda speaks through various dreams to his beloved friend and jilted lover (Theodore Diaz), that her soul is finally resting in peace. She also explains the baffling meanings of her mournful strains by the seashore (Purgatory).
At the request of her lover in the prime of his youth, Theodore, Andromeda gives him an awe-inspiring succinct description of Heaven, and promised him to be the faithful gazelle of his heart.
Theodore, who throughout these years have waxed cold and disillusioned in his relationship with God, is exhorted by the dear Lady to be diligent and seek the upper realms above.
Andromeda, in her final visions and winged words, promised Theodore to make her appearance, every now and then, sometimes in the form of a dove alighting by the window's sills, sometimes would even appear shrouded amidst immaculate clouds of lights and magic in the dropping hours of dreams.
Here and there, to better illustrate my love stories, I have included some stunning paintings by artists William A. Bouguereau and Frederick Lord Leighton.
Latin Yearnings in Fondest Memories of My Yesteryears in New York City:
A Letter to Jennifer Gem - Editor of Andromeda
by Eddie Beato
Over the years, I will have enough material to linking my characters and stories so as to make my writings the more coherent and meaningful. Writing should be experienced and lived through the unrolling scroll of circumstances. No writer would be resourceful enough without the propitious assistance of other writers. I am honing my English with the writings of Thomas Mann: Doctor Faustus!
The drafts below on "Limerence, Jealousy and Amargura," would make a fine introduction for Andromeda (which is symbolic of the Tragedy of the Ancient Greeks). Faint traces of Greek mythology are obvious throughout my writings. Andromeda is a romantic return to the former glory of the Ancient Greeks.
Añadí a mi Andromeda la triste Historia de Ernesto Gutiérrez, su amor platónico por el fantasmas de Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, con en este brazo de "mar ardiente" con la Madre Patria España y mi adorada Antigua Grecia.
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Dear Jennifer, I shall write a few lines on those yearnings and romances which even today make me shudder when musing on the heart's unfathomable reaches, its resilience and endurance, for I cannot believe that after all these years, it is the same silly thing, foolish, immature.
The heart is always the same silly thing —a romantic fool.
And I doubt whether any human being could speak of life, "I have lived" without those inevitable thorns and thistles, because love, as I told you, is the gist for every great writer or musician. An artist, if immersed in his artworks, may still be able to dodge the arrow of Cupid, but as a composer, I have to confess my absolute dependence and devotion to that divine goddess, Muse, whose blessed lips could grant me the loveliest melodies and inspiration.
And why not seek me a beautiful Helena, a divine Minerva, or a charming "Rosalinda Conception," whose "yo no se que" (uncanny veils) could throw my reasons and faculties into the arms of passions and creativity.
But it was that saucy creature, Selena, whose whims, prettiness and caprices clove my heart with her Amazing Grace.
Later on, an audacious man, Juan D' Los Palos, with tempting scheme and treachery, was able to gain a "secreted retreat" with my angel. For day and night, O Jennifer, I have to come to grips with the vats of jealousy and suspicion gnawing my guts and carcasses into the dark quarters of hell.
In-rushing thoughts of infidelity were not to be discarded, but it was during that time when I felt impelled to transcribe Amazing Grace for the piano (circa 1997-1998).
Nevertheless, I would rather prefer a "blade of grass" to jab my loins (costados) than a "thorn of love" to pierce my heart ever bleeding with the sad tears of Selena in the Purgatory.
But I thank God she is today in Heaven, and such good news, my dear, may cheer my heart to forgive in high expectations of better days to come.
Unabashedly, I have to confess that I still love that bad former creature, a saucy minx, whose coquetry, pranks and charms, at times, could keep my mind musing in endless reveries, cogitation and rumination.
Melina - Another Beautiful Greek Woman - Una Llorona:
Let my days unfold with that sad song, Melina Mercouri, which even today, as I hear her name, may rub my heart anew with the incomprehensibility of a beautiful woman like Andromeda. A Greek woman, day and night mourning the sad fate of her people.
And when I hear this sad song, O dear Jennifer, I have to let out a few tears, and even when I think me silly, ridiculously sentimental, and would even shake off any trait of human weakness, something within me refuses any hardiness as inappropriate for a man still in possession of some relic of compassion and humanity.
The sad song, nevertheless, may pierce my heart with the tears of Selena, a lovelorn mermaid existing today as a ghost, "una historia y un pueblo en el olvido."
But let me give you an idea, however tentatively, how much times and things have changed for those who once lived under the power of love and petricor? It is the story of a Latin Soul whose heart still dreams in the former glory of Ancient Greece and Rome...
Spaniard singer, Camilo Sesto, my favorite Minstrel of Love (the romantic singer of yesteryears) has captured the hearts of his devout followers with lovely tunes drenched in the mellifluous dews of former times in Latin America.
His songs are said to exude the "intoxicating petricor" of our lands, reminiscent of the uncanny feelings of our distant past with Spain and the Mediterranean people.
Petricor, místico olor, es la agradable fragancia de la tierra después de la lluvia. Petricor, at least for the Ancient Greeks, was comparable to the effects of hallucinogenic herbs (drugs) in the roomy expanses of our mind.
Imagine the effects of petricor upon the minds of two lovers caught-up in the paradisiac landscapes of Mexico, Spain, Ecuador or the Dominican Republic in the XVIII century.
Of course, I am speaking of two kindred souls with the sensitive fabric of the pilgrims, the Amish or "the naturalist," because few things could vie with Mother Nature when compensating the happy couple with a propitious"dope of petricor."
They were perhaps campesinos (peasants), but one would not deny a heaven to this lucky couple: embracing each other, like that old couple, Baucis and Philemon, in the ever stretching plots of virgin lands, a daily dose of petricor, and the loveliest woods, meadows and pastures in the safe heaven of trust and love.
Added to the inexplicable magic of petricor, imagine the soothing effects of a gentle rain pelting and simmering upon the zinc-roofed shack or shanti (casita, o bohío para los Tainos).
Even today the gentle rain may send shivers down my spine!
Nada como dormir bajo el aliciente de una lluvia!
Añoranzas (Idyllic Songs) - Courtly Love and Yearnings.
The sad songs, añoranzas (feverish yearnings) as only known to the heart in-love, aquiver with romantic thrills of amorous raptures, may touch on the mournful side of platonic love: courtly love and chivalry are often the preferred genre for the Spanish singer.
Like the melancholy music of F. Chopin or Franz Schubert, the ballad, "bolero," must invoke heart-rending feelings of inexplicable love in the mystification of our dearly loved.
Hence, the elevated idea of womanhood, Perfidia, is quite often wooed as the sacred source of strangest delights and sighs:
Of course, in the bitter-sweet writings of Colombian author Jose Maria Vargas Vila, ("Ibis, Laura y Las Gaviotas,") she is depicted as the source of our joys and woes!
Back in the 80s, it was not uncommon to see a fiancé-fiancée caught-up in rapt frenzies of love and madness: eres un "romántico empedernido," (an incurable romantic.)
Latino people of yesteryears, more than other cultures and peoples, are known to conflate ideas of purity and beauty in the mystification of "belleza femenina:" the cult of womanhood, Galatea, Venus, Mary, Beatrice, Minerva, Naussica, Andromeda, Selena, Athena.
The beautiful songs, rarely, if ever, touch upon things lustful, sleazy, salacious or lascivious.
However an amorous minstrel, but injured by something tragic in the fickle reciprocities of Fate & Amargura, (unrequited love), the Latin Balad, more than any other genre, is still regarded as the most exalted form of poesy, afflatus and loftiest human sentiments as conceived in the heart of former composers in Latin America.
In the ethos of yore, there was a time when a lover would be happy just receiving the long-journeyed letter of the distant beloved!
The hand-written letter, ether-tinted and redolent of heartiest feelings, was indeed a source of strangest emotions and butterflies.
Quite often, and as some of you may still remember, the amorous couple would perfume the long-journeyed letter with the scents of "Powdered Love," which is the candor-gist for the most intoxicating songs ever composed during the golden era of music-love-making in Latin America. Songs the likes of Bésame Mucho, Perfidia, Melina by Camilo Sesto, Ya Lo Pasado Pasado by José José, among other unforgettable tunes, have gathered proselytes all over the world.
Lost Pearls and Gems in the Cerulean Ocean of Yesteryears with Latin America - Island of Puerto Rico:
Y Yo Sin Poderte Hablar —Mi Amor!
Divine music, sensible mind of that great composer who thus could dictate his emotions!
A Latin rhythm, exotic, saucy, intimate and truly Caribbean like the ardent Island of Puerto Rico, is the next nexus-scene with lost pearls in the cerulean ocean of our yesteryears: the other winged stories of those Latin souls still bathed in dews, thrills, shivers and sighs unsayable by any dint of word-expression:
It was a virgin world still dreaming of innocent love, promises and passions that seem to pierce the heart ever anew with more tears, hand-written letters and other yearnings...Puerto Rico.
Now let me remember that intoxicating moment:
My hometown, Moca, Dominican Republic, year 1979, I was still a shy lad when I first heard this beautifully sad tune, which, like a “Czardas-arrow,” forthwith, it lodged itself in my heart.
Overwhelmed by the ineffable voices of this song, I stayed my tired feet briefly nearby, to seek myself under a tree or a wafting cloud, like a wayfarer, like a Gypsy, still a stranger in this most incomprehensible world of beauty and nostalgia:
Y Yo Sin Poderet Hablar! (And I Unable To Speak To Thee:)
As I fix my attention to consecrate the Latin hour accordingly, a pellucid flute seems to warble, here and there, a more optimistic approach and consolation to those unfortunate companions of sorrows and love; but in vain, because the ever-encamping cellos, “true possessors of the human heart,”cannot rest, but to eke out their smooth path-way with the other G-strings, their heartbreaking strain; step by step, moving on and on, in underlying caring with the leading tenor and the other supernal feminine sotto voces…
At intervals, ceasing their subdued lullabies Uuuuu and la-la-la-la-la embellishments, the ravishing soprano and alto voices would finally join in to outcry the long yearning of a missing beloved (Anoranzas).
Y Yo Sin Poderte Hablar, could be rendered in English: And I Unable to Speak To You. Back in those days we did not have e-mails, nor easy access to a quick phone call, but we relied solely on hand- written letters...perfumed with powder redolent of jasmine!
