Life Initiated
To be a life initiated, one must know that we are practically dead. To cross that aspect of normality and health that perhaps covers us, to cross the wasteland of human lightness and to reach the full consciousness of knowing ourselves on the pure edge that separates the existence of the pulsating emptiness that constitutes the universe.
In that slack rope you feel fear if you lower your eyes to the second law of thermodynamics but if you manage to keep it elevated you are able to take a step because the horizon pulls your body like a magnet of irresistible submarine force. Then you advance another foot, then the other one, and in this way you move on to live in a state of unstable balance and maximum attention. In fact, there is no net, they never managed to put it in, and that which they say that the abyss of death is infinite. Now it looks like they're trying to fix it in the labs, but what they want me to tell them won't be the same anymore.
I was initiated one clear morning when a young doctor looking me in the eyes told me, in that arcane language that they like to speak since ancient times, that in my body was growing one of those words that rhyme with tumor and also with malignant, a couple of words that if we were let them free would fulminate me in a literal and irreversible way. It was there that I felt the true emptiness of death, it was there that I felt the trembling tension of life's tightrope. And so I slowly left the world of those who believe themselves to be blessed celestial and entered the desert of true mortals. I saw that I was not alone, that the chasm was crossed by an infinity of coloured threads, I could hear the howling of the wind between the strings, the silent music that emerges from the bowels of the earth and the heart of man. I finally found the meaning of life that is simply to stay alive. I remembered who I am, I recovered my name, I chose to walk, I became an initiate capable of working miracles, a child of light.
And here I am being held by these verses which, despite their presumed indolence, are tenaciously resilient. One here comes to realize the unfathomable strength that conceals weakness. Within matter itself, there are fine filaments of unwavering will which, when cut, explode with disproportionate violence. Within each innocent poem there are connections capable of reaching the hardest heart and releasing a breath of orange blossom and afternoon sea breeze. That is why I can proclaim, without any doubt, that there is still hope. Humanity advances united in a tree-dwelling tapestry that ascends towards the light weaving its countless threads in a cascade of colour and sound, of harmonious cadence. To see it, it is necessary to cross the veil of the initiates, it is not usually easy to return to count it. I'm not sure why on this occasion someone lifted the veil to let these pages escape. Take advantage of the poetic misunderstanding to live as alive as you can and thus allow your existence to be founded on the pure poetry of all others.
Para ser un iniciado de la vida hay que saber que estamos prácticamente muertos. Cruzar esa apariencia de normalidad y salud que tal vez nos recubra, atravesar el páramo baldío de la levedad humana y llegar a la plena consciencia de saberse en el puro borde que separa la existencia del vacío pulsante que constituye el universo.
To be a life initiated, one must know that we are practically dead. To cross that aspect of normality and health that perhaps covers us, to cross the wasteland of human lightness and to reach the full consciousness of knowing ourselves on the pure edge that separates the existence of the pulsating emptiness that constitutes the universe.
In that slack rope you feel fear if you lower your eyes to the second law of thermodynamics but if you manage to keep it elevated you are able to take a step because the horizon pulls your body like a magnet of irresistible submarine force. Then you advance another foot, then the other one, and in this way you move on to live in a state of unstable balance and maximum attention. In fact, there is no net, they never managed to put it in, and that which they say that the abyss of death is infinite. Now it looks like they're trying to fix it in the labs, but what they want me to tell them won't be the same anymore.
I was initiated one clear morning when a young doctor looking me in the eyes told me, in that arcane language that they like to speak since ancient times, that in my body was growing one of those words that rhyme with tumor and also with malignant, a couple of words that if we were let them free would fulminate me in a literal and irreversible way. It was there that I felt the true emptiness of death, it was there that I felt the trembling tension of life's tightrope. And so I slowly left the world of those who believe themselves to be blessed celestial and entered the desert of true mortals. I saw that I was not alone, that the chasm was crossed by an infinity of coloured threads, I could hear the howling of the wind between the strings, the silent music that emerges from the bowels of the earth and the heart of man. I finally found the meaning of life that is simply to stay alive. I remembered who I am, I recovered my name, I chose to walk, I became an initiate capable of working miracles, a child of light.
