Parallel Worlds

I was born in a place where time stands still. Sitting under the trees, making mud cakes. Talking to the wind, to the rain.

I used to collect all things amber: cicada shells and softwoods from the crape myrtle trees.

I felt surrounded by magic, by power.

The century-old garden of our house was my sanctuary, my refuge.

My childhood passions were climbing trees, riding horses, fishing in the stream, walking in the woods… living in parallel worlds.

I bred butterflies. I would create homes for the larvae in a box tucked under the house’s grand staircase, feeding them blackberry leaves, which silkworms adore. In hindsight, it was one of my first acts as a creator of worlds, a quiet manifestor of transformation.

Most of our weekends and summers were spent at the family ranch. The colonial house, circa 1880, with its thick walls, always remained cool inside, filled with wonders and mysteries.

In those deep, old woods, alone with my horse, I felt truly free.

Our upbringing was unconventional. Our mother sent us to a school not recognized by the government, where we sat in circles on the floor, cooked, painted, and danced Scottish dances. For geography class, we drew our own maps. I often wonder if that school, which shaped such an intrinsic part of me, set me up for failure or success.

I’ve always felt like an outsider, a rebel wanting to break free from useless molds. I am an eclectic soul. I’ve had incredible, often unusual experiences.

Back then, we knew nothing of the dark times of the Military Government that were threatening our idyllic world. Our parents shielded us from it. We were young, but at the age of 11, we left Argentina.

Since then, I have lived in so many places. But it was the time at the family ranch, in the vast old library, on those solitary outings, that I found the deepest connection to my soul and where I return to every night, walking my thoughts in meditation.

Now, in my 50s, when I look back, I ask myself: how many more years do I have, and what do I really want to do with those years?

The view from my window is of blue, roaring Atlantic waves; the world of my childhood is no more. Every turn, however challenging and unexpected, has brought me to this place.

This book is an exercise, a playful exploration to define different life threads, to map and break old patterns, to delve deeper.

Creation, adventure, collaboration, finding new ways in nature—this is what makes me thrive.

To share myself, my world, my passions, my art, for people, for the planet, to love generously and deeply—that is what makes my heart sing.

Thus, I do not rush this impulse. I slow down, allowing the experience of self-love to envelop me, reminding myself to stand firm.

I set out the direction I hope to accomplish, and then I let go—trusting the unseen currents, as I always have, a quiet alchemist, shaping what longs to emerge.