I  say this without hesitation, without hidden meaning, and without any attempt to soften or decorate the truth: I believe in God and in Christ. There have been moments in my life when I stood alone or, at least, believed I did. Moments when the ground beneath me seemed uncertain, when the path forward was not visible, and when the weight of circumstance could have easily pulled me under. In those moments, I did not fall. I have felt the presence of something greater than myself. Not in spectacle, not in grand signs, but in a quiet, steady strength that held me upright when I had no strength of my own. When I faced illness, when I endured hardship, and when I lived through the most devastating loss a parent can know, the loss of my son, I was not alone. I know this with certainty: had I been spiritually alone, I would not have made it through. Some will say that faith is an emotional support, a crutch for difficult times. That is a fair observation, and I accept it. B...

CUANDO UN AMIGO SE VA… WHEN A FRIEND IS GONE… Some twenty-seven years ago, I met this man in the middle of a business transaction. One of the many people I met over the years, and one of the many impossible transactions I tried to bring to life. That first meeting was uneventful. Almost irrelevant, you might say. It took place in Zurich, Switzerland. We were both there chasing a possibility - a dream which, as dreams often do, can disappear in a wisp, a word, a moment of doubt, leaving little trace behind. We had little opportunity to speak at the time, since we represented different interests. But the stage was set. It seemed we were cut from a similar cloth - more interested in solving the puzzle before us than many of the characters surrounding us. A year later, we met again. This time in Paris, and now working toward the same objective. We stayed in a small neighborhood hotel and finally had the chance to get to know each other. He spoke Portuguese, Spanish, and some French. I spok...

A NEW START ... OF SORTS.  As I walk forward, I see - figuratively speaking - a big, ornate red door ahead. A door that waits patiently for my inevitable arrival. I look at it and see a boldly lettered “80” painted across it in lavish, gold-colored script. It is a reminder that I am already walking into the beginning of my eighth decade in this life - a reality fully supported by several reminders during these past months. Last weekend, while on a short overnight trip, I fell. As in a “Hello, floor - I’d like to get to know you better and closer” kind of fall. A slip on a slightly wet surface. Yes, some folks quickly came over to help, to make sure all was well, to ask whether I wanted to go to a nearby hospital. That was kind of them. My reaction? A mixture of suppressed anger at my own physical failure, a surge of adrenaline, embarrassment, and a quick dash to my room ( this happened at the entrance of the hotel ) to assess the damage. A scraped knee. A couple of red spots ...

I had not been to Washington, D.C., in some three decades. This morning, after walking for fifteen minutes through freezing wind, snow, and generally disagreeable weather, I arrived at the doors leading to my appointment. After fumbling with a frozen bell and intercom, a voice from the other side informed me that I was too early - and added that the doors would not open for another thirty-five minutes.   I had miscalculated my time by about an hour.   So here I am, sitting in a nearby coffee shop, trying to bring body and soul back to a tolerable temperature - a hot coffee in one hand and a hot bun in the other.   Warming cold buns with a hot bun.   Why am I here? My appointment is at the Spanish Embassy, where I am depositing documents showing that I am entitled to Spanish citizenship because my grandfather was born in Spain. My mother later became a Spanish citizen while living in Cuba. Unfortunately, she never had the opportunity to travel to Spain. ...

  REFLECTIONS If everything you offered was not enough, then offer your absence. That may be the greatest act of dignity and self-respect. — Mario Benedetti MY TAKE: Life is an ongoing journey; it covers byways, paths, goes on bridges, and into tunnels. But always, at some point, these divergencies return to the main road. The one we started on, the moment we were born. As some may say, the one we were destined to travel. Every step on this road represents an effort. One already expended, or one that is to be gathered. Not one single step we take, at any given time, is free of this expenditure. We are aware of this, although there will be moments when we just take the steps and do not spend much time considering the efforts made. We want to go somewhere. We convince ourselves we need to get there, even if it means running a deficit we will only notice later. There are moments in life when we will pursue a dream, not caring about much else.   You, who are read...

“THE ABILITY TO THINK IS A GIFT. THINKING IS AN INTENTIONAL COGNITIVE PROCESS. FREEDOM OF THOUGHT AND SPEECH IS A CONCEPT.” I am not altogether sure where this may be taking me, or whether whatever results in the end may be worthy of being posted somewhere -or anywhere. The inner battle we all endure, almost from the earliest moment of awareness, somehow revolves around these concepts: how we understand them, how we use them, and how we may be lauded or penalized for doing so. In the beginning, the thought process simply is . It is taken for granted, so much so that the idea of thinking about thinking is rarely -if ever- considered. We move through early life guided by routines learned from our families and the societal communities we are born into. Unfortunately, a great number of people remain in this state of acceptable, directed actions for the rest of their lives. Many fall into this path because of laziness or complacency. It is easier to “just let it be” than to ri...