Existence could not be more promising and beautiful than in this sweet rosy introspection, my memories inly found in tad glimpses of yesteryears, our pristine days spent in a cease-less quest to the interpretation of that music: the timelessness of our mind awareness!
Yes! Life was very beautiful, romantic, and the sweet music of the French arrangers the likes of Frank Pourcel, Paul Mauriat, James Last, among others, would elevate the ardent music of Latin America to a tremendous pitch of poetic self-intoxication —comparable to that of the Slavic people in beauty (Dark Eyes), nostalgia and the strong temperament of the northerners of Europe.
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Due to my hectic artistic life, I have lived my life pretty much without any long-lasting bonds (or bounds) with any human being: kin or kith, girlfriend or relative.
It is time for me to realize that the enchanting mysteries of existence, as conveyed to me in the awfully beautiful Moonlight Sonata of Beethoven, could make me congenial to many a night embraced in the gentle arms of solitude. Therein, in solitude, I shall gather myself in the power of music.
From the womb of night, however pregnant with the fancy and figments of my mind, there emerged forth human beings worthy of the artist's imagination. Later on, I was bound to cast these beautiful angels into paintings, writings, drawings and music.
With such artworks I felt no need for marriage with an actual woman. Thus was born the painting of Shanti (Peace), which conceals so much of me in her defiant countenance: she is the quintessence of my most elevated limerence, platonic raptures and happiness with the ghost of my fancy and dread.
How many a night we would consume in the holy altar of our mystical copulation, and how exciting to unveiling her countenance...so clad with the holy mantles of night profound!
—-She is my Mona Linda!
You may deem me as "unusual" when compared with the common lot for most human beings: sufferings, depression and ennui (boredom). I am pretty much free of depression, dejection, sullenness, peevishness (mal humorado) though I must confess my bleeding bruises due to trust than to the cool detachment of living without love, limerence or infatuation.
I can't live without the arrows of Cupid, romantic love, and If I cannot find an angel, I may seek her in the unfettered paths of literature or romantic music!
Lo and behold! A beautiful woman like Andromeda is still my inspiration!
During my thirties, nonetheless, I have, as a man possessed with a healthy predisposition towards women, shared the heartiest moments with angels of the finest moral fabric.
I did have my angels, and I did not feel "sinful." Of course, I was acquainted with Philippians 04:08 (whatever is true, pure, excellent and praise-worthy...) but the sweet lady was vouchsafed with the most exquisite lips for silence, reservation and a quaint nobleness in her far-off gazing eyes, sensitivity, but also the sweetest gestures and reactive kindness as befitting human beings of the finest fabric.
She was pure-apple breadths with innocent sentiments and the incarnation of daintiest, delicate feelings, refinements, charms and grace decked out her neck with Precious Gems —-and, above all, possessed that blooming-heart of innocence still beating for love as felt in the prime of our youth.
Therefore, I rather felt sanctified when caressed and cuddled by her nursing hands. Her gentle touch infused my soul with new impetus to live —-to love and cast myself in a web of dreams!
Her holy kiss revealed me new things as yet unknown, undiscovered or unexplored in myself.
Her eyes were not wanting of tears or comprehension, and I placed her but on equal standing with a Christian or a Mormon woman of the finest conception.
My religious feelings, nevertheless, at times, would come into conflicts with any "reckless licentiousness or promiscuity" lacking the sound restraint of someone who believes in God.
True, upon reaching my late twenties, as an artist, I lived a life you may call "liberal" and perhaps "too secular" to deserve the high-flown compliments of the "Christian and Chaste."
Those two sacrosanct adjectives not always suited me well. Some things just did not fit my inquisitive spirit. Torn apart betwixt heaven and earth, I probably had a Tannhauser embosomed in my heart?
Year 2002: I could not marry a Christian woman, her chastity didn't turn me on. Nor could I marry a mundane woman lacking the heart for the music of Chopin.
Finding a woman as beautiful as Shanti, pagan, barbarian, wild, and yet sensitive to the music of Mother Nature was my ideal angel and companion.
Today I raise my brow in "holy horror," for I never thought of myself as "saintly and godly."
Back then, my youthful sensuality was impetuously raging through my veils and arteries with the burning fires of art, music and, why not? I had a surplus of sexual drives which found outlet in my artworks.
Cast a glance at the painting Precious Memories, a Halcyon Paradise in the Wellspring of My Life —-It is a blissful state of mind!
As a romantic musician, I must confess an incorrigible tendency to chasing butterflies towards the rainbow of love.
I am including here those who ever questioned my sexual orientation, and how I reached my forties free of unwanted baggages or cumbersome loads of romantic failures, disappointments, wounds and bruises which may make the heart bleed with the tears of Selena.
Art and music could still elevate the lowest instincts from any dogmatic reproach or shame. For this and other reasons , even when some holy people would get shocked at the sheer nudity of my drawings (as found in my portfolio), I shall not remove my drawings.
My Goodness! Selena (year 1998) She was indeed a very beautiful maid, but coming too close to the deep waters of the seashore, she was made captive by the Leviathan (a hideous sea-monster).
The lovely heavenly maid fought and fought to her last breadth, but was finally overcome by the tight grasp of the sea-hunter.
Dammed! During my youth, I loved that Latina woman to the point of platonic madness and "limerence," but she was a witless creature, and what she had in beauty was remarkably wanting in wisdom.
She was an easy catch for every devil and the wiles of men.
Later on, I found out Selena was weeping in the Purgatory, and, during some long night, I held my vigil —-and I would pray for her soul.
Dear Lord, I pray for Selena's soul. Much to my surprise, she finally found Grace with God, and was taken to heaven to live a happier existence (Vita Beata).
Once in heaven she changed her name for Andromeda!
Once in Heaven, Andromeda, in the most beautiful shapeliness and heavenly singing conceivable, promised me to be my turtle-dove, and that I should learn how to read the signs of her mystical physical apparitions.
Ever since, O Lord! Like a madman, I have been chasing every pigeon, every dove or butterfly alighting by my window or nearing by the lonely woods of my retreats, for I hope to finally hold grasp of her haunting soul's lingering trails...and I don't care if she is today but a ghost of my imagination.
Yes! some mornings I have been awakened up by the sweet crooning of an immaculate white dove, and I have to tell you that such lovely visitations have made me love God with all my heart and soul!!
Dear God, I love you, and thank you for that beautiful woman.
At a time of much confusion and distrust, I have been addressed with tough questions pertaining to religion, integrity and other "touchy issues" which I would rather forego so as not to get myself on fire.
Since I work for various religious organizations, some questions have shaken me to the core, and I was really disappointed when, even to the best of my behavior and mien, unfair rumors could tarnish human beings regardless of virtue or vice: that perhaps I was a womanizer, a homosexual, a hermit, a recluse, or a loner of the queerest escapades.
Worse, even when I have, by the aid of the most civil of terms, fine comportment, and amicability, spruced up myself to look clean, decent and dapper, some have failed to perceive a human being ever-striving for improvement and perfection.
We are citizens of heaven my friend, and yet we may fail to rise above the mere commonplace and average.
The truth is that ghettoism has infiltrated every single sacred place of our society, including the church, and it is even dangerous to deviate from what is common and vulgar. One could be accused of being a snob or snooty, because as you may know, legion is a ubiquitous army, hellbent on razing Apollo to the ground.
Indeed, I have not been exempted of unfair (snarky) criticism, and at times, had to pull myself out of a fetid swamp replete with unclean reptiles and all kinds of strange animals.
Even after taking a propitious shower, a "lingering feeling of uncleanliness and filthiness” has returned to me in the memory of such false friends.
Had I known they were my enemies, I would have escaped the trap, but trust has always been my lack of foresight and wisdom. Alas, I never learned how to draw a line between trust and distrust, and this, I dare say, has made me little cautious when meeting strangers.
Speaking of one's conviction could be a thankless task, but circumstances could test our human nature to the core, and I have to thank God that my life has been rewarded with the sweet fruits of Peace and Joy.
Of course! every now and then, I have found stumbling blocks, but I have risen up again like a mighty man! Embarrassment, chagrins and scandals are the lot for human beings, but since I am not famous, I have been little disturbed by fierce criticism or condemnation.
Those who would dare throw stones at me are wasting their time. Nevertheless, at times, I have had to endure the "pathetic theatrics" of people at pain with themselves, and the green-eyed monster of jealousy, much to my surprise, is fond of churches.
Temptations are inevitable, but I think I have passed some trials with flying colors. As I reach my 49-Spring, I rise my eyes in triumphant thanksgiving and I wish to thank God for keeping me aboard and safe in the ever-rolling ship of my faith.
We are all in the same boat!
This e-mail attempts to win my friend's grace and forgiveness, and perhaps be able to abridge any differences and misunderstandings. In so doing, I hope not to present me as a Saint (holy person) because I am a sinner, but to the question of whether I am a "fornicator," or an "idolater," my clear conscience is such that I could die today thinking the gates of Heaven wide-open for me.
At a time of widespread disappointment and apostasy, such maid is like a twinkling star, a daystar, or vesper of hope.
1. Have I ever thought to be a narcissist?
I have pondered on that question, but for years (...) I had not taken any pictures of me, and any photos in the social media (YouTube, Google, Photo-Gallery) was due to pressure from employers and friends who, perhaps out of curiosity on the effects of time in our countenances, would like to see my physical appearance after all these years of cold winters in New York. Much to their surprise, time has wreaked havoc with me!
2. Am I gay?
Nope. I am a heterosexual creature, and I thank God that I was born with a healthy penchant for "limerence:" a superlative infatuation with women of good character, beauty and chastity, is evident in my paintings. Take a look at Shanti!
Yes, I have —like any romantic man possessed of artistic sensibilities and a healthy orientation— produced my own platonic conception of the ideal woman, and could be totally happy with the painting of Ave Maria hanging in my room.
Unable to marry a woman (1998), I decided to cast her into a beautiful painting, and thus was born Shanti (Peace), which has been my most faithful and beloved wife! She is now in my room.
3. Am I Protestant or Catholic?
By feelings I am a devout traditional Catholic. By reason, I am a staunch Protestant, but I would prefer the former. Nay, as I age, Traditional Catholicism has appealed to me like the sad music of Mozart: Requiem and Mass in C minor.
I love incenses, organ music and libation as much as I love the Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer.
