Boca Cerrada: The Joy in Being Unearthed

October 20^th. Tuesday. Boca Cerrada, Corazón Abierto (Mouth Closed, Heart Open).

I’ve heard a handful of writers say that writing chose them, but in my case, I chose it. 

Writing was something that unearthed me, at a very young age, when I felt buried too far down to ever want to come out.  Writing was an escape when I struggled with suicide, cutting, anxiety and postpartum depression. 

I resuscitated myself, on paper, each time my thoughts and actions led me down a path that was never fit for me.

Terry Gross of NPR loves to interview artists because she says, “[Artists are] the people we designate to open up their lives for examination so that we can understand better who we are.  They offer up their own stories like what Updike would call ‘specimen lives.’ Examples of what it’s like to be human.” 

I believe my struggle was intentional and my outlet was purposeful.  Where writing used to be an escape, now it is a lifestyle, a necessity and a catalyst for others to find hope in what they must endure. 

Whether I’m good at writing or not, I’ve sought after it with my whole heart.  I earned a degree in English that took me 10 years to obtain.  I wrote when I had nothing left inside of me to offer the world. 

I wrote when God responded to my weakness with, “Just keep going.” 

Writing means so much to me.  I have newly promised to use it to help someone else unearth their own gift(s).  I pray that my honesty shines a light on what you might be struggling through.  Your story and mine holds purpose.

Do you know what your gift is?  How are you using your gift to encourage or inspire someone else?  Are you quiet long enough to allow your gift to surface?  Today, practice con la boca cerrada.

Boca Cerrada: In Observation of Joy

Boca cerrada means mouth closed.  I like to talk.  I talk a lot.  This month I want to take a step back from being reactive or dismissive because my mouth gets in the way of the opportunities I have to reflect on life's joys.  I want to share with you the joys I find.

I am thrilled to see what this exercise can open up for my perspective on life and my constant desire to notice the joy when I feel that there may not be any left.  I want to shine a light on that this month (October 18th - November 17th).  Will you join me?

My porch swing.  The writing dock.
Carolina Hinojosa-Cisneros, 2015

October 18th. Sunday. Early.

I awoke before my husband and son this morning.  Instead of rolling under the covers for a few more minutes of rest, I get out of bed, wrap a sweater around myself, slip on my chanclas and head outside. It is my first taste of a Texas autumn. With the wind zigzagging through my toes I slowly pull the mangera from its snake like coil and water the matas that adorn my front porch.  I have become all the matriarchs in my family that value rising early to tend to the life in the yard before tending to the life in the house.

I notice a new budding of tiny red and orange florecitas atop a plant I have newly planted.  It must be thriving from the soil where it is enterrada.  It was in a pot before and would not give this kind of show until it was buried deep into the soil.  Like the plant, I too must be grounded in rich soil in order to thrive.

I recoil the mangera and sit on my porch swing, which I like to call the Writing Dock.

I hear the train chuh chuh chuh and then its horn con fuerza on an iron track not visible from my yard.  I've never seen the train near my home, but just up South Flores Street there is the train that runs near the Gravelmouth Gallery.  I assume it is this train that is causing me to want to warm my cafecito and imagine the era of industrialized transportation.

The bing bing bing of the bell from Mission San José announces the beginning of a Sunday morning Spanish sermon.  Visions of my childhood chime in reminding me of the veils my grandmother and I wore to mass on Sundays at El Carmen on Martinez-Losoya Road.  My mind lingers on how we fear the veil, forgetting that we once wore it- some of our elderly still do. (That's for a later post, que no?)

It is nearly time to wrap up my journaling to go inside and make breakfast.  I am thankful for my writing time this morning and for morning sounds with memories that attach themselves to those sounds.

In what ways do you crave solitude and what do you notice in those moments of soledad?  What joy can you gain from being still and taking on today with la boca cerrada?
  

Mano de Leon, Cockscomb Flower.
Carolina Hinojosa-Cisneros, 2015