Thursday, July 24, 2025
A Circle, a Roar, and a Goodbye
I left home early because I felt like walking, like flowing. I was tired, but for some magical reason, I felt light during that walk. Light and full of energy to go to the circle.
When I arrived, I felt a kind of restlessness. Whenever I step into spaces of feminine energy, a deep sense of respect always mixes with a layer of fear. Because I was taught to doubt that energy. To fear it. Not to trust it.
It was symbolic: down there, without really knowing where we were going, four women met. And I thought it was beautiful. Because in the end, without knowing it, we were all walking toward the same place.
That’s where I met Estela. Not her real name, of course. But she already felt familiar to me. We had crossed paths in another circle and, even though we connected then, I’m not sure why I expected her to be warmer with me this time. I guess I projected something I needed onto her. Maybe, without realizing, I was hoping she would make up for my fear. I see it clearly now: I placed a weight on her that wasn’t hers to carry.
Inside, I spoke with Rose, one of the circle’s guides. She gave me peace. Then Lili cleansed me with smoke and scents, and as I entered the room, I felt the energy wrapping around me. At first it was soft, then more powerful, more vibrant, until I ended up feeling real warmth in my body.
I remember that right after entering, I had to step out again. I’d forgotten to pick a card, as they had told us to do when we arrived. Well, actually, I hadn’t forgotten. I had ignored it. I ignored it out of fear of not fitting in. Because all my fears showed up. Everything I had to work on revealed itself that day. And now I see it so clearly…
I picked a card: the Five of Wands. But when I returned to the circle, I realized that, without meaning to, I had also picked another one: the Six of Swords. One consciously, one unconsciously. One for the present, one for what I didn’t want to see. I’ll integrate them later.
I had a small internal debate about where to sit. I hesitated to sit next to Estela. But I felt good where I was, and I knew that was my place. That was a decision I made for myself, and I felt it instantly.
We began the circle. Rose and Lili spoke to us about the energy of the new moon in Leo. Rose is like a balm—receptive, gentle, earth and water. Lili is fire, air, strength. A writer who introduced herself as a witch—and I loved her energy. The balance between them guided the whole experience.
Leo, they said, is the big kid of the Zodiac. I was a child. I felt like playing, but also disconnected. Things were happening inside me, but I wasn’t aware yet.
It’s hard to believe I could transform so much in one afternoon. Thanks to all the women who were there. And to those who weren’t, but were invoked. Because in that moment, I felt her. I knew she was there. Supporting me. From her tenderness, from her loving energy. My great-grandmother Paquita. I felt her presence like a caress to the soul. And today, Sunday, she appeared again. Today, a circle closed. Today, a seed of intergenerational healing that was planted that day has been sealed.
After opening channels with oils, words, harmonization, and presence… we drank cacao. And that was another portal.
I had been debating all day whether to take a microdose of mushrooms. And I did. Less than 2.5 mg. Enough to open my subconscious, to let go of control. To allow myself to be moved through.
Then came the dance. Intuitive. Ecstatic. And before it, an exercise that marked me deeply: roaring. Roaring from the gut. Releasing what I am not, what no longer belongs to me.
At first, I felt embarrassed. I’m—was—used to being told what’s right and what’s wrong. To automatic, intrusive thoughts. To silencing my inner child. In fact, I didn’t want to play that game. But I did. The other women held me. Once again, sisterhood saved me.
And when we danced… I felt something I had never felt before. I felt my spirit alive. Fire inside me. A dancing flame. It leapt, it moved, it expanded. With every step, with every movement, I felt my soul freeing itself. Throwing fear into the air. Melting away resistance.
This was a before and after. Not just that Thursday at 8:30 p.m. A before and after in my life.
The moon was near its peak, at 9:11 p.m. And during the circle’s sharing, when each sister spoke from the heart, I opened mine. I got emotional. I broke. I cut off the emotion, yes, out of shame. But I felt heard. And loved, too.
In the end, I felt fear again. Because changes don’t happen overnight. Because patience is needed. Because it hurts to see, even though it hurts more to stay blind.
As I left, I noticed the women talking among themselves, and another wound was triggered. The wound of rejection. The same old thing. School all over again. Abandonment. Feeling left out. And I understood that if that wound is still alive, if it’s still present… then I also attract it. Like a mirror.
I hurried to leave. I saw Estela talking with another sister, and for a moment I felt I should have waited for her. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t feel it. I left.
