The aurora and his hat _

In memoriam: to the tita.

Day 1: The quarantine myth

I have not launched my ideas for many years, but I hope my computer and my ability to dream my feeling.Quarantine or Lent come from the same Latin root forty;One seeks physical separation, the other seeks inner work to transform our weaknesses, to approach God into ourselves.I wonder if in the midst of quarantine we will not be able to make a commitment to see ourselves naked in our confinement and, instead of fleeing from us, cramming ourselves from distractions, noise and diatribes, cultivating the silence that gives us so much fear.We can decide whether we want to draw the contour of our limitations, or if in watercolor we dare to transgress everything and add the color that is born.I find it a unique opportunity to reflect, to return to our gifts, to thank, to forgive, to look for the return to the cave.

Within our homes we can take the position of men chained behind a wall, and only at the distance see the shadows projected by objects, or being that man who manages to free himself from his chains and begins to ascend in the cave walking towardsThat blinding fire.As a consequence of a decision, he leaves the cave and observes directly to the objects, of which he only saw his shadows.The beauty at all in everything unveiled, he met her, he met.Then this man tries to return to the cave to free the other prisoners, and many prefer to stay.

We suggest reading: Call for the “Pandemic newspapers” project, from the National University of Colombia in alliance with the spectator

Let us not be those prisoners who decided to be chained when we had the possibility of being free.Our freedom is not blinded by walls and adobes.That we have the boldness from whoever is released and walks towards the light, even in the midst of the dark and terrifying projections.Our path is to get out of the prison of the images that we have built of ourselves and allow ourselves to compose a new melody in which our being flourishes and fully ecstatic.There is no quarantine without Lent.There is no Lent without freedom.Quarantine is a myth.Let's rewrite it.

DAY 2: FLATING ATTEMPT

While the prisoners of this country mutiny in prisons and there were moments of anguish for them and their relatives, there were shouts and tears, tears of a mother were seen without knowing their son 15 days ago, tears that claim forgiveness of a mistake. The rage made fire rose against those who exert power. The "private" of liberty were enraged and in a concerted manner inflamed their right, to the expense of deaths, of suffering, of renouncing the time of freedom. Everything seems paradoxical: while they shouted their pain, a whole country - who lived, saved the proportions, an confinement for the first time in their history - watched him in their homes. Yes, today we are living the social isolation that they live, without bars or guards. Do we not all deserve a compensation opportunity? Isn't it time to think about those beings that, being guilty or not, deserve compassion? Do we deserve it? Could it be that there is dignity in that confinement? And in ours? What can we do or learn to make our quarantine not a desperate cry but an opportunity to reinvent ourselves? While in the model jail they were debated between life and death, here in an apartment in Medellín, I reflected on putting on the shoes of the other. While the National Anthem and that of Antioquia rose grandiloquent in the air, and people with pans applauded, I thought that we still have in our hands the option of lightening the burden of our friends and enemies, with a call, with a thought, with a thought, with A WhatsApp, with a transfer, with a statement or with a silence. That is not the fury of a few who disconcens the purpose of many, let's be loving and compassionate. The love conquers all.

Day 3: Defense first line

After declaring the prison emergency and that the National Government issued a regulatory decree on mandatory preventive isolation, rifirrafes have been raised between the so -called territorial entities and the national government for the use of the pension resources of said entities, and the destination thatThey would do themselves.

On the other hand, in the press conference in which the decree is socialized, public opinion is reiterated again and again that the overcoming of this contingency will be achieved if society joins, if it settles its differences, and that is in ourHands link them to the prevention, containment and mitigation of the effects of this virus in our population.

Contradictory is to see the mayor then launched in a ristre against the President of the Republic on Twitter, when a couple of days ago, in a joint press conference, coordination with the national government exalted. Or talk about a minimum distancing of two meters and see all the ministers sitting at the press conference less than a meter away. How is it difficult to be coherent? Once, someone told me that the coherence was to say what he did and to do what he said, or even more so that he said or say whatever it was. Beyond this tongue twisted, my being and my doing must be combined in such a way that it is and stop being, in each action, with attention and full consciousness. In Franca against the ego, the "crown virus" that corrodes our spirit. This is the time for us to reflect if we are consistent with our purpose, with ourselves, with our deepest desires, with our dreams. If we are an instrument that is tuned and interprets the divine score, or if on the contrary we are automatons trapped by the distraction of the world and by the army, which, as the first line of defense, moves us away from beauty and confines us in the Castle of the "Corona Virus". For the sample, a button: yesterday I put on a goal in line with my purpose and distract me watching Netflix. Don't happen to you. The work is permanent. Let's break down that first line of defense and be consistent at all times. That will give us inner peace!

Day 4: Res non verba

When I was a girl, my grandfather, with her remedy in hand, which was a whiskey in the rocks whose dosage was exact, I sat down to take an exam: whether or not I knew Latin phrases. My grandfather loved that a grandson or granddaughter moved along those paths that he gladly walked in his young years. I remember that one afternoon he told me: "Res non verba", and I replied: "Acts, no words"; And then he told me "Alea Jacta est", and I snatched the word to almost push him and answer: "Luck is thrown." At that time I could not understand that the senses of both phrases were opposite, I only thought: yes, I succeeded! And at the same time I watched my grandfather's satisfaction face ... I knew he had made it happy! If we assume that "the coin is already turning in the air," as Jorge Drexler's song says, and that there is nothing to do and everything is written, where is our will, our free will? And how are we supposed to change? Will we achieve it looking at empty streets from our windows? We must act in balance, responding to that certainty that breaks the wind as an arrow and reaches the goal. Action and stillness, words and silence. Are they not complementary ingredients? Yesterday I watched on television, and as always antagonistic protagonists of this cartoon, on the one hand, the streets crowded by people who are more afraid of hunger than the lethal virus, making rows waiting for a false subsidy or market, and by On the side, the story of an Italian priest who gave his respirator to a younger man. The former decided to change their reality asking; The second giving his life. The former show us how lucky is thrown and feel without a horizon, trapped in a system full of inequality; The second - even living in the same world - decided to die to give life. Do we want to leave our lives to destiny or on the contrary we want with our example to sow a seed in the heart of the other, a seed of hope, a seed of life? Wanting is power!

Day 5: The art of time

I wish we understood, once and for all, that a life is worth it. I am outraged to see all kinds of measures of governments and presidents who take advantage of these moments to ensure the favorability of public opinion. In Brazil and Mexico, the presidents are certain that they will overcome the virus and that the crisis will not exist for them. In Mexico, for example, they claim that it will run until October, and that they will have everything under control. I have been putting head and we should import one of those fortune aids to help our "duke" end the endless ranks in the Transmilenio de Soacha or to distribute sustenance to people who live up to date. What do you think? On the other hand, Trump states that the cure cannot be worse than the disease, and being today one of the countries with the highest number of infected. The 50,000 sick people already exceed! The man concerned about his Gallup surveys has allowed his invisible gallop virus and conquered his territory. This mysterious gentleman with Corona has attacked the untouchables who have waited a crown, such as Carlos de England. Let Donald get pale, not to be confused with Donald duck! We all make mistakes; I just hope that these gentlemen, who hold the responsibility of directing the threads of a country, do not take them to correct them. We are so stubborn, proud and fearful, that we were looked at in the mud of our mistakes, and our compass falls into it. Our subsequent actions are unattached: in our anguish, we lose the orientation and simply the dominoes fall one after another. It happened to me just yesterday in my so longed Art in time, time does not stop. ” She tried many times and she failed to make the end, and she told me: "Convert that you are capable," and by magic, after an hour of fighting with my own mind that sabotaged my effort, we did it. Life is like music: time does not stop. Errrar is human, as it is not to get stuck in that lodazal when recognizing our mistakes. If you throw the towel, the world would be lost to listen to what your being has to say. Even in adversity, you can continue your interpretation and feel the value of every second lived, of the music that is and that emanates from you. We do not run away or swore, we are all able to tear down the walls that make us believe that there is nothing new under the sun. What are you going to dare today?

Day 6: Ctrl + Alt + Supr

For some days, I have been watching videos on social networks and interviews on television to infected people. Many begin by saying that they did not intend to get out of anonymity, but that common well -being prevailed about the "what will say" of society. All - without exception - feel guilty and with an immeasurable fear. A death sentence signed by an invisible enemy. Some - because they touched them, others because they didn't care - they were confined and marked this time, not with a yellow star, as the Jews were persecuted, but with an invisible crown. The plague of Constantinople at the time of Justinian razed 40% of its population; The black plague undermined the population of the Iberian Peninsula by 65%; Smallpox decimated the population of the New World by 30%, HIV, and grips in all its colors and flavors. Pandemics are part of the history of humanity, as death is the inseparable companion of life. How can I determine when the day stops being day to be night, and when the night stops being night to be day? Isn't the circumference continuous? Death - as some cancer terminal friends said - is the "unique and unrepeatable moment to reborn and transform eternity." We are not afraid of death; We fear not to live, not to love, not to serve, not to be the best we can be; We fear having pending subjects. A diagnosis transforms a person's life. For better or worse? It is in the hands of the person. For me it was a great gift, a Recorderis of transience and eternity, of the purpose, of what really matters, and not the trifle in which we take care of ourselves. There are diseases and sick, there are alive who do not want to live, there are dead who would like to have done different things. Behind each diagnosis there is a person resigning his existence. The sensation is like when the computer is blocked and you have to reset it: the screen gets black or white, then begins to load a new image and a new operating system. Let us not judge, or put tags to people, who have a disease or not, because neither villains nor makes them sick. In each of us is the potential to change everything. The best way to summarize it is with a phrase that was on the wall of an army barracks at the departure of Barranquilla to Puerto Colombia, which said: "There are no impossible things, there are incapable men." Let's receive life! . Happy Birthday daddy!

Day 7: Muda prayer

This world is living things that were unimaginable. 25% of the world's population is in their homes, being India the country with the largest number of people in quarantine (1.3 billion). China and the United States, archienemigos, recognize that only united can overcome the lethality of the situation. On this side of the world, Trump requires General Motors to use his unemployed plants to produce fans. Doesn't this intervention like Xi Jinping in China? And to finish off, the United States offers 15 million dollars for Maduro's head, when he had been in power for 7 years, heir to Chávez's post, who in turn lasted 15 years as a dictator. Did he take 22 years to cut his economic dependence on Venezuelan oil? To finish the tour, in Colombia, the Coronavirus made the collapsed health system miraculously receive resources; And that, for the first time, Petro did not contradict Duke, but support him. Plop! Everything moves, alters and turns in unexpected directions. That happens in the life of each one of us. Mahatma Gandhi said: "If you want to change the world, change yourself," and that did during his life, to the point that he personified his message. He not only wove his Dhoti, but also resisted all the attacks of the status quo. A heart like Gandhi should inspire us in times like these to weave our unequivocal message of love and compassion. Let's be the change, and so we will turn on the most powerful catalyst fire that exists: the example. Let's learn from Gandhi, who urged us that his main weapon was his mute prayer. Let's pray.

Day 8: Oasis

TO BE ONE

That nothing invades me from outside,

that I only heard inside.

I God

From my chest.

(I everything: west and aurora;

Love, friendship, life and sleep.

Only me

universe.)

Pass, don't think about my life,

Leave me mired and slender.

I

In my center.

Juan Ramón Jiménez

I wonder if my center will be a universe with firmament, soles, stars, unfathomable seas, excellent beauty flowers.I wonder if there will be stations in him, if in the spring what has survived from the winter cold, if summer plays to make that cozy world, and then sit the painter with his brush to clarify of ocher, the trees of the trees.I wonder if my center will have mountains and moors, if the snow covers its slopes with elegance, if there will be an Everest mountain or if there will be a dead sea.

I do not know if there are hummingbirds in my center that, making fentas, make the most taciturn beetle. I wonder if the aroma of coffee or the flower of orange blossom or peppermint incens homes. I wonder if my center will have the privilege of listening to the ecstasy of the music, of the Sinsonte song when cutting your partner, or the rhythmic dance of the trees when stroking by the wind, its orchestra director. I wonder if my center will be watered and calm by the rain. If stillness invades it after receiving food. I wonder if the fire with its crepit builds and transforms that universe. I wonder if there will be death and life; I wonder if there is up or down, if there are cardinal points. I wonder if there will be a girl who seeks eternity, who seeks to grow aware of the perfect order of that center and his divine fabric, of the immeasurable beauty of her places, of her rhythms, of her silences. I wonder if the smile that accompanies the memories leads that woman, to sow, to stop, to grow, to navigate to the center of the center of it.

Day 12: Cruise

Everything that has happened in 4 days! Our Trump and Bolsonaro friends scared to see the dimension of their pride and now run in terror. Each seeks to hide in their consciousness; How many lives could have been preserved with a little humility. Cases in Spain, contrary to what was thought, continue to rise. In Italy there is a break. Russia broke his silence. The samples of heroism continue: this time, a 90 -year -old woman delivered her respirator for a younger person to live. These love samples leave me patidifusa! There is nowhere to bury them and the living there is no way to take care of them. An acquaintance who lives in Spain said she had lost 7 friends in recent weeks. Can you imagine losing their 7 best tacazo friends? Devastating! The world geopolitics chess game is in its zenith. In our country, we are already in the mitigation phase and we continue to see heartbreaking images of people, who live in pay-dialings, evicted from their crowded rooms ... López contrasting with the Government, saying that the government of Venezuelans is commissioned and that She takes care of Colombians. Does Venezuelan passport make them less humans? Meanwhile, outside the walls of our houses there are people who are giving the battle. The confinement of quarantine leads us to us, within our homes - and inside ourselves - we are taking another battle. Some live this compulsory social distancing as the government says, alone in our homes, and if we are considered vulnerable, we cannot even glimpse the cornice. Others have the challenge of sharing with husbands or wives, grandparents, uncles or "special" people, single mothers, orphans, sick, etc. The reality of each of us is different: for some, the challenge is coexistence and tolerance; For others, the challenge is to understand that loneliness is not to be alone. For many, economic pressures put an itchy ingredient to this cocktail, and causes anxiety and the recurring message to begin again. Patience becomes every day's bread. We are all creating new routines. We are all assuming new responsibilities. The days begin to put pressure on our body and especially our mind. And it is the moment we remember people who were for years deprived of liberty and never lost their meaning. Mandela, having been in prison 27 years, without any contact with his relatives, with his humanity, as he said, managed to transform "the jail into a melting pot where he burned the slag." His suffering identified a town, and forgiveness of him exemplified that the battle can cease, even without weapons. Mandela fought the segregation, unrerected the irreconcilable. Let's use these moments to burn the scum, that resentment, revenge, judgment and violence go out to the squad of our homes. May our hearts turn fear into strength. Let us regulate our plants at home and invoke that life is gested, and that its inexplicable beauty fills everything. May our mind go on vacation and do not sabote our mandate. We are never alone. Time is a great gift that gives us life. Let's not miss it. And let's never forget what Machado says: "Today is always, all life is now." Aha and then!

