Story.

Small details... some works, in homage to you, and to them... A humble token from those places where imagination, frenzy, illusion, dreams, and rapture walk hand by hand, silent but harmoniously, floating, flowing, towards the sheer core of your instincts, feelings in order just to present other scents, winds, atmospheres, chimeras...

                VISIONS by Gabriel Puyo.

He opened his eyes… his luminous green eyes. Outside, a new day greeted with the best intentions. Remote sounds came from paradises where magical scents flowed without having to ask for permission. At the same time, that known sensation of a just experienced vigil put in alert every single limb of a body worn by so many years and too many disappointments.

“Another day”, thought Mike, “another day” as if by doing it, it would be possible to run away far, very far from that spot where he laid on that concrete moment. A whirlwind of sighs sailed through his veins while he got up and was going to do every ordinary thing in a particular morning eager to show how many treasures there were half hidden, set to be discovered.

That day was the first day after having being fired from his latest work. Same story, same conclusion. There, sat down on his old but loyal stool, and ready to breakfast, he felt tired, taciturn, weary… “How long could I continue through that way for?” He tried to identify something that would be able to justify the sense of his life, a detail, anything, even the smallest one, useful to give meaning to an existence loaded by just burdens, nonsensical elements that made him feel disorientated, dejected and totally lost.

He left his apartment having scarcely eaten two morsels from an omelette with a rancid taste.

The sky reigned with an absolute blue coat and mild temperatures whistled agreeable tunes in a spring morning.

He looked around, with that thoroughness typical of a scientist who found a unique species in the middle of nowhere. However he could sense in his innermost spirit that there was something wrong… something that would never be able to fit with that reality seen over and over again. Something so present, rooted and unintelligible at the same time. And that, precisely that, as far as he was able to admit, constituted the main explanation of a bitterness that poisoned all of his sane wishes for starting a new day.

He continued his walk. He would not be able to confess the places, people, atmospheres, through which the time accompanied him. If he had been able to observe himself he would have seen a ghost, a shadow wandering around immensely absorbed in dangerous waves in their way to a mortal precipice.

There, on that instant… hypnotized by one million of siren songs, with an heartbreaking expression in his eyes and a dismal aura that could forebode the worst ending, it occurred: it could be called vision, dream, hallucination, imagination. An endless list of nouns wouldn’t be able to describe what was happening on a mind, no doubt, so far away from there.

Mike just felt the need of stopping walking. He took his body to a solitary bench and there after sitting down, as if would be a sacred ceremony, closed his eyes. Immediately after, blindness, darkness, desperation, distress… anguish.

He was not able to understand why, but one sentence read long ago, came to him as a herald for what was about to occur next: “The darkest hour comes precisely before dawn”.

And suddenly he understood… and waited… in a perfect calm… With the pure satisfaction of feeling that the right path had been identified. A road, covered with coloured clouds where it was compulsory sunshine, mixed with magical scents from lands unknown by most of people.

What a road!!! There on that moment of happiness, various images appeared from no one could explain in one million of lives they where came from. Images that showed people and situations, frames of minds, auras, expressions, spirits... all of them drawn by a simple hand... a humble hand... people and situations where some cried, some smiled, others danced... an endless of representations by which anyone in the world would do anything, absolutely anything to be able to stay there... holy place, holy spirits...

  Mike understood... They were not just people. They were not just existing. They were not just complaining, neither breathing nor giving up those dreams, chimeras, horizons, utopias so vital just for a little ones.

 There, in that exact place, there were not people with detestable works... men and women together just because of a lack of boldness, bravery or forwardness. There were not useless complaints... fake answers to try to avoid a reality turned into falseness. In that spot, everybody and everything was pure... pure because of they were free... that taste that transforms world, people... a freedom by which things and masks have just one way: exile.

  Over there it reigned harmony, the positive, tranquillity, equilibrium... and peace... a peace that covered even the smallest thing, the most meaningless creature or structure around... a peace that Mike felt for first time since long time ago... a peace that played out the best ceremony of perfection ever seen...

Then, in the middle of those downfalls of rapture, something changed in that spirit… something was activated… either the sigh of one hundred previous lives or the acceptance of whom was capable of observing beyond all limits.

And the feared darkness let come a beautiful light… a soft one… warm and peaceful…

And he smiled, in silence… he felt sheltered by an army of angels that he was totally sure about were there by him holding by the hand.

Mike fell in love for those images, situations. How could he say it? Visions or not, there was not turning back, there was not a return... He had arrived at lands of bliss and once more comparisons were useless.

  But doubts came and that idea from who knows where about the uselessness of believing, forced him to open his eyes. He could not fight against it. And Mike did it. The impression was terrible. He felt taken aback by two different worlds. That from his visions, and this one... this just there, this so known and detested. Inside of Mike, a transcendental battle was taking place and his entire existence depended on its result.

   Giants and sorcerers, fairies and witches, good and evil, dreams and daily routine reached his guts, and had an extraordinary rendezvous.

    The decision was taken. Mike closed his eyes in order to submerge himself in that another part newly discovered, lived...

    But, it came just darkness, a deep and distressing darkness...

    Seconds, minutes, hours, days... went by. Time brought with it desperation and a bleak future. Everything was lost, forever.

    Mike sensed that his spirit was about to surrender. His strengths, energies had been spent by paying homage to his dreams and on that precise moment, it was just the possibility of accepting the defeat... at least, he had tried to go after his illusions and that was his most precious treasure.

