|El Mojón del Trigo, Sierra Nevada
Literal: boundary stone, landmark or turning point
Slang: aN UNusually long and cylindrical amount of human excrement
I promise you that this is not going to be an exceptional post. It’s just simple spit into the wind today. My husband inspired it and he sometimes calls me, “una psicóloga barata.” Nonetheless, I like it and who knows, you might find it useful.
It’s easy to get lost out at sea, in the winding slopes of the mountains, a humid rain forest, in the West Village of New York City where there are no perfect squares to mark the narrow back roads while campaigning.
Still, a fisherman returns every morning with fresh hope and a steel eye for how to return home. He knows that what wasn’t caught the day before does not determine what will be caught in the present moment and he knows about the power of a good mojón.
In a time when we are inundated with rapid information exchange, the powerful might of human invention and the spiraling confusion of a desperate economy—it is all too easy to get confused about who or what to believe.
How can we maintain hope and find the right way home?
You must feel the pulse of irrationality at the core, like talking with John Nash, a paranoid-schizophrenic—where you are simultaneously being given insight into genius and insanity.
You must see what I see, fear what I fear, scary times for all.
That is life now and as we experience current events and struggle to navigate our daily routine and for some–to survive—we must take a moment and stop to spit into the wind:
I WILL NOT DIE AN ORDINARY CASUALTY OF THIS WAR!
I WILL NOT DIE AN ORDINARY CASUALTY OF WAR!
That is why I share with you the metaphor of fresh hope and el mojón. They go hand in hand and can’t be undone.
It means… if you are out there LOST and unsure of your priorities—
what’s really important,
who to follow,
when to start
or stop fighting—
Remember to look for fresh hope and el mojón— the critical landmark or turning point in your life that BECOMES your inner compass.
Find it, it is there.
El mojón is used in Spanish slang (they are very clever people) to describe a long and cylindrical amount of human excrement—in other words a turd.
The irony is not void of hidden meaning. How often are we muddled, lost, surrounded, our personal source raw, the core of our energy void—filled up with so much shit?
Other people’s voices.
Baggage. Guilt. Regret. Judgement. Fear. Spin. Mind trips?
This is all confusion. Get rid of it.
Get rid of the shit and go home.
DO NOT DIE AN ORDINARY CASUALTY OF THIS WAR!
SAY IT: I WILL NOT DIE AN ORDINARY CASUALTY OF WAR!
Fresh hope and el mojón.
~For MVR, Obama and me.