Day 14: The word

"I am the great word," says Pharaoh in the texts of the pyramids. The Pharaoh, God on earth in ancient Egypt, was convinced that he could give life to everything where his intention and thought was heading. The word was magical, it was creator. The Popol Vuh, sacred book of the Maya, tells us beautifully that at first there were only gods in a latent state about a motionless sea, and there were words and decided to create the world, so that the human being could exist. In this process, they failed twice, and at the third time they decided to create us of corn dough mixed with the blood of the gods. In this way, men were one with the gods. The blood of men is the soul, and at the same time, the soul of the gods. It is obvious to return to the words of Genesis: "In the beginning it was the verb, and the verb was with God, and the verb was God." All this seems rhetorical disconnected from us, mortal beings, living confined in the midst of a pandemic that threatens everyone in the 21st century. We are human beings, of flesh and blood, and we suffer from our earthly nature. We are also beings that in our bodies we house the Spirit of God. Our thoughts stop words, and words realities. The word still has a creative power. His magic still persists. What am I thinking about this confinement? Will I be saying that I am bored when I am really enjoying it, or will I be complaining about innumerable restrictions when I have so much to thank? Will my creative or destructive words be? Let us write scripts of our realities based on gratitude and consciousness of the potential eternity of our spirit, as opposed to the impregnable transgacity of our material body. Let's not forget that the verb was God and that the blood of the gods mixed with the mass of corn, so that we live as men in search of being gods. They fight to write a poem whose central theme is to love: to love who does not harm, love our life and love our most challenging circumstances. All of them allow us to create opportunities if we sing as the mystical choir did at the end of Mahler's eighth symphony:

"All things are transitory

They are just parables

Here the lack

It will become waste

Here the indescribable

will be done;

The Eternal feminine

will take us to heaven. "

It might interest you: pandemic texts

Day 17: catapult

This quarantine has opted what for many was obvious, but that the unbridled system, and its degradation, has perpetuated. I think that Colombia, with all logistics and innumerable complexities problems, has put your chest for the effects of COVID. I think we have been orthodox in the midst of these circumstances. At the moment, when humanity faces the daily death of thousands of people, we wonder who are the true leaders: those who defore with the pride of holding the information, those who ask for forgiveness for the measures taken, those who decide Have daily alocciones, or those who recognize the way to come and resort to faith and union to move forward. For me, leader is that human being who raffles the weaknesses and weakness of him, and that daily with his love acts inspires us to aspire. He will not be the one who boasts with university titles, nor will he be a tycoon with an emporium. They are just around the corner: it can be a homeless who still transides from hunger gives one bite to another, it can be a prostitute, it can be the one who has offended you. Being leader does not mean being infallible; On the contrary, it means being aware of how fallible that is and learning from the scrapes of falls. A leader does not need to sit with his staff and his court. They are beings with name, but in search of anonymity. They renounce to be visible, but they embody in that invisibility the goodness when serving. It can be a call from a leader who makes you dream, that makes you get up early and work for something that seemed in impossible view. How about we become catapults? What can we launch into the universe? A word, a verse, an illustration, a flavor, a sound to dawn, a wave of silences at sunset? Could it be that by demolishing the walls of the enemy of another human being, we help him free that castle from countless dwellings, how does Saint Teresa de Jesus describe them? Could it be that the glow of that central abode invites ourselves to throw ourselves into the cistern of our interior, and seek calm in the midst of the sweetness of its waters? Now that the world is plagued by the media, we use them to get out of the barahúnda around us, to direct our catapult to the heart of those who need it most. Let's be silent leaders and remember that "for our works they will meet us" (Matthew 7).

Day 20: Botafumeiro

On the way to Santiago How colorful every moment of my life! It is beautiful to realize that what costs us the most we treasure in a privileged place of our hearts. The most steep pilgrimages become indelible: the pains, the challenges we live, the images of ourselves that we destroy; The beings that broke their silence to warn us, the determination with which we face each step; Tears, decisions, admiration for that someone who urges us not to throw in the towel, perceive the smell of achievement made incense or may be made. In short, those pilgrimages that each one does in his personal search, in search of his dreams, or perhaps those pilgrimages that life does not give us option but to assume them, accompany us in every path we decide to undertake. There will be some that will rise the Dolomitas by bicycle, others will make an Iron Man, others will touch the cello. Actually, what we do in itself does not matter. It is what we do in the midst of experience. How those goals, which at first sound unthinkable, begin to materialize since we think they can be achieved. That is the true starting point of any path. Ampoules, calluses, falls, frustrations invite us to overcome obstacles, some physicists and other mental ones. The great feats are built of innumerable steps, and the most constant step is to transgress the limits. The ego and its illusion invite us, sooner rather than later, to think that we have reached our maximum level of disability. The illusion that I cannot do an extension with my left hand when touch Spotify. If on the contrary, I breathe and trust and, above all, I pushed to think differently, surely one day I will feel what Jesus Joy of Man of Bach is to play, and my tears will drain with happiness. Perseverance and discipline attack inertia. They make us stop to train or practice, even when they don't feel like it. The power of thought translates into steps. For me, the image of my arrival in Santiago, and thinking what would feel to complete that folly, kept my engine on. However, for me, each stage and its celebration was an arrival in Santiago. I approached and motivated me. Despite being locked in our homes, we are free to take steps on the roads that we decide to complete. It is never too late to take the first step, since the road is the process and what implies every step beyond the goal. Maybe we decide to make an audacity and in the middle of the process the road bifurca, without arrows or signs. Trusting is our mandate. It doesn't matter if we take the game to the right or left. We will fulfill our dreams if it is written. We will learn. I dreamed with the Botafumeiro of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela and cried to see it. Today I dream of one day touching the cello and calluses are already being born. What do you dream of? Imagine what would you feel to make it come true. Did you already think about it? You already gave the first step! Hands to work, there is no time to lose. Feel the aroma of the Botafumeiro, and one day you will cry with happiness, and I with you!

Day 23: Amalgama

The rain has the wonderful effect of leaving the environment in an overwhelming stillness. After thunder and lightning, or a refreshing drizzine, his hand coloring nature with vivid tones, as opposed to the grays that clarified the prelude to the show. During the expression of the clouds, animals protect themselves from the chaparrón. They expect the concert made to cease as soon as possible. Thirsty plants, meanwhile, sing hymns of gratitude that bind to the cloud concert. Their songs rejoice and flood the grooves. His happiness, the livelihood of his life, is provided without being expected. And the happiness of that plant that grows in the garden, becomes happiness for the worm seeking the room for its great birth with wings. Also the life of that plant is the life of the bee that, attracted by its smell, leads life made to his hive. And even if they do not believe it, the life of that little plant, of that butterfly, of that hive, is life for our life. Because, just as the rain gave him life, so they throb and give themselves for our well -being. We might think that we are an amalgam, as well as all beings in this universe. We are a little rain, a little plant, a little butterfly, a little honey, a little bee. Each of them brings for our life; And we, how do we contribute to your stocks? We are a node within a network of millions of nodes. We are insignificant, but at the same time protagonists of this play, where each character induces a dialogue with another, which in turn ignores how those words transform it. We are cause and effect. In the perfect and harmonious conformation of the universe, we are so small from the perspective of a star and we are giants for the laborious ant. The geometry of our interactions is blurred with the perceptions of our proud minds. Who am I giving myself how the rain does by the plant, or the plant for the worm? Where am I directing my energies, to build or destroy? Could it be that the illusion clouds my view on my relationship with other people or other beings existing on this planet? Could it be that I believe a God when I do not understand the succession of facts or relationships in my life? In the midst of the consternation we are living, seeing beings suffering from the disease, for hung Flex step through Earth, have how to silence those imperious needs of human nature? How can I direct my actions, so that the effect of these serene the dead end in which the other is? Let's be rain for those plants that today, in the midst of drought, do not feel any hope! Let's share the happiness of a livelihood without being expected, of a life that is lived to give life.

Day 27: Mirage

As societies, we respond to behavioral standards and self -imposed demands derived from the historical conditions, of the economic and political system in which we live, of the religion in which we are born, or simply of the canon of beliefs on which we build our day to day . Recent news shows us how the results of the measures taken by the different countries begin to characterize them. The United States is made an outlet, while a Germany already opens its economy again to a "new normality", an Italy and Spain continue to discuss who should live, playing to be San Pedro, while South Korea or Japan fly by instruments. This is not the story of winners or defeated. What differentiates these countries? Is it the obedience of its population or the opportunity of public health measures? Will it be the age composition of the population? Could it be that the virus liked blue oji monkeys or Italian genes? Actually, it is not the time to make embarrassing children's tantrum shows, as Trump did withdrawal the World Health Organization. It is time to leave nationalisms and proud; The virus is not Hitler, it has no preference. At the same time that the negligence of the system because it is equitable becomes evident, I took a while to see a series called "Unorthodox" in Netflix. There are four chapters that show the life of a Jasidic Jewish woman who seeks to find her identity, and free himself at the same time from the yoke of being the mother of many and subject of her husband and her customs. She escapes her life in New York and leaves everything behind to go to Berlin, the place that takes the historical weight of her rant. She there looks endlessly an opportunity to express himself. There is a scene that for me is moving, and that is where she sings for a hearing in a conservatory: he sings in Yidish, sings despite the fact that for women hal , sings clinging to its origin, sings with an unstoppable force, sings to be music, sings to be and stop being. Personally, I impacted me because I think everyone at the moment we must have the daring that this girl had, who broke with her past to find an alternative way of living, no longer being what it was, but building on what has lived to narrate a New comic chapter. Returning to Latin phrases: "Homo homini lupus", man is wolf for man. How do we stop being those wolves with ourselves and on the contrary we become the garden of that garden unknown to the other? Let us shake of so much unnecessary load that we carry and walk on the beach watching the unfathomable sea. Let's listen to his cadence, let's exalt his trip, my trip, his beauty, my beauty.

"I claim mirage

to try to be oneself,

That trip to nothing

that consists of certainty

to find in your gaze

the beauty."

Luis Eduardo Aute

Day 30: And who can help me?

Excess of polltrone makes quarantine to charge me its price. Pilates and Rumba alternate with long reading cycles or on the computer. Suddenly, from one moment to another, the knee began to hurt. Lola, the knee that I decided to name after the trauma a few years ago, did not hurt! It was the other! Can not be! Cold and heat. And who can help me? Well, in the middle of quarantine: the Chapulín Colorado. Nothing to do. The only thing that can improve me, I thought, is to stretch and be aware of my positions to see where the pain originated. Well, Patidifusa was when, in this exercise, I realized that my inappropriate positions when I sit down had generated a pain in the low back that radiated to my knee. Plop! And who can help me? Well, in the middle of quarantine: the Chapulín Colorado. Nothing to do. Well, gentlemen and ladies, after trying to communicate with the Chapulín, to the lines that he has published for the attention to the public, I had to settle for that it was going to be impossible to communicate with him, since, in these times, the telephone lines are maintained collapsed. And who can help me? The movement is the key, I remembered. Not political or social movements. Not the movements of the waters, nor the movements of the celestial vault. It is the movement of my bodies. You crazy, you will tell me. Why do I talk about bodies? Yes, I think we have many bodies and that we have to take care of them. My mental body joins my physical body, my physical body affects my mental body, my mind is an instrument of my spirit, and my spirit is the incense that perfumes my body and my mind. A momentum has to be given to be a change from one state to another. On this day I dug and came to the conclusion that we must be responsible, in any circumstance, to give food to each body. If the food of my mind is a sudoku or a history class, I should not interrupt it. If my body is shouting at me: move! Well, you better do it, because if you will not make you a kick, as it did to me. If your spirit rises with sacral music or a meditation or in a prayer or simply watching the sea, then let's not seek a moment up to date to look at the balcony, or put the music that elevates us so much. Do not you believe that, instead of getting stuck in news and unnecessary information, is it better to seek every day to take care of our mind, our body and especially our spirit? The movement is our ally. In our confinement, let's reward the limit of the four walls and let's move more than before, because our soul is always inviting us to walk, our mind to imagine and our body to navigate. The power is to realize that we can assume all our actions towards what we aspire. The movement begins with stillness!

Day 33: Home request

If they had a galactic domiciliary that would bring them something in the world outside their homes, what would it be? They have only one thing! Note: Forget the size, everything is allowed. I will give you the occasional example to better illustrate the question. I would bring a hug from a friend, the smell of wet grass, the laughter of a child; I would bring my whole family, the landscape of the Portal del Cielo, the salty of the sea, the sublime Bach sound in St. Martins of the Fields; I would bring the dawn or an encounter or perhaps astonishment, and gratitude for the magnificence of all that set. Damn! The sun, the stars, the snow, giraffes, lions, snakes ... words, shop windows, escafandras? Pain, anger, forgiveness? Someone told me a long time that remembering means bringing to the heart again. Our hard drive has unlimited storage capacity, many remote or recent moments are saved. We can label them as we want, there they reside, and a part of us was woven with that present and past. I often speak of my other life, because we live a succession of lives in our existence. Remember to live. I bet that when they thought what they would ask at home, they felt what generates what they would bring in you. I went to the Portal del Cielo and St. Martins of the Fields. I saw myself in both cases sitting, absorbed. You who felt? Let us remember, to free the bonds of the past. Let us remember, to launch ourselves in paragliding when we panic at the heights. Let us remember, to feel what that loved one who is no longer told you. Let us remember, to fight on a way with meaning. Let us remember, to understand our smallness and our greatness. Let us remember, to emphason with every second. Let us remember, what we are learning for our lessons. Let us remember, to deliver each part of us to the other and their suffering. Have we done something to calm someone's hunger in the midst of this quarantine? In this exercise of going through the heart again and again, we will break the limitations of time and space and wander strengthened in humility. Remember gives us the key to melt this with our imagination. I am going to make a confession ... I would not bring anything outside ... I would remember that all that is inside me, I would remember that I have a unique opportunity to take away the perendegues that I have left over and dress the tunic of acceptance, of the inconsable search to approach myself To myself, to get away from myself, to give myself to the will of the one who, not being me, is me. I would remember loving me, loving you, loving him, loving her. . The address is free!

Day 38: Guess?

