luchando con las emociones

esto es duro, mucho más duro de que lo que me imaginaba.... no le podría desear esto a nadie, no sería capaz de impulsar tanto dolor, desesperación, tanta tristeza. estamos es un proceso, un movimiento, que va pa largo y no se pretende tumbar uno que otro proyecto pero cambiar todo un modelo de raíz, sin embargo, es más fácil decir y mantener su compostura desde la ciudad viendo fotos en las pantallas de un computador. en el territorio, es desesperante, y más cuando se le amontonan las cosas; el calor aumenta, son pocos los árboles para escapar del rayo del sol, uno ve los aves desesperados buscando donde aterrizar, uno ya anda solo, recorridos del territorio todos los días, como siempre, con la rula y la cámara, recordando las memorias de los sitios que es difícil asimilar que ya no van estar. como nos roban todo. lloro por las peñas, por los 4 bili bil de las peñas que cuidaron tanto de muchxs de nosotrxs. y no es por desconocer los otros miles de vidas cortados desde raíz, pero estos 4 fueron las relaciones más íntimas y en ese espacio bajo su sombra se vio que personas preparaban sus sancochos, descansaban, jugaban futbol, se hacían ceremonias, hasta se hicieron bebes en ese espacio ;). cuantas noches me cuidaban cuando iba dormir a la playa, tirado en la arena, al aire abierto y solo solo. y todo bien. el río nos cobró esa indiferencia, esa falta de acción y nos quitó la playa de las peñas por estos últimos meses antes que… quien sabe. perdí el lugar donde mejor reconciliaba mi sueño. realmente solo dormía bien allí, sobre la arena, al lado del río bajo los bili bil y los gritos de las loras por la mañana. ahora no logro dormir 3 o 4 horas sin despertarme, incómodo, exhausto, frustrado. pienso en todos los sitios, desde el paso del colegio hasta peñalta; las cuchas, el peñón, san josé, el hueco, las juntas, la cañada, la escalereta, el balseadero, san josé de belén, la yaguilga, los cocos, veracruz, rioloro, la honda, bengala, domingo arias y la lista sigue… esto va pa largo y si uno mira la historia de la humanidad, la lucha es la única manera de cambiar las cosas… lo demás son distracciones… por favor menos ciber indignados y más gente en las calles y en el campo. las ideas locas me surgen y son muchas, menos mal mi cuerpo me está obligando estar quieto, recuperando, sino, quien sabe. pero si quiero pegar una última bajada por el río en neumático hasta donde uno puede llegar, es que con o sin ese maldito charco de mierda, este territorio sigue siendo nuestro y pa eso, se tiene que andar, no hay de otra.

struggling with emotions

this is hard, really hard, much harder than i could have ever imagined. i could not wish this upon any one, i am not capable of wishing such pain, desperation, such sadness. we are in a process, a movement, and one that is for the long haul and there have never been pretensions of defeating one or two projects but to completely change a model from its roots, none the less, it is easier to say that and maintain your composure from the cities, looking at the images on a computer screen. meanwhile in the territory, the desperation abounds, and more when everything piles up; it is getting hotter and there are few trees to escape the sun´s rays, the birds are desperate looking for where to land, without a perch in sight. i act alone lately. i walk alone. walking the territory every day, as always, with a machete and a camera, nothing else, remembering the memories of the places, the places that it is hard to acknowledge that they will no longer be there. they have robbed us of everything. i cry for las peñas, for the 4 bili bil in las peñas that took care of soo many of us. and it is not to unacknowledge the other thousands of lives torn from their roots, but these 4 were of the most intimate relation and in that space under their branches and leaves they were witness to the preparing of meals, people resting, playing soccer, ceremonies and rituals, babies were even made there ;) . how many nights they watched over me as i would sleep on the beach, laid out on the sand, with no tent, all alone, alone. and all was good. the river took the beach away because of the peoples´ indifference, the lack of action and the beaches of las peñas have been reclaimed by the river for the last couple of months before… who knows. i lost the place where i was able to really reconcile with sleep, with rest. it really was the only place that i sleep well, on the sand, next to the river, under the bili bil and the screeches of the parrots in the morning. currently, i can´t sleep more than 3 or 4 hours with waking up, uncomfortable, exhausted, frustrated. i think of all the places, from the paso de colegio up to peñalta; las cuchas, el peñón, san josé, el hueco, las juntas, la cañada, la escalereta, el balseadero, san josé de belén, la yaguilga, los cocos, veracruz, rioloro, la honda, bengala, domingo arias and the list goes on… and this is for the long haul and if you look at human history, struggle is the only way to change things, everything else is a distraction… please less cyber activists and more people in the streets and in the rural areas. i get a lot of crazy ideas, a lot, it is prolly better that my body is not in the best shape and i am forced to stay still, recuperate, though…. who knows. i still want my last trip down river on an inner tube to who knows where we can go to, though, none the less, with or without the fucking piece of shit puddle this territory is still ours and for that, we have to roam it, there is no other way.

