I look primarily at the background where all that happens, and in that background my scattering happens.
I have observed that, when I ignore that background, the days pass by anonymously, almost furtively, as if they knew of the fraud that nests in that ignorance and the pain that is neglected.
And it is -of that unattended pain- of what I would like to write in such a way that my words should confront the interior fraud, which sublies under the drowsiness of the routine character, and which tries, cunningly, to usurp a place, which corresponds legitimately to the Reality.
Also I have observed that this fraud is what it gobbles to the purity, profaning it, domesticating it and turning it into an ornament usable for other ends.
This fraud can remain secret, latent, covered by this image constructed on ourselves -late, when the purity was delivered- and under which we try to cover, absurdly, the insondable processes of living and dying.
We should consider that, if from the lie, the Truth is claimed, it is because the lie is more seductive and powerful, when it is dressed in Truth, as the tricksters know well.
I am implicitly pointing out the type of responsibility that each individual, that try to separate the nobility from vileness, has. Something that should happen before choosing the dramatic route of deception and its hidden agonies.
Under that despair are bound, the beings who have ignored their origin, due to their blind obedience to everything that is agitated in their mental and emotional processes. Agitations, with which they are intended to elude and replace the Irreplaceable.
Exiled in the narrow corridors of a cornered vigil, they walk, in a subliminal endless wait (condemned to despair) who pretend the improbable, while fleeing their fears, pursuing inexhaustible desires and blind to the great truisms.