How the experience of this confinement has been changing! Every time I see less news. I am bored to see the refritos and the fillings that the Colombian news chooses. I worry that our energies as a population are not being directed towards people with more needs: to save lives, to calm hunger, to ensure the anguish that derives from uncertainty. I also make an infidency: as I had already mentioned, I can't stand the negligence of the presidents of the "more powerful" nations. They will know who I'm talking about! Even Barbra Streisand wrote a song saying "Don't lie to me"! It seems incredible that, in the 21st century, a leader does irresponsible public assertions, telling his group of scientists to prove with the ingestion of disinfectants in humans. Answer: More than 100 people in the United States did it! And there not for the thing. Then comes a diatribe of accusations to defend himself and denied. It is a circus everywhere. In Colombia we continue in them! Our circus does not resemble the Circus of the Sun, but, rather, to the Circus of the Gasca brothers! In the personal sphere, I must tell you that I stopped thinking about the date of my probation. The feeling that the sentence has no date made decisions about how I will address my intramurous stay. I already understand why in the movies the prisoners always inside the cells are doing squats and plates. So I walk, which inmate, trying to move the skeleton and keep my mind active. I have my cat maddening ... He can no longer make his usual naps. These days of confinement, I have put myself to think that perhaps all of us are bad predictors of the future. We believe to have clarity in the duration and intensity of what is to come. We believe to have the magical wand to know how the future will make us more or less happy. Moreover, I think our expectations in the face of future negative events are more exaggerated than reality itself. Maybe my recent experience leads me to think about this. A diagnosis of a chronic disease would seem to be the key to perpetual unhappiness, because for many it is a death sentence. For me it has not been; After the initial tsunami, that diagnosis has come with the bread under the arm. So today I am more unhappy than what I thought of being before a possible diagnosis of such a draft? The answer is no. I think we all adapt to new realities without realizing it, and without realizing the ability we have to carry out that adaptation. We have a network of people who support us, with a call, with a hug, with a prayer. Nature and its invitation to rebirth; the water and its praise when flowing and cleaning; the sun and its love caress; the fire and its strength to transmute; and our mind and its ability to think and imagine. What design perfection! Every day the stories that surround us are more and more sad. We do not invest our time anticipating what will be tomorrow. If I will have a job or not, whether I will have money or not, whether I will be fat or not, if my life will be boring because I will not be able to go to the bar, the gym, to the stadium or the concert. If I will not be able to go to the farm or the Mass. We cannot allow to give free rein to the one who happens yes. Our happiness does not depend on whether we have money or not, whether we get good grades, whether we have a stunning body, whether we find the half orange. What is your happiness? It makes me happy to thank God every day for my life, to do a kind act without the other waiting for it, make me laugh ... It makes me happy to relate the simplest act of life with what I aspire. It makes me happy to discover God's love in the midst of adversity. Open the showcase of your heart and seek incessant what makes sense of your life. Put the goal of each day do something on that list and you will see how the future fades and the present shines. We are divine, not fortune tellers.

Day 42: Seeds

I wish we sing of jubilation as the rooster does, or as the little birds that are prepared for their study session: they are ready to cross new airs of knowledge and experience. The sun works tireless to warm us and to show us that the shadow, its opposite, exists. The clouds sculpt their ways to challenge the most incredulous. And we still do not taste them, we do not appreciate their feints, or their heat, or their verse, or their color. We do not appreciate its usefulness. Yesterday I went out to the balcony of my house and felt the sun heat my arms, I felt how I needed to appreciate his caress. Before that encounter, my arms brightened and sighed. I also looked at one of the windows of the house and inspired deeply, and felt the freshness of the air, its aroma, its freedom meeting mine. How that air dressed in free will danced around the orange blossom and jasmine at night to decorate and give me the gala of his encounter for a moment. In the middle of the quarantine, all my attention has been addressed to the plants I have in the house. It has been the process of learning them to know: knowing how much water they want, if the place likes or not, if they require pruning. Every day I get up to see them, to see how their magic becomes new flowers, in new offspring. It is the witness of the continuous creative power of what surrounds us, it is an explosion of tenderness developing before our eyes. A tangerine seed is today a tiny leaf sustained by a thin stem that rises aspiring the light that gives life. Our interior widespread calm, looking for a place where we are full, without images, where that transformative power that all beings of nature have - we have - manifest. This week, seeing that little plant and imagine the transit inside to stop being seed and explode in life that I developed life, I thought how much effort there is in between, how many adverse situations that seed found: the earth could not have had The appropriate nutritional content or moisture. She fought, in silence, under the earth where nobody saw her, mired in her darkness aspired to emerge without being noticed. So much greatness coated with such humility. What seed is celebrated inside you and is giving that traffic until you open the door? Is that seed and history, and today is a plant that rejoices with every new day and exposes its sweetness for the delight of the hummingbird or the bee? In this confinement, are you taking care of it? Are you talking to you? Can you imagine it with fruits? Today I call that we stop for a second inside our homes, inside our hearts, so that we reveal the life that inhabits us, its mystery, its wisdom, its transacity. The imperceptible dance is always taking place. We can decide to kneel in gratitude for their tenacity and courage, or we can blind our eyes or anesthetize our senses, to get away from touching the cadence of love, from his hug, from his unmistakable fullness. We will venerate those great feats that do not bring titles or money, but approach our origin, to our destiny, to our ability to be and stop being seeds. Let's fight like that mandarin seed, mired in the dark, therefore emerge in light, without being noticed.

Day 44: A review

We have all heard the new term that this pandemic has coined: the "new normality." Humanity without memory! They taught us at the school that Heraclitus said that no one can bathe on the same river twice, since the second time we bathe their waters would be different. For Heraclitus, the change was the only real thing: nobody or anything escapes him, everything is and is not; What exists is our future. To continue dusting school memories, Parmenides said the movement did not exist because it was not rational. The disciple of his Zenón tried at all costs rationally, not free of contradictions, that the movement was an impossibility. Gentlemen, in the 21st century we continue in the existential debates of antiquity. I do not know if you believe that Heraclitus took Parmenides in a band, or if you believe, on the contrary, that Zenon's tests shattered to Heraclitus. Can there be a new normality when, if we look under the magnifying glass of Heraclitus, everything is in permanent change? How should I understand the word "normality", as inertia, as an unconscious becoming? San Isidoro de Sevilla (s. VI) masterfully invites us to think about the difference between walking and walking. The saint defines walking how to move on foot, and defines walking like that walk he directs to a place. Whoever does not reach anywhere; Who walks even walking to that desired place. I think that in the pilgrimage of life we ​​forget the place where our walk is directed, and therefore we believe that normality is a meaningless becoming. These last events make us see that we are in a labyrinth without exit. I think we cannot forget that once in the labyrinth, depending on its construction, we will reach the center by one or more roads. The point is to take the first step, make the decision to enter it and then get carried away by the way, always remembering that place. As superb that we are, we appear to have the absolute truth. How much falsehood! The starting point, the access roads and the center, their end point, are part of the same maze. Know yourself. If not, why do you think this inscription adorns the temple of Apollo in Delphi? We cannot think of a new or old normality. The movement does not depend only on us human beings. We have to recognize the perfect geometry of time, of the facts, of the existence of a supreme being. Let's not waste time looking for the rational explanation of all facts, nor do we become victims of destiny. Let's make this pilgrimage a walk, not a walk. The road signals are outside our control, the awareness of how we decide to take the next step can transform the complete meaning of our movement. We do not have motionless. Let's enjoy the waters in which we dive, and squeeze from learning and knowledge every second we live. Anima-you!

Day 48: Pac Man

We already hear the news in Colombia, of the extension of quarantine for everyone, except people who work in specific sectors of the economy. The except are 15 million people. Let me the digression of someone who in another life was an economist. In a country of almost 49.3 million inhabitants (figures published by the DANE as of March 2020), 80.6% of the population are of working age, that is, 39.7 million people, of that number about 59.2% is considered the population economically active (PEA). That means that the PEA is around 23.5 million people and represents 47.7% of the total population. If we talk about 15 million people are exempted to work, this figure represents 64% of the PEA and 38% of people of working age. In a scenario, in which experts say that the virus is here to stay, are we really thinking about people or rather we are betting on the economic sustainability of the system? I am outraged to see that leaders only look palliatively to direct donations to the most vulnerable families. With which I do not disagree, "because I was hungry and did not give me eating." However, this pandemic has shown that the bases on which the economic system has been built are weak, and they completely forgot that those who live in it are human beings of flesh and blood. The money, and its entire system, dehumanizes and misrepresents the decisions of the leaders and the companies. Yesterday, they called me from the insurer where I registered a claim to my life insurance for serious illness to tell me that I did not meet one of the conditions, which in simple terms was that I needed to be crippled, and the doctor who performed the analysis told me That I will not worry, that it is a temporary decision, that when you have the level of disability required to return to charge compensation. Really! How is it possible that we tell our interlocutor: "Give yourself, when you are already disabled, return that we give you the money." We forget the fundamental! The Government, in search of "reactivating" the economy, gives cannon meat to the virus. The insurers, in search of maximizing their resources, sell you one thing and then in the annexes plague of conditioning to not pay you, and then they say "disable and then we talk." The eye of the observer changes everything. Has any of you heard a symphony touched by a live and live orchestra? For the viewer it is an opportunity to feel the divinity dressed in sounds. Have any of you imagined what musicians feel sitting on stage, have imagined the pressure they feel because they cannot be wrong? Will they look out or will only be instruments of their instruments, will they be imprisoned in the system where to survive I must decolle at all costs? Even the most sacred activities, such as the arts, the desire for power. I am concerned about the deaths to come, it hurts to forget that this temporary step in this world has a fundamental objective, which is diametrically from the objectives of making money and giving pleasure to our senses. We live as prisoners with wives and shackles, and our jailer is the good money, as the song says. I reiterate that we make a stop in this quarantine and be aware that, despite living in this unemployed system, it is in our hands, or rather in our minds, the ability to discern and choose if I want to be the musician who has That mystical experience when interpreting a piece, or if I decide to give up myself to become a PAC man in search of power, money and fame. Let us be instruments of our spirit, and in every action that we do in this world we execute the work not only with technical mastery, but we open our heart to be a bridge of love. That this music that comes out of our hands is food and invitation to not forget, that the "essential is invisible to the eyes."

Day 54: The excite

While some can go for a walk at 5:00 a.m., others get up to win the bread of each day. This is not my case. I do not know how you have lived this supposed reactivation, but near my house the noise has increased thanks to the construction of a building one block from the apartment. Sirens noises, the shouts of workers are heard at midnight; It is a frantic excitement. During the day it is another song, literally: people who have been selling avocados and other vegetables have increased, so I have no problem. But Antier's attention caught my attention: three Venezuelans with microphones, saying that their lessor had removed their papers because they had not been able to pay the rent, therefore they could not work. They shouted that they gave lentils or rice for their children, that they had no other alternative. I have to tell you that I thought several not very papist things. The first is that the microphone is worth the pound of rice or lentils. Could it be that the new extortion is the manipulation of our compassion? The second is that I questioned the criteria for selecting the blocks to where they expose their tragedy, it seems to me that they are intentional and premeditated acts. The third, it seems to me that under penalty of an alleged humiliation they manipulate you to weigh you. The fourth is to shut them up! I thought. I remembered the Venezuelan band that runs through the streets of Barranquilla, with the same songs, in search of a ticket. The same Sonsonete on day after day! Changing the subject, I tell you that the reactivation has had the presence of another type of noise in the region: yesterday I heard a man shouting a string of vulgarities to someone at his home; It is one who is his wife, for the context. Of the balconies all peeked, terrified before such a foul and at the same time so outrageous show. Really, blows? For me, from my balcony, without having taken to the street in more than two months, it is very evident how we stop respecting the other, shouting vulgarities, breaking its tranquility with shouts injured with piety disguised as blackmail, or when building a building in The night when other people sleep, regardless of their rest. Some might think that the "cabin syndrome" is giving us vulnerable populations, that is, we are very afraid to go out after having been at home, healthy and saved. I am not a psychologist to say it. But the truth is that I do feel apprehension to leave when nothing more last week went down to the goal to put my drug and found two people without capped. I could not believe it. We are so selfish! How we forgot our golden rule. Do not do the other what they don't want them to do to you. The first version of this rule is in an Egyptian text called the history of the eloquent peasant, a literary work of ancient Egypt dated 1970-1640 B.C. From then on, all philosophical and religious traditions have placed it as a fundamental rule of our behavior. For Buddhism, Zoroastrism, Taoism, Confucianism, Judaism, Islamism, and for Christianity. There is a beautiful Islamic Hadiz that says: "None of you will have to complete his faith until he wants to his brother what he wants for himself." It is not themselves who have played for centuries with the Jews for the control of the Mount Saint in Jerusalem. "What is hateful for you, don't do it to others," isn't that the norm of the Jews? We live having these moral principles far from our daily life. We forget them, we buried them, we accommodate them to adapt them to our worldly interests. The leaders of the different religions repeat it again and again, and it seems to us an old and badly thrown story. We live so mired in our worlds, that we forget the other, within this equation. A word, a thought, an action can change our life, and we can change it to the other. We cannot expect the other to change. It is only in our hands, take the baton, which every action we make has as a beginning of love. Loving is a decision without distinction. Let's take care of us!

Day 58: Pleamar

The flowers dress the world of majestic colors and silent open their arms to the incandescent sun. The penguins, on the other hand, stop beating their fins and hug as close as possible to support the inclement Arctic, longing for the change of station. The cedars of the Himalayas, thirsty, hope without dying the monsoons that arrive with the summer. I wonder: are they only their bodies that are equipped with such a level of resistance, or is it that in themselves inhabit a mind that helps them resist the onslaught associated with the cycles that give life to nature, which give us life? In ancient times the Hellenes used their Olympics as a means to exalt the human body. The athlete passed a rigorous education in the gym to one day the wild olive crown. Plato and Aristotle, in dissent with their predecessors that argued "gymnastics for body and music for the soul", lead us to think that physical education is a pivotal element to achieve and preserve the health and beauty of the body (and Also of the "soul", for using the Platonic terminology). The soul for Plato has three manifestations: the concupiscible soul, the irascible soul and the rational soul. The first is the closest human soul to the body and its desires and senses; The second is that which is linked to will, value and strength; And finally, the rational soul is the divine and immortal principle. They are not going to believe me, but the whole previous pern is because I was given to set up a bike simulator in the house; I released it on Thursday. While, I remembered that physical exercise brings us closer to our body because it dominates its desire to rest, strengthens the will to endure at all costs and makes you imagine what would feel like such an effort. We visualize ourselves by achieving it and so on, from one moment to another, we see the flag of white and black paintings, which we call goal. I was throwing the towel, I was on the canvas, but that force that burns within us is what allows us to reach San Remo, San Moritz or San Francisco. The body as a means to strengthen itself, but also as an instrument to approach the other power that lies unexplored by us. We were not worth our ability to emerge from the ashes and to the fact that this divine and immortal principle is. Without wanting to, as the Chavo del Ocho would say, I understood that all the beings of nature resist extraordinary and unimaginable circumstances. Their "mind" invites them to adapt and overcome internal or external physical barriers. We are the same. In our false conception that we are bodies or mind, we dispossess of sacredness to physical activities. Assemble bike, walk, sweep, mop, wash dishes, which we have done so much in this quarantine. We educate our intellectual mind to add, to read, to infer, but we do not educate our will, and we ignore that we come with the instrument that will allow us to sculpt it. We believe ourselves superior to the flower, penguin or cedar. When we really have to revere your evidence. No matter what station we are in our life, let's educate ourselves every day, not only to cultivate the health of our physical bodies, but also cultivate our will, our mind, and that we can use them as swords to combat our weaknesses. We may achieve, attracted by our divinity, raise ourselves as the tide: in Pleamar.

Day 62: Antidote

"Who does not know

You will learn it by hurry

Life not for

Do not expect, it does not warn

So many plans, so many plans

Foam turns

You for example

So on time and so inappropriate ... "

Jorge Drexler

Never before in our life we had been so pending of death: that how the lethality rate has behaved, that how the prior to the mortality rate differs.The newspapers gravitate to show us death as a cold statistical data or as a story worthy of Corín Tellado or Shakespeare.And there are those exalted by newspapers as heroes, because they have defeated death.They are heroes because they kicked up the grimace and could smile and see the sun again.The media bombard us by referring to the alleged protagonists of this story: the victors and the defeated.For them, we are victims of an invisible homicide.