me quedo pensando

Me quedo pensando…. Me quedo pensando en cómo desde un inicio unos de lxs originarios se quedaron fieles a lo propio, a defender lo de aquí y otrxs, se convirtieron, asimilaron, traicionaron lo propio… esto incluso antes de la llegado de los Ibéricos, sino con los Quechuas también.  Friede habla de unas 10,000 personas originarias del Alto Magdalena y el Valle de Timaná a mediados de los 1500s reducidas a unas 250 personas en el año 1669  y ya después hasta menos… para repoblar la población de personas esclavizadas que necesitaban los invasores para poder no trabajar y vivir bien, los blancos realizaban “entradas” a la selva para capturar personas, traerlos de vuelta, darles su catequización y ubicarlos cerca de las haciendas donde laboraban para las encomiendas, sin pago. 

Siglos después en los rasgos de los rostros, en uno que otro apellido y los fragmentos que quedan de memoria, de plantas, sanaciones, conocimiento de monte, tenemos la población campesina del Huila, netamente indígena pero con un desarraigo de identidad, lengua y memoria que ni se conoce mucho menos se enfrenta o asume. La práctica de subir la cordillera oriental “entrando” a zonas que hoy pertenecen al Caquetá, la Bota Caucana y Putumayo, trayendo personas de vuelta, obligadas, muchas veces niños y niñas, se realizó hasta las primeras décadas del siglo pasado. Los traían biringos, solo con sus narigueras, aretes y collares,  que les quitaban con todo lo de mas, muchas veces los tenían amarrados por mucho tiempo, meses, hasta que aceptaban el dominio blanco, se bautizaban con nombres cristianos, se les ponía ropa de los blancos, los casaban y a trabajar para ellos para el resto de sus vidas. Se les decían “Piezas Tamas”… y aunque hiere sentimientos es una palabra hoy en día revindicado como pueblo, como nación cuando era solo termino para la gente que se pudo capturar, dominar de esta región geográfica. Hay varios que argumentan que los Tama son Guajes, es decir gente del tronco lingüístico tukano occidental, familiares de los payogaje, macaguaje, korecuaje y siona, que antes del holocausto por el caucho, vivían en el pie de monte amazónica de la cordillera oriental. 

Por más o menos los primeros 200 años de esta práctica de secuestro y esclavización, bandas o tribus de personas originarias atacaban con lanzas y zarabatanas  las encomiendas y poblaciones coloniales matando a los blancos y hasta los indígenas sometidos. Quizás liberaban también, los que querían volver al monte. Esta gente se conoce como los Andakí. Al sol de hoy aunque hay muchos registros, personas que se auto asumen y fragmentos de vocabularios, no se ubica bien quienes son los Andaki, ni lo que hablaban. Si eran Guajes, Aí u otra gente(s) totalmente distintos. Según el Diccionario Indio del Tolima Grande, el único lugar en el Huila con nombre en lengua Andakí queda en Altamira. 

