The first breath

It’s getting dark. The sun has already gone, the wind turns cold, and the once-white clouds become dark, illuminated at a distance by bolts of lightning that make the sea turn angry, wild, and furious. An uncontrollable force of nature smashes against the wooden poles of the quay I am standing on, the waves shaped like hands trying to sink everything, to drown everyone. But beneath that mayhem there are calm waters, darker and more peaceful with each descending foot.

I imagine myself floating motionless where the beams of the sun can’t tell me that time is passing by. Being suspended in space, longing for disappear in the cold darkness.

My feeling could be interpreted as a suicide tendency, but it’s totally the contrary. I believe that when we are capable to release ourselves from everything, and strip the wild nature of our mind to think compulsively, we will be able to truly behold existence with clarity.

The description above it’s a metaphor.

The quay resembles the logical foundations we have created during our lives. They are the pilasters that give us “solid” ground to dictate our paradigms and construct our reality. We love them so much that we live terrified of see them crumble.

The waves shaped in hands resemble our thoughts, the nature of our mind. The mind that questions everything, that enjoys vanquishing the logic with the only purpose of establish a new one. Our mind is creative and innovative. Our mind is destructive in order to be constructive.

The depths resemble the quietness of the mind. The mind not driven by desire to act but by contemplation. Only a quiet mind will be able to see the sunrays through the dense clouds and the refracting waters.

That’s the moment when life seems amusing anew.

The moment when a breath or air feels like the first time, when we born and there was not quay at all.

The moment when we were naked and afraid.

But we were amused.


M. Ch. Landa

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