Therefore, my beloved Protestant friend, your churches, without the Air of Bach or Mozart, strike me like moldy shelves of dead letters and Bible studies —there is nothing Greek or Roman in thy churches, and this is a tragedy of epic proportion.
4. Do I Prefer Solitude?
I have to confess to be a bird with a penchant for solitude, and though the charming smile of a beautiful woman could distract me, art, music and philosophy have rewarded me with the gifts and blessings of peace, joy and a tolerable existence!
5. Am I a mystic?
Yes. I am a mystic, and by this time, it should be self-evident that I am a naturalist as confirmed in my writings about nature, asceticism, renunciation, and a quiet life after the writings of my favorite saint: Henry D. Thoreau.
A Letter to a Dear Angel (2003)
I have a peculiar memory to remembering the pithy moments and experiences that touched my heart deeply in the past.
You are one of those special souls, for good ---or just for an edifying learning experience-- taught me how to draw the line between trust and distrust.
I now admire your prudence and level-headedness! Thank you Sheiva! I had to bear the brunt of distrust while spinning beautiful letters to an angel.
Unbeknownst to our high regards for each other, I don't know if I ever hurt your feelings by showing a photo of my ex-girlfriend. It was not intentional, of course not, because she lived in Amsterdam, Holland, and could not find a job in New York as a flight attendant.
Who would dare love some one living on the other side of the globe?
Sheiva, from the time I saw you at Barnes & Noble, your beauty and personality bewitched me out of my wits, and your charming smile made me think about angels.
Sheiva, I remember you saying that I was like an angel to you! Such sweet remark made me like you all the more as a pretty woman of the rarest sort, quaint and classic.
Your aloofness and distance gave me enough romantic material for an innocent limerence with you.
True! I had plans to finding a kindred soulmate in New York City, but, alas, I was unlucky to winning your heart and trust Sheiva.
Nevertheless, that was totally fine with me, because, as I said, I had trained myself to respecting choices without “subtracting myself of any degree of self-respect,” and I sincerely developed "filial love" and respect for souls of your caliber Sheiva.
Needless to say, I was hopeful to ending any romantic relationship with my ex-girlfriend, because I sincerely had feelings for you Sheiva, though I did not express them too clearly due to your "bouts of subtle poetic lines" and sharp high-mindedness: "blade of grass," which I never forgot, but rather made me sensible to the most common culprit for unnecessary misunderstanding and sufferings: lack of communication.
Your Golden Book: End of the Year 2003:
I did keep your golden book with me. It was filled with inspirational writings, and though I was not as religious or understanding of your Catholicism and Moral Values, your gift made me feel alike privileged but also inadequate to climbing higher in the social ladder of perfection and the status of Downtown Manhattan.
Yes. Today, I do think you are a very special woman and a great friend of great moral fabric. But as a good friend, I felt the moral duty to letting you know how I felt back then.
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La Curva de la Chica Fatal - Historias diarias sobrenaturales Santa Fe en Argentina, Por Antonio J. Fernández Del Campo - Letter to Jennifer Gem: Editor of Andromeda - Español al fondo de este rollo !
Dear Jennifer Gem, I am here sending you an excerpt (down the scroll) from the diary of Argentine journalist Ernesto Gutierrez who passed on in 2009. Gutierrez, as we are told by Antonio J. Fernandez, fell in love with the ghost of Sara Evangelina Sanchez, but let us analyze the strange set of circumstances that led him, "a romantic fool," to fall trap to his mind's fleeting elusive figments.
Sarah, quizás sea una proyección de su mente. Ten cuidado con esas curvas nocturnas de perdición y dolores indecibles.
Sarah Evangelina Sanchez...tu bello rostro y curva ha causado tanto daños y sufrimientos en las calles solitarias de Méjico.
Aún en Argentina, se reporta, el fantasma de esta mujer de bello rostro ha causado accidentes automovilísticos, y aún los periodistas, como fue el trágico caso de Ernesto Gutiérrez, han quedado hipnotizado con los espectros ambulantes en las obligadas noches de Latino América.
—Ay Dios Mio!
Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, in the words of Ernesto Gutierrez was an extremely beautiful woman, at least for those who are still under the influence of the "Cult of Maria" in the mystification of female beauty as conceived by the Mediterranean people.
As we carefully read his last lines, in the company of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, the ghost, it is very plausible to surmise the chain of circumstances leading to his tragic death, as the outcome of a twisted mind finally succumbing to its own figments: self-induced fears spawned in the profoundest depths of our unconscious swamps with Spain, Greece and the Mediterranean people.
Of course, from a psychological perspective, the story is so extraordinarily unique, that I wish to recast it in the writings of Carl Jung.
El arquetipo de este espíritu está en nuestros simientes genealógicos.
The ghost, Una Bella Mujer de Vestido Blanco, may be a projection of our mind's subtlest yearnings, deepest inwardness, all interlaced in the flimsy skein of fate and coincidence.
That there is "sanguinary truth" haunting our existence, a blood-related forcible element behind the biogenesis of our dreams and fate cannot be overstated.
Nuestros antepasados nos persiguen...aún en Nueva York.
Even in New York, I carry, though in my unconscious mind, a veritable storehouse of elusive beings haunting my existence. A beautiful woman like Sarah Evangelina, a Galatea of the most delicate, immaculate porcelain-skin and beauty imaginable, could probably lead me to the same similar tragic fate of Ernesto Gutierrez.
I thank God such strange breed of beautiful women are scanty today, at least in NYC, but there was a time when Rosalinda or Helene were not just the fancy of poets and writers: the uncanny veil of Mona Lisa's smile could drive me nuts.
A beautiful woman like Sarah, veiled and mystified in the charms of our religious intoxication was a terrible truth, ineffable, divine and the most exalted feelings finding their cozy affections in the person of Virgin Mary.
She is meant to be a pure possession of our limerence with the beautiful and divine.
When I delve deep into my mind's inner sarcophagus, and thus try to cast a ray of comprehension into the riddles of ghostly apparitions, I cannot but seek me introspectively and retrospectively into the earliest years of my infancy: my religious upbringing with the Cult of Mary, Athena, Melina Mercouri, Beatrice, Rosa Linda, Minerva.
Therefore, there is a kernel of truth in the fact that we all tend to project ourselves' inner-world, childhood, into the outer pictures and motley tapestry of human experiences. At any rate, one cannot deny a Colletive Consciousness in the interpretation of transient phenomena.
The Bride-to-Be, dressed in a white gown, whether a Virgin or a Platonic Idea imbedded in the collective psyche (archetype) of the Latin people, may have, by rarest of circumstances, has won a unique place in the interpretation of our lives.
The Lady, as today, whether La Virgen de la Altagracia, or La Llorona, is weeping the loss of her children.
Returning to the tragic end of Ernesto Gutierrez, his ghost-story, on closer inspection, could be construed but as the ingenious commingling of facts and fiction.
That it has a moral lesson is undeniable. He is perhaps warning us to avoid la Chica de La Curva Fatal!
Ernesto's ghost-story is perhaps false, fictitious, the fantasy of a twisted mind, but like countless other ghost-stories in Latin America, we shall read it for the sake of fun and instruction!
"The thrill of dread" according to Goethe, is one of the most interesting conundrums in this short existence, such "holy dread" is the best part of the heart.
This is the main reason why I love USA's wintery quarters by places ravaged by one thousand incomprehensible gut-feelings!
Here we may come across people, elusive entities and ghosts, whose precious memories (phantasmagoria) could only survive but in my writings.
But once I die, who will recall them?
Moreover, some ghost-stories ought to be accessed as affording some insights in the collective psyche of a people: that is to say, the peculiar cherished ideas that may mold our collective worldview and idiosyncrasy.
Let Us Take a Closer Look at This Haunting Story of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez —-Don't Cry For Me Argentina!
Year 2009:
Frightening fate of Argentine journalist, Ernesto Gutierrez, who, while seeking explanations and correlations to the haunting of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez (passed on in 1982) somehow would fall into the bonds of "sick-love" to a beautiful lady dressed in a white gown (27 years later),
Mr. Gutierrez' mysterious death is still shrouded in thickest of mists and fogs.
Informe policial
Comisaría de Santa Fe, Argentina
Twenty seven years later, The Ghost of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez would strike again.
Her victim, an Argentinian journalist, Ernesto Gutierrez, would fall dead by his own penchant to solving unexplained phenomena.
Late in the night, Sarah found him by the lonely road of our dread, but hardly was he able to recognize her as the purported ghost of the fatal curve (La Chica de la Curva Fatal).
However skeptical, when I paused pensively on the watchword "curve," I rather parsed it but in relation to a woman's gracious hip or well-rounded shapeliness:
Tienes un bello cuerpo de guitarra, y un rostro para hacerme pedazos —te amo con locura Sarah!
Hence, I was cautious to accepting Ernesto's story as a true encounter with a ghost. Perhaps he had a tryst with a real woman of flesh and bones.
—Who knows?
Or, perhaps he had an encounter with a woman resembling the ideal woman of his platonic limerence?
It was a gentle evening of 2009, Ernesto, while driving just before the all-covering pall of night, came across a striking beautiful woman attired in a white gown.
The beautiful lady of our dread, donned in her gorgeous white gown, beckoned him for a hitchhike to a place where, as we later learned from Ernesto's own journals and letters, was meant to meeting her beloved groom at a local church.
La chica pide una bola para encontrarse con su futuro esposo. Ernesto Gutierrez, que tonto, terminaría enamorándose de esta muerta.
Watch out, she is but a ghost, a vindictive spirit of the night, hellbent into drawing other men into such tragic end (La Curva de la Chica Fatal).
Charmed by the beauty of this lady, he cannot believe his eyes to be in the stunning presence of the same dama, "la muerta," Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, believed to have been killed in a car accident twenty seven years earlier (1982).
My goodness! The lady looked so real, and as pretty as Nausicaa, the match for a Greek goddess, cannot be a ghost standing in front of me.
—Eres una chica bellisima!
Sarah looks so real and warm to his gentle touch and senses, so tangible that he simply refuses to admitting her as a haunting ghost.
—-She has to be real!
Indeed, her appearance, reminiscent of the ghost of Sarah (la chica del vestido blanco en Argentina) as reported by eye-witnesses, was perhaps sheer coincidence —this latter human being, es una coincidencia. So reasoned Ernesto while looking at her long beautiful white dress.
Su cara era cincelada con algo de virgen inmaculada.