The moment I stepped outside, I wrote a letter to Pablo. A toxic, on-and-off situationship that lasted eight years. Well, calling it a relationship is generous. He always came back, and I—patron saint of lost causes, magnet for the emotionally unavailable—never said no to sleeping with him. But that day… that day was different. I wrote to tell him it was over. Not to contact me again. The words burned in my stomach. It was like vomiting fire. I couldn’t not say it.
I also wrote to Luna. I told her certain things had hurt me and that I wanted to talk about them in person. That was setting a boundary in the sense of saying: I open my heart because I matter to myself. I listen to my own pain. Something new for me. Something I had never done this way before.
Leaving the circle was like leaving a magical womb. And beginning to give birth to myself.
This personal journey continues to inspire my past, present, and future music, which you can discover here.
Sunday, July 27, 2025
A Doorway Through Stillness
Since Thursday, I’ve been stirred up—more unsettled inside than the shifting sands of my own emotional landscape.
It felt like a calm kind of chaos; like the sea right before a storm: everything in order amid so much stillness, yet I knew something was brewing behind all those clouds of doubt.
And at the same time—as if the New Moon in Leo whispered it in my ear—I’ve felt a fierce need to be myself at all costs. To roar unapologetically, without explanations, to laugh in fear’s face. And it came naturally, as if that truth had been waiting my whole life to be let out. Still, I was tired. Too tired.
So I decided to go to a yin yoga class with a sound bath. No expectations. I just wanted to relax. It was in my neighborhood—Gràcia, Barcelona—where there’s this invisible yet palpable air of everyday spirituality: yoga studios, healing centers, bodies that are also temples. I’d never been to this place, nor met the teacher. I let myself be guided by impulse. Blessed intuition.
Before arriving, I spent time with a couple of friends. One of them, Julian, with whom I recently cleared a fresh wound: a misunderstanding that made me feel excluded, invisible. (That old wound of not being enough, of not being chosen, has also been roaring these days.)
The energy felt subtly gray, like a thin mist. There was a moment when I almost canceled the class. Yes, the tiredness was real, but the doubt wasn’t only in my body. It felt like a kind of subtle sabotage—like an old voice trying to keep me locked away in a golden tower of ego, throwing the key into the river as I stood there in disbelief. It made me wonder what kind of energy was resonating there. Was it mine? Was it his? Was it ours?
Luckily, I went. I changed into yoga pants, ran out, and made it in time.
The class was with Alicia, a teacher of Chinese medicine… I loved her energy so much, it sparkled. She spoke about the New Moon in Leo (which I was already familiar with), and my intention was simple: relax. But what happened after was anything but simple.
We started with self-massage and tapping. When I touched my vagus nerve, I touched something deeper. Coughing was my body speaking. Massaging my chest with my fingers in the shape of a heart, I felt pain. And I’ll admit it: it still hurts. This is my opening. This is the slow demolition—blow by blow, with love—of the wall that’s been quietly blocking my chest, withering it… but never fully suffocating it, thankfully. Although perhaps that’s the height of cruelty: I have a wall of reinforced concrete between my ribs. But I hold the sledgehammer. And it’s made of forged love.
When we lay down in savasana, I began to travel. Inhale, exhale. I’m deeply connected to my breath. It’s my home, my anchor, my direct access to myself. My body grew heavy. I saw light. I saw my great-grandmother Paquita—a flash, a presence. When I brought awareness to it, she vanished. But she had been there.
And then it happened: an experience I don’t know how to name. Not out-of-body, but ultra-sensory. Complete darkness, without fear. A full void. Absolute peace. It lasted three seconds. But it changed something. Yes, it scared me. But it also gave me certainty. What I felt there… was real. As if the truest part of me lived there, in that non-space, in that bodyless silence. If death feels like that, I’m ready. I don’t know if there’s something after. But if that’s it—that state—I can live without fear. I want to return there. I want to practice dissolving, surrendering, being without a name.
Today, I’ve seen the path. And I know that, at some point, I will take ayahuasca. But not before I heal my greatest wound: the one around love, nurturing, feminine energy. That broken line between the women in my family. A line of insecurity, fear, subtle toxicity. Where the shadow reflected in another woman triggers the alarm, and everything breaks. But on Thursday I saw my great-grandmother. And today I felt her with me.
