Hey there!

I’ve been listening to Martin Prechtel’s book called Stealing Benefacio’s Roses.

This book is like an earthquake for the crusty old foundations of my patriarchal S.H.I.T. Thoughtware.

It's been devastating.

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I’ve cried.

Raged.

Shivered from fear.

LAUGHED OUT LOUD!

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The book is narrated by the author, who has a way of conveying language and emotions that touch my heart and awaken the indigenous parts of me that remember who I really am.

I write today to you with the pain of one who is starting to remember.

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The author refers to North America’s modern culture as “the land of forgetting”.

In the Land of Forgetting...

People are looking down.

In a trance of me-me-me.

Too busy to care.

Too occupied making money that they never have enough of.

Too busy to be bothered by anything that makes them feel something.

An insatiable hunger for more and more and disregard for consequences.

A collective amnesia that turns people into entranced, blind, moaning walkers.

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It makes me realize the power of the place where you are.

When I first came to Canada, the excitement and flashy newness quickly faded after a few weeks.

Then a monotonous, entrancing vibration settled in.

You can see it in people's droopy faces and how they walk.

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But you remember.

Don’t you remember?

That time lying down on the earth, following that ant with your eyes.

You remember, don’t you remember?

The dirt on your pants, your hands and knees on the ground, the quiet sound of the wind, the birds singing their sweet song.

You were there, remember?

That time you were playing and talking to her.

She loved you, you loved her, you were candid.

You talked about the love you had for her and how you’d show her next time you saw her.

Remember? You remember.

The ones who forgot, they couldn’t remember.

But you were there, remember?

With all your love, all your pain, your desires, your memories of the past and the future.

The ones who forgot couldn’t remember and they didn’t want you to remember.

The ones who forgot also wanted you to forget.

Did they make you forget?

But you were there, you must remember.

They forgot, they wanted to kill you who remembered.

Your remembering was dangerous to their forgetfulness.

They couldn’t remember.

Not their love, not where they came from, not who they are, not their name.

No, they couldn’t remember.

But you were there. You remember.

Don’t you remember?
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Love,
Jorge