Su mirada infundían algo inexplicable.
Her countenance was in the likeness of a virgin. Immaculate, her visage conceals something unexplainable, ineffable, beautiful but also uncanny, even scary, fay, ghostly and spooky.
My goodness! What are you doing so late in this lonely road?
Su piel pálida pero delicada inspiraba admiración y miedo a la vez. Sus labios, como de doncella, sellaban un misterio.
The pallor of her skin inspired both admiration and dread.
Her lips, sealed as the silence of a heavenly maid, veiled a mystery.
Misterios de Misterios!
Por qué asustas a los hombres?
Why do you chase men away?
Aware that this lady was dressed as a bride- to-be married, he could not but cast a sidelong glance after her striking physical appearance:
“Que Rostro, Que Curva de Guitarra,” and thus he went on to congratulate the lucky guy, who has won the heart of this inefable señorita!
Sarah, in 1982, if we believe the account to be reliable as stated in her personal diary (the Informe policial Comisaría de Santa Fe, Argentina), was so in-love with a man named Victor —a lover that has been dead for sometime— that she decided to commit suicide so she could be with him in the Spirit Realm.
Much later, in the year 2009, Ernesto Gutierrez, a reputable journalist of trustworthiness, seeking answers to numerous reports of ghost-hauntings and fatal car-crashing at a notorious dangerous hill-road in Argentina, la Curva de La Mujer en Blanco, is somehow brought to a tragic end by a mysterious woman believed to be the ghost of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez herself.
This is ironic, but some of us may fall victims or recipients to a host of figments or fleeting dreams.
The story could simply defy our comprehension.
Ernesto's last moments with the ghost of Sarah survived in his diary. His diary, as recovered and carefully analyzed by the local police authority in Argentina, would make us frown upon the implausibility of such love-stories, as perhaps the mumble-jumble of ingenuity, gibberish and tall tales.
Nevertheless, few journalists would deny the fact that Ernesto Gutierrez, as averred by the local authority, had a tragic car accident, and that the way he survived his last moments, could only make us wonder on the mysterious reasons surrounding his death:
"Yo También Te AMO" (was written with his own blood).
Have a good night my dear,
Ed. Beato
Complaciendo algunos amigos, he añadido un prefacio a la novela de Andromeda, en la cual busco explicar los símbolos, personajes y precursores cuyas situaciones pueden prefigurar a otros más adelante, de esta manera logrando obtener un mayor efecto en el Cielo con Andromeda, quien antes era una triste Sirena llamada Selena.
Maria is symbolic of the lofty nature of the mermaid, but the luring voices of the sea (seashore or the Hudson River’s banks) may rather remind us of lost doomed souls, ghosts, roaming aimlessly the uncharted spirit-realms of our existence.
Maria Stader, soprano de bella voz, podría simbolizar la noble naturaleza de Andromena convertida en una Sirena, por el monstruo Leviathan (Thomas Hobbes, British philosopher), mientras que aquellos tristes ecos por el mar, su réquiem, más bien nos recuerdan las almas afligidas, fantasmas y seres ya desencaranados y que deambulan en el mundo de los espíritus.
Geographically speaking, Andromeda's soul is perhaps not to be found in the Purgatory, but her disheartening weepings in the Spirit Realm, as a Siren, may rather remind us that the deeply-felt sufferings of the soul, like kinetic energy, could still linger-on in the hereafter.
El Alma de Andromeda, geográficamente hablando, quizá no se halle en el Purgatorio, pero sus suplicios y penas con esos vientos por las orillas del mar, nos pueden advertir de que los sentimientos y sufrimientos del alma, como energía cinética, en algunas ocasiones, pueden sobrevivir más allá de la muerte.
Though I could tweak my writings with oxymorons here and there, I have rather juxtaposed opposite natures, good and evil, Maria vs Lilith, whose subliminal powers could exert as much influence in the dream-like state of the reader. Therefore, the more you read these stories, the more you would be drawn to plumb the incomprehensible depth and width of our spiritually-charged experiences, dancing into the hands of death, through this long journey on Earth.
A pesar de que puedo retocar mis escritos con algunos punzantes oximorones, agudeza de efectos literarios con palabras que se contradicen entre si, en esta presente temática más bien he yuxtapuesto naturalezas tan opuestas, Maria y sus rivales Lilith y Medusa, cuyos poderes subliminales pueden alcanzar ciertos efectos subconscientes, como es el poder del sueño o el trance en la mente del lector, podrían tener su fuerzas subliminal en nuestra psiquis. Por lo tanto, cuanto más leemos estas historias, pues más nos sentimos impelido a sondear lo profundo de nuestras experiencias espirituales a través de esta breve existencia por la Tierra.
It is worth mentioning those recurrent allusions to clouds, doves, filaments of haze, dreams, and so on, may simply veil our senses into a trance-like state, a seance, wherein our faculties could be enveloped to the apprehension of the Spirit Realm.
Vale la pena recordar al lector estas recurrente alusiones donde se hace mención de nubes, palomas, filamentos de neblinas, penumbras, sueños, entre otros símbolos, simplemente los empleo para velar vuestro sentidos en este trance, sesión con los espíritus, donde nuestras facultades parecen ser retomada por esta aprehensión por el Mundo de los Espíritus.
Largely based on true love-stories, as narrated by Theodore Diaz, however shocking, are based on real life-experiences with people of flesh and bones.
Estas historias de amor son relatadas por Teodoro Díaz, aunque un tanto inverosímil, están basadas en experiencias reales, con gente de carne y huesos.
In order to shield away from any unpredictable libel, I have prudently changed names, locations, but occasionally have kept the chronology (dates) to lend some reliable trustworthiness with those friends who still may remember these shocking love-stories (Washington Heights in the 1990s).
Para evitar algún incidente inesperado de difamación escrita, procuré cambiar los nombres de personas, localidades, pero ocasionalmente, y como para convencer al lector ya familiarizado con estas tragedias, pues fui fiel en mis relatos de fechas y cronologías, de tal manera que se me halle digno de confianza y veracidad.
Sobre La Mala Suerte y Sus Desgracias: Una Boda Es Dañada Por Falta de Seguridad - Summer of 1995 (A Wedding Is Spoiled for Lack of Safety)
Herein you could run-down the entire gamut of scandals and infamous practices, from damaged weddings to shocking cases of unrequited love (jilt), infidelities, ghost-haunting, hexes, a dreadful night-hag from Cuba, tampering with Santeria, but also awful stories of reprisals and other strange occurrences that still throw my mind back in a state of fear and apprehension.
Aquí por estas líneas podrás hallar todo una gama de escándalos, prácticas aborrecibles y desgracias del destino para cierta gente Latina: desde bodas dañadas, casos penosos de infidelidad, rechazos y mal de amores, brujerías, maleficios, fantasmas, pero también hallaréis casos de venganzas entre otras historias extrañas que todavía me llenan de escalofríos y terror.
Basically, Andromeda is a pithy, mordant philosophical critique on human nature. The lucky lady, once redeemed from her former self, a lovelorn siren, would dare instruct Theodore, a former jilted lover, on matters of jurisprudence, ethics and morality.
La Novela de Andromeda, se podría tratar como un ensayo filosófico mordaz de la naturaleza humana. La joven afortunada, Andromeda, una vez redimida de sus escalas y aleta de solitaria Sirena, Selena, pues ya tendría las experiencias de la vida para instruir a Teodoro Díaz, un joven romántico, sobre asuntos tan complejos como jurisprudencia, ética, moral, cívica, las fuerzas del destino, religión y metafísica.
Andromeda, late in the night, once as a ghost in the form of a mermaid, Selena, from time to time, would haunt the Hudson River's banks, or sometimes would appear by the seashore, Long Island, singing an incomprehensible sad tune: Kyrie Eleison, (Lord, Have Mercy).
Durante las horas caídas de la noche, Andromeda, ya como un fantasma, la triste Selena, en forma de Sirena, deambulaba por las orillas Del Río Hudson. En algunas ocasiones, también se le podía ver aparecer por las orillas del océano, en Long Island, de esta manera cantando sus penas y elegías: Kyrie Eleison (Señor, Ten Piedad de Mi).
Those who had the gut to see her face, would describe her as an eerily beautiful woman with pale skin and hair blacker than pitch.
Andromeda, hauntingly swaddled in her bride-to-be white gown, according to some witnesses, would appear late in the night, especially in Springtime, during the crescent moonlight.
Aquellos que han tenido el coraje de verla tarde en la noche, la describen como una bellísima mujer de tez pálida y pelo muy oscuro. Con su vestido de novia, según el testimonio de algunos testigos, la espeluznante muerta haría su presencia ya tarde en la noche, especialmente en la Primavera, y durante la Luna Creciente.
Chapter I: How I Met My Mermaid?
Theodore Diaz, which means one who adores God, is the main narrator, and moved by the plaintive strains of Selena, Siren by the seashore (the embodiment of the Latin soul stranded in Northern foreign-lands) the Latin soul would like to seek an in-depth introspective quest to the former glory of Latinism in the heydays of William A. Bouguereau and Frederick Lord Leighton (nineteenth century's pre-eminent artists of classical values and aesthetics).
Teodoro Díaz, que quiere decir aquel que ama a Dios en su corazón, es el principal narrador de la historia de Andromeda, a.k.a., Selena, y conmovido por aquellos llantos en los cantares de la Sirena (el cual podría interpretarse como la encarnación de la Raza Latina), el hombre Latino decide buscar aquel glorioso antepasado de sus antecedentes.
These tragic love-stories are narrated by Theodore Diaz, a sojourner from South America, in a series of e-mailed correspondences (epistolary) with Jeniffer Gem, a nerdy young woman with a penchant for ghost-stories and Latinism.
Jennifer Gem, 26, originally from Phoenix, Arizona, USA, is the main correspondent and e-mail reader, but allusion to the names of Maria versus Medusa, is a recurrent motif throughout the thematic development.
A woman of bucolic background, Jeniffer is gifted with very lofty feelings of nobility, grace and amusing witty simplicity.
Well travelled in the lands of South America, Central America, she has a penchant for Latinismo alla French. Though bilingual in English or Spanish, the young lady would prefer Selena, es decir, Andromeda, in the passion of the Spanish Language.