She showed me that there is also a line of love. A line of warmth. Paquita, her rosary, her photo on my altar. She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. Today I wrote to my grandmother to learn more about her mother, about Paquita’s mother. I learned things that fit. I feel like someone has lit a candle in that broken line. A candle of love. A steady, unshakable light. That candle, today, has been lit.
And as if the universe wanted to seal all of this, at the end of the class, Alicia invited us to pull an oracle card. Mine was number 27: Sisterhood. It read: “A sister will take care of you.”
There couldn’t be a clearer message. My hands chose it. My hands know. Reiki. Living energy.
And now, yes—the circle has closed. Before going any further, before entering more intense rituals, I know my task is to keep healing this wound, this feminine energy within me. I’m not in a rush anymore. There’s no urgency. But today I know:
The path is already drawn.
And now, it is drawn by love alone.
This personal journey continues to inspire my past, present, and future music, which you can discover here.
Wednesday, August 6, 2025
Emotional
Clearing Day
I started the day dancing, even though I didn’t feel like dancing. If nothing else, today I became aware of something valuable: breaking expectations. Strangely enough, when my mind envisions a future event without my heart being involved—without asking “How am I feeling? What do I actually want?” rather than “What does my conditioned mind think is best for me?”—the reality, when lived in presence, often turns out completely opposite to my expectations. Expectations are mental. A healthy heart doesn’t need to predict anything; it’s content simply with feeling what it needs in each moment.
That said, my heart (and therefore I) wanted to spend more time with myself. And right in that moment, my body asked for something else: to draw, to write. To flow. I did automatic writing with my eyes closed. From there, the core emerged into my conscious surface. The center of it all. My body—wanting to heal. It’s been crying out for this for years. And it’s doing it now. It’s in the process. Emotions are moving through, allowing themselves to be felt so they can finally leave after being repressed for so long.
Then, I wanted to sing. Songs I’ve known forever. With some, I broke. Crying brought with it a deep sense of release. These days I cry for everything and nothing in particular—for having allowed myself to live in the ego’s fictional, alienated dystopia, disconnected from my precious source of emotions.
On the first of this month, I let go of my old self. I released her hand. Because now I act from presence, from emotion. Nowadays, with the whole New Age movement, I feel we’ve filled our mouths with “consciousness,” which is nothing more than a permanent state of being.
We classify emotions as transient states (more or less manic / dramatic) that don’t belong to us—in fact, we detach from them. Because for years society has taught us to see emotions as something wrong, something shameful. But if we misunderstand them like that, how could we not repress them?
In truth, emotions are indicators of our consciousness. They tell us, at every moment, how we are. And a calm, healthy heart will awaken emotions on the same frequency. With my hand on my heart, I believe we understand emotions very little—and often, badly.
Today has been full of symbolism. It marked the closing of my Lammas ritual. I went out to lunch with a man who was a friend of my father and my uncle—both of whom have passed away. I see him around the neighborhood often, and some time ago we said we’d have lunch together with my grandmother. The fact that it happened today, right as I’m coming down from the mountain of my process, is no coincidence.
A neighbor, Marcel, appeared. He gave my grandmother and me a book he’d written: L'Univers mñes a prop. He dedicated it:
“Andrea (Andy), never stop singing.”
The universe’s message is clear. My voice matters—it always has. I’m grateful that life reminds me of it through wonderful people, from time to time.
During the abundant meal, I felt that both my grandmother and my father’s friend live somewhat disconnected from their emotions. My grandmother says she doesn’t want to remember what makes her suffer. And my father’s friend… I don’t know him as well, but something tells me he’s also had to repress a lot to survive. Just as I did for so long.
They have been a mirror for me—one I now observe with compassion, but no longer reflect myself in. I want to feel. Because even if it hurts, feeling is also living. And I want to live awake. There will be happy days and others not so much, but at least now I’m shaping my reality from my truth, my way. The people around me, my work, my decisions… everything aligns because I’ve decided it should.
Yes, I’m more exposed. More vulnerable. But I’m me. I don’t want to live on autopilot. I don’t want to be an entity erased by fear, forbidden to think or feel.
I want to keep being a creative being.
Today’s “ceremony” wasn’t what I expected. It didn’t have the transcendental impact I had imagined. And yet, there lies the lesson. Thanks to my daily thoughts journal—365 little messages of consciousness—I understood something deep today, before sitting down to my comforting, medicinal miso ramen soup, after a yin yoga session.
