Cargando...
I want to begin firmly the search for certain satisfactions that have turned dark and fugitive. I would like to invite you to commune in harmony, yet today we bleed spiritually—with splintered bones and hundreds of thorns piercing us. They are one of the many faces of the viruses that plague us, chaining us to beds and uncertainty. Some of these infections seem like children of the deepest horror films. They attack as if you owed them something, sowing within you the fear of the darkest shadows.
Sometimes, in the midst of pain and the despair these illnesses inoculate, when silent thought is the wisest way to speak, there are those detached from reality who explore an abyss where life and its actions contradict each other—those that place us before the mirror and challenge us to defy certain criteria and decisions founded on solutions far from earthly.
Today, walking through the streets of any corner of the country is to confront daily bonfires, where unsanitary conditions, neglect, insecurity, disrespect, and indecency ally with pathogenic bacteria and burn away desires and faith.
We breathe ashes, and with fists full of pain we try to smother these anguishes, which not only inhabit bodies and spirits but also rule our daily lives at will.
In the midst of the storm, there are those who fabricate a personal musical universe, only to set it aflame when they cannot grasp it in its true magnitude. Others are to blame—those who choose not to assume responsibility. That is another of the faces of the viruses that ravage the soul.
I argue that, to some extent, we are becoming at times a cynical society, where pessimism and distrust crack the very foundation of survival—as if dissolved in an acidic water of sadness.
Life is a storm that shows no respect. Sometimes, to challenge it without solid and effective arguments can place us at a point of no return, blinded by the glare of misfortune.
Today, oral viruses and germs with terrible faces bring us to our knees. Many, appealing to their deepest will, converse with nostalgia, fury, and certain deities, trying to strengthen their shield against the power of those arrows.
We are fatigued, wounded, and vulnerable—objects of doubts and consolations. Perhaps we are a raw metaphor of time and wear. Perhaps something worse: those whose trust, even their kindness, has been kidnapped.
