Well, like every day, I get up, meditate for a couple of hours, and have breakfast. For the first time in a long time, I'm not occupied or worried that there are no environmental guards in Chinijo. A deep breath. But I'm calmed by everything that has remained alive from these years of human plundering. And I'm saddened by what is uselessly missing.
I go to the computer to see the news, and hooray, the internet is still there. I read with interest Vicent Navarro's article in Público and Saúl García's in Diario de Lanzarote. And then I try to verify the news of the military deployment of NATO (basically Yankee soldiers) around Russia. I don't know, it's a pain in the ass, because if things get messy, it doesn't seem like it'll be about little soldiers.
I pay attention to Cuba, which is always a reference whenever there's a big mess, whether it's hurricanes, cold wars, or health, and life places them on the border of the mess. They know the most about almost everything. Even about laughing and dancing in the worst situations. They know a lot about isolation, but above all about solidarity.
Before, of course, I checked on the plants, and they are in a state of frenzy, oblivious to the mess, and in full spring awakening with yesterday's sprinkle. Some when it's their turn, others wait for summer, and others for winter; different rhythms, but they are all there. And the seedbeds, what excitement when an almost imperceptible green tip begins to appear after days of waiting.
I'll see if this coronavirus thing serves me as some experience when the bugs come for them. There I will be the government, and it's not so easy anymore. Not to mention impossible, to be fair. I have a whole ideological baggage that ranges from which plant has more rights to which bug is more despicable. Or vice versa.
That baggage is the key to the matter. And I dedicate a good part of my introspections to it. Einstein's phrase 'Problems cannot be solved with the same mindset that created them' is for me one of the key moments of humanity. In terms of philosophy and science.
Then I feel like I am a common tree that communicates with the world through its roots (they say that the neuronal cells they have are at their tips), and there they feel part of the earth and take root in it and communicate with the rest of the trees and create a way of thinking, adapted to that way of feeling. The foliage above is only its reproductive system, which has, of course, its pleasures and dislikes.
But it hasn't found out about photosynthesis. It doesn't know where the vital energy really comes from, the one that builds its being. Its authentic essence and connection with the world. It feels the sun, but only as something sexual. Primary.
I meditate to connect with my photosynthesis, which is not that of the tree, but it is. And this body, down to the last cell, bacteria, or virus, feels deeply grateful for that discovery. For that awareness. Then I return to the roots, to the neurons.
I like to peek into the room and look at Sasa's deeply sleeping little face. Now I don't lie down for her to cuddle me; I know that in those moments of sleep she doesn't know where I come from, if I have washed my hands well and those things, and she will feel uncomfortable. But just as I spent the fear, I am full of previous hugs, caresses, and kisses. Tenderness. In the end, that is always the way. Tenderness and beauty.
In scientific terms, I would say that it is the great achievement of evolution. But it is new and is pushing to see if it settles into what they call competition for life. I am one of those who believes that it will prosper, precisely because tenderness and beauty do not compete. They are. And it's already everywhere. I don't know if I'm explaining myself, damn it! and why do I cry so much.
I don't like going to the supermarket because I get a crazy desire to hug people, to get close, to touch them, which is what I always did. But what becomes unbearable is when I discover eyes waiting for that from me.
Remember that we float, that we float. That in order for the sea not to swallow us, we only have to breathe calmly, relax. It's not about giving more strokes to the water or trying to grab onto it. And with the air it's the other way around, so that it doesn't suffocate us, we have to let ourselves sink, let go, not cling to it.
It is already in us. And now cleaner. And remember: there is tenderness and beauty everywhere, we just have to line them with solidarity. And from there, live, and when it's time, die. And that's how it is because, even if you don't remember how it was, but because of what they tell you, one day we were born.