The decision made by governments to "prevent deaths" is to distance us all, especially older adults.The reason is simple: its statistical analysis indicates that people over 70 are more likely to die from the exterminator.What role have our older adults in our society?Why do we look for maximum longevity and at the same time consider old age as a disease?Or is it that we look for maximum longevity without deterioration?

The allegory used by the ancient Egyptians to refer to a "wise" was "gray language", which indicates that erudition was directly proportional to the time lived and at the future of the years.The gray hair contributed recognition.For this millenary culture, longevity made sense because it was the bosom of knowledge and wisdom.In a biography found in the Middle Kingdom, in Edfu, which tells the life of the priest Tjeni, the following is told: “I am a man worthy of my brothers and sisters, old man with the heart, but one who knows no weakness”They aspired to a signature without decrepitude.

Our materialist society removed the investiture of experience and knowledge of the mature human being, to cover it with disability for not being as productive as a young man.How much damage we do as a society, because it is they who should use their knowledge at the service of the youngest.On the contrary, old age is a ballast, because we see it as an economic problem.Asylums swarm full of grandparents without families, without money, without any activity;They only expect the day they lose the battle overwhelmed by the weight they are.All in our families have older adults;Listening to your stories, although repetitive, helps us to scare in a foreign head.Why don't we listen to them?

No one can say that age is an indicator that we are alive at the next minute.Is old age, gentlemen, is given for the number of years we live, or rather is given by our commitment to ourselves?He is old, although young, who stops cultivating his own being, who stops working hard for knowing himself, who does not want to learn by superb, who does not listen to the words and designs that every day show usTo try again (as Carlos Castañeda says, by successive approaches), the one who does not take care of his physical body, which does not enhance his mental capacity, who does not cultivate the immortality of his spirit.It is old who renounces love, for waiting just to receive.It is old who throws the towel.He is the one who chooses not to be reborn despite the deaths we live in our existence.

Newspapers forget that death, by simple opposition, gives all the meaning to our fleeting existence.Its presence is the antidote for the Senectity in this plane, and it is the key to wisdom.Death relativizes everything and full of living this life.The search is to overcome death with the immortality of our spirit.Death is not the enemy to fight, it is our unconsciousness.

Within the framework of this epidemic, let's forget the age groups, let's not forget the death and responsibility that every life entails.Let's always be young.Let's get up happily every day, despite our age, to go to school, to learn, to strive, to win the exam, to move to university.

Day 68: Yes No

Recently, I heard a five -minute audio of the youngest survivor of the Uruguayan rugby team that was on the plane to Chile that crashed in the Andes ("Alive").These were the men who lived 70 days in the Andes.They find out on a radius they had, which then brought their hands away, who had ceased the search for the survivors.One of them, Nicolich, communicates the good news to others and leads them to think that they now do not depend on third parties, but their life depends on them.They decided to work as a team and made decisions to survive, such as eating the meat of their dead classmates.Everything was adversity: besides being forgotten, according to them, an avalanche came where eight other companions die;After searching and finding the tail of the plane, they could not operate the radio.Everything was restless.And Carlos says in the audio: "We ... thanks to the attitude, we could say yes to no."

Other cases that say yes to no, despite their difficulties, are the people who undergo some type of transplant.I am fortunate to meet two people who have overcome the test, thanks not only to medical expertise but also to the way they addressed the test.Today they paint, they enjoy the sea, they spend hours in a jacuzzi, adopt dogs, grow flowers, laugh at life and even get married!I say all this because in all local newspapers - yesterday in the morning, for example - there was talk of the transplant of the 5 -month daughter of the mayor of Medellín, whose donor was her own mother because they did not get another donor.He thought about what he should be going through that man's mind: his daughter was going to submit to 16 -hour surgery, and his wife, an act of immeasurable love, he would also enter surgery, putting his life at risk to savethat of his little girl.Everything was at stake.What should this man be in a waiting room?

In the afternoon I faced my class, where my dendrites shatter, my class of cello, or as my mother would say: "Michelada."The teacher asked me to play two songs that I have been working with her, the minueto 3 of Bach and the beginning of the canon in D of Pacho ... and I began to tell him as crazy not, that as it occurred to him;I told her no and she told me that yes, I don't and she who yes, and then I get a lunge telling me: "It is that you know it by heart but do not trust, nor do you think you know them."

After class I had no choice but to go to the dictionary and look at the etymology of the word trust, and it means "having total faith or loyalty", since it comes from Latin, con-along and fides-fe.Who should we trust?What should we trust?What should we trust?What do we achieve if we trust?What can we do to abandon distrust?

I do not believe that the Uruguayans have survived their adventure without counting on the other.I do not believe that a person at a surgery table for a transplant, terrified of uncertainty, manages to get his strength, if it were not because he puts himself in the hands of his caregivers (doctors, nurses and, above all, God).Nor do I believe that a person will take out all the benefit of his talents, and can express himself without capujos, if it were not because he must trust himself and not let the crazy man of the house sabotee the daily effort.How can one rebuild or get up from adversity if he does not believe with all certainty that he will achieve it, that they will achieve it?They do not look at me weird, the van is in the plural ... because nothing we embark on life is a lonely exercise, there is always another, although that other we do not know him, even if that other is myself.

In my cavilations last night, I thought that trust has two aspects: one active and one passive.The asset is the one that invites me to do and do my best in every second, flowing without letting me corner by the thoughts of defeat or inability.The liability, on the other hand, is the one that leads you to deliver the result.It is linked to the asset, in the sense that the result is associated with materialized intention;However, the quality, quantity or temporality of the result will finally deliver it.In the end, everything will be as it is.

If we mean yes, if we want to change our life, if we want to abandon the captive of the enemy, let's work lovingly from the hand of the other, of oursthat reminds us that we are part of a team, that emphasizes that individualism is an act of pride, that makes us surrender to the gratitude of the unsuspected.

"Start by doing what is necessary,

Then do my best,

And suddenly you will be achieving the impossible. "

Francisco de Asís

Day 70: Immigrants

Imagine that in the calendar of festivities there is one for multiple sclerosis.I came to find out this week.A display of conferences to inform about the advances in diagnosis, treatment, prevention and quality of life for sclera.The truth had a bombardment of videos, articles and almost congratulations from the pharmacological center where the drug puts me.The scientific world works to meet her, and they say it is the biggest cause of disability of young people in the world.More than traffic or brain accidents.

I have meditated this week about disability. And life, which is full of gifts, has given me examples where disability is relegated to the grandiosity of virtue. Coincidentally, two blind musicians. The first, Japanese pianist Nobuyuki Tsuji; The other, an Argentine guitarist, Nahuel Pennisi. Tsuji, prodigious pianist and composer, has played with the main orchestras of the world. For him to touch the most complicated works are easy, because the piano is an extension of his body. He learns all hearing works. He doesn't know what the white or black of the keys is like, but he knows them. He will not have seen Carnegie Hall, or his driver, but he will recognize his breathing or heat of his presence or the energy of applause. On the other hand, Pennisi, self -taught, of street musician became desired by Latin American pop artists. Nominated for Latin Grammy, Pennisi adapted the way he takes the guitar to be able to make the chords. In the presentation they make at the Latin Grammy ceremony, they say the following: "Guitarist and singer, no viewing, endowed with an absolute musical ear, drawing the future of folklore with a unique sensitivity." So being blind is not being a seer? What do this pair of young people have in common? Disability or virtuosity?

Personally, the ability to express, to express themselves, to approach the sweetness of the sublime, which these "disabled" eclipses me.If we see their physical appearance, we can judge them as rare.But do you imagine how close a blind should be to see yourself?What will your imagination be free to describe a dawn?Can you imagine how the sky, the northern dawn or a rain of stars would conceive?The physical limitation of some aspect is a challenge to transform that restriction into a river of being, which flows into the calm and pristine sea of divinity.Art is to return a movement, message, action, in silence.The way is the adaptation, authenticity made song, eighths and semicorcheas.

Why are we so afraid of disability?Isn't it that we are afraid to be unable to adapt?The disability confused with disabilities.Happiness is not measured by how many limbs we can move or how many senses we can use.If this were true, we should break the mystics of all times, which have invited us to distance ourselves from our senses to reach that station where we will live forever.

I feel that flooded notes of magnificence roam each other without listening to them.The swallows in their dance chase them.Let us leave the comfort of the routines, we hug the effort.We have the miracle of life, its senses and movements.I ask you to go through "in-migration", so that they are sealSpirit anxious for commanding migration.

The disabled if dreaming of it can overcome the incalculable.We are disabled when we stop trying, when we intend to sustain the illusory thread of the immutable, when we are so paralyzed by the fear that we show life, from a non -existent wheelchair, built by ourselves, by our minds.We believe ourselves invalid.It is disabled who does not occur, is disabled who does not receive.It is disabled who does not love.

Let's be like Tsuji and Pennisi, who left behind their disability, and invite us with their actions to feel, to "intend" towards that place where we can listen, such as swallows, the notes that sprout from that spring of eternity.

I leave you a couple of links in case you want to listen to them (I hope you enjoy it as much as I):

Tsuji: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lqov4zw7xta

Pennisi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsJn63604S0&list=RDIsJn63604S0&index=1

Day 77: Opticus

I love swimming.Frequently when I dive and have been concentrated in breathing for a while and the strokes - left, right - feeling how the water slides over my body, suddenly, the glasses tarnish, everything is clouded, I see nothing and alreadyIt becomes very uncomfortable to move on.If I do not want to stop, I do what they taught me in my two diving courses, and that is that I lift the glasses a little and let water into, so the water itself eliminates opacity.For those who are less aquatic, or live in hot places, they will know what happens if you have glasses when you get off a car with air conditioning.There is a blind one, actually.And there is no choice but to take them off, take a handkerchief and clean them, put them on and resume the march.

I have discovered in the midst of this quarantine, which sometimes tarnish the glasses with which we see the reality we are living.We groped, everything loses its brightness and clarity, we stop enjoying what we do and filled with long arguments that support our restlessness;We stop trusting.We are presented with the dichotomy of whether we urgently need a technical stop to the Optomera to correct myopia and astigmatism, or if we rather take out the handkerchief out of the pocket and clean the mirrors.

These days I began to despair for not having a job. The glasses fogged. I saw myself in the midst of a dead exit, because using full time is a clear impossibility, for a person who must be incapacitated every fifteen days, because he is in drugs. What could I do? Let's add to the film that I am also a vulnerable population, so the confinement is more prolonged; And to finish off, all legs up, innumerable companies hanging the guayos. With the fogged glasses, I dedicated myself to seeing a series in Netflix called resurrection, about the life of Ertrugul, the precursor of the Ottoman Empire. In it, they beautifully show us the teachings of the Qur'an and permanently emphasize the sense of walking along the path defined by God, and repeated in English "Every cloud has song silver lining" that in Spanish would be "there is no harm that for good not Come ”(which I think is a bad translation). They also repeated that the night is darker just before dawn, and that there is no spring without winter.

But, just as the days go by, things opt, the messages arrive, and we definitely make the decision to take out the scarf. We realize that the brightness was there but that we focused our attention to temporary mist. We also realize that the universe beats and has its rhythm. Aren't we? Everything in life is a test and a great gift. My lenses had fogged, because I had forgotten my priorities. I was looking for an exit outside, when the answer was the way I saw the situation. Taking awareness, is a magical wand, mobilizes unexpected things. And then he looks back and realizes that everything was a game of perspective. And if it is related to the other, he realizes that it is a trifle. To sample a button; In the middle of the story, I find out that a friend's father was declared missing. I was patidifusa. As another friend would say, the biggest problem is one. And what size was my badly called problem, next to my friend's anguish not knowing the whereabouts of her father missing from her?

I share my experience, with the mood that we scarce in a foreign head.Maybe when we have some challenge, let's stop and think, if the glasses were fogged, or if it is my observer who is a bit lazy and opts for the most comfortable exit of being a victim.We have many tools at hand to make that consciousness exam, and instead of thinking that we are going to drown in the middle of the diving because we got water to the mask, let's use the recipe learned.Silence is our great ally.There we have the collection of answers, even for the questions that we have not yet asked or that we will never formulate.

If we think differently, the result will be different.Someone I appreciate told me a while ago: "Falling to get up is not falling."We appreciate the changes of the station, we appreciate the cycles, we appreciate everything that comes in this life, we appreciate that we have lenses, we appreciate that they tarnish, we appreciate that we learn to clean them, we appreciate the sharpness and the light, we appreciate the night and the dark, we appreciate theMiracle of being alive, we appreciate the infinite possibility of breaking and conquering that indomitable empire and without borders, called our inner peace.

Day 84: Caverns and enclosures

They imagine a man in the stone age communicating through the use of monosyllables, taking refuge in caves and, in their depths, joining others to express themselves with natural tinctures, making drawings of the man-holder on the walls, where the creative creative potential It was reflected in each apex of sculpted or colored stone. The animal as a deity. Man from prehistory becomes the protagonist of a reality that transcends his universe and validates his existence. Some determinists would think that this unknowable plane, but intuible, came with writing, but it was not so. Moreover, we have believed for many years that the man stopped lodging, that he left behind his years of hunters and collectors and settled in places to domesticate animals and to cultivate his food. I tell you that this argument is completely fallacious. There is vast evidence that human beings experienced with agriculture first in places of religious experience or "temples." The man sought to control and manipulate nature to take advantage of it. Man makes a cognitive transition to think that we can be the gods of nature. The divine conceived from the human, as the human. Man describing God describes himself in divine terms. There is a fascinating book of Reza Aslan, the same author of El Zelote, called God, a human history, where He takes us hand from prehistory to the consolidation of the main monotheistic religions, showing us that anthropocentric vision of the vital principle.

Uncertainty has been a constant for all beings that inhabit this planet, from those first hunters wandering without rest until they find food.Also for a kind of bird in Borneo, which builds throughout its life some elaborate structures with sticks and twigs, in search of cutting the so longed for female.Fruit trees expect, without remedy battling in the open, that the child's phenomenon ends and the first rains arrive to cover their foliage of colors, aromas and flavors.A young man, today, hopes to know if he is deserving of the scholarship to finance his studies, and if he is not so outstanding, alone, he waits if they will admit it to the Alma Mater.The beauty queen, who yesterday came out in the news, is discussed in knowing how her life will be after her foot amputation.

Life is full of those questions, which I don't think are unknowns.We believe gods, like our predecessors, and we believe in a superb way to have the answer.We elaborate scenarios in our minds, based on illusions or improbable assumptions, and as screenwriters of a film we define what part of the plot should be and what not.When the possible scenarios are very dissimilar and the possible perpendicular paths, we stop seeing life as a spiral and immerse ourselves in chaos, to anticipate how we have to live in the face of such variability or if we will be able to raise the slope of the predetermined road.We forget, in our smallness, that there is an omniscient narrator: that he knows everything, that he explains everything, that it can be identified with the author, which allows the jumps in time and space and that provides credibility.Why do we intend to act like this without being omniscient?We believe God, we believe that God is like us.

