A Midwinter Night’s Dream

It was one night in the middle of December when he came in from the dark totally unexpectedly, he walked towards the mountain without any plan, asking for simple things and the mountain was able to answer and provide.

He seemed to be another passerby but something about him was different, he did not plan to be there in the first place and I certainly did not plan to meet him, yet we were both in the same remote mountain north of the island at the exact same time.

I had been doing pretty well staying quiet and planned to keep it that way, but funny enough, the universe had other plans.

As time passed I noticed how almost conceidedly he revealed hints of his secret mission, after his interactions with the people around, he always came back to this subtle space where his focus and vibration were deeper, in line with something certainly important.

There was a halo of mystery around him and no one really seemed to be able to read him thoroughly, he was good at passing unnoticed, even though he was not hiding his powers, a warm heart and sincere smile were his trademark and he would always have them available for everyone. Who was this unordinary man?

As much as I developed the idea to not find out who he was, there seemed to be no place I could run to, for some reason and without any intention we often found each other time and time again. At this point I understood it was time to accept whatever it was this new lesson would be about.

So I watched him standing on the top of the mountain one evening as the sun went down and the sky played a song of intense purple, blue and golden lights in tune with the cold air that caressed my skin. He was looking over the island and the valley, the sea, even the snowed giant peak were looking back at him; suddenly the image revealed before me, the intuition was right, in thruth he was more than just a passerby, he was what the world longed for…he was a superhero…and he brought with him the firm purpose to create a better world for all of us.

I felt grateful for the opportunity to see beyond the surface and discover how transformation and courage really are all around us, we just have to take a moment to learn how to see.

The thought came to me about how human beings want to be happy and avoid suffering. Everywhere people want to experience a good life and live in peace, how little do we understand about the power to create this reality for ourselves and others! But superheroes understand it and they do even more than that, they use this power to create a different reality, they are the daring.

The power of giving is inside each person, yet it is very rare to fnd the one that with full ownership of this power decides to dedicate his time and energy to the benefit of the world and all other living beings in a concrete and practical way that impacts humanity in real time.

That is why superheroes must keep the mystery and preserve their energy, they can’t give it away to just anyone because it’s precious and can’t be wasted, even if they want to shout it out, the world has proven not to always be ready to embrace this way of being.

The life of a superhero is a lonely journey, they are often misunderstood and taken for fools, humans are eager to not believe in them and enjoy scrutinizing them, they give them nicknames like romantics and idealists and they secretly fear them. But a superhero is strong, with undermined will to carry on and change the world.

The superhero lives from pure intention, through great effort and focus his power grows, he doesn’t know how to give up, he will keep going and because of this, he will succeed.

The one I met had a strong and magnetic presence, he was fearless and so was I, inevitably we were drawn to share the same time and space for a lapse of time that seemed only like a short dream, during this time I discovered that for him being a superhero came effortlessly, his nature shined through him, he couldn’t help it and he didn’t intend to, nevertheless he stayed alert and open to learn, eager to discover more and more, he experienced the world with purity and remained committed to the understanding that we are not in this wolrd to take anything, we are here  to give and to create something bigger than ourselves.

He’s got the power of great insight, of understanding meanings beyond appearance and the power to let go and flow like the river into the ocean, he practices kindness all the time and remains authentic, expressing his true feelings and recognizing what he needs when he needs it. He has got the power of vision to build upon what is not yet there and to trust when everyone else doubts.

His courage inspires me to take bigger risks and be guided not only by my heart but by my purpose.

He vibrates in a different frequency and after giving this energy to the world he is ready to continue his journey, he takes pleasure in walking along the road sliently with all this attributes and skills packed inside a bag, out of sight, he watches over the island with longing and the firm purpose to never stop moving.

He will change the world…and I will always remember that midwinter night’s dream.

Literature: Sabor a Pólvora en los Labios

Entrenar para dejar de ser humano… estar dispuesto y listo para morir.

