In Thanksgiving

Dear Readers,

Once in a while, it is appropriate that I thank all of you, and that I publicly thank God for everything. I am probably closing one of the most stressful times of my life right now, and I have done way too much whining to myself, others, my guardian angel, and God. But let me just say this right now: life is good, and I have so many reasons to be happy! And so do you! And I am so thankful for all of you, who put up with my pontificating, snide comments, and pseudo-mysticism. I thank those of you who read what I write and those who pray for me, those who comfort me and those who put me in check when I am wrong or way off. I thank those who know me in person and put up with my sometimes abrasive and melodramatic personality, and those who only have to put up with it indirectly in writing. And to those who love me, to my family, and that special someone, thank you. This is a great ride, and it is not over yet....

But why should I write anymore? Let us let Gabriela Mistral take over:

Acción de Gracias

Gracias, Señor, por el día que asoma
devuelto como el Padre y el Hijo.
Lo esperamos sumidos en la noche,
pero volvió como el que vuelve a amar
y regresó como el que mucho ama,
y con él van y van llegando
el bosque cantador y el mar arrebatado,
el rostro de la madre y del hijo,
y los caminos borrosos del miedo.

Gracias, Señor, por la ruta que hicimos
Cegados de la niebla maldadosa,
Y por los ojos vivos del arroyo,
Y por el canto ya devuelto de la alondra.
Gracias por cuanto regresa devuelto
al oído del hombre y de la bestia,
y por la risa de los pescadores
que van guiñando a la ola y la pesca
y a la mujer que en el umbral espera
con el vaso de leche y con el beso.

Gracias te doy por el tordo vehemente
que canta y canta en la higuera escogida
el alba en cuanto sabe que es la primavera,
y al crepúsculo allá en mi Valle que me ama y espera
y adonde he de volver porque él es mío
y suya soy, y lo sueño y lo vivo
así despierta y lo mismo dormida.


Thanksgiving

Thank you, Lord, for the day that begins to loom
Restored like the Father and the Son.
We waited for it immersed in night,
But it returned like a man who returns to love
And it came back like a person who loves much,
And with it they go and they are coming
The singing forest and the uprooted sea,
The face of the mother and of the son,
And the muddied roads of fear.

Thank you, Lord, for the route which we made
Blinded by the thickest fog,
And for the living eyes of the stream,
And for the song returned to the lark.
Thank you for that which returns to
The hearing of man and beast,
And for the laughter of fisherman
Who go lurching towards the wave and the catch
And for the woman who waits on the porch
With a glass of milk and a kiss.

Thank you for the insistent thrush
That sings and sings in the chosen fig tree
And for the dawn which knows that it is spring
And the dusk over there in my Valley that loves me and awaits
And to which I have to return because it is mine
And I belong to it, and I dream it and I live it
In this way awake, and the same asleep.