Reflections and letters

I found myself reflecting on organizational charts, the growth of our clients’ firms, and our own growth. As I did, a key subject emerged: ‘conflict.’

For example, two of our clients are facing conflicts between partners—situations in which we must intervene as advisors. Conflict is inevitable; not necessarily fighting, but differences in criteria that tend to follow their own dynamics. In my view, conflicts include the factors of certainty and adventure. There will be matters in which we are more flexible or adventurous, and others in which we seek greater certainty and rigor.

Conflict arises from polarization; its opposite is complementarity. To complement one another includes the ability to hold ambiguity: there are areas in which we agree and others in which we do not, yet they can still be debated and discussed.

Conflict frequently arises from three dimensions:

1. Power and control. When someone feels they lack the power to make decisions, establish guidelines, or exercise authority to influence the firm, conflict appears.

2. Care and closeness. If someone feels that closeness or trust is missing, that their work is not valued, or that their contributions are minimized, conflict is generated.

3. Respect and recognition. When respect is not evident or someone’s actions within the group go unrecognized, the lack of integration may also escalate into conflict.

The intelligence with which we act before these dimensions transforms how we move through conflict—how we speak or fight. These dimensions always contain stories, expectations, judgments, and prejudices, creating a complex context. Clarity of purpose is invaluable because it unites the group and moves conflicts into the background. That is why it is so important to make purpose and timing clear, so that everyone in the organization acts toward a shared objective instead of depending on an authoritarian figure who dictates everything.

The difference between hearing a requirement and attending to it, versus listening—the place from which questions arise through genuine curiosity—is fascinating.

Often we do not truly listen because we are in a hurry, want to conclude, or simply want to fulfill a requirement. Listening means grasping the immediate need and discovering what lies behind it: understanding where that need comes from and what motivates the requirement.

When our relationship with another person is secure, curiosity emerges naturally. But if the relationship is insecure because we seek to prove something, stand out, or attract attention, then our curiosity is limited, because we prioritize our own need over the other person’s.

Sharing what moves us can be deeply enriching. These reasons are implicit within each of us, and we all possess great inner wealth. At times we believe we should hold back and not share, when sharing could in fact make a valuable contribution to how we live together. Everything depends on how we relate and on the awareness we have of our own emotional needs.

Why do something we are not convinced by? When we ourselves do not believe in what we do, when we do not celebrate ourselves, we are in trouble. That is my judgment.

‘If we do not “like” our own posts, if we do not take multiple photographs of the moments we share with others and show what we do—especially when our livelihood depends on promoting products and promoting ourselves as the people who carry out the work—then we are in trouble. Our interest lies somewhere else.’

Yes, that is a judgment. Longing for recognition, insecure attachment, need for recognition.

In the end, ‘everyone who is in love with their moment, their work, their collaboration, and their company shows their happiness in many ways.’

Why do something we are not convinced by?

There is immense magic in motherhood. To be part of it, accompany it, and offer it all my love and affection is merely one way of giving thanks.

I do not know time and its terms as you do. I do not know pleasure and how it is lived as you do. I do not know conception, nor what it is to be pregnant. I do not know that capacity to let a baby develop inside me. I do not know the pain of labor, nor do I know that marvelous gift of watching a baby be born from oneself. I do not know how it feels to breastfeed a child, to nourish them while they cling to one’s body. I know nothing of that enormous capacity to contain and give life.

What I do know is that I recognize you, see you, and admire you. I know and feel a profound love and recognition before you. Immense admiration.

I feel extraordinarily fortunate to accompany you, to recognize you, support you, and be present.

What I do know is that you are what matters most. You are origin; you are mother, and that is where I find you. That I do know.

How interesting it is to think: to reflect on being a consequence of our thoughts versus using thought to explore the possible with curiosity. There is a distinction between being conscious of why I use my thinking to explore, and those thoughts that occur all the time.

