Return from death

From the sky, cities were seen as huge swarms of cells that glowed and darkened permanently. The shadows advance or retreat to the swaying of the winds that seemed to accommodate the new circumstances. The shadow of death had left us. The struggle of science, doing research with its thousands of eyes in the depths of living beings, and listening in the different forms that it presented, they could never defeat it. It didn't matter that they cornered her momentarily. She multiplied because she needed her shadow to hover over all of us. Some despised her and amused themselves by calling her at the wrong time. Yet she was rushing to do her duty. He quickly organized his abode. Then came the rigidity of the body, and very soon the worms merged with it into a new being that was integrated into nature. He patiently spun the decomposition of one life, transforming it into another, until it became part of the matter from which it had been germinated. He enjoyed all of this. I can't remember it very well, but I know that for millennia we fled from his presence, that presence that was a shadow that mourned our hearts, stealing the heat from our bodies without asking our permission. Now we were mired in sadness. His absence seemed definitive. It all started in a casual way. We prepared giant bonfires in order to celebrate the ephemeris of the colonization of outer space that we believed to be unique. And it was not so. We lived in one of the many spaces that exist everywhere. We discovered that our space was more restricted than we expected. There were many manifestations of matter by which time transformed it at speeds almost impossible to quantify. Time absorbed us in infinity of labyrinths not previously inhabited by matter or life. It was nothing. In one of those spaces while we are organizing the commemorations that I am telling you, death left us. As simple as that. We knew this because the solar system seemed to have been anchored in the center of the universe. The sunlight was static. Its fire cooled and the night stretched out to make us forget the calendar that we patiently built for centuries with the help of the constellations and the Gods. As the wrinkles in the earth were not enough to cover each one of our bodies, we had to paint them with saliva, to remember that a lot of time passed in our surroundings. We were ancient, just beginning to conquer the world. Our insights they changed each other upside down and we could see them through our shadows that stretched and shrunk, identical to that of cities as we tried to remember the world we live in. Finally, we decided to forget about death. A shadow appeared in the sky. We had found another space and another death in another time. The cities took on another grayish hue and the concrete shadows blur the new shadow that was growing. At dawn, a new summer shone in our eyes. Only then could we verify that the memories surfaced and the shadow spread throughout all our pores. Death returned in another way. We had to invent a new calendar.

Fishing for Pisces

Everyone knows that the first forms of life appeared at the bottom of the ocean, and then populated the earth's surface. It is no coincidence that most of our bodies are made up of water, and that without it none of the living beings that we know can exist. Furthermore, who can assert against the fact that, just as man has wanted to fly, he has also wanted to live at the bottom of the sea. At least we all want to know that liquid and majestic mass that moves on the surface of the earth. Now, you may wonder why I am telling you this story. It happens that it is about many insatiable fishermen who wade through rivers and seas in search of fortunes. In the sea I have seen the scientific advance used to satisfy the human appetite. In return, I never tire of observing the sky and counting the stars that make up the constellation Pisces. I don't need nets or lures for fish. I dive into the ocean in the dead of night and find the fish in the starlight scales that shine in the sky. I feel the happiness when caressing the fire of each one of them, while the others leave their nets to the swaying of the waves. When you manage to get the fish that I am telling you, and you can tell the wrinkles of the history of life and of man, I will tell you why I look at the sky next. Only in this way, I rediscover the image of Pisces.

The infinite man

My residence is in the gloom of the finite and infinite. Light and shadow are my companions through becoming without beginning or end. From me the constellations came out into the immensity of the void to return in a concentric sphere to the jaws that like a black circle absorbs all matter. Above space I build the floating palaces of stars, planets and constellations that move like clouds for centuries impossible to count. Sometimes I let the world go on throbbing with fire. Others, that it walks under the glacial cold that crushes the fire and makes it solid. From time to time I ride the steed of speed and light through the gardens of outer space, sowing life on the planets that collect water in their vessels. My breath, I distribute it in bulk. Life lulls in my eyes of fire. Intelligence overflows beings because I allow it. There is no man or living being that is a product of mine. Life is so ephemeral that a single breath was enough to wander through space. As my years are infinite, I calculate the finite life between pain and hope. I am the content and the form. I am the three dimensions, although some say four. The rains of the rays of light are the transients of the memories that transfer the material in the castles that I make, and the worlds that I forge. I am what everyone is and even if they do not want to, I will lull them with my breaths to the bottom of the void of death. Their lives are my breaths. If they wish, they may continue to reap the happiness of living.

The model and the painter

The model wants to move. She is tired of being in the same position. He winks at the painter. Through the window you can see a sunny day. He moves his hand deftly. She speaks intensely. He has never been able to like such little music. He tells about a tragedy in his personal life. One day when I was accompanied by a friend, two guys armed with knives came out. They were going through a desolate part of the city where there is only stubble and streets that look more like extensive pastures of sand and stone.