The mystics have sought to have a glimpse of the unnarks, of the untouchable, of the unimaginable, of the timeless, of the immaterial.They sought endlessly, starting from the acceptance of their precarious nature, of the road.They looked incessantly, resigning every moment of life as those perfect conditions, however painful they were, to refine their will, refine their delivery and interpret their instrument of love.

Let us leave our profession of screenwriters, of omniscient narrators, of ignorant.Let's look for the kingdom of God and everything will be given to us.Let us not worry about tomorrow, we dissipate the helore of fear and uncertainty, with the flame of living love that ignites and releases the enclosure to occupy.

Day 93: Syncopa

My last week has had no other name than: the syncopa.Thanks to my cello teacher, I have had a hand of Carmen de Bolívar Monumental ... ”Land of pleasures, of light and joy ... of beautiful women ... Carmen, my land!”For those who are not coastal, it is my favorite joint.Lucho Bermúdez sang it with Matilde Díaz.It transports me to my childhood, to the awards of the golf tournaments, when I had to go to the "great" parties to wait for my cup.I sat on some stairs, in the main hall of the Country Club of Barranquilla, which allowed meAnd each of them were and stopped being when listening to the melody.It was wonderful to see when the first measures sounded: the dance floor became a anthill, the common factor, the expression.

Despite my childhood memories, and that my heart has always beat at that rate, I had no idea that the teacher brought a gift from such a draft.The syncopa, she explained to me, "it is a phenomenon that consists of an extension of a rhythmic figure or a harmonic of a weak time to a strong time."I really looked at a spark.How so an extension of weak time to a strong time.Pos Manito, in cello the two notes are articulated in the same arch and the duration of the notes are added.I imagine that they are as lost as I was.But so that they do not wear out with these technicalities, I will summarize them ... Carmen de Bolívar is full of syncopas.And it is they who, among other things, give her exquisiteness of her.

The beautiful thing about the syncopa is that this ligation surprises.The syncopa full of strength the expected weakness;She season the music, a delicacy makes her;Eliminate the vertices of a square to get the beat and delineate a path without containment lines.

What do you think if we apply the concept of syncopa to our lives and the reality we live? The moments of weakness are those where fear spreads, where calm is an intangible, where we question ourselves to the last name, where we feel alone and without meaning. What if in the score of our lives we link that moment to one covered with strength. By joining those times, we transform that cold clay into a figure or form that inhabits us. The possibility of changing rhythm and melody are in our hands if we decide to compose our music. Many times we abandon the journey for the fear of what they will say or for the judgments that become a life imprisonment. Our loved ones remind us of the collection of tools that we carry in the backpack, make us see clearly that there is always something of the past that taught us and that allowed us to overcome a tribulation. They urge us to search the shelves and use our best to enjoy a new syntax, to put it spicy and mischief, to what for many can be an overwhelming existence. The present as the focus of our attention and our being as a sound instrument.

"One for all and all for one", in the best style of musketeers.Let's open our hand to receive the one who gives us love, open our hand to the one who hurts us, open our hand to our past, open our hand to the search for eternity, open our hand to uncertainty, open our hand to the imagination, let's open our hand to our weakness as a pillar of perseverance and our transformation.

Let's drunk life.We break the molds.We will alter the rhythms.Let's grow in the art of time.Let's learn, as Robert Schumann said, to express the most delicate nuances of feeling by penetrating more deeply into the mysteries of harmony.

Here is the link to take a walk through Carmen de Bolívar:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmlursvqsws

Day 105: Water wet

Richard Phillips is an African -American who was sentenced to life imprisonment for a crime he did not commit.The main witness of his case was the current one responsible for the facts.After fighting for 46 years in a prison, without any possibility of bailing, the murderer changes the testimony of him and exempts him from all responsibility.The state of Michigan paid him a million and a half dollars as compensation, which is equivalent to $ 91 per day.Is that a day of life?

The other moving story of unfair sentences is that of the so -called "the 5 of Central Park."The history of 5 African -American young people who were sentenced by the murder of a Caucasian woman who ran in the vicinity of Central Park in New York.The young people were forced to declare even guilty without any evidence to support him.One of them was in a cell in isolation for 13 years.

Richard painted watercolors for 46 years so that his heart did not harden, when he left he emphasized the challenge that was the adaptation to freedom.He had no one, he didn't know how to buy in a supermarket and had even forgotten to drive.In the case of "The 5 of Central Park", they were boys between the ages of 14 and 16;The one wanted to be a trumpeter, the other baseball player, the others didn't even know what life they dreamed.After 12 years the state of New York makes a payment of 40 million dollars.And in an interview that Oprah Winfrey does, you can see the bittersweet taste that it still has for them.The system made them grow, changed them and, in the words of one of them, "broke them."

These stories invite us to reflect on the notion of justice, of compensation, but above all how we can climb the most steep slopes.These stories are inspiring, because these beings, despite injustice, love.Richard Phillips, in his interview, reminds us that life is not about evading problems, but how in the midst of the storm we can dance under the rain and, above all, I say, enjoy that dance.

Today the news bombards us with the resurgence of the bubonic plague, with a new pig virus, with the mutations of the COVID, with social disobedience and the increase of deaths and infections by Covid in Colombia and in the world.On the other hand, those over 70 entuteing the government.Leaders failing the people.Unemployment with historical records of more than 20%, in Colombia.Over -indebtedness of families, urged by a system to buy yet without having.Anyway, if we look at it, there is no one to do a broth.

Let's dance in the best Hollywood style: in the rain;Let's enjoy the droplets playing our body, recognizing "that wet water", which refreshes us.Let's play and feel deep joy of being alive.Let us learn from these stories that justice is not in our hands.We are lousy imparting justice.And if the verdict is against us, let's live the road one day at the same time.And even if it is not, and we feel overwhelmed and uneasy, let's be aware of the timeless universe that lives in us.Let's turn rain to calm the other's thirst, and remember again and again that success is measured by the way of facing the tests and not by the tests itself.Let's be positive and at this time of life we appreciate that we have the doors open to flood the world of our being, vast, eternal, serene and free.

Day 109: Let's fulfill the task

In Colombia we have two reasons to celebrate.The first, for the discovery of the fossils of a pterosour, a flying dinosaur, which lived in the Santanderes more than 125,000 years ago.The second is that according to the prestigious pre -Columbian Aboriginal Aboriginal magazine were responsible for colonizing Easter Island and Polynesia.They managed to make additional to a genetic tracking, findings of some food remains that would come from our continent, such as sweet potatoes.It is mocking to suggest that we celebrate within the framework of the peak of deaths and infections for the COVID, or by the explosion of a truck in Tasajera that left entirely desolate families.But I emphasize that we do have reasons to celebrate.If it is not in Colombia, I ask you to think what reasons we could have to decort a good wine or taste an exquisite food.

If we go to a more personal sphere, today I invite you to celebrate those little things that make this step, the so -called Valley of Tears, a trip like no other.Today I celebrate, for example, that my multiple sclerosis controls, after almost a year of diagnosis, are considered stable.Therefore, we continue as we come.How not to celebrate the love of our family and friends, who make walking light.Or how not to have a party for having found a black chocolate croissant!

This week, I shook me to hear the responses of a woman who had lost her son and brother in the terrible accident in Tasajera, before the journalist's indelice. She torn, she narrated how her son's last words had been that she didn't want to die and as her brother's last sob To know. Let's not be indolent and unconscious! These previous weeks, given the expectation of the results of the resonance, and before the avalanche of emotions that navigate the days, I thought that more than fear of death, pain or disability, we must fear not to squeeze the last juice to the life, not to fulfill the "for what" of this walk. Fear becomes a present self -confidence makeup. How not to celebrate health, how not to celebrate the smell of garlic, how not to celebrate your pet's caress, how Do not celebrate your bets for reinvention, how not to celebrate the gift of flowing.

Let's use method and intuition to demarcate our work area, let's work with the care of an archaeologist by disregarding the story with a brush, let's be respectful of the findings. We create in us, let's get rid of the mind that makes us believe that there is no way, that we are not able to do what we dream of, that the future is gloomy, that there is no time any time. Let's enjoy the meticulous and dispensed mission. Let's look for those sensations that we have forgotten our childhood: do you remember the emotion of hiding or after sticking a racing so that it will not touch us takes it? And the emotion of riding a bicycle and his freedom, drawing by believing Picasso or singing believing Paloma San Basilio. Can you imagine the pterosour pisteo the Chicamocha cannon, flying over steep mountains and eating Lebrija pineapples? Can you imagine the astonishment of those first aborigines, who decided to go beyond the known, finding a piece of earth surrounded by salt water?

"We fulfill the task of living in such a way that when we die, even that of the funeral home feels it."

Mark Twain.

Day 124: Sotavento

I am witnessing how the stations change, how from my window the torrential downpours transform the Aburrá Valley, of a place of splendorous green that intensify under the sun's rays to be the cradle of a baby wraph, crouch by the rumbleof electrical discharges.Life seems to disappear before such majestic spectacle.Who can defend themselves against the vehemence of nature?Neither their mountains can surround this valley with a smell of coffee and beans.Time has changed, pandemic has changed and we have changed.

I have received in the course of these weeks a potpourri of moving stories, kneaded by tragic, but marked by the fight against irreducibility and by the force of giving.The first one found her in a newspaper: Jihad al-Suwait is a young Palestinian, who decided to climb several floors from a hospital, for her facade, to be able to sit in the window of the room where her mother battle against the virus every night, until goodbye says forever.What would have passed through the head of that boy, seeing his mother in the solo confinement of her, night after night, walk before her death without him being able to prevent her.The silent company of him separated from him by a glass window, the hours sliding, his impotence, his determination, the void surrounded him, cradled him.His love ingenuity transformed, even in the distance, the farewell of that being who gave his life in a gala worthy of any monarchy.

The second cartoon is from someone very close to my affections, who was hit by a food conveyor truck while riding a bicycle.The Bobadita cost him 4 broken ribs, hip fissure, pneumothorax and bruises throughout the body.They imagine the pain!In the middle of the hangover by a trauma of such wingspan, this person has time to teach us how to sow, how to face pain, how to fill a monochromatic drawing with color.Imagine that he wrote in one of those WhatsApp groups, and he told a relative of his that all the pain he was living offered him for his health.Beautiful act of nobility, beautiful act of love.A masterpiece!

The last comic, not to bore them with the list of infected by the COVID, is that of a schoolmate who was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2001. To make the short story, she today is in a wheelchair and opened a crowdfunding Looking for resources to get a device that helps you in your physical rehabilitation, to be able to walk again. The title of her page was as follows: “Help Nicole #Move # Conquer # #ms Will Not Rule My Life. Keep # Dreamin. " What she tells us is that we help her move, to conquer, that sclerosis does not master her life, to continue dreaming. Don't you think that this should be the title of all our lives, if we change multiple sclerosis for the challenge each is living? That depression does not master my life, that cancer does not master my life, that anguish does not master my life, that fear does not master my life, that economic problems do not master my life, that sadness does not master my life. Don't give us, let's strive to achieve dreams, we don't stay still! Nicole dreams of the breeze stroking her hair while she walks. Don't you think one's dream is everyone's dream? Don't you think that helping another is helping ourselves?

Simply moving.We can climb buildings to lull a loved one in the distance, we can transmute pain in love, we can dream that the road is to step.The common factor is we can: we can be inspiration living with strength our challenges.The acts of courage will never be trivial.

We receive the breath of the people who accompany us on this journey with their daily exploits.We received the breath of those who preceded us.Let's inspire.And with the strength we receive from your example, let's have ourselves at the high seas, let us raise our candles, and navigate full candle.If the wind ceases, let's navigate a candle;If the wind changes direction, let's change the candle, but let's not adjust it;If the effort is a lot, let's stop the candle.Let us save and sail to Sotavento, enjoying the propulsion of the wind, of the heart wandering for the immensity, of the experience of living our conquests with our crew.We are all captains, we are all sailors, we are all candle, we are all wind, we are all sea.

"Carpe Diem, Quam Minimum Postter Credula" (take advantage of the day and do not trust tomorrow)

Day 132: I'll jump

Following the world of the cartoons of the previous blog, I start this one that left me with my mouth open. The good listener few words. This happened on July 20: while in Colombia we celebrated the national day, a couple of children jumped from a third floor in Grenoble (France) fleeing a fire that consumed his home. I do not know the causes. The neighbors of the place gathered on the first floor and shouted to them to be thrown away, while the children were held terrified outside the window. The children, one after another, beat the fear and trusting this group of strangers arranged to save their lives, to descend in free fall about 15 meters. In the 21st century, these screams were nothing other than screams of independence. This was Llorente's real vase, so that this couple of children learned that trusting others can save their own lives, that fear instead of immobilizing them must mobilize them, and that before a crossroads of such magnitude a decision can be a Trip whose port of departure is the anguish and whose port of arrival is the happiness of being aware of the transience of life, and its miracle. The oldest of the children first launched to the child and then he did. Chapeau!

Walid Athoumani, a geography student and a neighbor of the place he was there to first receive the 3 -year -old boy and then to receive the 10 years.Walid and other neighbors went up to knock the door to enter and could not do it, so they decided to choose to tell the couple of children to jump from their window.The children left unharmed, they didn't touch the ground.While several of those who received the children suffered fractures in their wrists and fingers.Walid did not care about his wrist pain and waited for the second child's reception.The important thing was to save their lives!In his story, he copied the link to the end of the blog, he says that he was proud of the solidarity of the neighbors and that the great heroes were the children with their courage.

I think of children and I admire to their management of the situation, in the face of their courage. It amazes me that despite the fact that in their minds the Galo -To terror, given this very small decision, did not hesitate to execute what "unknown" unknown urged them. That intrepidity and boldness is also the result of some minds without so many prejudices, of the fantasy that fantasy that fantasy that Adults forgot that "everything is possible." The child plays, and this game was tried to trust. On the other hand, I think of Walid and their other neighbors, who acted determined to help children despite adversity. Collective mind is stronger than the individual mind, adrenaline and the clarity of the objective led them as a team that, at this level of pressure, they would achieve the unthinkable. Do they imagine the energy generated by the shock force when sustaining the free fall of a 15 kilos and the other of approximately 30 kilos? Go LPE or the result. Wanting is power, definitely. None of the protagonists of this story had the way to verify if the other was reliable, but they did it without so much cavilar. The life of these children are the result of the trust that everyone had: the confidence that the neighbors had each other, the confidence of the children in front of the group of neighbors, the trust that the younger child had the older child. It was a chain of trust that prevented these children from lying cold and motionless; Or seen from another perspective, it was this chain of trust that allowed these children to be born again.

How much do I trust me?How much do I trust the other?How much do I trust the divine?Does the mind play and chain us to make us think that we are not able to do something that takes it out of your status quo?Our pride prevents us from trusting because it makes us feel more than the other or the other less than us, and our ignorance makes us believe the supreme mind of the universe, we believe gods, and therefore trusting something immaterial is a waste of time, becauseIf I have the destiny under my thought, why should I trust something that transcends me?We are so unconscious, so selfish!