One of Lao Tzu’s thoughts reminded me that not everything needs to be big to be true:
“He who stands on tiptoe soon loses balance.
He who takes giant steps will not reach the end of the journey.
He who seeks to shine does not illuminate.
He who makes himself important does not impose.”
I just want to be.
And today, I’m at ease in my being.
I’m happy in my being.
This afternoon, I felt that I’m on the path. I am, every day. Because I’m already living consciously—no longer running from myself, but finding myself. Enjoying being who I am.
Today has been a day of emotional clearing. Of releasing. Of healing.
And I won’t lie: at times, the past tried to sneak back in. Fear, doubt.
But I don’t judge my body. It’s only been trying to protect me. It always has.
And here I am. I’ve done it. I’m proud of myself.
I’ve returned home, to my calm.
With an open heart.
And here I remain.
This personal journey continues to inspire my past, present, and future music, which you can discover here.
En el País de Nunca Jamás
Estoy angustiada,
ahogándome en lujuria
en el País de Nunca Jamás.
Bajo el árbol del bien y del mal
la sombra no protege del sol.
Y aquí estoy,
encendiendo cerillas
sobre bidones de gasolina.
El único suspiro
del niño que aún eres
lo leo en tus ojos,
que respiran brisa marina.
Me grita que le abrace,
que lo salve
de tu silenciosa desesperación.
Mientras tú
solo quieres
abrirme las piernas.
Sunday, September 7, 2025
The Liquid Mirror of Pisces Moon
Today, I felt the full moon in Pisces pierce right through me, like a liquid mirror that accurately reflects everything already beating within. I rode my bike home, singing. Not singing out of obligation, nor for others, but because my body demanded it, because my voice poured out of me like an overflowing river. I felt my true self—rebellious, vociferous—telling me: “I’m staying, I’m no longer hiding.”
These have been days of great intensity, of revelations and symbols threading together like beads on an invisible necklace. Last Thursday, Patricia placed a rose quartz on my heart. It was as if that burning stone opened a door, not outward, but inward. It whispered to me that I am enough, that my path is not in vain, that a luminous future is right there, patiently waiting for me as I continue to break through the vines of patterns and automatic thoughts that have trapped me for years. Those voices that told me: “you are not enough,” “don’t do this,” or the mere questioning, which was also tearing me apart. Today, with all the strength of my inner voice, I tell them: fuck it. Fuck all of this. I am enough. I silence them with love (I make them cry, actually. Every single one of us, without exception, is starved for love. Even the most stony heart can be broken by a kind gaze).
The curious thing is how life, in its playful way, aligns everything. Today’s ceremony wasn’t as profound as I had imagined; I expected more spirituality, more transcendence. And as always, the expectation turned to glitter (luckily, thank you, life!). Now I see her (yes, life) as a mischievous little girl who loves to surprise me. For the better. Always. If everything could be anticipated or intuited, how boring would that be, right? She knows that I know this. She knows me perfectly. I love the level of relationship we have right now; I trust her completely, to surprise me, and if not, to give me exactly what I need in each moment.
Peace. Love. Truth. My triad.
I love you, life. I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud before. And now I want to shout it from the rooftops. Why not say it; she loves that I have come back to myself. That I keep trusting her, and she adores seeing me laugh when my plans work out and when they don’t, too. Blessed sense of humor you gifted me from a very young age. After so many night skies I’ve traversed along these paths of uncertainty and pain, perhaps all that’s left is for us to laugh together. And to embrace change. It’s funny how you’ve always accompanied me back home. With affection, because you know my heart beats in your fist, it has hopes, it is sensitive, pure. It holds so many colors that it needs a good canvas to paint itself on. And you have always provided it. For this reason, today the true ceremony happened within me. As I entered the water under the almost-full moon, as I tried to stand up on the paddle board, I understood I was seeing a reflection of my own path: I fell twice, I insisted, and on the third try, I managed to stand upright. I couldn’t paddle, not yet. But it was enough for me to feel myself standing, firm, knowing it’s a matter of practice, of constancy, of trying again and again. All of life is like this: a dance of insistence and falls that always returns me to myself.