-Go away, they tell the friend.

-Yes, do it, answered this one.

Outside, the owner of the house knocks on the door. He threatens to bring in the police. They cannot live in the room without paying the rent. It plays the ignorant. With her clothes stained with oil, she only has her eyes and her heart for the model. She replies that they will pay her with the proceeds from the sale of the painting. The classical music broadcast on the radio inspires him. Some houses can be seen in the painting. She, as she is, occupies all the space of the painting. In the background you can see the city. The girl speaks louder. He tries to turn off the music with his voice.

-Yes love. The very fagots raped me!

Stretch your legs yawning. Fool painter. Living from art is like living on illusions.

-We deserve a break, says this one at last.

He leaves the room in search of water, and again the owner of the house with her chant. He returns to her in a pot and puts it to boil, while the girl frolics on the mattress that serves as their bed. The water boils, and again it is heard when it is watered. They don't know about themselves.

-With you I'm starving. If I were homeless, I would earn more.

The owner insists again.

-Okay, I will give you this painting as soon as I finish it.

The noise of the cars is heard through the window. Night has come, and the painter finishes his work. The owner prefers to receive the painting.

The model and the painter argue. Life goes on.

 

The train of love and dreams *

The departure left an immense cloud of steam at the station stop behind the sparks produced by the wheels as they moved on the rails. Nobody, nobody knew at what moment he would leave. It was as if the vision of the train disappeared for the passengers who did not manage to board in time, and who also wanted that imaginary adventure. We only realized that we started when the porter let us enter through the door of the car near the driver. Access closed, there were no more questions to be asked. The train was going at incredible speed. It crossed the space without allowing us to quantify the elapsed time. We passed the cities with their neon lights illuminating us at nights that rather resembled astronauts who, without the force of gravity, floated in outer space among the bolides of light that like blasts of air expelled the stars that were moving away in the immensity of the firmament. Sweaty we went through the rails carried by the framework that crossed the distances hurting the void at high speeds. Sometimes it seemed that the stars hovered around the windows. Other times, the sidereal zone let the darkness touch. A soft melody lulled the passengers, and then we had the urge to enjoy the acceleration when the time of our lives decreased or increased as it pleased. Inside we did not feel the sting of this in the years of the fast hearts.

We were going through galactic corridors against the train track. We made love in the moments that the memories crowded together to leave us the satisfaction of what we experienced. We were playing future roulette in one of the wagons. The first to enter the locomotive were the first to return to the station. This happened at the moment of going through all the wagons at unlimited speeds. Other passengers waited outside, impatiently dreaming of celebrating their happiness in the worlds that the fleeting vehicle scrutinized. The hour hand always marked the same time of day and year that we approached it. We savor the future without moving from the present. A trip on the train of love and dreams. As we descended, we breathed the air of the restless city again as if the machine had not moved from its place, while the sky satisfied our emotions. An inscrutable reality that disturbed dreams. An eternal journey of life within the vastness of the cosmos.

* A tribute to Einstein's theory of relativity.

Last night in a lonely alley I tried to rob the guy I'm telling you. It came tumbling from side to side. I walked over quickly and grabbed him by the flap of the jacket, while it pulled him close to the wall. He asked what if I killed those who didn't have a penny in their pockets.

-I said yes, even with many money.

He proceeded to get rid of the jacket and shirt. He showed me a stain on his heart, in case I had a revolver.

-I answered no.

Then he pointed to his right side, at the end of one of the floating ribs, in a wound that was bleeding. He told me to proceed.

I did it ruthlessly with the knife in my hand.

Dumbfounded I looked at him. It was the same. Without saying anything, he continued on the path he was leading. If you believe as I do, it could be Jesus Christ who made me such a charade.

The magician

The magician has been harassing man for centuries. Live in the immensity of the void sheltered from the sinister shadows left by the lights of the stars. It levitates its shadow through the centuries and lets us reach its magical breath in strange sounds that blind us with its hidden forces. The fight against these has always been because it is not a mortal enemy. His stubbornness in colonizing human mysteries made us do a thousand times all our intelligence, so as not to fall into the darkness of the cosmos. 

On that occasion the invention of fire served to light the torches in all corners of the planet that dazzled the conjurer and forced him to illuminate the shadows that travel in infinite space. Knowing his failure, he built an imaginary mirror located between the lights of the stars, and made the lights travel fleetingly, breaking our hearts. That was how everything we did fell apart and the matter turned out to be an enchanted dream. We also had to break that spell, because we are in danger of being pure hallucinations. That's why we dream of this one, to make it more real.