That noise of thoughts is an expression of possibilities—thousands of possibilities occurring, which may distract us if we take them simply as they are. Yet when we turn toward possibilities and question them, they acquire meaning; they signal and point toward a direction, a road. One road among many, but one brought to life by curiosity. I want to explore; I decide to explore, and it carries me gracefully, through that expression of love that is being. For me, being and living in that sense is love. It is made easier by that love, by that desire to know and to find. I find it interesting to place the word love within this realm. Love as the substance that joins everything. It seems to me similar to antimatter, discovered as the element that is nothingness in space. It is possibility made into a realm, a substance over which everything glides and within which everything is contained, covered, and accompanied.

If truth expresses itself through me, through all of you, as a rich, abundant expression of openness, and if that is called love, then I confess it accompanies me all the time—and that sometimes I forget it.

It seems to me that communication has been cut short, beyond being compassionate or speaking of sympathy, empathy, or how perfect, measured, and centered we are—which clearly we are not, or I am not. There are underlying issues that speak to our behavior: yours with me, yours with us, and ours among ourselves. Emotional moments sometimes speak more of our scarcity than of our wealth.

And so I apologize. My emotional poverty is mine, and like all poverty, it causes problems when it demands or seeks wealth where none exists.

There we must resolve ourselves alone and attend to ourselves personally. Painfully, we share ourselves socially; inevitably, we splash onto others. Isolating or hiding myself is a rather poor option for me. Trying to make a difference is another. Each person chooses their options, and with luck the balance may be positive.

I do not owe you an account; it is an act of respect. Even so, it seems to me an imbalance has been created, one that has not been addressed and, worse still in my case, adds itself to my circumstances.

With the sick, asepsis and distance so they do not infect us. With those we love, closeness and affection to make life larger. The rest is ordinary life among acquaintances. Yes, I hope you attend to yourself and explore what you carry or are living through, what moves you to act as you do. I am doing the same.

At birth, our first experience defines us as human beings. Early childhood begins to forge our emotional identity. Childhood teaches us limits, values, and conflict resolution through our interactions with other children and within the family.

One day we are productive adults with social and professional relationships. Our childhood continues to guide us, but with one great difference: as adults, we can accompany our inner child and recognize that what we lived through shaped us, but does not mean we lose our essence. We can accompany ourselves and take responsibility for who we are, for how we relate, and above all, for recognizing both our deficiencies and our riches.

No one is obliged to give us what we did not receive as children; that task belongs to us.

We do it by accompanying ourselves, remaining conscious and, above all, accepting ourselves as responsible adults.

The company is one of our new spaces of life, and we bring everything we learned into it. How we choose to play depends on us.

What will become of men’s lives when women forget us?

We will be useless and directionless, wanting to take the hands of those women who have guided us so many times.

We will be stories without memories, because so often they tell us what has happened, where we come from, and where we are going.

What will become of our lives, alone without them, who are everything? Origin and destination of our lives and our deepest thoughts. The port from which we depart, knowing we will return home and be received again—with no questions, only affection.

What will become of men who forget motherhood and its powers? Women contain everything; they nourish everything.

Who would I be without knowing the women who have given meaning to my life? I am nobody, and I am alone, and I am with them. No more—but certainly less without that immense capacity to contain the world, to be sheltered by them.

Do they know everything? Are they not as ignorant as the rest of us? Are they conscious of their ignorance and of their unconscious wisdom? Do they truly have any idea of the future—of our future—or do they simply presume to?

Can they manage statistics and probabilities to foresee what is to come, calculating possible movements and transforming assumptions into concrete data that has shown itself to behave in a certain way? Then, if they believe they know and at the same time know nothing, surely a vast world unfolds without their awareness. Perhaps they are completely removed from everything that is happening.

What happens, has happened, and will continue to happen is the exercise of knowledge, even if no one is aware of it. A destiny exists, whether we desire it or not.

Although they believe they know, they have no idea of my destiny or yours. They understand only the uncertainty that surrounds us with hope, the blind faith we place in the knowledge imparted to us. This knowledge flows and expresses itself even when we do not understand how it occurs.

Recognizing my own ignorance, I act as though I knew everything, because if I do know it, I simply do not know where to look for it. If it is within me, it remains stored away.

If pointing toward truth means recognizing that we are the universe itself, that we exist within it and are one expression among an immeasurable number of possible expressions, then ‘being and being here’ are the very expression of this marvelous existence. Ours is an ephemeral existence before the universe’s immensity, where everything happens; measured against astronomical time, humility is a tiny instant that here, with all of you, is immense at the same time.

