She comes to me in an endless flow of memories quieting her absence.
You return to me in every heartbeat . . .
There is no light nor shadow, nor color nor texture.
There is no pain in the embrace of uncertainty.
~
Our coexistence ceases to exist;
the rancor of fear departs as the idea takes us in.
Pain turns silent, emptied of guilt and regret.
Though your lungs exhale not,
I feel the breath of your longing in search of union.
~
I understand better your inexorable faith,
with no sting of doubt.
Resentment held no place, the frankness of your soul loved everything.
I feel you in my chest, tight with not seeing you
I see you in the resonance of your mind upon mine.
*
Pain shatters my chest,
I am dying as well,
I fear the very meanness of not accepting
your dignified and glorious absence.
~
How can one ponder eternal love
without knowing eternity,
I do not understand and tears choke me.
~
Eternity is a story we tell ourselves
from our first appearance.
Before, we were nothing
and nothingness impregnated us with clumsiness
to create stories that console our finitude.
~
We are nothing,
and to nothing we return.
~
I believe in the goddess of love
for she sustains me,
but immortality and eternity do not depend on her.
Abstraction is a pretense that believes it heals itself.
~
Confuse reality not with abstraction,
if you know nothing;
unconsciousness is soaked in the unjustifiable.
Contradiction is the palpable reality,
Humility and neutrality do not exist:
and are not controllable.
~
Intelligence is a tool of fiction.
We are nothing.
~
Words of comfort ruminate me and my feelings,
they assume compassion for filling the void
Yet compassion, like humility, can
not boast of itself.
They come from nothing
and are nothing.
~
The feelings of death arise in old age,
our fragility is tangible.
“If newly born, what do you know of old age?”
How can we boast … even if for the best of reasons!
~
Words can evoke the void of silence,
yet they remain a pretense.
~
Silence is deeper than declarations.
Listen to silence, filled with nothingness.
Yet, an energy that’s unchangeable, immutable.
Persistence is yet another vanity,
a desire to accumulate the unsustainable.
Parallels are paradoxical, yet real.
*
Ricardo Federico Morín Tortolero,
Oakland Park, Fl. 5:00 am, 3 de Feberero de 2025
Edited by Billy Bussell Thompson
*
(A Poem written by our mother, María Teresa Tortolero Rivero, English translation by this author, and read by Andreina in Spanish)
GREATNESS YOU BESTOWED UPON MY SPIRIT
[July 1979]
*
Greatness you bestowed upon my spirit for the whole world rests upon my bosom though in sadness I stray in vain attempts to redeem my heart.
As pariah in a desert in my migrant existence I feel the prick of painful thorns. and the corrosive doubt of uncertainty.
My home’s encumbered by the punching of loneliness only absence occupies it. Why have you forsaken me? Why so much cruelty? If born to love when for love’s sake I wish to be faithful.
*
In Memoriam Andreina Teresa
~
We, the Morín Tortolero siblings: Alberto José, Ricardo Federico, María Teresa, and José Galdino, deeply regret to announce to our family and friends the heartfelt passing of our beloved sister
ANDREINA TERESA MORÍN TORTOLERO
November 10, 1955 – February 2, 2025
*
The wake was held at Funeraria Tendencia Ecológica, located in the Las Acacias neighborhood in Valencia, next to the CICPC, on Monday, February 3, 2025, at 12:00 PM.
The funeral service took place at the Puertas al Cielo crematorium, located in La Entrada, Naguanagua, on Tuesday, February 4, 2025.The Novena is held at Valencia’s El Viñedo Church starting on February 5th at 4:30 pm.
We are grateful for your support and prayers during this time of deep sorrow.
Here, Andreina was among friends and relatives between Valencia, Venezuela in 2024 and her last visit to Broward and Dade Counties in Florida, January 2024,
On a bright sunny day with temperatures in the mid-seventies, we rambled along the trails surrounding the delta-like shape of Long Pond. From there we continued on to the much larger adjoining Mashpee and Wakeby Ponds—first in the morning sun, before lunch, and later in the cooler light of the afternoon after three. Along the shores, we saw men and women with their pets playing at the water’s edge.
The clearings, unforgettable amid the surrounding forest, were bathed in clean sunlight. Their green patterns seemed to rival the timid Gothic forms that human hands have built in an effort to imitate nature.
Roots covered in emerald moss rose in steps toward translucent tunnels, leading us through a chance arrangement of natural colonnades and buttresses beneath open canopies. The fresh, aromatic air revived the errant heart as we walked through gullies and groves, at ease with the rhythm of the soul beside me.
Observations On Perception 