Someone once told me that trusting is a decision.I don't think we take it very frequently.We live in relation to other people and start from distrust almost always.It happens to me, for example, when they come to shout outside the building asking for money, whole families, more than once a day, with chairs and entables.The business sounds premeditated to me.I no longer trust the veracity of his whistles and regrets.

If we want to transgress our limits, we must trust us, if we want to achieve one day, glimpse in the divine, we have to trust their presence, order, and benevolence.If we want to learn to live with others, we must learn to listen to our perception and intuition about who and when to trust the other.This episode in France gave us a masterful lesson to put in the hands of others, of strangers, our life.Is it me unknown, is the other, he is the supreme being?Let's have the courage of children to launch ourselves without controlling the result.Looming our apprehensions will allow us to be welcomed by ourselves, by unexpected hands around the corner, by awakening the awareness that the divine footprint is in everything that happens to us, in everything that surrounds us.

“While you walk the path of life, you will see a great abyss.SaltaIt is not as wide as you think. "American native proverb

Here is the link:

https://www.facebook.com/605545973301212/videos/3130907460326

Day 138: Ubuntu

"Umuntu, Nigumuntu, Nagamuntu"

"A person is a person because of others" Proverb Zulu

In an African tribe in the rainbow country, an anthropologist once proposed a game to his children.The game was that they put a basket full of fruits under a leafy tree, while children at a considerable distance had to make a race for that succulent delicacy.The winner would prove the sweetness of those exquisite.To the surprise of the doctor who proposed the experiment, when he gave the sign that the race began, the children took their hands and running thus linked, reached the shadow of the millenary tree and the colorful and smell basket was available to everyone.Together they sat down to enjoy the long -awaited snack, the colors were savored!While the anthropologist, not leaving his astonishment, asked them why they had grabbed their hands, the response to the unison of the Chiquillos group was “Ubuntu!How could one of us be happy, if everyone else is sad? ”

In a multi -ethnic country, where 80% of the population is black, where eleven official languages ​​are spoken (we in Latin America are 23 countries speaking the same official language!), Where 20% of the population has AIDS, where the Segregacionismo used unequal education and rights as a way of perpetuating, that is where Ubuntu, as a concept, led by Mandela and his government, managed public services, education, health ...), but also marked by the pain of injustice and inequality. Very surely, the story for a Boer (a white) will be reported in Afrikáans and Linos, and for a native will be narrated Xhosa or Zulú, and will be framed by the example that nature gives them, respect for their laws, for their Inherent hierarchy, for his harmony, for his hegemony. It was an unsurpassed crisis. Hate and revenge of the oppressed only grew. In this story, Mandela brought Boers to work with him in his reunification task. In the words of Roelf Meyer, Mandela never took revenge against his captors, on the contrary, he spent years studying how they thought to understand them. Ubuntu! Meyer always found in Mandela a man given to his community role, with modesty serving the idea of ​​union, with the generous and empathic acts of him resignified everything, to the rugby!

The West has been in charge of showing us Africans as ignorant blacks with loincloths.It is part of their strategy, so that they could perpetuate their control over gold and diamonds that were extracted from that country.Today, that "so underdeveloped" world managed to give us an insurmountable lesson.Today people of color, religion, of origin, of different tribe can be sitting together.Even more, they understood that the dignity of some depends on the dignity of others.

In Colombia, for some our history is worthy of forgetting, or at least that is what we do with young people: not tell them the scars of this meaningless war, but from which as a people we must learn.Our conflict history does not arise from our different languages or that we are culturally diverse;Our conflict arises from the abuse of power of some or the oppression of others.Our guerrillas, under the libertarian sophism, used threatening means to gain adherents, or at least to neutralize contradictors.In his imaginary, the ideas, for themselves, lacked sufficient strength.Where was the other?In Colombia we speak the same tongue, we are red or blue, we are from the right or left.We carry out a peace process from the Political Constitution, but not from an ethical transformation and deep values.Colombia still does not forgive those who kidnapped and blinded so many lives!

How is the period of "violence" or the guerrilla war period, with what we are living today?Today we see a dividing language, the left wanting to make an electorate young and biased by the lack of information that their flags work for justice.The right by taking the populist voices to advocate a technical polyphonic.The country divided into fanatisms because Uribe is in jail, either because it deserves it in the optics of some, or with homeland pain because this public servant must pay unjustly house by jail while Santrich takes Añejo wine with good tapas.In the assault this week Uribe fell to the canvas because of the left soap that Cepeda gave him.

Let's learn not to forget our history, let's learn from the history of other peoples who overcome segregationism at its expression to focus their transformation, to give way to selfishness and think about the other still different from me, as an object of my service.I do not win if we all win.Could it be that the Supreme Court of Justice of this country understands this, will it be that Cepeda's actions in the case of avengeing, rightly or not, do not generate more revenge?

That Ubuntu becomes the substrate of our change.This is true, now in the middle of the pandemic.Instead of shouting at the other because he rebuked him because of his lack of cappes, we should understand that, if the other gets sick because of mine, in the end the one who gets ill is me.Gentlemen, there is no debt that is not paid or deadline that is not fulfilled.Life is a sigh.Let's not waste time in delving differences or aggressions.We are social beings, and as such we have a responsibility ignored by all of helping the other, so my offender has been, of forgiving it that way I hurt me, of understanding its history because certainly something will teach me.Life is not about politics, life is about doing as human beings, and that realizing does not depend on flags or parties, it depends on printing love, ethics and justice in each act.Let us resignify our relationships however difficult.Today for you tomorrow for me.

Day 146: Discord or union?

A girl looks out of a window of the opposite building, she with her cape, making fentas, stares at me, while I mounted on the simulator (bicycle) I say goodbye.She without hesitation agitates her hand, smiles, excited makes me see that she is a princess, she makes me laugh a little;In the middle of the agite of climbing to Richmond, her illusion inhabits me.At the same time, on another balcony I see a young woman who organizes a table, putting a plant in the center of it and properly placing a jug of coffee, the cups, the dishes, the chairs.All impeccable waiting for her beloved arrival.What do we ambition as individuals and as a society?Did the girl believed himself a princess, she dreamed her or was she?Did the young woman want to show her love to her husband with the harmonious disposition of the space they were going to share?And I, for my part, pedaling where?What was my destiny, what was the goal?

This week I have been a little shocked here in Medellín for the resignations of the EPM and Route N. Boards of why? The members of the board of directors argued that the mayor made decisions of great size for the companies without having taken them into account, being those who have the legal responsibility for the address of the companies. A "coup d'etat." The version of the mayor of Medellín is that he did not trust that Board, talking about EPM's. Didn't he ratify her? Here the point is not whether EPM had to sue its builders or not, in relation to Hidroituango. But, incidentally, the truth that demand makes little sense, since Mapfre, the insurer, had already agreed to recognize the incident, because it was a fortuitous case and the fact was not predictable. There are still pending payments. Will Mapfre continue to pay EPM knowing that the owner of the company thinks that the builders were to blame? Do you think that "the poor" of this city benefits them more than "some rich" occupy the Board of Directors or the long -term sustainability of the company? The first thing I have to say is that I do not accept a leader luzar the social gate, the division. Using as a pretext the difference in classes for a flagrant abuse of corporate governance, of a company that serves the entire community, is outrageous. He has promoted deep misinformation. His play was premeditated, since a few months ago he presented to the City Council a project to modify the EPM statutes. She had to withdraw it; And where do you let me have ready -ready names for a new meeting the day after the resignation of the current members? Today, the consequence of their political interests prevailing over the interests of the community that chose it, under penalty of having chosen by flying the flags of being “independent”, are sensitive to the future of this city. The mayor threw the institutionality, the corporate governance, and put in a position of extreme fragility to the company that is vital for the finances of this city. Already Fitch and Moody´s reviewed their qualifications, for obvious reasons, saying that the main risk for companies was the vision of its owner. A quixed! You have to put the legs a lot so that the four previous mayors, who cannot even see or sit at a table, agree. Incredible!

I don't want to talk about politics, but we do reflect on ambition. For me, the episode that I just told about what happened in Medellín resembles Macbeth of Shakespeare. I do not know if they remember the plot of the work, but in short Macbeth accounts he found himself, on the way back to a battle, with three witches who told him three prophecies, within which they said that he would be king, and his bench Gesta companion, who in his offspring would have kings. To make the short story, Macbeth, instigated by Lady Macbeth to fulfill the prophecy of being king, killed King Duncan with the consequent exile of King Duncan's children. Lady Macbeth, seeing her husband's weakness, in addition to killing King Duncan's servants, decides to incriminate them and dye them with blood. Likewise, Macbeth decides to kill his bench's friend, since he mortified him to know that in his offspring would be Reyes, as the witches had prophesied. The quota of her acts already charged in the mental health of Lady Macbeth, who washed crushing imaginary blood in her hands, while in Macbeth her fault made her see the ghost of bench. All this leads Macbeth again to meet the witches, worried about his future. They conjure three spirits and give him three prophecies again, for tranquility of Macbeth. However, what Macbeth would not imagine is that the prophecies of the witches would be misleading. Macbeth loses his throne in Franca Lid and is killed. King Duncan's son is crowned again.

Macbeth was blinded by the ambition to be king. He did not mind incriminating, killing and affecting people around him, including his friend. His consciousness, and his wife's, were uneasy. However, there was no way to remove that remorse, and he sought in oracles the tranquility of him. He dies deceived by what he believed gave her calm. Does the media justify the end for those who hold political power? I wonder, what is the real power? Do not you believe that it is the one who has each one, when he gives the space to us ahead of the self? It may not be bad faith, but you are responsible for our actions despite our ignorance. True power is to act with clean consciousness and without remorse, with goodness and justice. As Macbeth, we will all pay our mistakes. There is no debt that is not paid or deadline that is not fulfilled. We must not consult, such as Macbeth, witches or letters; We must consult our great teacher inside us, there we will have our compass. Our weakness cannot be dissipated by accusing or incriminating the other, but facing it with compassion and with iron will. Acting without thinking, motivated by fear, is a formula to hurt us and to harm the other.

Ambition drives us, it can lead us to gesture changes inside. It can help us sow transformations in our environment. But it can also succumb to us, when our selfishness polarizes the window through which we see reality. The girl in that window made me dream, she reminded me of what she felt personified in childhood to our characters: we were heroes, doctors, supermarket cashiers, priests, moms, parents, police, firefighters. With the imagination an alternate reality was recreated. Let's use the imagination as a bridge to imagine different, to define the role we want to play in this society in which we live. But, above all, let's imagine that we are respectful of the other, let's not deceive the other for his lack of information. The system is inequitable, but we can give each one the place with our actions, if we truly act from love. We have to be very attentive not to transfer the border in which the ambition that creates the unthinkable becomes the ambition, which buries humility, which places us on the pedestal, which makes us the truth revealed.

Let's be responsible for our actions, and as the great teacher Francisco de Asís says:

Oh, sir, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hate, that I carry love.

Where there is an offense, that I carry forgiveness.

Where there is discord, that I carry the union

Where there is doubt, that I carry faith.

Where there is error, that I take the truth.

Where there is despair, that I carry joy.

Where there are darkness, that I bring the light.

Oh, teacher, make me not seek so much to be comforted, but comfort;

be understood, but understand;

Be loved, how to love.

Because it is:

Giving, which is received;

Forgiving that he is forgiven;

Dying that is resurrected to

Eternal life.

Day 167: In its brands ... ready ... it was!

All career participants rush along the exit line, each one, of course, wearing the badge that distinguishes it as a marathon runner. As soon as we take the badge, it is a source of pride, since not anyone classifies the race. The long -awaited hour has finally arrived, hearts beat the emotion, music tries to silence the swirl that takes place in the minds of the participants. All very emperifolled with the latest toys to measure their performance, wireless hearing aids, and I don't even tell them the tennis that they carry, worthy of a cristern of the real ones, truth. Will I achieve my personal times? Will I reach the goal or will die of dehydration? Everyone knows the rules, run 42 kms. and do it in the shortest possible time. Some run for social causes, others for their own cause or by a claim what is unobjectable is that it is not a team sport, what it is about being overcome others who are as well prepared and supplied as you.

While in some parts of the world they give the exit whistle, in others the attention goes to Messi and his reversal to his decision to leave Barcelona, about collective sports.And to the manifestations that seek to end the monarchy and the use of tapping.Could it be that we lost the enthronement of the majesty of him the tapping?Spain, facing the second peak of the pandemic, exhausted by the race, seek at all costs not to face the effects of their summer celebration on the beaches that are atibored of local and Nordic bathers who throw their annual escape, to face the best Iberian style.

Have you had the opportunity to see a cataract?Well, I remember, when I was 15 years old, go see the Niagara cataracts.To my surprise, when they are seen from above, the force of water is seen in that free fall, the only one of a unique percussionist in its class is heard.From above you see a cloud when he looks down.Yes!A cloud!If one approaches in the boat, he goes into the cloud and cannot look up, everything is covered by that dense coat of humidity that does not allow to see the point where the water says goodbye to the earth.To understand me: from below you don't see the above and above you don't see the bottom!

This is how it is happening to us today. Colombia is running the marathon. However, I have many doubts that people are aware of the rules of the race game. The exit whistle becomes, save the proportions, in a florer of Llorente. It is a cry for freedom, independence, anonymity. The rules for many are simple: I have to go to work, to earn money; For others, I must leave because I had to do this another, a thousand years ago; For another group, the reason is that I have to leave because I do not see the time to see my friends. The surprising thing is collective amnesia. We all forgot that we were almost six months located by a virus that has not left. Now everyone runs vigorously, ignoring that they are prisoners of a system that forces them to gain their livelihood, despite health hazards. And ignoring a relevant datic, and this is a background race, it is a long breath race and it seems that we were running the 100 meters. Usain Bolt's hand plans. We are blinded under a cloud that does not allow us to observe the origin of the waterfall, and it does not allow us to understand that beyond the rumble there is an iris rainbow that is drawn when the moisture is colored by the sun. The Spaniards are running the last half of the marathon, and they are realizing that it made no sense If rather it is requested to return to quarantine.

We live in community, therefore, we cannot believe that life is an individualistic career.Do you think that a cayenne opens its beautiful petals without sun or water intervention?Our life makes sense depending on the other, of the other as my reflection.Today I write by calling for sanity, to the moderation.In a race, the important thing is to self -regulate, is to know the rhythm and cadence that will allow us to reach the goal.The important thing is to know why and what I run for.Why do we run away and fast to the calm of our homes?To enclose ourselves as laboratory mice in shopping centers, falsely believing that with a purchase all our unhappy people will disappear?

My question today is whether we must conceive our freedom prisoners of the world and its systems, or if we must stop and look from the windows to fall and wait for the sun to come out in each of us.Freedom is not given because President Duque issues a decree.Our ability to create is not limited by the walls.Our possibility of giving is not curtailed by physical distancing.I made the decision not to run, but on the contrary to stop.To live freedom, hearing Nahuel Pennisi, to live freedom seeing a loved one to smile or cry, to live freedom not prey to money, but of the magic, beauty and harmony that lives in everything around us.True freedom we don't see it, we feel it!