En algún punto del plan algo falló, estoy vivo. Me empaquetan y me embarcan de regreso, la mercancía ha caducado.

Las paredes a mi alrededor me acechan, la realidad es aún más insoportable que mis pesadillas, me retuerzo en el suelo, no puedo respirar, mi vista se nubla, el pánico ha regresado, el pánico nunca se ha ido.

Entrenar para dejar de ser humano, para convertirme en una máquina dispensadora de muerte, arriesgar mis miembros y mis extremidades, conocer al que sería mi gran amigo y verlo quemarse hasta morir antes de poder tomar una cerveza, el olor de su carne, la intensidad de sus gritos. Entrenar para verlo morir sin intentar salvarlo porque sé que no puedo hacer nada, ya todo está perdido, estar programado para moverme y seguir mi camino, de lo contrario serán mis intestinos la última imagen que vean mis hermanos.

Los sonidos de éste vecindario me apabullan, me dificultan la respiración, la vida, sólo el cuchillo de la cocina penetrando mi piel me conforta y me alivia, pero en algún punto del plan algo falló, sigo vivo.

Corro en busca de ayuda, superiores jerarcas que examinen la mercancía, revisan ingredientes y contenido, toman mi sangre y mi orina, llego en busca de mi alma, me recetan el soma sublingual.

Lo tomo en busca de una salida, mis neurotransmisores y mi química cerebral juegan en el torbellino de fantasía, entre luz y oscuridad, sólo quiere dejar de sentir…me duermo.

Cuando despierto me doy cuenta de que no he comido, en un tiempo, por alguna razón olvido comer, no me parece importante.

Hay sangre en el lavabo, el apartamento es demasiado ruidoso, las paredes se cierran, los recuerdos me persiguen, me tocan, me desgarran, quiero salir de aquí.

Gracias por tu servicio, no eres calificable, no puedes mudarte a un nuevo apartamento, no te amo, no estoy vivo, debiste haber muerto, lo que has hecho es terrible, tienes una orden para comparecer en la corte, necesitas un abogado criminal, gracias por tu servicio.

Escucho las voces y no puedo escapar de ellas, esta noche lo pasaré en el bosque, ahí me siento seguro, sé exactamente qué hacer, es silencioso.

Pasa la noche y al día siguiente regreso al bullicio, a la prisión psicótica, no entiendo nada, entro en mi apartamento, los platos sucios, intento lavarlos,  no sé lavar los platos, no puedo lavar los platos, ¡me importa un carajo lavar los platos!

Necesito ayuda, el centro médico de mis superiores jerarcas me examina, la mercancía está caduca, llegando al punto de descomposición, me envían un sobre que contiene una carta, así me entero de que soy deficiente, porcentajes cifras y números que delimitan mi sociopatía. Fui en busca de mi alma, aumentaron mi dosis de soma.

Tengo 26 años y no sé ser normal, ya estoy retirado, obtuve honores y medallas, preseas por mi valor y mi coraje. No puedo lavar los platos. No encuentro motivación alguna, no sé por qué estoy vivo.

Soy un héroe anónimo por 10 segundos en la conversación de unos extraños, soy un tipo invisible en el concreto de suburbio, soy una munición que se ha quemado, un cartucho vacío que nadie sabe dónde tirar a la basura y que algunos quieren conservar como souvenir para presumirlo el 4 de Julio.

Soy un Marine, soy un chico que no quería regresar vivo a casa, soy un desadaptado.

 “I wrote this after seeing the Pulitzer winner Photo Essay by Craig F. Walker, published @TheDenverPost, I had always wondered, what the life of soldires is like once they retire at the beginning of their lives, and this Essay struck me really hard, so I had to write about it.” -K 

See the Craig F. Walker’s Award winning Photo Essay:

Welcome Home, the story of Scott Ostrom by Craig F. Walker