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the black square


 Then everything ends, when suddenly the light goes off and, punctually, the black square comes. Then the completed is again uncompleted.

I lived as an immortal until awareness spoke about the goals, giving a dimension to time; but the fear of not being able to reach what I must makes me fragile, vulnerable, and if the completeness has list it credo, I don't know what to do with the time that remains.

While around me the pawns fall, under the fire of a sniper I cannot shoot, I let my arms go with the flow, bringing my memories downstream. I go by places I have already seen, sounds and smells visited, and reflections on the water, the fallen friends dance around me.

I like to think that those who go do not actually dies, by are simply sublimated, becoming impalpable, remaining in equilibrium.

I like to think that it is then, in that equilibrium, that quiet is found, and the respite from that game that nobody has chosen to play.

I like to think that blind faith without proof is suddenly no longer frightening.

Everything is born, grows and dies. But it is perhaps here that I must seek the meaning of suffering. Perhaps you, the dark Lady, are the door between life and dream.

I raise my cup of sorrow and drink to you, mother of all mothers, I toast to not having to flee, to being able to abandon myself in the deep-red mantle, to the silence enveloping me.

 I toast to the one religion that is life, and to the truth that is my value. And I toast to my mind that still flounders in free thinking, the search for ultimate sanctuary on the precipice of the soul, the imagination.