The intention I carried today was clear: to heal my relationship with the masculine, to heal my masculine lineage and also my own masculinity. To recognize that I don’t need to live from a place of lack nor continue settling for emotional scraps, because I have been holding myself up for years. Every kilometer run, every kilo lifted at crossfit, every time I didn’t give up, every time I advanced a little further. The fact that I have never surrendered: all of that was already a sowing of the luminous masculinity that resides within me. But before, I wasn’t able to see it. I have become the kind of person I want to have by my side in life. Today has arrived the moment to return the weights that were not mine, the inherited burdens, all the lacks, the demands of others, the “you must be” that I never wanted to embody. Andrea, shout it loud and clear: I DON’T WANT TO FIT IN. I LOVE WHO I AM. Today I claim the true strength: the kind that sustains, expands, and creates.
And it was there, in the middle of this seemingly simple ceremony, that a beautiful symbol appeared. Life’s sign today was this: the kind gaze of a stranger. So simple, and yet so revealing. In that gaze, I felt the confirmation that healthy masculinity exists. There wasn’t a hint of sexuality, nor dominance. Zero interest.
We were two naked souls who wanted to embrace. Two innocent children playing from a place of affection. When the ceremony was about to move on, we were still embracing. I needed THAT embrace. For me, it was as if the Universe itself were hugging me. I felt it telling me: “this exists for you, open yourself without fear.” There exists for me an energy that does not crush nor outshine femininity to be seen. One that does not drain, but elevates. One that doesn’t need to impose itself, because it already is in itself. One that knows how to hold without invading, accompany without fear, receive boundaries with love.
I didn’t cry in that moment, I was embarrassed, but I do now, in the intimacy of my home, in this beautiful, silent living room, with Kuk by my side.
And as if the day still wanted to gift me one more wink, on my way home I found a book that seemed to be waiting for me: That’s How the Game of Life Works. The Butterfly Effect, by Joaquín de Saint-Aymour. It speaks of Jung, of synchronicity, of the theory of meaningful coincidences. I hugged it like a reminder: nothing I am living is a coincidence. Everything connects, everything dialogues, everything confirms that I am on the right path. As always.
Today I know I am in a new cycle. That I don’t need dramatic transcendence to feel I am moving forward. That sometimes the most transformative thing arrives in a gaze, in a blue summer, in the courage to stand up again and again. Today I embrace myself with tenderness and tell myself: Andrea, you no longer walk alone. You hold yourself, you accompany yourself, and the universe holds you too.
Life winks at me.
To all my masculine ancestors. Thank you for giving me life. And also for teaching me what no longer belongs to me.
This personal journey continues to inspire my past, present, and future music, which you can discover here.
Wednesday, October 15, 2025
Firenze: The Journey of Remembrance
This trip to Florence… I already felt it was a predestined destination —redundant as that may sound. Besides getting to know Julia and John better, whom I already held in high regard, this journey —like any other, since sharing space always brings people closer— helped me connect with them on a deeper level. Especially with Julia; I’m so happy to have found a travel companion who truly understands me. The feeling is mutual —we even talked about it.
That day, I felt that everything we asked for was being given to us, because it all started right there. We said, “Oh my God, look at that line,” and suddenly a security woman appeared and opened another lane for us. I was the first one in this new line, and I thought, what a stroke of luck we just had.
Later, when we arrived at the Florence airport, we had to get tram tickets. There was a queue, the tram was about to leave, and suddenly a man came up to me, placed two tickets in my hand, and gifted them to me. He told me in English they were valid for 90 minutes. It was the final synchronicity I needed.
I didn’t say it like that to my friend —because this was something of my own. I had to come here. I’ll understand why later, but I have to be here.
We got to the apartment. At first, it was a big disappointment —not the kind of flat I imagined, but a tiny 20-square-meter loft. But, well, not everything can be perfect. In the end, it turned out better than I expected. When expectation breaks —which is the worst thing one can carry in life— peace arrives. If there’s one thing I try to do now, it’s to move without expectations, because they’re projections of the ego; illusions that don’t really exist.
The day was perfect. Everything flowed. The food was exquisite, and I remember the first stop vividly: a restaurant we entered without knowing, where we ate beautifully. And the dinner, at Trattoria Roberto —I highly recommend it to anyone traveling to Florence. A family friend, also in hospitality, recommended it to me. There I had the best lasagna and pesto of my life. Everything: the food, the ingredients, the love, the family mastery… a wonderful experience.
Another magical thing about that day was the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. My last name is Arno —like the river— so Julia wanted to take me to see it. She did it perfectly, and I’m so grateful for the experience. When I saw it, my heart skipped a beat. Actually, that was the second time —the first was when I saw the Duomo.
