Bolivia, 8 October 1967
I just finished rereading Juvenal. Gently rest the book on my chest and press down gently with your palms, as if to want to incorporate into me. This is one of my favorite moments: the satisfaction and sense of calm you feel after having finished reading a book. A subtle breeze caressed my face and Zephyr gently rocked the hammock attached to trees with spider webs. The sky began to be tinged with orange and indigo, violet and emerald. The night arrives, and gives way to the most beautiful moment of the day. The twilight blends colors as in a market Karaki, and the mind and thoughts are mixed. The muscles relax, the blood slows down briefly his race and the heart beats, the brain rest for a few seconds. Only the eyes and ears remain cautious, ready to capture the most subtle nuances and make it surreal poetry. Downstream, people are still busy working. There is the old Bose counting sheep back from pasture, Lara and Agapito ending to download the barrels, Demetrio that keeps barking at chickens. The voices blend together and go up the valley up to my ears. Entries are not spiteful. Accompanying the darkening in his sweet dance final. This is the crescendo that is manifested as the most beautiful melodies of the past. The drums beat louder, fast and hot, and merge into a single tone. Here are the horns, clarinets and flutes, and then the brass instruments, trumpets, trombones and saxophones, violins and cellos ... is a continuously growing and exciting. Nature offers its best show, but not everyone can hear, not everyone wants to hear. My ears are still welcome these imaginary symphonies and wonder of the world to accompany the poetry of the moment. We are the grand finale. Drum roll. Music became a deafening noise. Night falls like a blanket of blue linen covered with emeralds.
Finally I close my eyes and my heart begins to beat regularly, the blood flowing and your brain to think.
Another day in this remote corner of the world. Again and again I watch the sky I think of what it was. Lonely and romantic look back with memories of the deeds of a man who tried to make a drop of the ocean.
A shoe lace and a clumsy libertarian accompany him along the Elysian fields of reality and escort him to one of the seven gates of hell. A friend clumsy scanning the horizon, with elegance and indicates a point of infinity: "There! ... that's where we go. " An old steed a lamentation on the night of ice and a street light. As a Ulysses or a beloved but without a goal or a purpose. The only law a word, the only border thinking.
I am particularly tired a bit 'of time, more melancholy than usual. I created and I soldiers armed with hope and strength, respect and courage. I taught those around me to be, without ever forgetting Others to be among the Others. I saw rabbits behave like lions and lions prove Rabbits. I saw men kill children, men desperate, awkward and naked. And then I saw great men smile behind large shields. But now I'm tired, the storm inside of me is a bit 'calming ... now, that the crickets and cicadas also take advantage of these quiet. The spider wove my hammock went to sleep, perhaps tired of my philosophy, and in its place a leaf of ebony hands me the mother earth from whence I came. I got home mom!
