THE OWNERS OF THE UNIVERSE
I woke up from my daydreams with the dejected spirit. I remembered remnants of the dream, disconnected and meaningless. I wove a fabric that united them, enshrining the memories, and I thought that this is the same existence, that this is the different and unknown worlds of which we believe to be absolute owners, where minds recreate the impossible, and yet we feel sane.
The experiences are experiences, and I do not mean pleasures, but vivid scenes where the normal is grotesque.
Given to living beings the ability to dream. I certainly know that animals, also enjoy being, imagining in vigil, their longings, their grief, their joys and their sorrows, and I even saw them cry.
Also to the flowers was given, the ability to adorn a world that, in its absence, would lack beauty. And they were given to the planet, allegorical beauties, impressive landscapes, samples of nature that as objective have to remind us of our passing existence, as a balm against arrogance, awakening the conviction of our certain insignificance.
And yet we erect idols, we create gods from nothing, we fight against the elements, we try to be the masters of our infinite universe. Poor and illusion humanity! How much he has tried to teach us for millennia, and how little we have learned from his masterly lessons.
The wise person affirms "I intuit", the ignorant "I sweat", the arrogant "I command" and the imbecile his fright, he demonstrates with cunning, elevating the egos of others, and those who feel the masters, are for a moment, to then succumb to their nostalgic pride.
Humanities that have happened, for thousands of millennia, and that we ignore Ladinos, and even so we believe that we conquer the moon, that we will be the owners, of such remote galaxies, whose distances we can even imagine. Of sidereal systems that our intellect could never understand, and although we are aware of it, we continue to worship idols, and even create ministries, and appoint delegates in the land of the Gods, as authentic mediators of the lords of heaven.
We have made the hoax, a story for jumentos. From the human needs a business and a torment, and from the sensitive people, targets to feel, from humanity the owners. And where we nail the darts of our anger and excrement, miseries, that inhabit our inner bodies, but that never in life, recognize them we can.
Because life is not a dream, but the consequence of time and our supine ignorance, of our sad moments, which by existence we take, when they are only discoveries of wisdom lost in the mists of time.