A reflection by the author, included on one publication on the author.
Truth, beauty and harmony are three Siamese sisters. I cannot love or scorn one of them without wanting or despising the other two in the same way. I see one in the three.
The protagonists have other younger sisters called Virtues. These beautiful things almost always warm up the bed of the lovers of their sisters, although, sometimes, by mistake? , they lie down in thorny beds, and they caress disoriented individuals - crosscurrent swimmers- led to a premature change of form (death).
What it does not happen in its time seems discordant and ugly to me, but in what time does it have to happen what happens, if something happens…? Now?, yesterday?, within a million years? When is it Good, and when is it Bad? Are not they two Siamese brothers as well?, a single lung, a single idea? Do not the beauty and the ugliness, the true and the false, hatred and love, the cat with the dog, the man with the woman… coexist in perpetual fights? Does not serenity drink from rage?
I do if I want to do, that, even if I do not do, I will do as well; I do when I want to do, that, even if I do it other time, I will do it in its time.
“Truth” is the name of everything that exists, if something exists. Thus, which exists, if it exists, is beautiful and harmonious, and, therefore, worthy and eager to love and to be loved; but, just like a ball at a slope rolls downwards, the natural inclination of living beings, I suppose, must be Good, the kingdom where truth, beauty, harmony and the other virtues prefers to dwell in, all of them lovers of mine, eternal, and who will not even wither, at least, while I live. Either Fine Arts are imitated, or they are not fine arts; and the artist, or tries to have them, or he or she is not an artist.
A LETTUCES' ONE
Certain day a good friend says to me: “Xondo, would you know how to define yourself” And I respond: “One thousand ways”. Some minutes later, we both talked on the necessity of human beings to draw some God mentally, to use it as support and guides on this rotten waters ocean in which we lived immersed, and a friend joins our dialogue with a phrase told in a categorical tone, typical of a reflective man, like, without a doubt, our friend. He says to us: “It is not possible to believe in God and being intelligent at the same time”. And I respond: “If you exist, you will hold on to something or somebody”. With this stupid remark this friend of ours showed his faith in human intelligence, quality in which I do not believe -at least, in its quality.
Among the many definitions of myself that I could give to my friend, I thought of a more or less graceful one: “Among other things, dear Selina, I am a lettuce, a metamorphosed lettuce, but I am a lettuce at last. My composition and my necessities are same ones as those of a lettuce. Yes, yes, I already know that you begin to doubt on my sanity, and you will say to me that, if I am consider myself a lettuce, I will think that I am a cannibal as well. You are right. I am also a cannibal. I like to eat lettuces. Even more when they have a bearing and a bulb like yours. Ha, ha, ha! Well, you have already two definitions ". Perhaps the only thing that differentiates a man from a lettuce is that this one does not insist, like that one, on thinking that he is more intelligent, kind or successful that the other lettuces and the rest of the living beings, seeking the protection of ideological standards, professional categories, his bank account or the number of lettuces that can be killed with a missile or commercials.
Deep down, I am convinced that, both our friend and the rest of his moderately gifted fellows, see themselves with the same eyes? of the lettuce. For living with a relative concert, we poor and self-deluded children of woman, just like the flavorful lettuce, need roots and a fence to protect us from the devastating elements, being humans among them.
(In honor to our friend, I must add that my silly remarks come from a belly as big as his one).