Jennifer, mi lectora favorita, es un personaje ficticio, y simplemente la uso como interlocutor (una joven estadounidense a quien le gusta el Latinismo del siglo XVIII). Teodoro Díaz, a través de correos electrónicos, le narra la historia de Selena, quien simboliza la Raza Latina en los Estados Unidos de América.
Chapter II: Ecce Homo (He Aquí el Hombre) - Behold, the Man
As we read in Jennifer Gem's constant queries concerning the baffling hieroglyphs of the countenance of Helena Del Rosario (an unfaithful coquettish woman from Santiago, Dominican Republic) the good lady believes marked differences could draw the lines, a chasm, between the “downright weak and vulgar and the noble nature" of some human beings (regardless of status, gender, class or race).
Eventually, Jennifer and Maria Fidelidad (my Spanish translator) despite their different upbringing, would become intimate friends, and both have learned to unravel the baffling hieroglyphs of the soul beyond the preface of the first impression; nay, the outward physical appearance of human beings, without the inner tugs of remorse or the simmering pricks of the soul, "conscience," would be but an empty husk.
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It is noteworthy that the story of Andromeda, or Selena, starts with Kyrie Eleison, Mass in C minor by Mozart, where the name of Maria Stader, beautiful soprano, may prefigure the lofty qualities of the Mermaid Selena by the seashore prior to becoming an incomparable beautiful woman: Andromeda.
Maria Fidelidad, fictitious character (translator to the Spanish Spanish), is a wonderful Dominican-born woman who grew up in New York, Washington Heights (born in Santo Domingo, September 17, 1978).
Despite peer pressure to demeaning her trove-treasure legacy with her Latin Heritage, Maria Fidelidad is committed to keeping her chin high in the values of her Catholic ancestry.
Although Maria is a very beautiful, kick-ass dark-skinned woman, she finds it beneath her dignity to use such bomb-shell-artilleries for dishonorable means and ends.
Well versed in the Divine Comedy by Dante, Maria Fidelidad and Jeniffer Gem would rather use their god-given qualities for the Glory of their Creator.
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Andromeda - Preámbulo por Teodoro Diaz - Sinopsis:
Corregir un escrito, de cierto valor para uno, toma años, y es mejor hacerlo con el pasar de los años. Cada cierto tiempo nuestra mente parece retomar el vigor de la musa, y nuestras experiencias parecen ser recapituladas, cristalizadas y condensadas como por el Divino Rocío de la claridad, nitidez y lucidez.
Cuando traté de entender mi escriba interno, pues me percaté de que Selena más bien me hablaba como por un sueño, entonces entendí lo que decían algunos antiguos escritores, que el escritor es simplemente un médium para esta musa en la Divina Inspiración.
Una vez el ser interno se entiende en el desarrollo temático de su vida, pues entonces la historia se hace más coherente y congruente:
Andromeda (quizás la Personificación de la Raza Latina) era una bella mujer que se perdió por razones no muy clara en mis escritos, y sería mejor no ahondar en su naturaleza tan humana que así la hizo presa del Leviathan (que puede representar el pensamiento Inglés de Thomas Hobbes, filósofo británico y autor del Leviathan).
A pesar de su caída, sus virtudes y conciencia de una dama de pudor no la pierde, y esta condición la califica para ser purificada en el Purgatorio.
La bella mujer, Andromeda, ya como espíritu, y sin descanso deambula por la tierra, Selena, La Sirena, pues cantaría sus penas en las obligadas noches de su tristeza y penitencia (Purgatorio).
Como un Fantasma, Selena buscaría las orillas de esos mares tan insondables en la comprensión de su alma. Sus cantos tan bellos, pero tan triste, pues podían escucharse como aquella música inefable del viento gimiendo con las olas de aquel mar inescrutables, profundo y de tanto significado para una alma que conoce del dolor y la pérdida.
Eventualmente, y gracias a las oraciones de sus amigos, Selena, es redimida en el personaje de Andromeda, de ahí entraría en las Paz de su alma en el cielo.
Una vez allá, en el Paraíso, Andromeda se recuerda de aquel joven que otrora le amara con mucha pasión, y ella se conmueve por lo mucho que este hombre había cambiado.
Por lo tanto, ella se propone devolverle sus gratas memorias de su juventud, también le explica el profundo significado de sus sublimes cantos por la orilla Del Mar de Ayer: Señor, Ten Piedad de Mi.
A pesar de que ambos están separados por este mundo y el próximo, Andromeda le consuela con la promesa de que las almas buenas serán recompensadas en el más allá.
El narrador de su historia, Teodoro, se conmueve al verla tan bella como Andromeda, ya renovada en el Cielo, entonces buscaría entender cosas que ojo no ha visto ni oído ha escuchado.
La bella dama, recordando las oraciones por su alma, promete hacer sus periódicas apariciones en sueños, a veces asomándose en forma de una paloma por la ventana, a veces descendiendo de entre las nubes para así mostrarte las virtudes de arriba en su Cielo de Infancia.
Selena, Como Sirena: básicamente es una crítica filosófica sobre la naturaleza humana; pero al final, cuando me re-encuentro con Andromeda, ya redimida de su anterior naturaleza de Sirena, pues me sorprendo de que ella me instruya sobre jurisprudencia, ética y moral (Chapter de XX-Last Glimpse of Heaven With Selena).
On Chapter XI: Galipote, A Demonic Entity From Colonial Times: Juan D' Los Palos, quien es un galipote, representa el instinto de la lujuria en el hombre, que como bien sabes, es uno de los pecados capitales, y si uno no domina este instinto, pues ya puede arruinar nuestras vidas y las vidas de otros. Este chico recibió una paliza por una chica ya instruida en el Leviathan de Hobbes.
Juan D' Los Palos, Dominican Galipote, is a shape-shifting demonic man with a "remarkable libido," and as you may know, lust is one of the seven sins, and without control, such metamorphosis could be the cause for twinges, convulsions and wriggles.
Poor man, Don Juan, thought he could play Rubirosa with an intelligent woman well-versed on the Leviathan by Hobbes, and his end was alike shameful and disastrous.
Sobre El Fantasma de Una Mujer Con Vestimentas de Novia (1987, La Aparición de Una Llorona)
(Chapter VIII: The Ghost of A Bride-To-Be (1987), pues nunca se pudo resolver este misterio, es decir, si esta mujer era en realidad una muerta o simplemente una actriz británica, y que sufría de una extraña enfermad de huesos. Ella era una mujer despiadada.
La Llorona:
The Ghost of a Bride-to-Be (1987), her mystery was never solved, that is to say, whether she was a ghost or just a British woman suffering from an excruciating bone disease. The lady was weak to the bone.
Algunos creían que esta mujer había sufrido muchas decepciones con los hombres, y su alma, tan herida con "mal-de-amores," pues se gozaba en destruir los corazones de sus pobres victimas: Ay! Ay! Ay!
Una y otra vez, Selena, mientras se purifica de su naturaleza de Sirena en el Purgatorio (Chapter VI: En El Purgatorio con Selena) me advierte de la integridad como asuntos de seguridad y sabiduría, y sus consejos sobre el peligro del Internet (Facebook, Texting Strangers Recklessly, LinkedIn) a quien compara como un océano de peligros insondables, pues lo tomo muy en serio.
Chapter X: Sobre La Mala Suerte y Sus Desgracias: Una Boda Es Dañada Por Falta de Seguridad - Washington Heights: the spoiled wedding of the bride-to-be took place in the summer of 1995 at a local church, and it is one of the unhappiest incidents in my life.
El Señor Mario Vasconcelos Muere de Amor por Helena Del Rosario: The heartbreaking experiences of Mario Vasconcelos (fictitious character) with his unfaithful wife, Helena Del Rosario, was based on a real-life love-story at a local Protestant Christian Church.
El Reverendo Freddy Montez, fue un gran pastor de ovejas, y en muchas ocasiones tuvo que vivir escenas y experiencias muy tristes en la Ciudad de Nueva York.
The Leviathan (Sea-Monster)
A mythological sea-creature found in the Old Testament, Book of Job, embodies the philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, British philosopher.
Due to the faithful prayers of her friends and relatives, the soul of Andromeda, a.k.a, Selena, escorted by angels, is finally taken out of the Purgatory (The Seashores of her Kyrie Eleison) to dwell in Heaven.
Paradise Chapter XX: once in Paradise, Andromeda speaks through various dreams to his beloved friend and jilted lover (Theodore Diaz), that her soul is finally resting in peace. She also explains the baffling meanings of her mournful strains by the seashore (Purgatory).
At the request of her lover in the prime of his youth, Theodore, Andromeda gives him an awe-inspiring succinct description of Heaven, and promised him to be the faithful gazelle of his heart.
Theodore, who throughout these years have waxed cold and disillusioned in his relationship with God, is exhorted by the dear Lady to be diligent and seek the upper realms above.
Andromeda, in her final visions and winged words, promised Theodore to make her appearance, every now and then, sometimes in the form of a dove alighting by the window's sills, sometimes would even appear shrouded amidst immaculate clouds of lights and magic in the dropping hours of dreams.
Here and there, to better illustrate my love stories, I have included some stunning paintings by artists William A. Bouguereau and Frederick Lord Leighton.
Latin Yearnings in Fondest Memories of My Yesteryears in New York City:
A Letter to Jennifer Gem - Editor of Andromeda
by Eddie Beato
Over the years, I will have enough material to linking my characters and stories so as to make my writings the more coherent and meaningful. Writing should be experienced and lived through the unrolling scroll of circumstances. No writer would be resourceful enough without the propitious assistance of other writers. I am honing my English with the writings of Thomas Mann: Doctor Faustus!
The drafts below on "Limerence, Jealousy and Amargura," would make a fine introduction for Andromeda (which is symbolic of the Tragedy of the Ancient Greeks). Faint traces of Greek mythology are obvious throughout my writings. Andromeda is a romantic return to the former glory of the Ancient Greeks.
Añadí a mi Andromeda la triste Historia de Ernesto Gutiérrez, su amor platónico por el fantasmas de Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, con en este brazo de "mar ardiente" con la Madre Patria España y mi adorada Antigua Grecia.
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Dear Jennifer, I shall write a few lines on those yearnings and romances which even today make me shudder when musing on the heart's unfathomable reaches, its resilience and endurance, for I cannot believe that after all these years, it is the same silly thing, foolish, immature.
The heart is always the same silly thing —a romantic fool.