Day 187: Frency

As the wise people say, we have returned to the new normality. I really don't know what that of new normality means. Leaving aside that I am still in strict quarantine, and I see the barahúnda so our independent media, reality is even more heartbreaking. I can't stand, to be sincere, or to finish the headlines of the Colombian news. It amazes me that, just as we believe that all past time was better, we believe that all future time will be better. What will our different future be like if we do nothing for him in our present? It is not enough if you do not see the killings of people on foot, as the grandmothers would say, on account of "armed" force abuse. What legitimizes the use of a firearm to blind the life of the other? Civilians are called homicides, the military for having a uniform seems to be coining a new meaning. The point here is that we reflect that when we were in the midst of confinement we boasted how reality was going to change. It has done? Have we changed?

While violence is climbed, the world is as a runaway horse, that is to say that without tapping. It is therefore the episode of a series of suspense of the best calaña. The possibility that an inexplicable virus will anxiety our lives to be masked with the cruelty of other flagella that as a society we have enquistados. The world resists confinement manifesting in the streets with banners and everything, however absurd it seems, while the Ministers of Health warn of the seriousness of the threat. The mayors of the cities antagonizing with the central governments, in addition to seeking to be the voice of the people, seek to minimize the economic impact of their communities (for the exhibition Madrid and Bogotá). They look for heroism that buys votes. What system in which we live, that we end up forgetting the initial motivations of a confinement to give way to prosperity, which we end up forgetting the other human being for giving way to my own abundance and security. Spain is debated in this dichotomy, and the Colombian population runs run to the inexorable encounter with a regrowth worthy of red carpet. We are afraid of the future because we feel that we are alone, and we feel that without economic security we will not survive. The ideal pursued by people from a Neolithic community that Malta inhabited was to be obese, because they lived full of food restrictions and limitations. What is our limitation that reinforces our ideal? What is our ideal? If not, Pablo Escobar's nephew responds, who dedicated himself to looking for a cove for so many years that, finally, he found 18 million dollars made trizas for moisture. What did you spend your time for some little pieces with drawings?

And in the meantime, there are human beings beating like Titans in UCIS, there are others who strive to fatigue to make those warriors fighting their battles return healthy and saved to their beloved who long for their return.There are others that hurt for a disappearance, by a murder, by a threat, for hunger, for loneliness, for being discriminated.Each and every one of us we have to overcome the evidence that life makes us.Each and every one of us, in one way or another, we have to take our pildorita.We all have to be, for those who like sport, like that tennis player who is in the final of a Grand Slam and goes down.He not only has to overcome the two sets, but he must win the fifth if he wants to crowned champion.That is his fire test.Thiem, the last champion of the US Open, had to play hours and hours to overcome his opponent when everything indicated that he was going to lose.

Do not you believe that the photos of loved ones, or some drawings made by children, make people in the UCIS accelerate their improvement?Do not you believe that, for the young woman's sister murdered in Cauca, listen to the sob of the mother of the military who shot her, and be able to hug her sharing her pain, she was not a balm for the bitterness that they both felt?

Meanwhile, everything seems immutable outside, as a collective.We as individuals have the canvas ready for the first brush.When imagining the result, the hand is directed towards the indicated color, to the indicated texture, to the indicated mixture.There are as many arts as people.For some brush is patience, for others it is perseverance, for others it is to understand its defects, for others it is humility.The stroke becomes miraculous because it begins to give life to an empty space.Love and compassion are color.How to pretend to make a composition without an inspiration?What is the meaning of our life if it is not in relation to another person, with a flower, with a bird, with a dawn, with a pet?

What did Thiem feel when the score was reversed?What does a patient who leaves the ICU feel when he sees his nurses and stretchers cry?What do the relatives of a missing person feel when you know his whereabouts?What does an old man feel in an asylum when someone visits him?What do people feel hungry when they ask and are not ignored?

That is the time to quote Calderón de la Barca, when in Segismundo reminds us:

"... well we are

In such a singular world,

that living is just dreaming;

And experience teaches me,

that the man who lives dreams

What is, even wake up ...

I dream that I'm here,

of these prisons loaded;

And I dreamed that in another state

I saw myself more flattering.

What is life?A frenzy.

What is life? An illusion,

A shadow, a fiction,

And the greatest good is small;

that all life is a dream,

And dreams, dreams are. "

Day 209: hatching

The Sun continues to make us its deployment of beauty, the responses take our breath when they see them. The cycles of nature continue their course and have not been interrupted, like so many things, by pandemic. Autumn came for some, spring for others, the days are shortened or extended waiting for solstices. The antiera ant works inasable for loading a sheet and taking it home. The sea currents make their strokes and mark the rhythm of the journey of the schools. The winds swallow, calm down, rise, refresh us, let us know, remind us. The small leaf that is born from a birch allows a beetle to protect the weather. Everything moves, everything follows its rhythm, everything has its time. Even the stillness moves within us, and we transform ourselves into it. And the rain, how to forget her, she with her magic takes everything and allows all a fearsome storm to be shining. How not to thank every day and her movement?

We have been a fact that shuddered our routines for almost 7 months.I keep seeing those movements of nature from my balcony.Sitting on a bench, I see in the distance the mountains that protect the valley where I live, I observe the swallows to play full in the morning, the planes believe eachThe plane engines.I see the clouds pile up in the distance, like fans in a football stadium waiting for the match;Then I see them suddenly disperse as a result of a stampede on the sports stage.My cat repeats his consummated sleepy routine again and again, which alternates with his eager walks to his food.The stories of births, deaths, diseases, miraculous recoveries, smiles and cries, restlessness and hope.Everything, as in Botica, he presents himself in this theater.

In that perennial movement, we stick to the status quo.We believe ourselves the idea that we can reverse, sustain or impose our desire in front of the fluctuations of becoming.We are the architects of unfounded assumptions and on this we build the empire of our stocks.You may think that the wave would not even imagine that he would die upon reaching the shore, or that the playful cloud would take it by surprise to tear when he finished loading.The wave does not die, its contour will always mark that bubble border that falls asleep on Earth, and the cloud will always exist in the plant that is born from the seed in hatching.Why do we insist on ignoring what we know?

When the movement of what surrounds us is observed from the window, it forces us to think that this is also reflected in our rhythms and cycles.Do we allow it?Or simply the discomfort that the image of what we think is imprisoned and does not allow us to let ourselves take to the sound of that melody that resonates in us.We must work tirelessly to hatch.Leaving the membranes that immobilize us, of the judgments that paralyze us, of the words that make us impossible, the thoughts that kneel us.Do not you think it is worth being Jacques Cousteau and furrowing the depths of our seas?In that case, we have to be like dolphins and whales that are happy just because they exist, as our acclaimed marine reminds us.We become the explorer and the explored, in the known recognized, in the loved and protected.

When leaving our shelter we will find that everything moves, but we will enjoy those seasonal changes;Fear will give way to astonishment, the germinated outbreak will dress up, with the help of the sun it will rise, its trunk will widen, its foliage will become dense and one day it will bloom.Surely, it will house nests, it will host insects, it will be swing for monkeys and trampoline for squirrels, and without a doubt the carpenter bird will strive to mark the pace of the days and make its trunk a work of art.

Enclosion occurs when we heat our soul, when as a good screenwriter we unravel the characters of the work, when we seek to do good, when we examine and decide to bet on the movements that transform our life and that of others, when we betTo evolve, for growing, for leaving the security of the maternal house and we accept that life and its apparent crossroads are only pretexts to strengthen our determination to the search for that fullness that all in the deep yearning.

And as Socrates told the Athenians in his apology, before being sentenced to death:

“.. All my occupation is to work to persuade, young and old, that before the care of the body and the wealth, before any other care, it is that of the soul and its improvement;Because I do not tire of telling you that virtue does not come from wealth, but on the contrary, that wealth comes from virtue, and that it is from where all other public and individual goods are born. ”

Day 216: Archers and cartoonists

It doesn't matter if the world ignores you, it doesn't matter if the world insults you, no matter if the world separates you, it doesn't matter if the world points out, it doesn't matter if the world attacks you.It matters if what the world ignores you.It matters if for what the world insults you.It matters if for what the world separated you.It matters if what the world is attacked by reconciling.

We live in the Tower of Babel. What we say is misunderstood. We live with so much noise in our minds and live so to the race, that while the other speaks, we are thinking how to discuss him or simply do not listen to him. Then it becomes an egos game. The winner is the one who does not bend to the other and falsely believes to be a carrier of truth. Our actions or words are passed by a sieve, prejudice. And from there the epic is built that will support the argument that will make us win the game. We never think if we have the complete information that leveraged a specific decision by the interlocutor. What we think we hear perfectly fit it as a lego in the space of our preconceptions. Thus, everything remains wonderful: what was a house of a plant becomes a building. Therefore, having more "air", as they say out there, everything is excitedly validated and allows the aforementioned to launch an overwhelming judgment that can change the course of our lives. The distance between reality and perception is overwhelming. We become judges versed in the laws of injustic, without declaring ourselves prevented by being immersed in a flagrant conflict of interest.

Today it is worth doing all the conjugation of the verb criticize.I criticize myself, I criticize you, criticize, criticize you, criticize you.What do we get doing?We are so blind, and at the same time so severe, that despite systematically ignoring the effect of our words on the walk of the other, we continue to give justice.And we are so unconscious that we overlook that this word directed as a arrow to the lamb is a barn.The weapon addressed to the other ends up returning with all determination and equal lethality to the goalkeeper.

That our words do not hurt, that our words do not invalidate, that our words do not break, that our words do not kill.May our dreams remain intact despite a no, that our hope is built stronger despite closed doors in our noses, that our decision to try not to be buried by the sister coup of the addana.That severity becomes perseverance to achieve what we long for.That the house with air created by others is not taken into account, provided that we bet as Escalona to make a house in the air only to live.

That our voice does not hide.That our words are not dodged to satisfy the perception of the other.That our words are not chisels that sculpt an inanimous sculpture.That our words do not confine us an uninhabited island, and as a shipwrecked the days go by thinking about how to return.That life does not spend waiting for the plane as tattoo of the island of fantasy.Mickey Mouse was born because Walt Disney did not give up making his cartoons while serving as an ambulance driver for the Red Cross in World War II, because he continued to insist despite layoffs and bankruptcies, because he decided to experiment with the animation technique at home,Because he never gave up.

It doesn't matter if the world ignores you, it doesn't matter if the world insults you, no matter if the world separates you, it doesn't matter if the world points out, it doesn't matter if the world attacks you.It matters if what the world ignores you.It matters if for what the world insults you.It matters if for what the world separated you.It matters if what the world is attacked by reconciling.

Day 239: The Atarraya

She watches her mother through a stained glass window. He sees how in a pregnancy test that was practiced by the lady of her, the word "pregnant" is painted, and is cowed when she thought that she will now have more responsibility. She sighs to celebrate life, warning the passage of time when she turns a year of a marrow transplant, and to be able to celebrate with a red cake the hemoglobin that her body produces today. She is persecuted by giving God for having found the little house in the field where she dreamed so much. She celebrates her 78 years dancing on the street to the rhythm of Carmen de Bolívar in the best style of a band of Venezuelans, with wine, the hug of the dog and her son's son, a smile ... that can be asked most. She fights with her life after a separation. He tries to remove the lodazal in front of her house while she replenishes, because the storm left all the furniture and belongings of her. She was mounted for the first time on a bicycle, with the help of her brother, after the amputation of one of her legs.

From 1103 I observe how this event of events develops.While some dance, the others cry;While some conceive a life, others fight for their life;While some make their dreams come true, others make their reality a dream.Neither the most worthy screenwriter could incorporate so many narrative lines into a single composition without any shock or gazapo.Beauty is not only in the amount of narrative lines, but in that, as a Atarraya that is thrown into the volley, the stories join, and that knotted each other to the others are sustained and supported beyond their own weight.They can fish, they can give food, they can protect, they can be suspended in the water to the sway of the sunrise currents.The fisherman never releases the Atarraya.The force of Atarraya is in its fabric.The fisherman is the witness of the magic of Atarraya and, at the same time, the architect of his dance, his lullaby, his silence.

Each of those stories have touched me in one way or another in recent weeks.In my Atarraya they are woven.In your Atarraya they braid.Your story makes me, it is born.My story wads you, it grows.Isn't this the meaning of our existence?

There are looks that are sculpted forever in memory by their mood, there are others that are longed for without a glimpse.There are looks that break the silence with their tune.There are looks that sprout and since the most liar.There are looks that welcome, which they knock on the door, that they play, that conquer, that with mischief, demolish barricades.There are looks that are oasis, there are looks that are a bayonet, there are looks that are syrup, there are looks that are aciagas.There are looks that implore compassion;There are others that, on the contrary, are armed with pride.There are looks that are flooded in hopelessness and others that are like sunny sunrise after the passage of the storm.Here I remember the XXIII rhyme of Bécquer, which I frequently listened to in my childhood, which says:

“By a look, a world,

For a smile, a sky,

for a kiss ... I don't know

What would give you a kiss!

Day 259: Between Zánganos and Perfumes

The bees swallow around the garden flowers.Without capujos, break the schemes and draw their trips in the wind, in the supposed invisibility of the air.In the midst of the revelry, a downpour is broken down that makes them leave in terror to protect themselves from such a violent encounter, beat their wings without resistance and safely seek the shortest way to reach the hive, where they can heat their bodies and take away their wet clothes.They do not look back, because there is no time to lose;They focus on reaching their desired refuge.

We have to learn from bees!They know where they have to direct, they know what their role and contribution to their society are, they fulfill their mission without "buts."They do not know their ignorance or yearn to be the queen because there is only one.They are zánganos or workers, even so they overlook the impact of their dedicated effort and do not go through the head that give food to so many.We, who believe ourselves a superior species, should observe that combine of bugs dressed in a yellow black stripes, that buzz and buzz, and offer the very life for ensuring the survival of their family and friends.

That if the hurricane of Providencia, that if the burned houses of Cartagena, that if the flood for the rains, that if the virus reached your community, that if the refugees flee from their homes in search of security and support for their children,That if the displaced people of violence begin again, that if the victims are heroes or villains.And what do we do?

We have forgotten that we live in community. Falsely, we believe that our survival depends on what we treasure, so that implies until the death of another human being. We systematically omit the other's need, we just pursue our well -being. And it is that what we are looking for as well -being is what will give it to us in the long term? We live lost, we all consider ourselves workers when Somo Záganos, some resist their reality as Zángano to become the king or queen. We do not execute our work for being rummaging in our memoirs, asking for forgiveness or asking permission. We break the balance of the hive because we do not respect the universal laws of giving and receiving. We are obtuse by not understanding that the focus of our life transcends, such as bees, the borders of the hive. We use our stingers to hurt the other, instead of giving our lives for the other. We do not know that we have to look for the sweetest and most excellent flower, that which feeds our body and soul.