Me quedo pensando en Sinforoza Ramón, y la otra gente mía, originaria de la zona de La Jagua,  aquí, cómo llegaron? Como lo asumieron? Donde y como vivían antes? Que hablaban? Que pensaban de todo? Resistieron?… Sino la historia no termina allí. Se dice que esta gente de selva todavía existe, que todavía están los del monte que no se dejan ver, que no comen sal y huelen a los que si comemos, que hacen caer relámpagos y cerrar el cielo cuando un foráneo se acerca de donde ellos. Los que no quieren saber del mundo creado por blancos, luego adoptado e impulsado por los demás, donde el pensamiento de querer más domina hasta la necesidad de poder vivir bien para siempre, de no acabar con todo para un goce momentario. Dicen que están allá arriba en plena zona andan los guerrilleros e donde los monstros que comen sin fin tiene puesto la mirada…. Los monstros que comen y ensucian agua, genes, petróleo, oro y multitudes otros metales… las entrañas de la Mama Mijina, la Madre Tierra que macabramente se extrae de su ser vivo. 

Reflexiono de La Jagua, rica en su herencia cultural, histórica, las medicinas de plantas, el tejido de fique y otras manualidades, las guacas, las pesas de cobre en los chiles y atarrayas, también reflexiona sobre su cultural general… su envidia, religiosidad hipócrita y hueca, su doble moral y chismosidad, muchas personas bien acomplejadas, arribistas y despectivas. Friede dice que la expansión española por mucho tiempo se estancó en La Jagua, que de allí río arriba los indios eran muy bélicos y no se pudo penetrar.  Como sería el segundo resguardo del Huila (1540) fundado encima de una comunidad pluri cultural con “piezas tamas” y quien sabe cuántas otras más para orar y laborar pa que otros, blancos,  y que al día de hoy mantiene lo que tuvo valor económico y los viejos hablan de ser Jaguos que ni ellos saben dar razón de ellos y que no existen en los escritos y los Nasa que somos Nasa y los Yanacona que los trajeron en los 1500s con el mismo cuento.  Pa otros jagua es el metal negro que acompaña el oro, también es el árbol con que se saca tinta pa pintarse el cuerpo y se ha dicho por allí que significa entre aguas… como entre los aguas de los ríos cuacua y guacacayo.  No es por nada pero esta tierra entre aguas que es un puerto natural casi tocando el pie de la cordillera oriental por medio de sus ríos da acceso a la amazonia subiendo por el cuacua, al macizo subiendo el yuma, toda la cuenca del yuma bajando por el yuma y menos de un día de camino de la cordillera central.

Todavía los arqueólogos empleados por Emgesa no han publicado mayor cosa de La Jagua, pero de lo que uno escucha por allí es que de los 290-y-pico de tumbas excavadas para la reubicación de las piscinas de oxidación, es que varios de los entierros están en grupos donde están conjuntamente enterrados de la misma manera, posición y acompañamiento material. Cercanamente hay otros entierros de grupos todos enterrados con otras posiciones, materiales y dentro estructuras diferentes.  No se sabe si los diferencias de entierro son por diferencias culturales o lingüísticas o por posicionamiento/clase social. 

Las aguas llevan 15 días subiendo. Hay tanto que hacer; recorrer el territorio, escuchar a los viejxs, tomar remedio, leer en los archivos, conocer los lugares cercanos con sus nexos y también escuchar. Hay tanto por hacer para recuperar lo que fuimos y lo que siempre seremos, tanto que hacer y tan pocos que les importa. Pienso en los petroglifos del guacacayo cerca de La Jagua, y los petroglifos de Florencia sobre el río QUE??? y los petroglifos del río Congor en Piamonte… son tan parecidas, tantas similitudes, pero se, que pa muchas más falta más argumentos. 

