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LETTER TO A FRIEND WHO IS LOST    My dear brother, I express my gratitude and desire for transformation, for I behold in our eyes the reflection of an opaque world, seduced by asilated winds that echo in the womb of meekness, yet, regrettably, resound in slavery. I see that your crimes remain unpunished, and upon you has been marked the seal of a dragon. The thefts you committed carried you to the destructive steps of human conscience, and now your very conscience challenges you, testing you with mental confusion and emotional instability. What is expected of you? And why do you delay in delivering that which was entrusted to you? The long journeys of your soul—from misfortunes to the elevation beside the fountain of emeralds—are signs that nothing happens in vain, even when your actions resemble those of a thief who bears upon his back the weight of deviation, rebellion, and malice. I see that you still regard yourself as enchanted, with that chip implanted in your body which...

THE ACT THAT BUILDS WORLDS I am in the air, pulsing in the water, calling the rain, wasting memories, taking evidence. Because that time was breaking, and one flower, in itself, was surrendering, and... I was in the air, pulsing in the water, calling the rain, untying armor, with my eyes cast down, obtaining concrete evidence. For that time has passed, and what remained, in itself, declared its worth. 

A POETIC RESPONSE TO THE FLICKERING FLAME Dear Friederike, There is something profound and timeless in the words I read in your letter. They echo the shared unease that stirs within us when we witness the flaws and declines humanity is capable of reaching. Yes, there is brutality, dishonesty, rage, and hatred—echoes that reverberate in certain souls. Yet, I cannot see humanity as an alarming threat, except perhaps to itself. I see creatures who often fall short of their own potential, acting on impulse, driven by instinct, as if still tethered to the animal within.  When I wander through the thoughts of ancient sages, I am reminded that to be truly Human—to embody the essence of Humanity—was always an ideal, a distant star that has eluded us, not only today but throughout all ages. We face the same struggles as those who came before us, though dressed in different shades. Yet, this latent potential pulses within each of us, waiting, always waiting, for the moment to awaken.  H...

  FROM THE MUD BLOOMS THE LOTUS FLOWER I will recount a glimpse of what I feel, Feeling little of what I say, With these weary eyes And this fatigue that prevails. I threw myself into the arms of someone I did not know, I partially opened myself in the bed of someone unworthy, All of this because inside me it burned and slowly smoldered. Ten years of melancholy have passed, And the vices knocking at my door weave toxic bonds, marking the soul with agony, sorrow, and apathy. I withdrew to feel stronger, And I grew stronger, weaving threads of purity. But little by little, I lost myself, until I found the monster again. So weak I was, that to it, I surrendered. Fallen to the ground, in the painful abyss, I looked up and saw a young man’s smile. I cleansed myself once more and embraced the practices of an ascending soul. The candles on my altar burn brighter within me, for I have learned that there, the flame must never fade. I raised the walls, rebuilding my sanctuary. Because, after...

THE GENTLE BREEZE OF GOLDEN CONVICTION Let us agree that I have waited for this moment, chosen to be born in this time: to feel the pressure against my chest, this air I breathe, the living experience of extinguished moments, like echoes reinventing themselves in ephemerality. Even without forgetting my past, I walk embracing the shadows I accepted and turned into light. Gently, I distance myself from what I am not, seeking the essence of what I aspire to be. For the soul, dwelling in the interval between yesterday and tomorrow, finds rest in the forge of the present. I consolidate two selves into one. Not through the violence of union, but through the harmony that dissolves opposites. On the banks of the river of life, I glimpse a boy with a forgotten face—the reflection of a former self, the shadow of who I was, and the promise of who I may yet become. The forest fairies whispered prophecies into my ear, and from them, I crafted disillusions that turned into nightmares. The experienc...

ODE TO CHRIST I recognize the Trinity, Oh Holy Christ who bloomed in the flower of youth. I absorb your divinity, Oh Holy scorned one who died without vanity. They gave you a day of birth, but they celebrate themselves, not your worth. For it matters not to You if they adore, it matters not if prayers are poured. What draws You close to their soul is the harmony of deeds and heart as a whole. For what good is celebrating Your birth if no Christ is born on this Earth? If no soul truly transcends today the bonds of matter and servitude’s sway. And so they scorn You once more, believing they celebrate the suffering Lord, But in truth, they live for themselves as they did before. Oh Holy One, resting in eternal silence, awaiting humanity to open its essence. For Your kingdom is not in the distant skies, but in the soul that beats where life truly lies. Let today, on this feigned day of devotion, a Christ be reborn in every emotion. And let love, so simple and subversive, be the miracle of ...

