The other day I posted a quote in Facebook from a rather uncommon character: Winnie the Pooh, which said “People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.” It was mentioned in the—back then—incoming movie, and it was liked by my friends by the obvious comical connotation, but truth is, I shared it because of the no than obvious meaning implying that the—most of the times regarded as—naive and slow-witted bear who “has no brain,” might indeed, hide the elevated consciousness of a true Zen master.
With the recent news about a scientific discovery of a liquid body of water in Mars, everybody is wondering around the possibility of finally find life outside planet Earth. But these are not good news for everybody, for pessimistic scientists this would signify the corroboration of Fermi’s Paradox—if you don’t know what I’m speaking about, please do yourself a favor a google it—, and for a second group of religious people, signifies that life can generate itself outside of the clasp of Jesus, Muhhamad, Buddha and any other prophet which monopolizes the explanation of the uncertain through the “divine.” And in this occasion I want to focus in the later.
One of the favorite hobbies of my father was to sit on the couch and watch the news. I remember during my early childhood sitting by his side and been amused for the collection of images shown of the events around the world: the Persian Gulf War, The World Cup, Bosnian War, and The Olympics among many others, that caused a huge impression on me.
On the domestic side, I was drawn to the politics, by the obvious impact it had on my family, our community and country. In Mexico, after December ‘94, it was impossible not to speak about politics and economics. The country was engulfed in the hugest crisis that—at least I—have ever seen. That event sparked my curiosity to investigate about history of the political party in power, and even at my short age, I was frustrated with—at least from my moral point of view at that time—seemed like not just terrible, but dumbest decisions somebody could do. But, how such type of people has reached to power to take such awful decisions: they have been elected—or at least that seemed.
That afternoon, I felt like I needed a breath of fresh air, a breath away from the sometimes, suffocating city. I departed in search of a patch of green, stranded among a sea of concrete. When I trespassed to the oasis, the softness of the grass on my soles and the cold whisper of the trees restored my vitality.
As I wandered through, I realized I was not alone in my tiny paradise, and when I figured out who my companion was, I froze at mid step.
During my childhood, I wrote letters asking to Santa or baby Jesus what I wished to receive for Christmas. And I diligently listed all those toys that would allow me to materialize my imagination, and grasp a pinch of my dreams: driving a race car, pilot a plane, travel through the entire space.
For many years I thought—like most of the children—that the toys were the most important thing I had back then, because they signify my dreams.
All mornings, bright birds show up at my window. Their jubilant canticles light up my room like sunbeams, displacing darkness back to its recondite corners. All the habitants of my dreams recluse themselves in the oniric reflection of my vivid reality.
My eyes adjust to the light, while my logic mind still battles to discern if my nightmares were just a product of my imagination. If people had truly visited me last night. If the events I witnessed were indeed an omen of the future. And if the fears embodied in beasts haunting me, were, in fact, real.
“Since immemorial times the man has been aware of uncanny forces that surround him,” the presenter addressed the public cramming the theatre. “Forces imperceptible to the naked eye, but that nobody dares to refuse their existence—Magic!”—said raising his hand scenically—“It’s an honor for me to introduce to you the person whose name it’s synonymous of mystery.”
“My queue,” I muttered to myself standing behind the curtains at the backstage, making sure my bowtie was properly aligned.
The presenter stepped aside and waved his hand, “Please welcome, the magnificent Harvey and his fabulous magic show!!!”
During the creation, God first whispered “dream” and immediately after he said “wind.”
“You are the wind, the messenger that will carry the dreams in the form of words to the ears of people.”
A daunting task indeed, so many dreams, a world of words, so much to tell, very little time.
Long is the journey that travels the wind, from north to south, from east to west. His freedom has become his prison, because he is only an admirer of life, from which he is not participant. The wind wanders in anonymity, everyone is aware of his existence but just a few truly know him.
We had barely said hello each other when the rim of her eyes reddened and three seconds later she was sobbing uncontrollably dragging the attention of everybody around us.
“Ple-please forgive me,” she hardly stammered, battling to contain her tears shielding her face with her hands.
I did not know what to do or what to say. I felt uncomfortable, ashamed, but beyond that, deep inside me, I felt guilty.
The other day I had the opportunity to attend to a fitness fashion show, which unlike the usual fashion shows, instead of the pale skeletal models the stage was full with well-nourished and surprisingly exercised women—which I prefer, I have nothing against thin bodies, but I do have something against self-inducted famine for the sake of glamour, anorexia is no joke.
The beautiful fit girls promenaded back and forth the catwalk displaying their curved but toned bodies. My eyes enjoyed the visual feast not only from the women on the stage, but also from the beautiful attendees that congregated to celebrate the cult to the body.