And I doubt whether any human being could speak of life, "I have lived" without those inevitable thorns and thistles, because love, as I told you, is the gist for every great writer or musician. An artist, if immersed in his artworks, may still be able to dodge the arrow of Cupid, but as a composer, I have to confess my absolute dependence and devotion to that divine goddess, Muse, whose blessed lips could grant me the loveliest melodies and inspiration.
And why not seek me a beautiful Helena, a divine Minerva, or a charming "Rosalinda Conception," whose "yo no se que" (uncanny veils) could throw my reasons and faculties into the arms of passions and creativity.
But it was that saucy creature, Selena, whose whims, prettiness and caprices clove my heart with her Amazing Grace.
Later on, an audacious man, Juan D' Los Palos, with tempting scheme and treachery, was able to gain a "secreted retreat" with my angel. For day and night, O Jennifer, I have to come to grips with the vats of jealousy and suspicion gnawing my guts and carcasses into the dark quarters of hell.
In-rushing thoughts of infidelity were not to be discarded, but it was during that time when I felt impelled to transcribe Amazing Grace for the piano (circa 1997-1998).
Nevertheless, I would rather prefer a "blade of grass" to jab my loins (costados) than a "thorn of love" to pierce my heart ever bleeding with the sad tears of Selena in the Purgatory.
But I thank God she is today in Heaven, and such good news, my dear, may cheer my heart to forgive in high expectations of better days to come.
Unabashedly, I have to confess that I still love that bad former creature, a saucy minx, whose coquetry, pranks and charms, at times, could keep my mind musing in endless reveries, cogitation and rumination.
Melina - Another Beautiful Greek Woman - Una Llorona:
Let my days unfold with that sad song, Melina Mercouri, which even today, as I hear her name, may rub my heart anew with the incomprehensibility of a beautiful woman like Andromeda. A Greek woman, day and night mourning the sad fate of her people.
And when I hear this sad song, O dear Jennifer, I have to let out a few tears, and even when I think me silly, ridiculously sentimental, and would even shake off any trait of human weakness, something within me refuses any hardiness as inappropriate for a man still in possession of some relic of compassion and humanity.
The sad song, nevertheless, may pierce my heart with the tears of Selena, a lovelorn mermaid existing today as a ghost, "una historia y un pueblo en el olvido."
But let me give you an idea, however tentatively, how much times and things have changed for those who once lived under the power of love and petricor? It is the story of a Latin Soul whose heart still dreams in the former glory of Ancient Greece and Rome...
Spaniard singer, Camilo Sesto, my favorite Minstrel of Love (the romantic singer of yesteryears) has captured the hearts of his devout followers with lovely tunes drenched in the mellifluous dews of former times in Latin America.
His songs are said to exude the "intoxicating petricor" of our lands, reminiscent of the uncanny feelings of our distant past with Spain and the Mediterranean people.
Petricor, místico olor, es la agradable fragancia de la tierra después de la lluvia. Petricor, at least for the Ancient Greeks, was comparable to the effects of hallucinogenic herbs (drugs) in the roomy expanses of our mind.
Imagine the effects of petricor upon the minds of two lovers caught-up in the paradisiac landscapes of Mexico, Spain, Ecuador or the Dominican Republic in the XVIII century.
Of course, I am speaking of two kindred souls with the sensitive fabric of the pilgrims, the Amish or "the naturalist," because few things could vie with Mother Nature when compensating the happy couple with a propitious"dope of petricor."
They were perhaps campesinos (peasants), but one would not deny a heaven to this lucky couple: embracing each other, like that old couple, Baucis and Philemon, in the ever stretching plots of virgin lands, a daily dose of petricor, and the loveliest woods, meadows and pastures in the safe heaven of trust and love.
Added to the inexplicable magic of petricor, imagine the soothing effects of a gentle rain pelting and simmering upon the zinc-roofed shack or shanti (casita, o bohío para los Tainos).
Even today the gentle rain may send shivers down my spine!
Nada como dormir bajo el aliciente de una lluvia!
Añoranzas (Idyllic Songs) - Courtly Love and Yearnings.
The sad songs, añoranzas (feverish yearnings) as only known to the heart in-love, aquiver with romantic thrills of amorous raptures, may touch on the mournful side of platonic love: courtly love and chivalry are often the preferred genre for the Spanish singer.
Like the melancholy music of F. Chopin or Franz Schubert, the ballad, "bolero," must invoke heart-rending feelings of inexplicable love in the mystification of our dearly loved.
Hence, the elevated idea of womanhood, Perfidia, is quite often wooed as the sacred source of strangest delights and sighs:
Of course, in the bitter-sweet writings of Colombian author Jose Maria Vargas Vila, ("Ibis, Laura y Las Gaviotas,") she is depicted as the source of our joys and woes!
Back in the 80s, it was not uncommon to see a fiancé-fiancée caught-up in rapt frenzies of love and madness: eres un "romántico empedernido," (an incurable romantic.)
Latino people of yesteryears, more than other cultures and peoples, are known to conflate ideas of purity and beauty in the mystification of "belleza femenina:" the cult of womanhood, Galatea, Venus, Mary, Beatrice, Minerva, Naussica, Andromeda, Selena, Athena.
The beautiful songs, rarely, if ever, touch upon things lustful, sleazy, salacious or lascivious.
However an amorous minstrel, but injured by something tragic in the fickle reciprocities of Fate & Amargura, (unrequited love), the Latin Balad, more than any other genre, is still regarded as the most exalted form of poesy, afflatus and loftiest human sentiments as conceived in the heart of former composers in Latin America.
In the ethos of yore, there was a time when a lover would be happy just receiving the long-journeyed letter of the distant beloved!
The hand-written letter, ether-tinted and redolent of heartiest feelings, was indeed a source of strangest emotions and butterflies.
Quite often, and as some of you may still remember, the amorous couple would perfume the long-journeyed letter with the scents of "Powdered Love," which is the candor-gist for the most intoxicating songs ever composed during the golden era of music-love-making in Latin America. Songs the likes of Bésame Mucho, Perfidia, Melina by Camilo Sesto, Ya Lo Pasado Pasado by José José, among other unforgettable tunes, have gathered proselytes all over the world.
Lost Pearls and Gems in the Cerulean Ocean of Yesteryears with Latin America - Island of Puerto Rico:
Y Yo Sin Poderte Hablar —Mi Amor!
Divine music, sensible mind of that great composer who thus could dictate his emotions!
A Latin rhythm, exotic, saucy, intimate and truly Caribbean like the ardent Island of Puerto Rico, is the next nexus-scene with lost pearls in the cerulean ocean of our yesteryears: the other winged stories of those Latin souls still bathed in dews, thrills, shivers and sighs unsayable by any dint of word-expression:
It was a virgin world still dreaming of innocent love, promises and passions that seem to pierce the heart ever anew with more tears, hand-written letters and other yearnings...Puerto Rico.
Now let me remember that intoxicating moment:
My hometown, Moca, Dominican Republic, year 1979, I was still a shy lad when I first heard this beautifully sad tune, which, like a “Czardas-arrow,” forthwith, it lodged itself in my heart.
Overwhelmed by the ineffable voices of this song, I stayed my tired feet briefly nearby, to seek myself under a tree or a wafting cloud, like a wayfarer, like a Gypsy, still a stranger in this most incomprehensible world of beauty and nostalgia:
Y Yo Sin Poderet Hablar! (And I Unable To Speak To Thee:)
As I fix my attention to consecrate the Latin hour accordingly, a pellucid flute seems to warble, here and there, a more optimistic approach and consolation to those unfortunate companions of sorrows and love; but in vain, because the ever-encamping cellos, “true possessors of the human heart,”cannot rest, but to eke out their smooth path-way with the other G-strings, their heartbreaking strain; step by step, moving on and on, in underlying caring with the leading tenor and the other supernal feminine sotto voces…
At intervals, ceasing their subdued lullabies Uuuuu and la-la-la-la-la embellishments, the ravishing soprano and alto voices would finally join in to outcry the long yearning of a missing beloved (Anoranzas).
Y Yo Sin Poderte Hablar, could be rendered in English: And I Unable to Speak To You. Back in those days we did not have e-mails, nor easy access to a quick phone call, but we relied solely on hand- written letters...perfumed with powder redolent of jasmine!
Existence could not be more promising and beautiful than in this sweet rosy introspection, my memories inly found in tad glimpses of yesteryears, our pristine days spent in a cease-less quest to the interpretation of that music: the timelessness of our mind awareness!
Yes! Life was very beautiful, romantic, and the sweet music of the French arrangers the likes of Frank Pourcel, Paul Mauriat, James Last, among others, would elevate the ardent music of Latin America to a tremendous pitch of poetic self-intoxication —comparable to that of the Slavic people in beauty (Dark Eyes), nostalgia and the strong temperament of the northerners of Europe.
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Due to my hectic artistic life, I have lived my life pretty much without any long-lasting bonds (or bounds) with any human being: kin or kith, girlfriend or relative.
It is time for me to realize that the enchanting mysteries of existence, as conveyed to me in the awfully beautiful Moonlight Sonata of Beethoven, could make me congenial to many a night embraced in the gentle arms of solitude. Therein, in solitude, I shall gather myself in the power of music.
From the womb of night, however pregnant with the fancy and figments of my mind, there emerged forth human beings worthy of the artist's imagination. Later on, I was bound to cast these beautiful angels into paintings, writings, drawings and music.
With such artworks I felt no need for marriage with an actual woman. Thus was born the painting of Shanti (Peace), which conceals so much of me in her defiant countenance: she is the quintessence of my most elevated limerence, platonic raptures and happiness with the ghost of my fancy and dread.
How many a night we would consume in the holy altar of our mystical copulation, and how exciting to unveiling her countenance...so clad with the holy mantles of night profound!
—-She is my Mona Linda!
You may deem me as "unusual" when compared with the common lot for most human beings: sufferings, depression and ennui (boredom). I am pretty much free of depression, dejection, sullenness, peevishness (mal humorado) though I must confess my bleeding bruises due to trust than to the cool detachment of living without love, limerence or infatuation.
I can't live without the arrows of Cupid, romantic love, and If I cannot find an angel, I may seek her in the unfettered paths of literature or romantic music!
Lo and behold! A beautiful woman like Andromeda is still my inspiration!
During my thirties, nonetheless, I have, as a man possessed with a healthy predisposition towards women, shared the heartiest moments with angels of the finest moral fabric.