Presence, Compassion, and Faith held in harmony with love.

Sometimes we must also create spaces and silences in order to listen attentively to the sounds—the music—we carry inside. The music we can share.

Mind: Crucible of my thoughts and emotions. Chalice of my consciousness.

Thought: A wave that reaches the shore of our mental beach. These waves are born far out at sea and arrive with greater or lesser force depending on the emotional weather. The best happens when we enter the water to navigate the emotional waves and can enjoy ourselves.

Surely, one of them may tumble us thoroughly. After a good while, we can emerge from the sea satisfied, with a feeling of complete joy.

Life contracts are a profound subject. It seems to me that, from the perspective of commitment and everything we do—including the stories we tell ourselves in order to live within that contract until we bring it to an end—they are a marvelous space for exploration. A space in which we also tell ourselves a story, convince ourselves of what we do and, better still, learn that the story is nothing more than one option. Not the only one.

There is a difference between ‘doctrine’ and being. Doctrine is useful, just as a contract is useful. Being is implicit with the whole world, with that unity that comes from being one more part of this marvelous expression of life on Earth. I like the possibility of contracts because it is broader than merely clarifying a moment or a procedure. It is a useful tool among ourselves and with other people. We can establish contracts between friends, between partners, with our friends and relatives.

Listen deeply. Listen and remain curious from the moment a figure such as the ‘contract’ emerges. A marvelous alternative, a tool for living together.

The contract with oneself to remain watchful versus being and living consciously. I may not need to establish a contract in order to recognize what is happening within me. I may also use the contract as a tool.

The hand holds a dove, still alive. Is it subjugation? Is it the intention to defeat the other?

The image is based on a print by the Taller de Gráfica Popular, from a period in which I recognize a Mexico still possessing a living national project. The popular struggle remained in tension, and power itself was still in transit.

It seems to me a key period for our country’s graphic expression, because—being so representative of the left—it ultimately became suppressed and crushed so that it would be forgotten.

I return to it not because it belongs to the left or right, but rather because of what it represents: it is coarse strength—carved, engraved, hard. In contrast stands ‘the other,’ the subjugated one who appears fragile, vulnerable to death, hoping not to become free but to take the place of the hard hand. ‘Then it is my turn, right?’

In seeking this anchor from which to create something, the reference for the Spanish word poder—power—in the Royal Spanish Academy dictionary reads: ‘To possess the free faculty or power to do something. Capable of defeating it.’ Capable, in turn, is defined as:

• Possessing scope or space

• Sufficient to receive or contain another thing within itself

• Large or spacious

• Able to accomplish something; daring to do it

• Qualified to exercise a right and fulfill an obligation ‘personally’

It seems to me that in Mexico, rather than power being exercised, capacity is exercised. Although they may appear the same, for me the difference they contain is enormous: power as a philosophical dilemma, as a great whole, versus being capable, which is only one part—or a set of parts that together are contained within oneself.

In creating the image of that hand holding the dove—an image as commonplace and overused as it may be, yet timeless all the same—the hand holds the dove motionless, still alive.

The hand says: ‘I am capable of screwing you over again, keeping you subjugated, keeping you in a position, pretending to listen to you, to see you defeated.’

‘You have authorized me to exercise all my capacities while I pretend you matter to me.’

‘Power is in my hand, and I am capable of tightening my fist while always taking care not to kill you. If I do—if I finish you—then with whom else would I be capable?’

A CONFUSING ROAD WITHOUT DIALOGUE

Today I see Mexico filled with this bureaucratic capacity to define itself through complex abilities that succeed in distancing anyone from an encounter. Not those technocrats. The road is confusing, difficult, filled with twists and turns that only an expert in those wastelands can navigate. There is no possibility of dialogue. The technocrats have created a parallel world for themselves, one in which their morality has nothing to do with that of ordinary citizens. Not only that: they have transferred responsibility to everyone else so that the difference becomes even more complex, even more difficult. My grandfather, who was a Senator of the Republic, used to say: ‘There are two kinds of Mexicans: those who make the laws and those who follow them. I am one of those who make them.’ Without reservation I can say that, although I disagree with him, the statement did buttress the political class. It is a principle that, in the absence of judgment, project, and leadership, managed to establish itself and become expressed through these capacities.

