La bella rosa
varada en el arroyo;
La bella rosa
varada en el arroyo;
Me he dejado
el calcetín encima
de la lámpara.
flores caídas encuentro
extraigo de la ciencia
Ante la ausencia,
el dolor y el sufrimiento
empuño el senryu.
Sé que nunca me amaste;
más incluso, que nunca me quisiste
hasta que en el percance
bien que a ti te dijiste
que no vale la pena el arma en ristre.
Sé que no soy ejemplo
todavía, más la senda y el tiempo
sabrán hacer del templo
-do’ habita lo que siento-
el guiar mi paso al son del viento.
No mates la esperanza;
bien tan sólo hay que saber ocultarla
en el pozo, en la panza
y salir a liarla
teniendo el caos y el orden en balanza.
A day, middle April, 2019
Painting by Gao Xingjian
Today it has been my third day in a row at the cemetery; the modest, rectangular niches showing the faces of the ones gone and the loving gestures of the ones staying have become aswell acquantinces and reminders of the value and worthiness of life. As I walk by the gates of the graveyard into the paceful atmosphere, the place gets surrounded by the joyful laugthers of the children at the nearby primmary school, the rythmic sound of people playing basketball in the pitch and the natural mystic melody of the river Llobregat flowing just a dozen of meters away.
Last December my best friend and soul mate decided, by his own hand and will, to join the ones that became dust at the niches of the graveyard. Relatives, father figures, friends and beloved ones have become more numerous among the dark realms were dead remain existing, but without being alive. Mostly they were gone due to natural causes, but also a decent ratio of the ones closer to my heart have abandoned this world by violent accidents, assasination and, now, also suicide.
As I climb the stairs getting closer to the nich of my beloved friend, on the second floor of the new annex of the cemetery, I try to put myself in contact with the strong and intense emotions I am feeling these days. The news of my father’s loungue cancer have affected my capacity of processing grief; I cannot ask anymore the living ones to help me manage emotions that are not related anymore to the ones alive, but to the ones gone.
I do realize my subjective insanity has arrived at a point were I am truly feeling not understood by the majority of people surrounding me. I do know it is not anymore their duty or in their development to fully understand and be able to follow the paths that my mind is able to psyquically walk.
I understand life losses of the most beloved persons in one-self’s experience can deeply affect the inner equilibrium in ways that, if not healed and processed properly, have the abilitty to deeply change and affect the paths, bridges and acqueducts we build to our inner and outter perception. They do aswell events related to phyisical or phsyquic thrauma, and are also largely influenced by self-telled-truths and the balance, care and manteinance of the inputs and outputs we build and create with the living and not living beings.
Only reborned, restarted, regenerated I’ll be able to survive to this event. The old, faithful and beloved neuroprogramming of my own mind has come to return again under the control of my conscience. Every journey, quest and pilgrimage is felt as constantly blooming inside, aswell as every misfortune, misery and tragedy.
Just say ‘Insha’allah things get better’.
Water on the grass;
don’t know which drops are rain
which ones my tears