I did have my angels, and I did not feel "sinful." Of course, I was acquainted with Philippians 04:08 (whatever is true, pure, excellent and praise-worthy...) but the sweet lady was vouchsafed with the most exquisite lips for silence, reservation and a quaint nobleness in her far-off gazing eyes, sensitivity, but also the sweetest gestures and reactive kindness as befitting human beings of the finest fabric.
She was pure-apple breadths with innocent sentiments and the incarnation of daintiest, delicate feelings, refinements, charms and grace decked out her neck with Precious Gems —-and, above all, possessed that blooming-heart of innocence still beating for love as felt in the prime of our youth.
Therefore, I rather felt sanctified when caressed and cuddled by her nursing hands. Her gentle touch infused my soul with new impetus to live —-to love and cast myself in a web of dreams!
Her holy kiss revealed me new things as yet unknown, undiscovered or unexplored in myself.
Her eyes were not wanting of tears or comprehension, and I placed her but on equal standing with a Christian or a Mormon woman of the finest conception.
My religious feelings, nevertheless, at times, would come into conflicts with any "reckless licentiousness or promiscuity" lacking the sound restraint of someone who believes in God.
True, upon reaching my late twenties, as an artist, I lived a life you may call "liberal" and perhaps "too secular" to deserve the high-flown compliments of the "Christian and Chaste."
Those two sacrosanct adjectives not always suited me well. Some things just did not fit my inquisitive spirit. Torn apart betwixt heaven and earth, I probably had a Tannhauser embosomed in my heart?
Year 2002: I could not marry a Christian woman, her chastity didn't turn me on. Nor could I marry a mundane woman lacking the heart for the music of Chopin.
Finding a woman as beautiful as Shanti, pagan, barbarian, wild, and yet sensitive to the music of Mother Nature was my ideal angel and companion.
Today I raise my brow in "holy horror," for I never thought of myself as "saintly and godly."
Back then, my youthful sensuality was impetuously raging through my veils and arteries with the burning fires of art, music and, why not? I had a surplus of sexual drives which found outlet in my artworks.
Cast a glance at the painting Precious Memories, a Halcyon Paradise in the Wellspring of My Life —-It is a blissful state of mind!
As a romantic musician, I must confess an incorrigible tendency to chasing butterflies towards the rainbow of love.
I am including here those who ever questioned my sexual orientation, and how I reached my forties free of unwanted baggages or cumbersome loads of romantic failures, disappointments, wounds and bruises which may make the heart bleed with the tears of Selena.
Art and music could still elevate the lowest instincts from any dogmatic reproach or shame. For this and other reasons , even when some holy people would get shocked at the sheer nudity of my drawings (as found in my portfolio), I shall not remove my drawings.
My Goodness! Selena (year 1998) She was indeed a very beautiful maid, but coming too close to the deep waters of the seashore, she was made captive by the Leviathan (a hideous sea-monster).
The lovely heavenly maid fought and fought to her last breadth, but was finally overcome by the tight grasp of the sea-hunter.
Dammed! During my youth, I loved that Latina woman to the point of platonic madness and "limerence," but she was a witless creature, and what she had in beauty was remarkably wanting in wisdom.
She was an easy catch for every devil and the wiles of men.
Later on, I found out Selena was weeping in the Purgatory, and, during some long night, I held my vigil —-and I would pray for her soul.
Dear Lord, I pray for Selena's soul. Much to my surprise, she finally found Grace with God, and was taken to heaven to live a happier existence (Vita Beata).
Once in heaven she changed her name for Andromeda!
Once in Heaven, Andromeda, in the most beautiful shapeliness and heavenly singing conceivable, promised me to be my turtle-dove, and that I should learn how to read the signs of her mystical physical apparitions.
Ever since, O Lord! Like a madman, I have been chasing every pigeon, every dove or butterfly alighting by my window or nearing by the lonely woods of my retreats, for I hope to finally hold grasp of her haunting soul's lingering trails...and I don't care if she is today but a ghost of my imagination.
Yes! some mornings I have been awakened up by the sweet crooning of an immaculate white dove, and I have to tell you that such lovely visitations have made me love God with all my heart and soul!!
Dear God, I love you, and thank you for that beautiful woman.
At a time of much confusion and distrust, I have been addressed with tough questions pertaining to religion, integrity and other "touchy issues" which I would rather forego so as not to get myself on fire.
Since I work for various religious organizations, some questions have shaken me to the core, and I was really disappointed when, even to the best of my behavior and mien, unfair rumors could tarnish human beings regardless of virtue or vice: that perhaps I was a womanizer, a homosexual, a hermit, a recluse, or a loner of the queerest escapades.
Worse, even when I have, by the aid of the most civil of terms, fine comportment, and amicability, spruced up myself to look clean, decent and dapper, some have failed to perceive a human being ever-striving for improvement and perfection.
We are citizens of heaven my friend, and yet we may fail to rise above the mere commonplace and average.
The truth is that ghettoism has infiltrated every single sacred place of our society, including the church, and it is even dangerous to deviate from what is common and vulgar. One could be accused of being a snob or snooty, because as you may know, legion is a ubiquitous army, hellbent on razing Apollo to the ground.
Indeed, I have not been exempted of unfair (snarky) criticism, and at times, had to pull myself out of a fetid swamp replete with unclean reptiles and all kinds of strange animals.
Even after taking a propitious shower, a "lingering feeling of uncleanliness and filthiness” has returned to me in the memory of such false friends.
Had I known they were my enemies, I would have escaped the trap, but trust has always been my lack of foresight and wisdom. Alas, I never learned how to draw a line between trust and distrust, and this, I dare say, has made me little cautious when meeting strangers.
Speaking of one's conviction could be a thankless task, but circumstances could test our human nature to the core, and I have to thank God that my life has been rewarded with the sweet fruits of Peace and Joy.
Of course! every now and then, I have found stumbling blocks, but I have risen up again like a mighty man! Embarrassment, chagrins and scandals are the lot for human beings, but since I am not famous, I have been little disturbed by fierce criticism or condemnation.
Those who would dare throw stones at me are wasting their time. Nevertheless, at times, I have had to endure the "pathetic theatrics" of people at pain with themselves, and the green-eyed monster of jealousy, much to my surprise, is fond of churches.
Temptations are inevitable, but I think I have passed some trials with flying colors. As I reach my 49-Spring, I rise my eyes in triumphant thanksgiving and I wish to thank God for keeping me aboard and safe in the ever-rolling ship of my faith.
We are all in the same boat!
This e-mail attempts to win my friend's grace and forgiveness, and perhaps be able to abridge any differences and misunderstandings. In so doing, I hope not to present me as a Saint (holy person) because I am a sinner, but to the question of whether I am a "fornicator," or an "idolater," my clear conscience is such that I could die today thinking the gates of Heaven wide-open for me.
At a time of widespread disappointment and apostasy, such maid is like a twinkling star, a daystar, or vesper of hope.
1. Have I ever thought to be a narcissist?
I have pondered on that question, but for years (...) I had not taken any pictures of me, and any photos in the social media (YouTube, Google, Photo-Gallery) was due to pressure from employers and friends who, perhaps out of curiosity on the effects of time in our countenances, would like to see my physical appearance after all these years of cold winters in New York. Much to their surprise, time has wreaked havoc with me!
2. Am I gay?
Nope. I am a heterosexual creature, and I thank God that I was born with a healthy penchant for "limerence:" a superlative infatuation with women of good character, beauty and chastity, is evident in my paintings. Take a look at Shanti!
Yes, I have —like any romantic man possessed of artistic sensibilities and a healthy orientation— produced my own platonic conception of the ideal woman, and could be totally happy with the painting of Ave Maria hanging in my room.
Unable to marry a woman (1998), I decided to cast her into a beautiful painting, and thus was born Shanti (Peace), which has been my most faithful and beloved wife! She is now in my room.
3. Am I Protestant or Catholic?
By feelings I am a devout traditional Catholic. By reason, I am a staunch Protestant, but I would prefer the former. Nay, as I age, Traditional Catholicism has appealed to me like the sad music of Mozart: Requiem and Mass in C minor.
I love incenses, organ music and libation as much as I love the Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer.
Therefore, my beloved Protestant friend, your churches, without the Air of Bach or Mozart, strike me like moldy shelves of dead letters and Bible studies —there is nothing Greek or Roman in thy churches, and this is a tragedy of epic proportion.
4. Do I Prefer Solitude?
I have to confess to be a bird with a penchant for solitude, and though the charming smile of a beautiful woman could distract me, art, music and philosophy have rewarded me with the gifts and blessings of peace, joy and a tolerable existence!
5. Am I a mystic?
Yes. I am a mystic, and by this time, it should be self-evident that I am a naturalist as confirmed in my writings about nature, asceticism, renunciation, and a quiet life after the writings of my favorite saint: Henry D. Thoreau.
A Letter to a Dear Angel (2003)
I have a peculiar memory to remembering the pithy moments and experiences that touched my heart deeply in the past.
You are one of those special souls, for good ---or just for an edifying learning experience-- taught me how to draw the line between trust and distrust.
I now admire your prudence and level-headedness! Thank you Sheiva! I had to bear the brunt of distrust while spinning beautiful letters to an angel.
Unbeknownst to our high regards for each other, I don't know if I ever hurt your feelings by showing a photo of my ex-girlfriend. It was not intentional, of course not, because she lived in Amsterdam, Holland, and could not find a job in New York as a flight attendant.
Who would dare love some one living on the other side of the globe?
Sheiva, from the time I saw you at Barnes & Noble, your beauty and personality bewitched me out of my wits, and your charming smile made me think about angels.
Sheiva, I remember you saying that I was like an angel to you! Such sweet remark made me like you all the more as a pretty woman of the rarest sort, quaint and classic.
Your aloofness and distance gave me enough romantic material for an innocent limerence with you.
True! I had plans to finding a kindred soulmate in New York City, but, alas, I was unlucky to winning your heart and trust Sheiva.
Nevertheless, that was totally fine with me, because, as I said, I had trained myself to respecting choices without “subtracting myself of any degree of self-respect,” and I sincerely developed "filial love" and respect for souls of your caliber Sheiva.
Needless to say, I was hopeful to ending any romantic relationship with my ex-girlfriend, because I sincerely had feelings for you Sheiva, though I did not express them too clearly due to your "bouts of subtle poetic lines" and sharp high-mindedness: "blade of grass," which I never forgot, but rather made me sensible to the most common culprit for unnecessary misunderstanding and sufferings: lack of communication.
