Tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac. It is there, the silent ghost, the murderer, the life-giver, a constant warrior, a constant peacemaker. The undefeatable. The inexorable. It is here, right here, all around me, inside me. Underneath.
Time. Time. Time.
But the battle against time (if there can be one) should be postponed "for the time being".
Feeling: compression. Thousands of tons that weigh upon my shoulders. A pea. Green one.
Questions:
How can you know how to be free, if you don't first know what is it that makes you not free?
How can I get rid of the weight, if I don't know what is it that weighs?
Today is the beginning of a new quest: how to change hot ashes for trees.
Instructions or algorithms? The vague pulse of cotidianity?
And still something more: despite it all, I continue breathing. Breathing perhaps the same molecule of oxygen that was inhaled by my great-great-great-great-grandmother. The same molecule. Sitting, breathing, living, shining in front of a constant glow, the glow of my computer screen. But, somehow, you can learn to make everything seem amazing. Example. The glow of my monitor is a product of a process fed with electricity, which itself has been produced in a power plant, through another process that began with the burning of charcoal or gas. The charcoal or the gas are constituted by the building blocks of dead organisms which were once part of the plant kingdom, and those organisms grew up, at the time being, with the energy of the Sun. It was the Sun that made possible the synthesis of new, larger molecules. It is the Sun that is burning in the charcoal at the power plant. You don't have to go much further in order to realize that the glow of my monitor is, primordially, the same glow of the Sun that now shines over Honolulu. It is the same stuff.
Y para volver a mi lengua madre. Este es mi primer post en mi blogspot. Un descubrimiento inesperado, pero que llega en un momento justo. Espero encontrar aquí el lugar para que el rigor y la impecabilidad en los que me cocino durante los días y noches de mi académica existencia, esa ceniza caliente, sea cambiada por árboles (y sus hojas que suenan al viento), líneas y líneas de caracteres que escondan, tras velos invisibles, eso que hace que esté aquí, ahora. Un lugar de (re)encuentro. Un lugar para compartir. Un lugar para amar y para odiar, para llorar y para gritar, para sufrir y para entrar en éxtasis.
Que sea la palabra.
