I am tired of this vacuous modernity. I am tired of a superficial world that underestimates the value of simplicity. I am tired of a world that rests on the inane, the frivolous, and I am tired of a world incapable of remaining in silence. Where’s the value of simplicity? Where’s the value of a simple life? 

I want to live a simple life. And I certainly do not mean an uncomplicated, dull or effortlessly unproblematic life. No, life is full of intricacies and that’s what makes it beautiful. I guess, what I mean when I say simple life is more or less a humane life. A life where people can compassionately connect with other people. Not with a world where superficiality and materialism reign. 

That is what I mean when I say I want to lead a simple life. I do not want the superficial existence I’m offered. I want a world where people make love, not just have sex. A world where people listen to you, not just hear you. A world where you can connect, not just pretend you care. A world where I can empathize with you, feel your pains and your joys. 

I want to live a meaningful, profound, insightful, sincere life. I want a life where I build abridge with you. A bridge based on our common humanity, that tiny fraction of DNA that makes us unlike any other animal in this planet. A world where you can look into someone’s eyes and see their soul. Not because you are a stalker, but rather because you want to relate to them. 

I strongly belief that life is not only a sequence of events, but also a sequence of emotions:pain, love, desperation, joy, animosity, tranquility, belligerence, but above all, hope. I want to feel the overpowering nature of our humanity. I want the possibility of feeling compassion and suffering, not because I am a masochist, but rather because they allow me tofeel human. 

A few years ago when I lived in Mexico, on a rainy, cold and foggy morning my father took us to have breakfast at the house of someone he knew. He didn’t tell us who we were visiting and gave really no further explanation. All I remember is that he woke us up really early, before sunrise. I first thought we were visiting family but when he drove out of the town and took the road out into the rural area, I realized something interesting was about to happen.

He drove us through a muddy road in the back of a pick up. It took us quite a while to get there. The roads were muddy because of the rains and were almost impassable. We drove past cornfields, ranchos, grazing cows and the occasional vicious dog that chased the pickup. 

Finally, after a very bumpy journey, we arrived. The house seemed tiny against the exuberant vegetation brought about by the incessant summer rains. What I realized as we got closer was that the house looked very, very humble: a very modest, single-room house with red-tile roof in the middle of a huge lot, a firewood outdoor kitchen, a bunch of boisterous chickens, a curious dog and many smiling faces.

I remember it had rained heavily the night before and the whole grassless yard was very muddy. We walked about 50 meters until we were greeted by a tall man, his wife, and kids. They were really poor, yet they woke up even earlier than we did, fired the fire-wood outdoor kitchen when it was still rainy and cold cooked an entire breakfast for us. 

They were really poor and yet offered all they had, the best they had really. They felt really happy we had come but were embarrassed because they had no ‘decent’ chairs for us to sit in so we ate breakfast standing by the firewood. After breakfast, we talked endlessly for hours, ran around the muddy patio, and played with their kids. We went home a couple of hours later. 

C'est le temps de récapituler. 
C'est le temps de voler. 
C'est le temps de ouvrir mes ailes et de ne retourner jamais. 
C'est le temps d'oublier. 
( Il n'y a pas d'autre choix que fermer mes yeux et feindre que rien n'existe plus.)
C'est le temps d'ignorer l'appel de mon âme. (C'est la fin du voyage.)

C'est le temps...

Escrito en una tarde feliz. De verdad que hay momentos tan especiales que nadie ni nada puede robarte la felicidad que sientes en ese momento. Hoy fue uno de esos días.

Podría morir en este momento bajo este cielo tan azul y radiante, tan pletórico y de color tan profundo, 

Podría morir en este momento con el césped rozándome ligeramente, acariciándome los pies y con el viento suave meciéndose entre las hojas,

Podría morir en este momento con la vida en las manos, rozándome la piel 

Podría realmente morir en este momento sabiendo que he sido, aún si fue sólo un momento, completamente feliz

No estés nunca dispuesto a amordazar ni el alma ni la conciencia en pos de la tranquilidad del mundo. ¿de qué sirve vivir sosegado si al hacerlo uno ha acallado la conciencia y la voluntad? ¿de qué sirve vivir tranquilo si ese sosiego implica vivir la vida viéndola desde la perspectiva de otros? ¿de qué sirve vivir una vida cuyo libreto ha sido escrito por manos ajenas? Eso no es vida. Es una representación teatral. Es la interpretación de un papel, de una obra, de intenciones previamente redactadas. La vida es rebeldía. Es la guerra más impetuosa e intensa jamás luchada entre la volición y la imposición, entre la libertad personal y las expectativas. Y no, no me refiero a la estructura necesaria e indispensable que toda vida con sentido supone. No, me refiero al acatamiento incuestionado de la voluntad de otros. De esta manera, la vida es sobreponerse a las imposiciones del mundo y de luchar en pos de la felicidad personal. Es comprender la existencia y la importancia del plural pero antes anteponer la primera persona del singular. Es conjugar tus verbos en primera persona.

Bebe, canta, sueña Siente que el viento Ha sido hecho para ti Vive, escucha y habla Usando para ello el corazón Siente que la lluvia Besa tu cara Cuando haces el amor Grita con el alma Grita tan alto Que de tu vida, tú seas Amigo el único actor --'Molinos de Viento' de Mago de Oz