A few years ago, I decided to write a letter to my younger self, the child I was. I explained the difficulties he would face, encouraged him, gave adviceā¦ as if I actually had something to teach. Then, one day, with a very vivid image in my mind that I will remember for life, I…
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There is always something that is not right. If only it was a little bit cooler, if only that plastic bag was not spoiling this perfect view, if only that noisy chatterbox would shut up in the table behind us. We have an eye for imperfections, a capacity to identify that which is amiss and…
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Sometimes we fantasise how it would feel to live in a world full of elves, trolls, fairies, giants, hobbits, unicorns and, of course, dragons. We see ourselves drifting towards that realm of fantasy, which we idealise as a much better world than our own. More suited for our spirit. But if we had been living…
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I love routine because it makes me feel safe. Life should be in order, so that I can predict what is going to happen at any time. Yet, an admonitory voice inside warned me: āStop presuming you know what life should be like, just not to be in fear.ā Fear of the unknown, I guessed.…
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Prompted by this excellent post by Andrew (thank you!), I read Virginia Woolfās The Waves. The book navigates a succession of inner thoughts, feelings, states of mind in six disparate characters described with empathic but also stark accuracy, sometimes using mental images that may seem unrelated to a situation, but which provide such a precise…
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There was a moment a few years ago when I stopped defending from the world. When I understood my aim was not to look for a more appropriate place, different from this one, but to fuse myself with this world to which I belong. To be one with it, accepting life as a permanently changing…
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(Spoiler alert: do not continue reading if you plan to read the book) In my youth, after reading Hermann Hesseās Steppenwolf, Demian and Siddhartha, which I loved, I enthusiastically started The Glass Bead Game. I found it incredibly slow and boring. I made two new attempts later, still boring. After re-reading those three books again…
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In the old days we didn’t have so much information at hand. It was easier to have an opinion that was not necessarily supported by facts. It was the opinion we wanted to have, or rather the one we needed to have at the time. Ā Now, with everything there is to know in our cell…
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Reading Hesseās Siddhartha again, I realised that I read books as I look at a river. I read and read until I find a sentence, a paragraph that resonates with me. Then I stop. I wonder why my mind focused my intention on that idea. I immediately discard itā¦ āNo, that cannot be meā. But…
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I remember the mixtapes (actual 20th century tapes) that we crafted for that special someone. They were full of thought, of effort, of emotion, of anticipation, of love. A compilation is a sort of creation. It is not a list, it is more than that. It is a language. A pile of words placed in…
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Nothing represents the lightness of being as well as music. If you focus on ānowā while listening to music, you only hear one or a few notes, disconnected from the rest. Disconnected from everything else, except for the other sensations experienced during that very second. Music comes and goes, it cannot stop. It only makes…
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Itās interesting that the word universe, which integrates all the diversity that exists, etymologically means to pour/transform into one. Humans, at least in the West, have chosen a word that means āoneā to define that which contains everything. Poetic and powerful. Who am I? I remember asking myself this question so often. Maybe it is…
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There comes a day when you are listening to music, alone, and you realise that you are where you have to be. That all the -isms are not for you. That you will follow your own path or no-path. That the desire for completion is just a not-here. A day when you realise you have…
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The shackle on one sideAnd your heart on the other, meanwhile, bleedsAnd the beggar always by your sideYour fellow travellerWhen the stars will fadeYou will come too HĆ©roes del Silencio, The stranded mermaid I always saw the beggar, all beggars, as leeches trying to feed on others, on me. Trying to take what I had…
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Why do we want what we want? One day we discover a new hole that wasnāt there before, a gap we need to fill, a want. It becomes a need we must satisfy. I donāt mean wanting water when one is thirsty, but the other things we want, the ones that look like choices. What…
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Why do we write? I sometimes wonder whether reaching out to everybody through online platforms is the same as reaching out to no one. It must be the same with writing a book, I guess. The writer pours their heart on a few pages for all to see, for some to take in, to mean…
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As I passed by the flat of one of my neighbours, I remembered that someone died alone there a few years ago and took weeks to be found. Months later, a young couple moved in. Now their toddlerās toys were spread in front of their door, illustrating our inevitable cycle of life and death with…
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Arenāt all the songs the same song? Arenāt all the books the same book? What I find in them, isnāt it what I need each time? Doesnāt my unconscious project what my conscious ego needs to see? My brain carefully selects the words I need to hear and removes the rest, which are no longer…
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I look at the horizon sometimes, mesmerised at the fact that I can see something I will never be able to reach. I remember it took me some time as a child to grasp the concept. I kept asking where exactly that āhorizonā was, as if it were a geographic spot and I needed the…
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To me, nothing symbolises the ephemeral life like music. We can frame light and colour in a photograph, in a painting, but we cannot retain a melody. Music comes to us, touches our soul and leaves. Like those subtle notes in Beethovenās fifth piano concert. They come, float casually in the air and leave. Like…
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The Introverted Tree 