CAMAGÜEY.- Time. That is what life is about. Do not be fooled. Even those noble three missions assigned poetically to the human being: Having a child, planting a tree and writing a book, are nothing but charming ways to aspire to cross the gates of our time.

The missions seem simple, but they are not. There is a reason why most mortal souls leave this world without succeeding in the three orders: too often love, sensitivity and talent, which are the three keys to unlock those doors, do not agree in living in the same body. An even when they do, they might miss luck. Those are the cases in which you do not complete the equation and you have children without poetry, trees without indexes, books without fruits…

We are nothing but the hands of a great clock, galactic minute hands that enrich a time that goes beyond us. In spite of the appearances, we do not create the calendars to measure a time that is unmeasurable, but to mark the steps that are given to us as individuals in our incarnation. That is why there are no births without inscriptions, unions without anniversaries or deaths withouts epitaphs.

A child, a tree, a book… or who knows if two. Lets impregnate a womb, a furrow, a white pastern with clean wishes. Lets enjoy the anguish of seizing this piece of time because very often, life is not enough to live.

*Taken from Adelante Archive