Santa Maria del Fiore is the most moving architectural piece I’ve ever encountered. Architecture had never been the art that touched me the most, until that moment. Seeing the Duomo, its façade, its sculptures, its sublime majesty —it struck a deep chord within me that I still carry.
There are sensations I experienced in Florence that I keep as anchors —memories to return to when times get hard. Florence was a return to myself. The culmination of one cycle, and the beginning of another. A closing and an opening, simultaneously. I felt it that way —as if two realities coexisted at the same point.
I didn’t share everything with my friends because I knew it was an intimate process, something that belonged only to me. Everyone’s path is their own. And we don’t always need to be understood. That’s why I saved some moments for myself —to live this inner experience in fullness.
Seeing the Duomo and then the Arno River was cathartic. We were lucky to take a boat ride right at sunset and witness the most beautiful sky I’ve ever seen —pinks, mauves, golds, silvers reflected on the water. Pure magic.
The next day, we took a Free Tour. The guide, who was excellent, told us about the Medici family, how they founded schools to train the greatest artists. When he explained that they were represented beneath God in the Duomo’s dome, something clicked inside me.
As I looked at the works of Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, Donatello, I felt that I was remembering who I am: an artist.
All my life I feared being one, because I was told that “being an artist isn’t a profession,” that I was destined to starve. That day, I stopped giving power to those beliefs. I understood that art is not something you choose —it chooses you.
Without artists, there would be no culture, no society. We are the mirrors of the collective shadow and light. That day, I remembered that. Because the most important things aren’t learned —they’re remembered.
Florence, in essence, was a reminder. Neither a beginning nor an end —a constant remembrance.
After that, everything unfolded with beauty. We ate at Santo Spirito, enjoyed conversations under the sun with wine, wandered endlessly through the streets, and climbed up to Piazzale Michelangelo. It was wonderful.
The next day, we went to Bologna —a beautiful city, though one day is enough. It has a special energy, but it’s not mine. I loved the library and San Petronio, which marked me deeply. I entered out of curiosity, drawn by the fresco depicting Muhammad in flames, but found something else: the oldest and most accurate solar clock in the world, aligned with a meridian of the Earth.
That line —an energetic artery of Mother Earth— passes right through the church. I wanted to experience it. I felt the energy rising through my body, aligning my centers, a gentle warmth spreading through my torso, head, and crown. Then came a lightness, and a deep peace that lasted all day.
It was the strongest anchor of the whole trip —a mystical, pure sensation.
As I was explaining it to Julia, another girl nearby stopped to listen, fascinated, and wanted to try it too. It made me smile —I love when people approach their own spirituality, and if I can inspire that, it makes me happy.
Before healing others, I have to keep healing myself. But I know that next year I’ll create something in that direction.
San Petronio was also where the Council of Trent once met —its energy is incredibly powerful. Aesthetically, Siena impressed me more, but energetically, no church touched me the same way.
In the following days we visited San Lorenzo and the Medici crypts. And the Uffizi Gallery… there I reconnected with the invisible genius of Florence. Each painting opened new layers of understanding, love, and insight. I felt the city embracing me.
When I left, I mentally asked Florence that, if she considered me one of her own, she would give me something. Then, in a small street, I found a courtyard full of books. I went straight in, thinking of getting something for my friends… and then came another revelation: I realized how many times in my life I’ve prioritized others over myself —not out of kindness, but out of fear. Out of ego.
I recognized my shadows, my self-deception, my self-sabotage. But I also recognized my immense sensitivity, my perception, and my ability to connect invisible threads. That’s my greatest gift.
Florence helped me heal that wounded part —to release the weight and guilt that were never mine.
I also encountered contrasting energies. A famous jeweler let me into his workshop —the energy there was intense, but not pure. I could feel his magnetism, almost dark. I felt him trying to drain me. I saw it in his eyes.
He was a mirror of an old wound —my tendency to give power to “superior” masculine figures. And I realized then: no more.
Soon after, life showed me the opposite reflection —a young man at the café where we had breakfast, whose energy was clean, protective, loving. He reminded me what healthy masculine energy feels like. It was a beautiful closure.
And my final test came at the airport —I had no seat assigned and could have been left behind. But I accepted it calmly, with faith. In the end, they gave me a seat at the very last moment.
Florence wanted to keep me —and honestly, I wouldn’t have minded staying, because I too fell in love.