And here I am being held by these verses which, despite their presumed indolence, are tenaciously resilient. One here comes to realize the unfathomable strength that conceals weakness. Within matter itself, there are fine filaments of unwavering will which, when cut, explode with disproportionate violence. Within each innocent poem there are connections capable of reaching the hardest heart and releasing a breath of orange blossom and afternoon sea breeze. That is why I can proclaim, without any doubt, that there is still hope. Humanity advances united in a tree-dwelling tapestry that ascends towards the light weaving its countless threads in a cascade of colour and sound, of harmonious cadence. To see it, it is necessary to cross the veil of the initiates, it is not usually easy to return to count it. I'm not sure why on this occasion someone lifted the veil to let these pages escape. Take advantage of the poetic misunderstanding to live as alive as you can and thus allow your existence to be founded on the pure poetry of all others.
Para ser un iniciado de la vida hay que saber que estamos prácticamente muertos. Cruzar esa apariencia de normalidad y salud que tal vez nos recubra, atravesar el páramo baldío de la levedad humana y llegar a la plena consciencia de saberse en el puro borde que separa la existencia del vacío pulsante que constituye el universo.
En esa cuerda floja sientes miedo si desciendes la vista a la segunda ley de la termodinámica pero si consigues mantenerla elevada eres capaz de dar un paso porque el horizonte tira de tu cuerpo como un imán de irresistible fuerza submarina. Luego avanzas otro pie, mas adelante el otro y de esta forma pasas a vivir en un estado de equilibrio inestable y máxima atención. Efectivamente no hay red, nunca llegaron a ponerla y eso que dicen que el abismo de la muerte es infinito. Ahora parece que lo están intentando arreglar en los laboratorios, pero qué quieren que les diga, ya no será lo mismo.
Yo me inicié una mañana despejada cuando una joven doctora mirándome a los ojos me dijo en ese idioma arcano que gustan hablar desde la antigüedad que en mi crecía una de esas palabras que riman con tumor y también con maligno, un verso libre que dejado a su albur me haría sin dudar caer de una manera fulminante, literal, irreversible. Fue ahí cuando sentí el verdadero vacío de la muerte, fue ahí donde sentí la trémula tensión de la cuerda floja de la vida. Y de esa forma abandoné despacio el mundo de los que se creen celestes bienaventurados para adentrarme en el desierto de los verdaderos mortales. Vi que no estaba solo, que la sima era cruzada por infinidad de hilos de colores, pude escuchar el ulular del viento entre las cuerdas, la música silente que emerge de las entrañas de la tierra y el corazón del hombre. Encontré por fin el sentido de la vida que es sencillamente mantenerse con vida. Recordé quien soy, recuperé mi nombre, elegí caminar, me convertí en un iniciado capaz de hacer milagros, un hijo de la luz.
Y aquí me tienen tratando de agarrarme a su mano mediante estos versos que pese a su presunta indolencia son tenazmente resistentes. Uno aquí llega a darse cuenta de la insondable fuerza que esconde la debilidad. Dentro de la propia materia hay finos filamentos de inquebrantable voluntad que al ser cortados explotan con desproporcionada violencia. Dentro de cada inocente poema existen conexiones capaces de alcanzar el corazón más duro y liberar en él un soplo de azahar y de brisa marina de la tarde. Por eso puedo proclamar, sin ningún ápice de duda, que todavía hay esperanza. La humanidad avanza unida en un tapiz arborescente que asciende hacia la luz tejiendo sus incontables hilos en una cascada de color y sonido, de armónica cadencia. Para verla es necesario cruzar el velo de los iniciados, no suele ser sencillo volver para contarlo. No tengo claro porqué en esta ocasión alguien levantó el velo para dejar escapar estas cuartillas. Aprovecha el poético despiste para vivir lo más vivo que puedas y de esa forma permitir que tu existencia se funda a la pura poesía de todos los demás.
1 comentario:
Son bonitas palabras de redescubrirse a uno mismo en este camino de la vida que llevamos cada criatura que habitamos esta nave tierra viajado por el espacio por la eternidad y si la lucha es por la vida que es bella, eso me hace acordar hace unos días estaba reclamando unos medicamentos, de pronto vi una anciana que estaba sentada y decía lo siguiente. (que no la dejaran morir que la vida es buena, como es de bueno vivirla) me imaginado que era por que no le habían entregado los medicamentos. Y eso me dejo una enseñanza de vida, que cada momento es valioso.
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