The evidence lies in the Constitution itself, which now resembles a procedures manual that justifies and protects the capacities of those who work in public service. Purpose has been lost, buried beneath ‘capacities’ understood perfectly well for their own benefit.

I might disagree with Machiavelli’s statement that ‘…a prince who wishes to preserve power is often forced not to be good…’

For it is not the desire to preserve power; it is power itself that corrupts. Lord Acton defined it that way, and went further: absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Curiously, power has larger expressions: conquest, dominion, the ability to establish wider borders, capacities for subjugating the other.

In Mexico, power is redefined through these half-formed capacities. It does not conquer; it allows an exercise that manages itself, grows like a fractal rather than as the force of a single impact, a single definition.

Perhaps what we truly lack is the willingness to recognize ourselves in that force which, like dampness, grows everywhere, invades, and allows fungi to spread—there, under other rules we seem unable to see because we are somewhere else.

The use of the mirror offers a different reflection. It is not contemplation but the possibility of infinite reflection: the creation and recreation of possibilities.

With it, the encounter is itself a game, and participating recreates the moment again and again.

The search and the encounter become necessary. The integration that comes from seeing ourselves reflected is as valuable as what is left outside. These are dilemmas, and they require decisions, positions, and above all, consciousness.

We are pilgrims, walking through this life. We walk long stretches, opening trails and raising dust.

Our footprints remain marked behind us. Our paths meet, and those encounters give birth to our relationships: our friendships arise, our loves are born and, on many occasions, our families.

This is how our path leads us to the right doors, to the people who become the most important in our lives.

From encounter are born hopes and fantasies that help us imagine how we will make our way through our days and see ourselves in the future with hope.

We are born to find one another, and through those encounters new worlds are reborn. Our children are born, and this magical world is for them.

This year we celebrate Christmas with our eyes on the sky, our hands upon our hearts, and our feet planted firmly on the earth, because that is what our celebrations are for.

The Star of Bethlehem illuminates our sky, and if we turn to look at it we may draw a deep breath, then exhale and empty our lungs. When we look at it, we remember the magic we feel upon turning toward the sky and being present before the universe. We are part of it. From high above, that immensity observes us with such attention that when we look upward, it surprises us. There we are in the universe; here we are on Earth. The stars shimmer so that we may dream, and if we are outdoors we will feel the freshness of the air, with the waxing moon announcing the beginning of winter.

On these days in particular, we are together, more united than ever. We know it because we feel it in our hearts. We see it when we turn toward the sky and when we face one another, and we live it when we celebrate.

We trust the future because of what we are living now. We have deep faith in what lies ahead, and we know that part of destiny resides in our actions. We know we will be well because we are accompanied by those who are ours. Together we bear witness to that marvelous light emanating from each of us—from our capacity to recognize, create, and share. That is why we are always accompanied.

Like the Star of Bethlehem, each of us shines, and through our own presence we can remind one another of the faith that guides us.

Thank you for having given me so much: your anger and grand gestures, but also your culture, your fascination with Europe, the periods you spent there, the journeys, the design of objects, the stamps, the concert programs. Thank you for telling me about such marvelous people, singers, and life stories that became adventures.

Thank you for having been an immense figure, so often beyond reach. I know that although I am not what you imagined, or what I believed I ought to be, today I understand that no one could have entirely met your approval and that many would have fallen short of your expectations—often fulfilling your predictions. Today, precisely today, I realize that perhaps I did not study Architecture for fear of your criticism, or Industrial Design for the same reason. And yet today I am who I am, far more than you said I would not be. I do more than you thought I could.

I have spent years building an image so that you would approve of me. Today I want to thank you because I know you only wanted the best for me: to care for me, protect me, and give me a road. You gave me what you are, and for that I am grateful; I treasure and recognize it.

Today, my path is mine. I no longer have to please you; now it is my turn.

Thank you, Dad, for so much. For as long as we can, surely we will continue sharing from these clear foundations—only now, on different terms.