Your Golden Book: End of the Year 2003:
I did keep your golden book with me. It was filled with inspirational writings, and though I was not as religious or understanding of your Catholicism and Moral Values, your gift made me feel alike privileged but also inadequate to climbing higher in the social ladder of perfection and the status of Downtown Manhattan.
Yes. Today, I do think you are a very special woman and a great friend of great moral fabric. But as a good friend, I felt the moral duty to letting you know how I felt back then.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
La Curva de la Chica Fatal - Historias diarias sobrenaturales Santa Fe en Argentina, Por Antonio J. Fernández Del Campo - Letter to Jennifer Gem: Editor of Andromeda - Español al fondo de este rollo !
Dear Jennifer Gem, I am here sending you an excerpt (down the scroll) from the diary of Argentine journalist Ernesto Gutierrez who passed on in 2009. Gutierrez, as we are told by Antonio J. Fernandez, fell in love with the ghost of Sara Evangelina Sanchez, but let us analyze the strange set of circumstances that led him, "a romantic fool," to fall trap to his mind's fleeting elusive figments.
Sarah, quizás sea una proyección de su mente. Ten cuidado con esas curvas nocturnas de perdición y dolores indecibles.
Sarah Evangelina Sanchez...tu bello rostro y curva ha causado tanto daños y sufrimientos en las calles solitarias de Méjico.
Aún en Argentina, se reporta, el fantasma de esta mujer de bello rostro ha causado accidentes automovilísticos, y aún los periodistas, como fue el trágico caso de Ernesto Gutiérrez, han quedado hipnotizado con los espectros ambulantes en las obligadas noches de Latino América.
—Ay Dios Mio!
Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, in the words of Ernesto Gutierrez was an extremely beautiful woman, at least for those who are still under the influence of the "Cult of Maria" in the mystification of female beauty as conceived by the Mediterranean people.
As we carefully read his last lines, in the company of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, the ghost, it is very plausible to surmise the chain of circumstances leading to his tragic death, as the outcome of a twisted mind finally succumbing to its own figments: self-induced fears spawned in the profoundest depths of our unconscious swamps with Spain, Greece and the Mediterranean people.
Of course, from a psychological perspective, the story is so extraordinarily unique, that I wish to recast it in the writings of Carl Jung.
El arquetipo de este espíritu está en nuestros simientes genealógicos.
The ghost, Una Bella Mujer de Vestido Blanco, may be a projection of our mind's subtlest yearnings, deepest inwardness, all interlaced in the flimsy skein of fate and coincidence.
That there is "sanguinary truth" haunting our existence, a blood-related forcible element behind the biogenesis of our dreams and fate cannot be overstated.
Nuestros antepasados nos persiguen...aún en Nueva York.
Even in New York, I carry, though in my unconscious mind, a veritable storehouse of elusive beings haunting my existence. A beautiful woman like Sarah Evangelina, a Galatea of the most delicate, immaculate porcelain-skin and beauty imaginable, could probably lead me to the same similar tragic fate of Ernesto Gutierrez.
I thank God such strange breed of beautiful women are scanty today, at least in NYC, but there was a time when Rosalinda or Helene were not just the fancy of poets and writers: the uncanny veil of Mona Lisa's smile could drive me nuts.
A beautiful woman like Sarah, veiled and mystified in the charms of our religious intoxication was a terrible truth, ineffable, divine and the most exalted feelings finding their cozy affections in the person of Virgin Mary.
She is meant to be a pure possession of our limerence with the beautiful and divine.
When I delve deep into my mind's inner sarcophagus, and thus try to cast a ray of comprehension into the riddles of ghostly apparitions, I cannot but seek me introspectively and retrospectively into the earliest years of my infancy: my religious upbringing with the Cult of Mary, Athena, Melina Mercouri, Beatrice, Rosa Linda, Minerva.
Therefore, there is a kernel of truth in the fact that we all tend to project ourselves' inner-world, childhood, into the outer pictures and motley tapestry of human experiences. At any rate, one cannot deny a Colletive Consciousness in the interpretation of transient phenomena.
The Bride-to-Be, dressed in a white gown, whether a Virgin or a Platonic Idea imbedded in the collective psyche (archetype) of the Latin people, may have, by rarest of circumstances, has won a unique place in the interpretation of our lives.
The Lady, as today, whether La Virgen de la Altagracia, or La Llorona, is weeping the loss of her children.
Returning to the tragic end of Ernesto Gutierrez, his ghost-story, on closer inspection, could be construed but as the ingenious commingling of facts and fiction.
That it has a moral lesson is undeniable. He is perhaps warning us to avoid la Chica de La Curva Fatal!
Ernesto's ghost-story is perhaps false, fictitious, the fantasy of a twisted mind, but like countless other ghost-stories in Latin America, we shall read it for the sake of fun and instruction!
"The thrill of dread" according to Goethe, is one of the most interesting conundrums in this short existence, such "holy dread" is the best part of the heart.
This is the main reason why I love USA's wintery quarters by places ravaged by one thousand incomprehensible gut-feelings!
Here we may come across people, elusive entities and ghosts, whose precious memories (phantasmagoria) could only survive but in my writings.
But once I die, who will recall them?
Moreover, some ghost-stories ought to be accessed as affording some insights in the collective psyche of a people: that is to say, the peculiar cherished ideas that may mold our collective worldview and idiosyncrasy.
Let Us Take a Closer Look at This Haunting Story of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez —-Don't Cry For Me Argentina!
Year 2009:
Frightening fate of Argentine journalist, Ernesto Gutierrez, who, while seeking explanations and correlations to the haunting of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez (passed on in 1982) somehow would fall into the bonds of "sick-love" to a beautiful lady dressed in a white gown (27 years later),
Mr. Gutierrez' mysterious death is still shrouded in thickest of mists and fogs.
Informe policial
Comisaría de Santa Fe, Argentina
Twenty seven years later, The Ghost of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez would strike again.
Her victim, an Argentinian journalist, Ernesto Gutierrez, would fall dead by his own penchant to solving unexplained phenomena.
Late in the night, Sarah found him by the lonely road of our dread, but hardly was he able to recognize her as the purported ghost of the fatal curve (La Chica de la Curva Fatal).
However skeptical, when I paused pensively on the watchword "curve," I rather parsed it but in relation to a woman's gracious hip or well-rounded shapeliness:
Tienes un bello cuerpo de guitarra, y un rostro para hacerme pedazos —te amo con locura Sarah!
Hence, I was cautious to accepting Ernesto's story as a true encounter with a ghost. Perhaps he had a tryst with a real woman of flesh and bones.
—Who knows?
Or, perhaps he had an encounter with a woman resembling the ideal woman of his platonic limerence?
It was a gentle evening of 2009, Ernesto, while driving just before the all-covering pall of night, came across a striking beautiful woman attired in a white gown.
The beautiful lady of our dread, donned in her gorgeous white gown, beckoned him for a hitchhike to a place where, as we later learned from Ernesto's own journals and letters, was meant to meeting her beloved groom at a local church.
La chica pide una bola para encontrarse con su futuro esposo. Ernesto Gutierrez, que tonto, terminaría enamorándose de esta muerta.
Watch out, she is but a ghost, a vindictive spirit of the night, hellbent into drawing other men into such tragic end (La Curva de la Chica Fatal).
Charmed by the beauty of this lady, he cannot believe his eyes to be in the stunning presence of the same dama, "la muerta," Sarah Evangelina Sanchez, believed to have been killed in a car accident twenty seven years earlier (1982).
My goodness! The lady looked so real, and as pretty as Nausicaa, the match for a Greek goddess, cannot be a ghost standing in front of me.
—Eres una chica bellisima!
Sarah looks so real and warm to his gentle touch and senses, so tangible that he simply refuses to admitting her as a haunting ghost.
—-She has to be real!
Indeed, her appearance, reminiscent of the ghost of Sarah (la chica del vestido blanco en Argentina) as reported by eye-witnesses, was perhaps sheer coincidence —this latter human being, es una coincidencia. So reasoned Ernesto while looking at her long beautiful white dress.
Su cara era cincelada con algo de virgen inmaculada.
Su mirada infundían algo inexplicable.
Her countenance was in the likeness of a virgin. Immaculate, her visage conceals something unexplainable, ineffable, beautiful but also uncanny, even scary, fay, ghostly and spooky.
My goodness! What are you doing so late in this lonely road?
Su piel pálida pero delicada inspiraba admiración y miedo a la vez. Sus labios, como de doncella, sellaban un misterio.
The pallor of her skin inspired both admiration and dread.
Her lips, sealed as the silence of a heavenly maid, veiled a mystery.
Misterios de Misterios!
Por qué asustas a los hombres?
Why do you chase men away?
Aware that this lady was dressed as a bride- to-be married, he could not but cast a sidelong glance after her striking physical appearance:
“Que Rostro, Que Curva de Guitarra,” and thus he went on to congratulate the lucky guy, who has won the heart of this inefable señorita!
Sarah, in 1982, if we believe the account to be reliable as stated in her personal diary (the Informe policial Comisaría de Santa Fe, Argentina), was so in-love with a man named Victor —a lover that has been dead for sometime— that she decided to commit suicide so she could be with him in the Spirit Realm.
Much later, in the year 2009, Ernesto Gutierrez, a reputable journalist of trustworthiness, seeking answers to numerous reports of ghost-hauntings and fatal car-crashing at a notorious dangerous hill-road in Argentina, la Curva de La Mujer en Blanco, is somehow brought to a tragic end by a mysterious woman believed to be the ghost of Sarah Evangelina Sanchez herself.
This is ironic, but some of us may fall victims or recipients to a host of figments or fleeting dreams.
The story could simply defy our comprehension.
Ernesto's last moments with the ghost of Sarah survived in his diary. His diary, as recovered and carefully analyzed by the local police authority in Argentina, would make us frown upon the implausibility of such love-stories, as perhaps the mumble-jumble of ingenuity, gibberish and tall tales.
Nevertheless, few journalists would deny the fact that Ernesto Gutierrez, as averred by the local authority, had a tragic car accident, and that the way he survived his last moments, could only make us wonder on the mysterious reasons surrounding his death:
"Yo También Te AMO" (was written with his own blood).
Have a good night my dear,
Ed. Beato