Tras haber creado mi anterior blog cecilmundo varias personas, muchos de ellos mis alumnos, me sugirieron que creara una secciòn dentro de cecilmundo para publicar mis obras de docencia de idiomas. Dado que la cantidad de documentos de explicaciones, ejercicios y exàmenes de inglès son muy numerosos porque tengo màs de 30 años del ejercicio de la docencia, preferì estrenar blog con mis alumnos a como ellos realmente merecen. En este blog planetcecil no solo iràn mis documentos didàcticos de inglès, sino tambièn la producciòn literaria de varios alumnos que se destacan en las letras. Tambièn darè oportunidad a aquellos que tienen excelentes obras pero que no han logrado publicarlas ya que en mi paìs Nicaragua todo se mueve por la marrana polìtica, y si una no pertenece a determinado partido no verà jamàs publicado su opus. Tambièn tenemos la desgracia de contar con seudoeditores quienes al no conocer verdaderamente de literatura se convierten en mercenarios de la imprenta solo para llenarse ellos mismo de dinero y fama a costillas de los escritores. Todos aquellos que deseen participar en este blog, denlo de antemano por suyo. Aunque lleve mi nombre en un arranque de egolatrìa, yo soy sencillamente vuestra servidora.Cecilia

Las alas de la educación

Las alas de la educación
La educación es un viaje sin final.

La lección de física

La lección de física
Casi aprendida

miércoles, 25 de junio de 2008


June 25th,2008
1876 Battle of LittleBig Horn
1950 rumblings for the Korean War
14:25 entry for today on the sideline

Beyond me the two French military advisors sleep and sweat.I mostly notice the pearls of moisture on their pale skin,and the smell that comes with that. Nothing seems to make sense. I lean back on the seat.The hum of my bat whirrs into my ears. Did Làzaro Spallanzanni, the Italian priest who discovered how bats fly, ever dream of helicopters back in his office at the University of Pavia? Would he have gotten airsick, something which I have never known? I write these lines knowing there will be instant publication for them. My reputation as a writer, although not as great as the one Antoine de Saint Exupèry had as the author of The Little Prince, will guarantee that everyone reads thim.The stars on the epaulets upon my former weightlifter`s shoulders are the certainty that they DO get published. Can many people say that?In my country? I reverently touch the keys of my laptop. Fit for a queen`s whim. How did I get that far? Was it ever meant?Kismet? Should I follow my fate.
The landscape beneath me is beautiful.I want to drop a tear into Cosiguinàs turquoise lagoon, now so peaceful and translucent. Fire came out of here in the XIXth century. The ashes spread to Yucatan peninsula and even Colombia. After the fire comes peace.Will it happen to me?Will everything just be blown out,leaving only embers that glow in the dark corner of my memory, burning a small yet painful hole into my brain? If this helicopter were to fall, kissed by the passionate mouth of gravity, would I live to tell anything more? Would I be remembered as a translator, a warrior,or a simple writer who didn`t tell the difference between mirages and reality?
Nobody knows where Antoine de Saint Exupèry went that day in 1944 when he took off to dive into the horizon. But I am not afraid. That is the reason I can write about my own pains,traumas,and jokes. Life has played so many pranks on me,and the best thing is to take them in stride and laugh.Democritus of Abdera,to whom we owe the concept of the atom, laughed all the time.He was probably a healthy chap, for laughter is the balm that cures everything. Remember when the Bee Gees hit the Billboard with their song "I Started a Joke"? That could be the story of my life.It left me with a broken foot, lots of laughter and marvelous short stories. I still keep joking about it. I was laughing all the time my ankle was getting cast.And can I say something?If I were to live it over again, if I died now and was reborn again as what I am,I would do it all over.Pain and all. Plus the tremulous, giddy and intoxicating feeling of knowing that I chose it all. No tears, nothing bitter. Will I tell my grandchildren when I finally have them?Probably.
The feeling of weightlesness is fantastic.Being airborne is like being in my mother`s warm womb. Yawning full of expectation, with the freedom only birds and bats know. Even my breath is light, like a yellow butterfly dipped in sunshine, or a bee`s wing dripping honey.All my bones seem full of angel foam. I curl up in my seat, take hold of the laptop and smile.Curiously I don`t want to cry. I just smile, and the other officers wonder what is going on in my head. I see the pilot in the cockpit, smiling tenuously. He loves to fly with me. I feel safe.I remember my cats at home,and I smile again. I can`t be angry at life when I am so full of it,a goblet up to the brim with the bubbles of existence. At 48 I feel younger than at 15.I know it doesn`tmake sense.How much sense does life make at so many feet of altitude? My lungs full of fresh air, the feeling of oppression relieved from my shoulders, I can say I am in a state of grace,even today when I remember that George Armstrong Custer was beaten at the Battle of Little Boghorn,getting what he rightfully deserved. I try to avoid thinking of the beginning of the Korean War, which has never been forgotten. It is funny that I should declare myself a pacifist while on military mission,with combat boots on my feet, and camouflage covering my woman`s body. This is my state of grace.Nobody,not strife ,nor lovesickness,nor anything can shake me out of it. May Allah, or the Shaddai,or Vishnu,or my father or Marx be blessed for it. Lake Xolotlàn appears as an alexandrite in oval shape. I see the runway. We are minutes away from Managua. I shut my laptop, but my mind keeps running.Time dissolves pain, and pain solves nothing. Only life solves itself.

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