Me quedo pensando porque un chandoso, sangre sucia, mutante medio transnacional como yo, siempre he tenido estas inquietudes e intereses. Pa qué? De qué sirve más allá de abrumarse? Confundirse? Ser desafiado y deslegitimado. De ser constantemente juzgado y mal mirado. Sentirse raro y solo, bien solo…. Como las anteriores, no tengo respuestas a estas preguntas de porque, lo único que sé, es que las cosas no se pueden dejar así, por lo menos quisiera seguir con esta búsqueda aunque puede ser que nadie de mi gente, de mi pueblo, le importa.

the water is rising

I´ma force myself to write this in english. I am conflicted.  I already wanna drop spanglish, por que no? But lets see. The water is rising and I do not know what to do…. I know I need to be healing myself and I don´t just mean from my umbilical hernia surgery that is scheduled to happen in less than a fortnight. I feel fine but I know i aint right. I know something is not right in me, something is hurting more than usual. But whatever, the water is rising and there is nothing we can do, the company locked the gates of the tunnels and even the former president who started the project said those after him fcuked it up, and while the governor and the local environmental authorities say everything is wrong and they can´t fill, the Ministry says…. Fill it! 

 After the trauma of months and months of watching forests i´ve loved and that have cared for me and others for lifetimes, the time came for defense and i was alone. For a week Velocin was with me, surrounded by 40-100 loggers with chains saws as long as my arm span. After that I was on my own. I filmed for some days and then retreated. Too painful to bear witness and not be able to do nothing. Reflecting and feeling all sorts of negative emotions that the folks, my folks, mi gente, Huilenses, campesinos, Jagueños, even Jaguos  i have struggled with time in and time out for them to be recognized as affected while i´ve never been on a list, and then, and then the moment to defend the territory that everyone always talks about, in every space, and the folks who do road blockades and farm land liberations for weeks or months on end meet the moment where it is to defend the forests in the lands adjacent to the river, the homes of so many animals, and other activities part of our lives and that moment comes, and… everyone has something else to do… 

its so unbelievable yet real to see everyone online, in the media, the political class furious over how dare Emgesa fill the Quimbo H.P. before finishing everything they are required to do. How could they?.... the same people who have hated us and ignored everything for the last 8 years… where were they these last 8 years?.... for every single strike, road blockade, land liberation, rumble, endless assembly, nights after sleepless nights of guard and watch, how could they…. where were they? 

there is a rumor i can´t get out of my head…. the quail, iguanas, and rabbits stuck in tree tops as the water rises, that is what they say, and they already are drowning…. and everything is militarized…. I start to think i want to film... how i am going to leave for a bit this year, before this finishes… and i feel guilty…. But what am i going to do here, i want to film, but others can too, me being gone four months, we will see… it is clear to me that i must remain in the territory, whether i go work and travel elsewhere, i must have a base, a foot hold an anchor, and hopefully that can one day look like land. mine, but preferably as part of a collective. There is few things that can compare to the love I have for where I am from, where at least half of me has called home for a very, very long time. My short yet constant immersions as a child and teen juxtaposed to north American urban school years and college life was enough to allow me to make decisions at a young pre-teen age of future self-determination of my name and residence. 

These last four years, consistently being here, accompanying and re learning this territory, loving it so much, defending it, failing at it, the feelings about it, succeeding in building and transforming with people… how this is happening to us all, everywhere. It is wasn’t a dam, it would be a mine or oil or something else… so many commitments and obligations, starting with my health but other cycles that must be closed well too.  I can´t get the image out of my head of the tree chopped down bili bil trees… of the peñas of that place…. And how its changed  and how it will change, how it will no longer be as it has been. It will be in the middle and under. It will always be there, but it will be with out a trace. Whether they be interviews, filming, photographs, collecting rocks or sand, there are soo many things that I need to be doing and day and night and day and night the water is rising and I do not know what to do… 

me hacen falta las peñas --- i miss las peñas

ante ayer hubo un fallo para parar el llenado del proyecto hidroeléctrico el Quimbo, el mismo día los últimos tres arboles de bili bil que eran guardianes de "las peñas" fueron talados. los encontré antesito de la atardecer, sin vida, tirados por la tierra, loritos y pájaros sentados en las ramas regados por el suelo... mis ojos se aguaron pero no pude llorar las lagrimas que necesito, pedí disculpas, pedí perdón por venir de un territorio donde las personas no les importa lo sagrado de la vida, de toda la vida... la represa no la han llenado y sin embargo las personas ya se están yendo.... esto es lo que llaman el desplazamiento silencioso. y. sigo. solo...