I Present to You the Best I Can Offer I cast within myself the questions that refine my knowledge. I am distancing myself from myself in a way I cannot describe. Something beautiful remains alive, even as I notice the dead shells of my skin in transformation. I still find myself clinging, in no hurry to return to the starting point from which I departed. I feel in my soul an inexplicable force guiding my steps, throwing me from side to side, embracing friendly encounters, and reconnecting with people and situations from my past. Yet, I confess I do not know if this will be my last life on Earth, as I find myself repeating actions, reliving wounds, leaving doors open with no goodbyes. Understand me; do not read me harshly, but perhaps your reasons for living are not mine. I feel attachment and detachment. I feel incomplete, understood in a misunderstood way, open in a closed way: living the present, relinquishing the past, and without long-term plans for the future. Something in me sens...

 WHO WAS I BEFORE YOU? You don’t know how it hurts, you can’t imagine the pain, you don’t feel how it bleeds. I am broken, completely shattered, crying for me, for you, and for all the feelings I built with you. Without knowing why, I lost a brother, a friend. Hey Lord, why did I let this happen to me? Why was I cursed, enslaved, and tortured by a passion that deafens my ears, curling me inside the dark womb of an invisible sorrow? Why does it hurt so much? And when will it stop? I don’t want to collect so much pain, I don’t want to suffer in vain. Not knowing if I can still hope, not knowing if I can still have you. Throwing myself into the cold abyss called sadness. Carrying this mourning, this wound that won’t heal, this cry that no one hears. And yet, I keep dreaming of you, waking by your side, listening to your boyish voice. I wake up wondering, rising without strength, with this hole in my chest, with this memory that bitters my tongue and makes my bones tremble with fear. W...

  FROM MY PRESENT SELF Part One I am writing this letter to you and me. I know time has passed and that it will always pass. I want to see you fly; I want to learn to love. I write to you so that you may know how to listen and appreciate, recognizing that death may come, but life will never end. I speak with the voice of a soul that feels the purity of existence, decently surrendering to innocence. I know which paths have brought you to me, and I also know that nothing is by chance, that there is no true end. I lovingly embrace our certainties and place the empty glass on the table with the serenity of one who accepts what is. I leave blank spaces in this letter for you to fill and savor the sweetness of life. I tell you that I love myself by loving you and feel you by feeling myself, for we are one, inhabiting different sides until we simply cease to be. From me to you, from your past to our present.

  A LITTLE OF WHAT WE LACK I lack the words to translate the feelings I carry, like winds dancing among mountains. I sense you in the distance, even when you’re so near, like an island floating in the heart of the sea. The warmth brings us closer, stitching two bodies into the present, immersed in the same current of life, breathing the same breath of the universe, bathed in the light of an eternal moment. In the confusion of thoughts that orbit our souls, I perceive the dance of illusion and truth. Darkness guides me inward, while the breeze accompanying you passes through me like an echo of something that has always existed. I feel myself moving forward while you are returning, and in that motion, our lives cross like rivers meeting the ocean. Your voice, innocent like the child we once were, and your presence, steady like a rock, awaken in me the desire to possess. But then I remember: a part of me already rests in you, like a flame that warms without consuming, leaving marks...

IN THE RHYTHM OF EXISTENCE I sit on the bench in the square and watch the day unfold: the child running, the bird in flight, the sweat dripping in beads from my brow. Alone in an unfamiliar and sweltering place, I find myself. I sleep on the bench, knowing that I will rest here again tomorrow and perhaps the day after. Such are the chapters of my journey, and some hidden part of me savors the vulnerability, the lack, the fragility of it all. As I walk with my heavy, red backpack slung over my shoulders, I reflect on the ways of being. There are three ways to perceive, two ways to feel, and only one way to be. I do not claim this as absolute truth, but as a truth that nourishes, germinates, and transforms, carrying us from one state to another, from liquid to vapor. I receive food from the hands of strangers, silently grateful for those who give without expectation, as I tread up and down the hills. Perhaps my father is not proud of my chosen path, but what pride matters more than that ...