"How wonderful is that nobody needs to wait a single moment before starting to improve the world!"Anne Frank

Day 273: PLEROSIS

On candles, lanterns adorned with colors, festive music, burning gunpowder, native food making their August: for some, fried arepas and carimañolas;For others, fritters, custard and flakes.Family gatherings are the order of the day, friends also look for a pretext to sing together "... Sweet Jesus, my worshiped child, come to our souls;Come, don't take so long ... ”There is always a reason to light that candle, a reason to thank, a reason to long for.The smell of the wax of the candles is mixed with the dew of the morning on the coast, or mixes with the cold nights of the interior of the country, in any case, the heat of customs bursts into the coldest loophole of our home.

But this year everything was different.We could not meet as usual to share, to live the sounds, smells and colors of Christmas.It is a Christmas that many families remind the absence of a loved one, or because Covid made it leave or because the pandemic separated them.It is a year away, of anguish and fears;It is a year when so many people, in one way or another, suffered.So, if you are reading this blog today, thank God for the miracle of life, for the miracle of sharing with your son, grandson, husband, wife, friend, friend.

For me, today is a special day. I have been in treatment for sclerosis for a year, with that injection that sends me to the canvas a whole weekend, and the truth I think is the time to share something that I have learned with this biweekly dose: fear accompanies to the uncertain; For anyone it is a mystery, but the truth is that fear can be overcome if we accept what we have to live. As Desmond Tutu says, the person who has courage is not the one who is not afraid, but the one who lives, who acts, despite fear. And like every way, all we can do is focus our energy on taking the next step. Often, they ask me how long the drug will be put, and since I do not know and the doctors see that it is for long, I answer that doctors say that forever, but that I do not believe it. Therefore, the question is how I decide to face the biweekly challenge. And here comes the second great learning of this path, and that is that pain is a door that can resignify everything, that makes you more aware of feeling good and fully; Therefore, when I feel goodly exprigerator until his last drop. The pain is the teacher to teach you that, sometimes, it is inevitable, but that you can make sense of those 72 days a year that you must be held, lying down, overcoming fever and discomfort. Will they ask me if dejected? The answer is no. As a good teacher, he has made me understand the great power we have within us; The great power of the mind to take us to the sea, to listen to it, to smell it, to see its serenity in the early morning, while my body fights with fever, pain and insomnia.

The power to think about the other was revealing for me.So, when I feel bad, I think of so many people in hospitals, intensive care, disabled, in invasive treatments, transplants that also, like me, must face the challenge of overcoming pain.What I have learned is that the Quid is not fighting with pain, in accepting it and using those days to ask God for people who have stronger evidence than those I live.It is to remove the focus on my discomfort and relativize it in the face of the pain of others.

And this year he has been full of stories flooded with tears.Therefore, I've always been entertaining.If I think it's a waste of time, it is.If I think that those 6 days a month are a school for my heart to tune into the pain of the other, it is a great gift.

The third learning is: if I think the application is going to give me hard, it turns me three laps.So the best friend and ally for this test is myself.If I consider myself a victim, I give power to my alter ego to dig the tomb, even when she lives.If I decide to live, I must exile all the thoughts that force me to think that I am sick.As they told me in one of the first appointments of my new “patient” profession: there are sick people and diseases.

In the end, why we fear so much to live, why we try to avoid the pain, why we do not value the simple and great moments in which we can give, love, feel.Today I thank life for multiple sclerosis.I tell you that the redefiní: if they play with the letters they realize that multiple sclerosis hides that it is my plerosis.For those who wonder what is plerosis, etymologically comes from the Greek plerosis, "regeneration", and consists of "pleon", which means full, much, and "osis", which means conversion, impulse.That is, sclerosis, already called plerosis, is for me a Recorderis of the impulse that I can never lose to seek fullness, to learn every day, to regenerate myself every day, for converting every second of my life in time with meaning.

That this Christmas you look for fullness, committing to the other, with the friend, with whom you know, with whom you do not know, because in the end we all seek happiness that is sometimes shown to slip.The year closes, so, as the balances in companies, I invite you to not keep waiting for another year to do what we dream of, to give what we are, to thank what we receive without deserving, to live meaningEvery second of our existence.

Merry Christmas to all and I hope that the year 2021 allows us to erase the word separation from the dictionary and allow us to hug and kiss those in our hearts.May it be the opportunity to thank all your comments, your words of encouragement, your company.

Let's sing!

"... Tell me you Love Me

tell me you Love Me

That you worship me more

a year that comes

And another one who leaves

a year that comes

And another one who leaves

I bring a bouquet

I bring a bouquet

of a cute rose bush

a year that comes

And another one who leaves

a year that comes

And another one who leaves

I come from the olive tree

I come from the olive tree

I go pa’l olivar

a year that comes

And another one who leaves

a year that comes

And another one who leaves...”

Christmas songs

Day 357: The liar shepherd

“Cut it!Cut it! ”The parishioners shouted in full fasting.The beloved pastor made them believe that Jesus Christ was going back, that to see him they had to fast and deliver all their assets.After achieving the collection in a meticulous way and giving interviews to the Colombian television media, the liar shepherd plotted and assaulted his flight to earthly paradise, with yacht and friend included.The paper house is mere pasquín next to the masterful getaway.Interpol will catch it surely tracking its yacht foods: serum and butifarra imported from keel ... ”Aja, you know!”

The truth is, I am impressed that less than a month ago we said that 2021 was going to be different, while, swimming in indifference, we filled shopping centers and we were all united.Twenty days later, the ICUs in many parts of the country without capacity.And suddenly, so many known people, loved ones, friends of the parents and parents of friends, sailing against the countercurrent.At some point in this month I reached at least 20 infected people.

I don't know if it's happening to you.I don't know if you pray.But when, in silence, I begin to ask God for the people that I know they are suffering in some way or another, the list is so long, that it frequently sticks the dendrite, and I havegeneralization that groups a combo of people, so as not to exclude anyone.I already have more categories than before.And I don't know if they have noticed, but a category leads us to think about others.Anyway, I discovered how self -absorbed that I have lived, the indolent and how little compassionate I have been.I have lived without being aware of the magnitude of the other's drama, I have thought of a victim in the style of the Valley of Tears ... pure straw ... there are many more who have heavier loads than me.It is only necessary to open your eyes and ears.

The suffering of so many relativizes ours, the anguish of so many make ours insignificant.Meanwhile, a Buddhist passage reminds us of why we suffer if we can change things and why suffer if we can't change them?While we are alive, we have the opportunity to put a good face to bad weather, to be happy despite suffering, to experience the magic of forgiveness and acceptance.

I ask you: What did you want to say at the ceremony to celebrate your departure from this world?What are they doing to achieve that for what they aspire to be remembered?For example, I would like, among other things, to be remembered as someone who always tried to help others;And you, where do you put your bets?I hope you are not remembered for being the liar shepherd.I bet on you, because if you do Moñona we will all do it, we will all celebrate!

"I chose you because I realized that it was worth it, it was worth the risks, it was worth life."

Pablo Neruda

"If I had to start my life again

I would try to find you much earlier "

The little Prince

Day 365: The Barranquero trip

The afternoon falls ... the clouds gallop the immensity as if they were looking for a place where they could protect themselves from the weather.The flower button follows its opening dance.The Barranquero poses in a wooden stake;Challenging of darkness and motionless, he observes the future.It is time to hide and he is still erect feeling the welcome symphony to the night, with songs, castanets and the buzzing of the boiling forest.The Barranquero decides to fly there, where the Orchestra of Seinados Musicians interpret the personified beauty.In that place, despite his darkness and the little visibility, he feels at home, safe and safe from his predators.

Inside the house, the flame of the candle is contorne with the slightest air current.The heat and presence of it takes the place, and yes, to the sound of crickets, frogs and fireflies, she also flies where her being expands.We, spectators of such majesty, larger in size, but unable to merge into the perennial movement of what surrounds us, inspired and colored by the halo of its flame, also as the Barranquero we fly without knowing in the silence to that place thatHe picks us up, which gives us heat, that protects us from the weather, that invites us to calm down, where we should only monitor our thoughts, where we cannot presume or pretend, where our race, weight, color or preference are futile, where onlyIt can be present.

We are ignorant to think that we do not have a little cloud, a little of the flower button, of barranquero, of crickets, firefly and frogs, of a flame of a candle ... of the other that loves us, of the other that made usDamage, of the other we hurt.Of the instrument that we are in this composition impossible to be written.

Are we not men in search of meaning, as Victor Frankl would say?We all live different experiences: some have a brain tumor that have to remove it and then live a chemotherapy process, others should resection from a part of the pancreas by a newly diagnosed cancer, others print their being in musical compositions or inTheir paintings, others get up in search of their daily bread, others walk fleeing from violence to unknown places, others live between bars for past errors, others live buried by guilt, others battle against discrimination, others suffer losses from lossesBeloved beings, others suffer from disabilities and depend on third parties.Anyway, in this world stories are unimaginable.

Victor Frankl, having experienced Nazi horror in a concentration camp, writes the following:

“Life experiences in a field show that man maintains his ability to choice.(…) Maybe they were not many (men), but those few represented an irrefutable sample that man can be taken from man except for one thing: the last of human freedoms -the choice of the personal attitude he must adopt in front of the destiny- To decide your own path. "

"To consider our" provisional existence "as something unreal constituted a primary factor for life to be in the hands of the prisoners, because everything lined as meaningless.Such people forgot that, on many occasions, it is the exceptionally adverse or difficult circumstance that gives man the opportunity to grow spiritually beyond himself. ”

I wonder every day if I am indeed deciding my own path or if I am someone who attends a movie and sees his plot behind the curtain and does not personify her.Or if, on the contrary, my indecision moves me away from my dream, or my myopic gaze misrepresent both my perception of reality that I decide not to act.Sometimes I wonder if fear immobilizes me so much that it does not allow me to be like that barranquero who serene challenged the night and its dangers, or if my ears close so not to listen to what shouted everything that surrounds me points to me.And not to say in pandemia, where physical distance separates us from the other.If I will be walking my way or will I simply be seeing how it is delineated on the uninhabited horizon?Could it be that I feel so different and separated that I can't get into the magic that every being surrounds us teaches us?

"Oh, how late action is to start life when you want to end!" Séneca says.If we really want to achieve the immortality we yearn for, we assume the brevity of our existence, and assume every second as a great opportunity for our spirit to grow, to take the next step on our way, to be consistent, to cover our existence, to cover our existence,So be a laziness Sunday.

We have every day the opportunity to melt with the movement that surrounds us, to return home, being the compass that place of calm that invites us the light of the candle on the cold night.We have the opportunity to feel that at night there is beauty, there is harmony, there is sense, there is dawn.We decide to assume the night as a passenger and the trip to dawn as true.

Day 373: The thrust tugboat

I do not know if they had the opportunity to see in the news that this week announced the death of Dick Hoyt, who ran 32 times the Boston Marathon and 6 Iron Man (the most demanding triathlon race of all). Because there would sound like a laudable feat of an obsessive compulsive exercise. But this is not the story. Dick performed all these expu resistance feats towing his son Rick, who was born with cerebral palsy, who could not speak and could only voluntarily move his knees. Birth quadriplegic, Rick was not predicted more than the coined phrase of "vegetable." They communicated for more than 10 years interpreting the movement of his eyes. In view of seeing the coherence of his thoughts, his parents went to the University of Tufts to design a computer that could state the phrases dictated by Rick when hitting his head. Some time later they managed to communicate through the computer adapted, and so on one day, out of nowhere, he told his dad, already 40 years old, that he wanted together to run a small 5 -mile race, to which his Dad agreed without repair. Thus began the story of a hero who adapted his son's wheelchair to be able to run the 42 kms. of the marathons, which he located his son in an inflatable boat with a rope linked to his body, while he swam in the triathlons; A hero who adapted the wheelchair mobilized by his pedaling sweaty in his bicycle crossings, and that while he did the transition of discipline, and not being challenging the physical tests of the Iron Man, to counterreloj he loaded his shoulder to the shoulder to the shoulder Son, to locate it on the following device and thus continue your adventure together.

This iron man, one would think, perspired with the only motivation that his son felt again what he experienced after completing the 5 mile career: "Dad, when I run, I feel that I am not a disabled person."This man beat the limits of fatigue, his own mind overcame, for giving his son the liberation of feeling imprisoned from an inert body.In an interview that they do after finishing a Boston marathon and spraying the times, he affirms that he had no interest to run alone, that the speed they achieved comes from something emanating from his son's body: “The athlete isthe".

Dibújenmelo, that I color it!

Day 411: SAVOCONDUCT

I begin to tell you that they gave me a safe -conduct to get out of intramural arrest for 4 days.I still do not know what the cause of the permission was, if it was for good behavior or for mental health, but what is certain is that I could wander here and there, take a plane and even see the sea!Lies, pure lies!I am deceiving them, the truth was that I went out in search of Pfizer, the new American superhero, and fortunately I had my close encounter.

But personally, the milestone for me was to see and feel the sea.I got what cachaca with blue jeans, but that mattered little, to feel the game of the water and its currents, smell the saltpeter, jump and laugh when the algae made me tickle from time to time and be able to take a look at the horizon.It was the sunset and her happiness was perceived, she was saying goodbye up to date with all the toys.A large fish jumped a couple of times, a whitish little birds with gray wings rowed as school children in pandemic, with the required distance, to eat the algae that swirled on the coast, while the majestic pelican planned freeA good dinner, and when I spotted it: Chupplundum!

You will understand the astonishment of the symphony that he witnessed.It sounded as I looked, as my cello teacher would say.Many times I had told my mother that what she wanted was to see the sea, and there she was breathing her immensity, grateful for the safe -conduct.I went from 1103 where the horizon were the bricks of the opposite building, where the excitement was not because nature was intoned but because the drills of a work broke everyone's floor and tranquility.

And yet, I must confess that not everything is as seen!

And here comes the cliché phrase that was missing!"It is that the pandemic changed me."Exit after a year of being confined, with very little physical contact, with a certain routine, to have to be around many people, some challenging the use of the masks, playing two hands between the cell phone and the antibacterial gel, drowning meFor having double mask and protection sheet, he was like a worthy teletubi.The experience was nothing cool.

So I wondered those four days of probation, if it really was the outside that conditioned my freedom or if, on the contrary, it will be that for a year I was not aware that the encounter with my freedom is not conditioned by walls and bricksnor for salvoconducts.Could it be that I was looking to leave 1103 as a mechanism not to enter me?

So when they give you that option to see the "outside" you realize that, despite beauty, to see different things, everything is meaningless if that does not connect with that world, where the songs are born, thepoems and prayers.It is like being out of 1103, I felt that the exterior was meaningless, that where I was truly happy it was in me.It was the set of the contradictions: the more contact with the major exterior was the call of the interior.

In the end, it seems that we are the ones who decided to condition our freedom or sometimes we decided in prison inmates that our own mind and its judgments erect.I understood with this meeting trip with Pfizer that the trip where we have full freedom should never cease, and that it is not conditioned by external circumstances.Our commitment to our spirit does not depend on enclosures or pandemics, it depends on our will.Until our last sigh we must bet on feeling the fullness of the sea within us, feeling the astonishment for its mysteries, betting to dive into it, dance in its guts, sing with its rhythms, pray with its intimate.