With its beauty, its history, its art. But above all, with what it gave back to me: the remembrance of who I am.
This personal journey continues to inspire my past, present, and future music, which you can discover here.
Dedico estas palabras a mi yo del pasado, la que escribió el texto que sigue. Quiero decirle que tenga paciencia, porque los tiempos avanzan —lentamente— hacia una conciencia más empática y espiritual. Pero también quiero recordarle: nunca, nunca dejes de ser crítica con el sistema y de alzar la voz contra la injusticia en el mundo.
“Pienso en los estereotipos sociales de la estética y de la belleza y me entran arcadas. Pensar en cómo nos absorben la mollera con anuncios, lemas, eslóganes, imágenes y palabras pretenciosamente estudiadas para que queden reflejados en nuestra forma de vestir, en el comportamiento, hasta en la forma de pensar e inclusive en rituales más o menos estúpidos a la vez que crueles (dietas escabrosas, cuidados costosos en cuanto a tiempo y dinero). Todo para encajar en un ideal establecido por cuatro tiranxs del mundo de la moda que en el fondo son envidiosos de la belleza que desprende un voluptuoso cuerpo femenino. Lo más vomitivo del asunto es que somos nosotras mismas las que fomentamos estos miserables cánones. Qué mujer no ha despreciado lo orondo del cuerpo de otra fémina. Y qué hombre no ha ridiculizado también, a la mujer entrada en carnes que se le cruza por delante. No voy a usar términos vulgares como usan todos los míseros superficiales, pues, lo innombrable, para extinguirse, debe ignorarse.
Pero no ignoraré que hace apenas doscientos años la belleza y la salud de una mujer se medía con la contundencia de sus curvas. Fue en la temprana década de los 90 que surgieron las anoréxicas de turno proclamándose diosas y, santificadas por los más célebres modistos, fotógrafos y los grandes del gremio en general, los huesos bien marcados y la cara de pasar hambre se convirtieron en el objeto de deseo a seguir per las adolescentes. Hoy día, la perspectiva es más favorable si tenemos en cuenta el auge de la belleza racial en los medios y en la imagen pública
(Véase Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Jennifer Lopez) entre otras muchas latinas y afroamericanas que han marcado un nuevo inicio en lo que a prototipos se refiere.
¿No es hora de que la mujer deje de ser esclava de los demás y, sobre todo, de sí misma?
Les tiempos cambian, pero los lastres en forma de ideas podridas y arraigadas en el pensamiento tardan más, por desgracia, en desvanecerse. Es pedirle mucho a una era que se alimenta de las operaciones estéticas, la cirugía y las enfermedades alimenticias para saciar la inseguridad que azota a las mujeres del mezquino primer mundo. Sin embargo, espero que terminemos por romper las cadenas invisibles de la opresión machista que limitan el potencial femenino."
Tuesday, November 18, 2025
Samhain: Healing the Lineage and Meeting the Shadow
Before I begin, I want to say something from the heart: no one should fear their own shadow.
Darkness is the epicenter of authenticity, the origin of all creation. There is never error in living, never evil in trying.
Our heart remains pure even when we feel darkness, because darkness is also light.
Beyond this material plane, opposites dissolve: everything is the same. Everything is part of the Whole.
Death and Awakening
On Friday, October 24th, I had a very intense day. In the afternoon, around 4 p.m., I went to a funeral home. Later, I attended a meditation with sound activation and visuals. There, I understood deeply what death means.
I was thinking about that person who had passed away—not someone close, but someone who had been part of this world—and my soul whispered something that changed me:
“Live. Do not lament. Live life as you wish, without giving explanations to anyone.”
That moment marked the beginning of a powerful week, charged with energy and growth. This is why I write this: because sharing my process is also an invitation for you to listen to your own.
Perhaps something I experienced will resonate with you, or inspire you to follow your own path of transformation.
The Samhain Circle
On Saturday the 25th, we celebrated Samhain with my women's circle, my sisters.
I wasn't sure if I could attend because I was working that day, so I left it in the hands of the universe.
And as with everything that is destined to happen, it did: my boss let me leave early and I arrived just in time.
The ceremony began in the forest, gathering branches to create a pentacle that we would later form on the altar. It was a walk in silence, almost sacred. I remember the bells of a nearby village resonating among the trees: it was like crossing a portal, entering another plane.
