creative stuff

genesis

When your mind begins to fall, you don’t hear a click in your head. You silently turn into words.

People tell me to move on. It is a collective reflex, I suppose.
Voices and voices.
Echoes.
Whispers.

I cannot understand the meaning of their words. There is no forward here.

Between my everything and my nothing there is no difference left. Between truth and its absence there is no empty space.

I am not dead.
I am not yet mad.

The only thing left is a question mark.

Is there a question I cannot see?
One that I never answered?
Or, maybe one that I never asked?
What is it?

Silence. Its music is deafening at times.

Is it me?

I was born with the heart of a pilgrim, the pain of an orphan and the restlessness of a hungry demon.
Shadowland is my home. What kind of faith did I expect?

We are billions living here, isolated from each other.
Unconnected living dots.
We cannot see light at the end of the tunnel.
Most of the days, we cannot even find a tunnel.
Seldom, when we crack the darkness, the shadow is the only light there is.

We climb hills hoping to reach mountains, but we only reach new hills. I put my foot forward in the unknown. This step is the only horizon I can see.

I do not know what light is.
I just imagine it.
Sometimes, I even dream it.

I look at the sun from space and I see it surrounded by endless darkness. Still, its light breaks through and reaches distant destinations.

Is it me?

(excerpt from Camino del Sol, the 1st fascicle – Lava Heart)

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