   A honest smile was set in the scenery of his idealistic heart. A smile, in the middle of such a tragedy. A smile!!!

    After it, the darkest hour let place to dawn and with his last energy, could remember again that phrase, and with it, he could see how was transported towards the light, that that never abandoned him...

   G.P. Osca, 29-12-2005.

                                                                                                             Why?

 

The breeze stopped and an old beggar woman lies cut by her wrinkles. She mills around an indifferent multitude occupied in feeling their own way as she implores with silent shouts a smile… a fleeting smile that feeds a barren and withered spirit since timeless times…

Her well defined countenance could be just a mask besmirched by tears, come already in decomposition, in latent rottenness as a result from a gloomy whip that fools us: life.

         Despite that, two pearls remain pure… they are green and eternal because in their majesty are humble, simple… knowing that, like the succession of seasons or the days, everything keeps going to the end.

        A close ending that dyes those bright stars of tiredness and hope at the same time, made of who knows dreams or reality, fear or tender acceptance.

        The inebriation possesses her… calming the pain of an existence in which there was just cross, in which somebody forgot to add for her the possibility of the lenitive of a simple present, just one… and not even that was granted… like to many others… God! What is happening?

        Suddenly, the breeze changes… darkness hides and with a mixture of restlessness, everything tastes of magic… and those who in the reign of appearance shone, those who in the pretentiousness were the kings, those who in the lie ruled, vanish… and our beggar woman becomes queen… her wrinkles turn into soft and silky cheeks and her pearls embrace even the remotest miserables… poor of them! Nothing ever lasts more than the necessary and the prophesy is carried out at the sacred spot: where the perpetual rainbow lies.

       It is your time Beggar Queen… You are taken before whom in patient wait observes, before whom as the last authority, takes care about the encounter between Harmony and Justice and then… they never walk separated anymore.

     Don’t be afraid… Your spirit carried just forgiveness, humility and love. Your rags were pain, your starvation, a fleeting butterfly caressing your golden hair, your suffering a holy rose forever splendorous… you… your entire being… one of the few chosen…

      Let’s go! The storm has begun and soon everything will get flawless. Thunders and lightings before Peace, a won Peace that in its last verse proclaims: “kissing goodbyes, in eternal yesterdays on their way to the light”

Freedom.   

 

Attached to tinsels and accessories... is it possible to fight for the sun when you oblige yourself to be caged? Once the pilgrim looked at the horizons and understood the magic from the renounce. The dance of the hills started and soon the redemption will cure the lost hopes.
    When everything seems to be lost, it is when the right time comes. It is not possible to fly burdened with empty hearts... it is not possible to adore the prairie surrounded by walls...
    The labyrinth of your hesitations drowns your magnificence. Time should be your ally and becomes the traitor. Walls are crying and the little kids lost their illusions before even starting.
            Destined to flourish... for greatness... in the way to the stars... kissed by decorations of humility, goodness and softness... 
                 Can they see that what we are is what we dream of?
                      Can they see that what we are is what we do?
                           Can you see that what we are is what we long for?
      Obsessed by permanency and the cult of shallow anecdotes... and at the end of the road, just the lethal consequences...
      Are you free? Are you going to the rainbow? Are you in motion like the wind? Keeping yourself floating over the early echo?
      Are you able to do what you deep inside feel have to do?
      Are you willing to smile at the beggar and embrace the thorn?
      What do you bet on? So many things to hold on to, right?
      The palace is built, I can see. So many days, so many moments... going where?
       Silence... immense silence... suddenly a question... the question... from so many places... from them... a timeless question: can you stand alone? Can you?
           Roofs and alleys, when the sun dances, it is the sound of your poetry that shakes the world... it is just the profusion of your braveries the only one able to lead you to the soft catharsis...
               The price of your liberty is the cause of your boldness... There is so much perfection in the attempt... so much harmony! One day, by following that path, the dark side of your fear, will become the sweetest hankering...
          You decided to strive for the anonymous goodbye... you dared Gods and oracles... and the tidal waves accompany you since then...
               ...keep dancing... keep going... your breath tastes of illusion and your way is simply unstoppable... the rainbows are there with open arms... so close... and your pace is light... because at last, you got it... you... just... flow...

On the count of 2.

 

      You said, you were ready my friend... look at yourself! How pretentious! How blind! How do you dare to provoke Gods and martyrs, saints and innocents? No accident, no randomness... there is always the light between the mist...

       It is so peaceful, is it not? There, wrapped by your faithful friend... nothing remains save the soft breeze that renews itself every season... like the perpetual leaf dyed so many times...

 
      ...don't be afraid... it is the natural course of the dawn... one day, the bridge will be unveiled... the roses won't be ashamed of blossoming... soon, despite the apparent perpetual curse, despite all of those sleepless nights...

 
       ... don't you see the greatness... your magnificence... your unique absoluteness?
           ...golden dreams... solitary walkings...
                ...radiant light... among masses in darkness...
                    ...one way ticket to the moon... coming back is not an option...
                        ...the end and the beginning... now and then... always and forever...
                            ....and that taste... that harmony... that warmth... that peace... it took a while... against mirages, pushed to bottomless ravines and curing hardships...

 
                 ...heading north... always forward... never to return... the world will take you in... it already did...
                 ...ready? See you in the morning time? On the count of 2?

 
               -I will see you there my friend...

 
                              ...1...

 
                                       ...2...

 

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