Afterwards, we shared food: it was the first time I tried original pumpkin pie—the authentic one, with its Anglo-Saxon recipe—and I can still recall its sweet (without being overly sugary) and spicy flavor. While we ate, I met a girl with whom I felt a soul connection. I don't know where it will lead us, but I trust time will reveal it.
When we entered the sacred circle, something very symbolic happened: it seemed there was no room for everyone. I stood for a moment, observing, without hurry. Then, one of the ceremony leaders, my dear Ana, placed me beside her. That gesture was a message from the universe. Ana is pure tenderness, a brave woman, a transmuter of shadows. Sitting next to her was like sitting beside love itself. The theme of the circle, in honor of the Celtic New Year, was lineage—exactly what I've been working on for months.
Listening to my sisters' stories was profoundly healing. Some were luminous; others, dense, full of pain. But all were of an almost overwhelming reality. I found the strength to open up and speak about my own, about this intense journey of healing that opened for me with the clarity of the Moon this past July. And that I am still walking today because I continue delving into my depths to remember who I am. I can indeed say that the part concerning the past, my lineages, as of today belongs to the past, to who I once was… I embraced them with all the strength of my heart and they dissolved like an hourglass whose hand points to the past. They will probably continue to exist in that timeline. But in this one, they no longer do. I said goodbye crying as I don't remember ever having cried before, for everything and for so much, for so long (that part of the ceremony lasted about two hours). My skin was as thin as a dry leaf, and everything I felt was sharp and needed to come out, to materialize, to detach itself... At a certain point, I was able to look into Ana's eyes and tell her that every blockage released in my life has begun in a circle like this.
In the room, there were three pregnant women. One of them, Ana (again), was one week away from giving birth. Interestingly, the day before I had experienced death, and that day, life. As if the universe was showing me that everything is a cycle: death and birth hold hands in the same instant.
I understood that life passes before our eyes without us noticing, and if we don't make decisions, life will make them for us.
That day I symbolically buried my old self, shedding tears of gold. I was reborn as who I am destined to be and have always been, even if I didn't remember it before.
It was a circle of very intense energy. Many women, days later, felt stirred.
I believe it would be beautiful to include guidelines for afterwards in these types of ceremonies: how to integrate, how to care for the body and soul after channeling so much ancestral energy.
I can say that on that precious Saturday I truly connected (my word before starting the ceremony path was: discovering). Since my trip to Florence, I had become somewhat misanthropic. I liked some individuals, but not society. Although I still generally abhor it, I no longer fight the system. I transform it into art. Because my path is not rejection, but creation. It is not hatred, but biting critique. It is not judgment, but freedom. MY FREEDOM. I have learned that protecting my energy does not mean closing myself off.
For a long time, I focused on the "no": "I don't want this," "I don't want to be hurt," "I don't want to absorb densities."
Now I understand that the "yes" is also protection: yes to life, yes to pleasure, yes to opening myself to people who vibrate with me.
After seeing my beloved Mother Monster in all her splendor at the best concert I have ever enjoyed (I did say it had been an intense week), I celebrated Samhain at home with two dear friends. We lit candles to honor our dead, I led a small ritual, and I felt a profound grounding and satisfaction. It was the first time I led a ceremony myself, and I felt completely in my element.
I am in a fertile creative phase. I have resumed collages and drawings I had left half-finished. I use materials like velvet, beads, artificial grass, even my own blood. Everything is part of my artistic language. This connection with the past has also manifested as a desire to return to it by re-reading old diaries, looking at classified photos, listening to old music that today seems horrible to me—but this time I observed myself from my deepest love, the love I feel for myself and for what I am capable of creating from my depths. Today I can say that I value and love what I do; for the first time I do not judge myself, and because of that, I am the artist I had always wanted to be.
I am preparing my music videos, my works, my visual rituals.
Each piece is an offering to the person I am today.
Today, November 2nd, I closed the cycle with a sound bath.
During the meditation, I went through many emotions. But this time, there was no fear.
I understood that I can look at my traumas without fleeing.
Because I no longer seek external saviors: in the midst of uncertainty, I appeared; I have myself.
And that changes everything.
For the first time, when something stirred within me, I didn't see anyone else's face. I saw myself.
That was the true rebirth.
I have accepted death as peace, as transition.
I have accepted my darkness as a teacher.
And I feel proud of who I am, with my lights and my shadows, in this human experience I chose to live.
To the reader, with all my heart, I tell you:
love your darkness before it's too late, and the black curtain falls, ending this performance called life.