day before yesterday there was a ruling to halt the filling of the Quimbo dam... that same day that last 3 bili bil trees that stood as guardians of "las peñas" were killed, i found them just before sunset, lifeless, torn down to the earth, parrotlets and birds perched on the grounded branches... my eyes watered but i could not cry the tears i needed, i asked for forgiveness to be from a territory where the people don´t care about the sacred importance of life, of all life... the dam has not been filled and people are already leaving... this is what they call silent displacement....i. remain. alone.

heads up

i feel the need to write this in english… mi gente here in el sur in general know more about me then those i left en el norte… the last couples of months have been hard in terms of personal health, in about two months i´ve  had chikungunya, shoulder trauma, an umbilical hernia, nasty rumors where i live and spiritual attacks… it seems like most of that is over now, but the camino to recovery es larga… i am taking this as a momento to reflect upon my concepts of health, comfort and privilegio…once i get over the hernia, which may or may not include surgery, i hope to train, get built to avoid that type of injury in the future. the chikungunya will take about tres years to get out of my system and in all i´m having to come to conclusions about life decisions that i am not too excited about. in general, la vida en buena, and i have tons going on in terms of lucha and resistencia por la tierra, but also projects and creando new things. 

In the last couple of months i´ve been forced to realize somethings and having to accept them  and seguir adelante. Toda mi vida… since i was like 9 years old i had total claridad of what i wanted to do…. live in the campo in Huila, rural, where my familia is from… it would not be years later in searching my soul and perplexed by mi identidad as a student en la Universidad that that somewhat boring farmer country region where mi familia is from, is really where we are from, is where we are propio too.

Yes, mi papá´s people are Yiddish speakers from Eastern Europe that came to this hemisphere 101 years ago by way of Montevideo, Uruguay and all of my mother´s people identify with their descendencia española, irregadless if they are all mestizos, though my mom´s dad, mi abuelo Jorge who i spent summer vacaciones with is original from here, and his mamá and his abuela, Sinforoza Ramón are from here. Sinforoza came from a community that lived on a foothill known by their surname, la loma de los Ramon. Though being Native and being from La Jagua does not give too much clarity of who we are. 

Identidad is thick in La Jagua, founded in 1540 as a pueblo de indios to evangelize and enslave Native folks from here and forcibly brought from elsewhere. Even before its colonial founding it was an important community, a strategic natural port between the junction of two ríos connecting the different Peoples of the Upper Yuma Valley with the Amazonia, the Central and Oriental Andes Mountains and what today is called the Colombian Massif. As if being a port with a constant exchange of peoples from surrounding regions did not make identidad hard enough, in La Jagua los elders say we are from the Jaguos (a peoples not documented anywhere) and the documentos de archive  say La Jagua was founded with Tama people (the Tama are not originally a Nation or Peoples, but a regional term for natives captured in the Amazonian regions of Caquetá and Putumayo and sent to Huila, irregardless of what community they were from or what languages they spoke). There are Nasa people say we are Nasa,Yanaconas say we are Yanacona and the maps made speak of the Yalcon and the Andakí. i have my own conclusiones that once i gather up the arguments and evidencias, i´ll put out there even though it may not be liked by everyone.

Since the 1520s the Españoles  raped and plundered esta región, they came and did so long ago, and the Huilense people hoy son producto of this mixing by conquista y colonización. You still see it in peoples´ faces,  original last names like Ninco and Cumbe, people who still heal with plantas  and the ciclos of la luna,  people who have copper weights on their chiles or atarrayas (cast nets) to keep the Mohán away, people who weave alpargatas (footwear) and mochilas (shoulder bags) from the fibras of the fique plant, and people are weary of brujeria and the hundreds if not thousands of tumbas that are found everywhere that is flat landed and not in the flood plains of the Yuma or the Cuacua rivers. People who call their kids güipas, bats are chimbila, the alpargatas here are called kimbas, and hang aloe plants, sábila over doorways. Traditional comidas still preparado and eaten are tamales wrapped in hojas de plátano, caldo de cucha (armored catfish soup), morcilla de choclo (corn sausages), colada y bizcochos de achira (achira root porridge and bisquits) and when I wander the campo side I keep an ojo on the look out for piñuela fruit (relative of the pineapple) or pitayá roja (red dragon fruit). None the less ask any of these people if they are indígenas? Ask them if they know what lenguas we spoke? Ask about our traditional beliefs and not Cristo… for me, the responses are disappointing if not outright deprimente.

