The message
The verses add words, units of thought in their simplest state, which would be little by themselves. A solicitous thought comes to life from the drop-in call that arose from the soul, fullness that hangs over me with the extensive invitation to find the reason for things. With that perfect binder between a man's mind and the need to occupy his space. Beyond the known precepts, closer to a truth...
It has to happen to all of us! The difference being the subjective behavior of each one. Some feel they are on the right track and their self-realization is so immense that they claim to have it all. On the other hand, for me, it does not work the same, I do not think I have anything that I can spare and that plan prepared for me is not entirely clear.
The vine of knowledge like sap, flows when I least expect it, I see a wide stream of ideas left adrift, which calls me. Codes turned into a challenge instigating to be deciphered, so that it may be ambition or my ability to deliver, love of art, the blind discoverer of its secret.
Little catches my attention what ties to destiny, that set of deliberate events in a mysterious season that always leads to the same thing, the end. Luck is in the way of taking steps, going around the world collecting shipwrecks of people who wanted to do something and ended up adorning reality with clear motives of passion, untouchable as success, candid muses that disappear leaving an inspirational trail for someone Author.
And the stanza was my partial achievement, I couldn't believe I could organize my thinking so clearly. It was a strangeness to see myself reflected in that, hence the forged questions, questions that I ask myself a thousand times and whose answers have not yet been revealed to me: Who is behind this? Is poetry a mirror?... Finite like life?... Who am I deep down? That something that works in me, is it good or bad?...
And I feel when it comes to me, with each new form that takes me by surprise, only she knows what she wants to do and the new path that she shows me, I just follow it, I just let myself be drawn to meet her, like now:
Suddenly I hear the kick drum repeated so many times in an intro, dueling to the death, opening the beat, suggesting that I enter, with the stereo gloating tick that makes me breathe as deeply as I can. Paused tones, deaf, deep, ponchos, run through my back wanting to come out like a shot. Esophageal sounds supported by the walls of the skull that help me organize them, transforming them into a language tool, sometimes in a clumsy musical attempt. Each letter with its intonation, duration and accent, half of the sound is air, expelled by airways, articulated by strings and the nasal cavity playing a determining role that achieves concert.
This is how I feel when I am slowly a victim of my mental world, without prior agreement, conditioned to be me, the experiment, with no option to assume the results. I wreak havoc and become the unexplained. Even though I know what's going on !; It is death, looking for a living message to make its legacy, choosing another shipwreck from humanity to add to the immense sea of which I have spoken at the beginning.
Life consists of leaving testimony, we are the raw material of something, just as we deplete the planet's resources in the end we are also its food. I wonder if I am worthy among those worthy of making history with my hands, releasing verses to the wind so that they fly high enough to reach the least expected place.
"All this has helped me to understand that the body is a map, the mind a record of what we do, and the messenger would be nothing, without establishing an authentic message for posterity".
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And I see it when it is born, we promote the media, we have the language, the sender, the receiver and the message. We are surrounded by codes, mnemonics, signs, symbols, which we must learn to use. I am sure that my body is a message and I have been given the task of deciphering it. To keep my faith I stay far enough away from idols, anything that brings misery to the world would be useless in trying to finish my job.
In the known world, human beings have been transferred the same power, the same mission without distinction; leave a mark on the earth or contribute a grain of sand for the construction of the temple, shelter of our souls.
I insist, the meaning of the work you leave is worth more than the number of pages it contains. Because the messenger is the message and a skeleton is like a single word, they add verses, add feelings, the stanza that we all contribute by organizing our world into letters.
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