When I was a child, I loved putting my foot into your shoes and seeing how immense they were. Their size astonished me; they were simply enormous.

I was so small that I could sit on your shoe while you stood and walked with me. I held tightly to my father.

You always smiled at me and were very affectionate. We were gluttonous accomplices, and we traveled together many times. You showed me places, foods, kinds of people, ideas, thinkers, leaders, and forms of leadership. Even today, whenever I speak with you, I learn something new.

As I grew, I also learned from your anger, intolerance, irrationality, racism and—why not say it?—your inability to admit a mistake.

I grew up and wore your clothes, your jackets, and often your shoes. I found it marvelous that at last they fit me.

Today, now that we are older, I see you small. Smaller because you truly have grown shorter. More fragile, less capable—and it is hard to see you this way.

Today I am grateful to know how much I received from you and that you gave me what there was to give. Today you give me what you have. It was more than enough.

Without realizing it, I grew up trying to fill your shoes without looking at my own. Today, suddenly, I realize those shoes no longer fit me. My shoes are different now, and there is no way for us to exchange them.

Thank you, Dad, for having given me a road I have walked in shoes first too large and now too small. They no longer fit me.

I prefer that each of us wear our own and that we walk together when we can, and at other times each at our own pace, in our own direction.

In this life, who but you can decide? I have walked with you, and together we have decided so many times.

I recognize how, within our differences, all our opportunities exist.

We live together and know that our rights stand on equal ground.

It is not always so, and our humanity creates differences, but we will not.

I know that you decide, and I equally recognize my own decisions. Why should there be differences in our own rights?

We are free, and it is within that freedom that we find one another. We are alive because we can share our soul, give it by the handful, receive it with pride, live it fully—because today, who but you can exercise your right to life?

I am not here today because it is the last day or because it is the first. I am here because I have been here and will continue to be here for you throughout the year.

I will be with you as a friend, an ally, a partner, a catalyst, or a lens through which you may see what I see, from where I see it. I will be with you, always recognizing who you are and where you are, listening attentively to what you tell me because nothing is more important.

From here, count on my willingness to create the bridges, spaces, and moments necessary for us to meet.

We will do so in your space, meet in mine, or simply find one another somewhere within our willingness.

Neighbors, today we will celebrate with you our unity as we contribute one more piece toward stopping water pollution and pollution caused by water in Jurica.

There is a story I love and want to share with you even though I am not religious. Perhaps I have shared it before, but I offer it again because its importance calls me to do so.

‘God said to Moses: “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”’

I believe this is an exemplary call, one that applies to our effort to stop water pollution and pollution caused by water. It is highly significant and, it seems to me, calls to all of us.

For me, the circumstance speaks; the pollution speaks; the resistance speaks. It tells me precisely this: take off your sandals, take off your criticism, take off your positions, take off your excuses, because you stand on holy ground. You are here, in the place where you live; in the place you love; in the place where those you love—your family, friends, and colleagues—live beside you. You stand on the earth that sustains life, the earth where flowers and your business grow. You stand on holy ground because this is our land—because it is the planet, and also the garden and the butterfly. It is holy ground in every sense, and your care, your sensitive, sensible presence does make a difference. The way you stand upon it, the way you walk or run. The way you decide to recognize that this small space sustains you; that little piece of earth beneath your feet is what allows you to be who you are. It sustains you and it sustains us. It gives us the substance of life itself, of which we are part.

Today this gathering forms part of that celebration of life in which, if we pay attention, we will indeed hear the call. Neither madness nor fanaticism: simply a celebration of our humanity. A personal celebration in which we can meet one another and, with complete pride, live ourselves with the confidence to say, ‘Here I am, barefoot.’ Without judgments or prejudices, acting for the common good—the good of the earth, our garden, our children, our fortune. And if we must weep, let it also be upon this holy ground, this place where we live, where our actions will redeem us.

Who in this life has not felt out of place?

The chats in which our community lives exemplify two basic principles:

1. Listen to everyone and ignore no one

2. Foster a sense of unity within the community

These two principles gave rise to the identity of Corazón de Jurica and the network of five community chats, especially Mutual Aid and Between Neighbors. We now also have Hidroecología Jurica.