i am the hijo raro of immigrantes, the one who did and does not want to live the immigrant, settler life my parents worked so hard to create in the EE.UU. buscando mejores oportunidades, the sueño americano... a la mierda… fck it! even as a niño i knew i did not want that way, and that was way before i had any ideas decoloniales, because even if los gringos blancos and most others there think i look, and i can speak and act like them, i am not like them in the capacity that i have not lost my origen or relationship to that lugar y gente so i do not need to create a fantasy that that is my home even if i was born n raised there, i am not from Norteamérica (even though most here say i am), and really do not want to live there being part of ese sistema. i know i am also very mixed and by phenotype and blood pass as being very european but again… my relations, heart, tempo, blood always since infancy have been of Huila. as an adult, to know it, to live it, to put it in practica, es mi choice i have the privilegio to do so, i can ir y venir siempre en cuando tengo money for tickets, but the privileges my parents worked and fought hard to alcanzar, to give their kids what they didn’t have… for the most part, rechazo esto, not interested, not all of it, pero mucho. in that search for self and coming down here i have found myself at odds, en choque with most of my familia extendida and the vast majority of mi tiempo i spend in other spaces not with them. i have created my own path and life.

i remember when i returned a La Jagua as an adulto, once the Quimbo Dam was announced… habia estado 2 years working in other communidades in the use of art y cultura as ways to protect their territorio, what i have done for a long time… though before it was facil, i was the mono (light haired), the gringo, the extranjero, el de afuera, i was the aliado and was very comfortable in doing what i needed to do and making sure to not over step boundries, conocer mi lugar … i remember thinking i would operate the same way in La Jagua….little did i know that the folks would not have that. i remember the asambleas where i would remind, “Yo no soy de aquí but my abuelo was, i am here to apoyar”….. support?!.. folks weren’t having that y me obligaron asumir roles of leadership and coordinación…. i would retort that “i am not from here and it is important for you all to take on these roles”…. And then i would be told that “i was too complicado that i am from there but i was just and raised somewhere else, eso es todo”…. And cuatro casí cinco years later lo que se ha ido construyendo en La Jagua, the folk active in eso we have lived through a lot… including momentos where we were doubtful … we had mis steps along the way but la gente original we are still around…..

Almost five years later, resisting against a dam that will destroy the territorio de mi gente, the geografia of my niñez, space and places so dear and sagrado to me and many others that, and having been doing this with people who always have known me, the “nieto gringo de Jorge luna”, people who knew me as a güipa and here we are…. the company claims they will start filling the reservoir next month…. because of the hernia i am supposed to take serious care of mi cuerpo, not force myself and well, this is all happening now. complex challenges… i spent most of mi vida joven con pedos de identidad to find my own lugar, the place de mi familia and spend the last five years defendiendo it with others from what seems as un desastre inevitable to end up being like another 5 milliones de Colombianos, displaced, obviously with a whole bunch of privileges, but none the less desplazados… like the other 200,000 displaced in Colombia from dams.

Most people in our movement have been bought, sold out, most never really believed we could liberate our tierra,  even when we recuperated the farms in 2013 for 6 meses before we were forced off.  Most continue to have views of “explotando la tierra”, planting mono-crops with chemicals, see wildlife and forests as taking up space, loving what they see on the TV, desiring to speak english, not caring or valuing what or who we are, our territory and over all… not to mention macista, homophobic, judgmental and hypocritical. i have had to learn to coexist and tolerate words, attitudes, -isms, -fobias and people that within many other urban insular socio-cultural communities i have been a part of, none of that would ever happen. Its not from any olde people,  its with compas de proceso. The complex part is that many times it is these same people who you want nada to do with and when you least expect it, they got ur back when mas lo necesitas. The folks who have claridad that we are fighting to liberar la tierra and not for money, somos pocos, and most of those have moved on to other things, since febrero this year i spend most of my time alone, solo, con nadie, walking the logged forests, see the chopped down trees scattered next to the ríos, remembering how those days que los cortaron only one person came out conmigo to see if we could stop it o por lo menos document. Mis ojos still are searching for a pitayá that may have escaped the destruction, amigos animales that still may be around, most others feel their time in the resistancia to the dam was a loss and have found it easier to turn their backs on la tierra and its other inhabitants…. i spend less and less time in the pueblo and even por la noche walking, nostalgically walking mi territorio remembering how it was a year ago, how it was cinco años atras, 15 years ago, 25 years ago… hasta que me recuerdo.  The workers watch me, me miran en silencio y yo no les digo nada and they usually do not say anything a mi.

