“When someone does not know things, enough misfortune bears; if he does not like them, don’t look at them; and if he stops in order to contemplate them, look at them with respect. It is the least demanded by the most elemental education”. Jorge Puyó Navarro. Notes of a shepher’s life.
“By listening that melody, those celestial notes, I was feeling sent to other worlds, true paradises, in which holy fragrances from glorious gardens and oasis in remote deserts, caressed my pale countenance embraced by wrinkles in the shape of pure cracks that where showing to the world, how exhausted I was to keep living…”
I am forty three years old and this is the story of my life… of my regretful life. A story about disappointments and lies, shadows and falseness but above all things, about disappointments.
I am writing this to be my testimony, my only valid acknowledgement… the only single thing I can feel proud of.
Probably this words sound sad, but truthfully life is sad. No blossoming lasts… just some ephemeral moments to fade away instantly.
I am not writing to be liked. Most of you will detest every single expression here confessed, every letter… however, others will reflect themselves on the crudity of these pages, and in their silences, in the solitude of their spirits, will thank me for this rebellion against the biggest pantomime ever created: life.
I look around and I see nothing. Since long time ago, I am seeing just nothing. It is a cloudy and cold day of December. Christmas time coming, but I am away, absent, very far away from here… and probably I will never come back anymore.
I am driving through a lost road… a forgotten path where everything seems not to matter, like the used toy despised in a dirty corner.
My hopes: a senseless ravine in the woods of my fears, where the sunshine has been banished forever. That is the painting: defeat like the shaking hand. Melancholies and nostalgias the only colors… the loyal friends… and we all dance, ceaselessly, in perfect harmony… and they show me the true semblance of my spirit… old and ready whispering to me that my time is over.
The music from the wind, brings me to this nowness… fictitious or just as real as it seems to be… The rain is embracing the solitary car, so lonesome there, surrounded by desperation and anguish… by rendition and capitulation… Pouring rain… ruthless raindrops perforating echoes from eternal wishes never listened to…
I feel the urge to stop… stop everything… the docile everlasting agreement… the treacherous tomorrow… the coward apathy… the threads of the disgraceful puppet I became… the dishonesty I led by life with… I need to stop… once and for all…
I stop the car… I get off… possessed… possessed by angels or maybe tormenter sinners… The light from the moon dribbles the purple curtain illuminating everything… I flow, I fly… I am not there… I am being transported to magical kingdoms… golden hearts… where there is no need of escape… where what it is and where what it seems to be, are just one and the same purifying thing…
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