Writings
About elephant matters
heading for India,
their backs loaded
with remains of pots;
and the nights
in your weeping nights
moved heavily
among the green leaves
and the mists.
About elephant matters
who, in their grey encounters,
exchanged wrinkles of caresses.
An adorned chair,
a sunshade
and an adult child,
a mature child
who spoke about interesting talks
of the birds of the Himalayas.
About elephant matters
and the gnomes in the forest
who, in the darkness, talk
behind the curtains of light
that seep
through the leaves…
Convocation of dust and stone
Desert with many moons
where the charm of the stars
embraces the wanderer’s anima.
Convocation of dust and stone
where the elements create
playing among themselves.
In the streets of your hamlet
the voices of the winds are heard
recurrently conversing
between the adobe walls,
silent witnesses of human passing
through the sidewalks of existence.
And the concave emptiness
in which your heights caress
traces the archaic map in its lights;
and Life is in you, discrete in its lines,
for it honours the language
of The Essence.
Strange illusions
How come to think that anything belongs to us,
when before parting
we will even have to return our bones
to the Earth!
What strange illusions
do not allow us to see
that far and close, they walk together?
What restrains us from accepting
that solitude, which we so much fear,
might be the marvelous threshold
where The Path begins?
The chord
in a silence of scales.
So many brothers have opened
yet unknowingly knowing
a gap,
which only one can get through.
And the notes, all,
that shape the sacred chord,
will sound in unison
when humility is birthed.
And its vibration will create the opening in you,
apparently painful,
intensely profound,
that through Music
will take you to the Origin.
And while you travel through times,
those who maintain the vibrations
shall remain in the chord, suspended,
making a path possible
between the echoes.
Slow the notes were appearing
in a silence of scales…
The chord is about to be shaped.
Call your silence.
Respect even the tiniest of creatures.
Enter into yourself
and expand into a great,
infinite adventure.
Allow yourself to burst without misgivings
and merge within each atom of the Universe.
Sacred Music!
That, which in me knows
Sacred Being which in me knows
beyond the limits of my daily mind;
that keeps the Path of the Origins
in the codes of my DNA.
Sacred Being that I Am,
that beats my heart and feeds my cells,
I beg You, listen to my prayer.
Give me the necessary strength
to deepen in the search,
to open in me the gate
of Consciousness and Compassion.
May my life be a chant of gratitude.
Give me the grace of Humility
to be able to recognize Myself,
to be able to remember
I Am That, which in me knows.
My Real Name
…And I had to look deeper,
transcending the space-time dimension,
since my memories had turned out to be an erratic,
reinterpreted set of disconnected files
from my real, profound need.
So tiny, little pieces of the mirror,
almost invisible reflections of a dream,
in the dream asleep and lost,
in the misleading perception of being someone
with a name and a story.
Oh, Holy Truth, within my cells encrypted,
what sin did my mind commit
to be condemned to ignorance,
to feel so far from the ancient code
that shapes its own existence?
Maya, Goddess of Illusion, Host of the Sacred Game,
the day I was born my eyes
were being covered by your veils
and, silently, by stealth, you locked
in your labyrinth, my Real Name.