Mi Primera Entrada En Español

Sí, esta entrada es en español. ¿Y por qué? Porque es posible. Muchas cosas son posibles, en realidad. Pero a menudo nosotros vagamos por el mundo sin aprovechar esas oportunidades. Otra vez, ¿por qué? No sé. Creo que todos nosotros son cobardes. Por eso... voy a escribir en español hoy.


La verdad es que yo soy una cobarde horrible. Tengo miedo de casi todo.
Tengo miedo de los aviones, los barcos, y manejar por el autopista.
Tengo miedo de cocinar y de tener hambre.
Tengo miedo de ateístas y personas religiosas.
Tengo miedo de los perros y los gatos.
Tengo miedo de la humanidad.
Tengo miedo de estar solo.


Pero al final, no hay ninguna razón para tener miedo. Después de todo, yo tengo la seguridad de saber que todo estará bien. El universo entero se precipita hacia adelante en algo tan hermoso, no podemos ni siquiera imaginar su belleza. Bueno, de todos modos, ésta es mi creencia. Y eso me recuerda: no tengo miedo de expresar mis creencias. ¡Tres hurras para la valentía!


Ahora yo tengo una pregunta: ¿tiene sentido esta entrada? No tengo ni idea.


(Por otro lado... mis entradas nunca tienen sentido...)

Stop!

I want you to stop and think about it.

What is it? you ask.

Well, if you can't answer that, then you really need to stop. Put everything on hold and just think about it until you realize what it is. Or, better, until you realize you can never fully know.

And by that I mean this.

We seldom, if ever, stop. Many people never stop. I don't stop nearly often enough, but sometimes I have to, or I cannot go on. I stop and I notice how strange it all is, how unlikely. I look around the room and I see Human Beings. And for once I actually notice, okay. This is really, really  weird. I listen to clocks ticking and think, there is something called time. How bizarre. I see color, I see light, I feel my heart beating and it comes over me: you know, none of this is necessary. None of this would have had to be. Which leads me to an epiphany of sorts. Read on.

I realize in those moments that none of this would have had to be, and yet it is. As far as I can tell, anyway. It is. That's the weirdest part of all. It's in that moment of realization that I personally realize something else still. I'm sure there are many other possible responses to such an epiphany but for me the response is a kind of a buoyancy and lightness. A feeling like I am being lifted up to some higher elevation where I can see what we call reality in its totality, as if from a great distance.

When I am up there on the heights I know jointly that nothing matters and everything matters. What am I striving for? I ask myself. For from here I can see it is already done. Worry is nothing. Awe is everything. Stop worrying and enjoy the wonder of today.

Sainthood Starts to Breathe

The fact is, you will reach outside of you for something and drag it in.
Keep it warm in some dark closet of your consciousness, nurse that thing, obsess over it.
Put it on tomorrow morning; tie it twice around your head and once around your face,
for protection, for the look of it.
You will stir it, taste it, stew yourself in it.
You will die with it clenched in your hands.

Every day I sit and watch the people walking. They move forward,
some fast, some slow, but all of them going... where?

If you ask them, you'll get stock answers.
"To work."
"To class."
"To the supermarket."

But why?
"To earn money so I can buy food for my family."
"To earn a degree so I can earn money so I can buy food for my family."
"To buy food for my family."

Yes, you think you know the where and the why, but if you stop.

* * * * * * * * *

 

You really have no idea.

 

That is when you hear the voices yelling from the bottom of the pit.

 

You dropped me, screams your childhood dream.

You lost me, screams your innocence.

You never found me, announces your soul.

 

We are walking, all of us, above a chasm.

We live our lives above it:
we are born and run wild and make love and make war
and die above it. And then they bury us in it, not knowing.

It is the saint among us who dares to lift the lid and stare down into the spaces.
It is the saint who sees with a shudder the debris smoldering in the depths.
The real saint is the one who refuses to slam the door and takes time to acknowledge

a Presence in the void.