Seems que todo menos my heart and sangre are telling me leave here, which i won´t until this capitulo del Quimbo is over, but yeah, it seems like there is nada for me here. Folks are no longer into building and organizing, much less resistance and lucha…. The community that 5 years ago had no more capacidad organizativa then what is required for actividades de Holy Week or tornamentas de futbol grew exponentially to organizar road blockades for weeks, face off riot police and paralizar la obra del dam. but now, ahora retornado a lo normal …. i have my criticas for why things resulted this way…but i am merely one person in a vast región called Huila with many particular characters and nadie es profeta en su propia tierra.  What keeps me focused as we wait to see what happens, if a last minute court decision saves us form the dam, or an earthquake destroys the structure r if they fill it, ahora que sigue… i keep my energia enfocada  on filming. In addition to spending a lot of alone time afuera, poco a poco i have been accumulating footage, grabaciones and lately interviews to attempt to make a documental film with the communidad, my first, which tells the story de La Jagua. ojala by mid next year este terminado.  

So here i am, the only thing that seems right in my life is my partner who is in his territory, trying to finish school and survive the current chaos that is Venezuela, trying to figure out where we can live once he finishes, where can we create community and home? Where plantas and animales out number humanos, where there is community to create and struggle with, where we will not be attacked or cast away for being two male bodies que se aman, where we will not be colonos… settlers…. Toda mi vida i knew exactly where i wanted to be and grow and had mi identidad so tied to the place where part of me and mi gente are propiamente from, but now that I have made it here… i have not found what i wanted and i still have not been able to totalmente accept it, what i wanted is so intrinsically tied and conectado to donde soy yo and i am just left with a perplexing uneasiness of where to echar raices, spread roots, from where to resistir, crear, grow and transformar and not be a colono. i plan to continue building, creating and resisting with the same regions i have been for all these years, even my own, and that is planned at least until the end of next year… but not yet the place where WE can do all those things and vivir creando una familia, our own family… time will tell. Mientras tanto… i hope we cross paths pronto, por que by the way….  i will be visiting el norte, Turtle Island, North America for some time later this year.  ;)

i just wrote all of that in spanglish after i said i needed to write in english... hijole mein, wut is up wit dat? lol

escrito el 24 de marzo

ya las moto sierras han cesado. se dice que se les acabó el contrato. queda monte, sin uso maderable, y los arboles de la orilla. todavía no entendemos esa lógica... por que dejar los arboles de la orilla? pa mantener el río por su cauce hasta el llenado? dar sombra a los que usan el río? prevenir erosión? sera que los talan luego? falta el otro lado del río y muchos otros lugares. pero de acá a cerro matambo no ha parado el
chillido de dientes afiladas de metal consumiendo siglos de historia, de vida. toda la semana pasada nuestro territorio amputado se sentía en el cuerpo. los aserradores atraparon una colmena de abejas y al compañero yuma amigo le pica abejas en la planta de la pie. al comienzo no le puse cuidado, pero toda la semana pasada, mientras que destruían nuestro hogar me perseguía un dolor en el pie izquierdo, sobre todo el dedo gordo. no se por que no puse cuidado, pero toda la semana que duro esa tala me dolió ese pie, no se si es el chikungunya o que, lo particular de ese pie es que tengo una ceiba tatuada allí. no se sabe que sigue, como va las cosas, toca día por día, poco a poco....