Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Our society is trapped in the quick-sands of fear



Scott Fitzgerald would writte «the bright tan prayer rug of a beach» to express a feeling that it hardly can be expressed.
When we talk about natural beauty we are really talking about our mother, our origin, the source of our being; and not only of our body but our inmost being. The shape of our naked body reveals the paintbrush of a misterious beauty. Here we are a reality beyond the physical interest or the material sensations. Sadly, some people who approach to naturism are trapped on the surface of the matter. We have an iceberg and some times we think that the ice is just the ice mountain outside the sea. What we see dazzles us, but some times it also blinds us.
On the other side, we have a society fearing its own being; a society that wears a mask. Where is your voice, society, when you talks as if what you say was the script of a perfect play? Why do you fear your natural voice? Who does tell the truth if everybody says what society wants to hear?
I often experience an empty sense of sadness when I realise that society lays its foundations over strict relation's rules and severe habits of hidding, instead of exploring the hopeful potentiality of the human confidence and the human tenderness. The solution should be to change what is wrong in the human heart instead of hidding what is embarrassing, and society should realise that some embarrassing realities are not really embarrassing but naturals, and that we feel them embarrassing because we live in an artificious society, a society that has got far away from nature and from human tenderness.

We have the same problem with the physical nakedness. The more we hide the more our being turns into a sexual fetish. The more we assume the naked bodies as natural realities, the more we feel they are innocent and harmless realities. The more the society hides the naked human reality to the children, the more the young ones grow with the idea that ties the sex with the nakedness engraved on their minds likely for ever. The more a family enjoys in the nude at the beach, the more the children of that family are going to grow immunized from being upset or irremediably excited by the sight of a naked body.
So... society is trapped in the quick-sands of fear. The more it fears, the more it hides. The more it hides, the more it needs to hide, and the more it fears. The more it fears, the more it lies. The more it lies, the more it needs to lie, because the more it fears.

Society needs to open its educational system and make up leeway. We are human being, and not insects or wild beasts. We have to have confidence on human beings. The shortcomings of some human beings have not to be the reason for the repression or the diminution of the freedom. We will not live as human beings if we are not free. And we will not be free if society uses the lies as a tool of the relationships, and if it hides and damns our own reality.    

Friday, December 18, 2015

If the wind doesn't push me, if it doesn't try to make me fall down, I will not know how to walk in the windstorm



If all was easy, wine wouldn't be worth, and human life would be like the life of a stone that is dragged by water. There wouldn't be either impressionist pictures or lives that would be exhausted because of having fought for freedom, or poems that would denounce the destroyers of the life. If there were not tyrants, it would be more complicated loving the deep value of the freedom. If there had never been squalid inquisitors, it would be more arduous that science was deemed a great treasure, and so do the logical methodology, and the prudence, and the intellectual humility, and the mental objectivity. If there had never been squalid inquisitors, we would hardly have taken out of our heart poems that would be bloody because of our love for the freedom of thinking, the life and the happiness. If pain didn't exist, or sadness, or suffering, personal happiness wouldn't be a conquest, we wouldn't become skilled in the art of being happy; happiness would be gifted as the color of a flower, or as the flavor of the spices.

And if you weren't crying, I wouldn't be able to comfort you. If you didn't feel lonely, I hardly could keep you company. And if you didn't cry, you would find more complicated to be aware of the times when you are glad, and you would likely find harder to sympathize with those who are crying.

And if we never saw our existence at stage, it would be unlikely to grasp and help those who see their existence and their future at stage, and who see the existence and the future of their loved ones at stage.

I appreciate all the pain I sufffer, because this pain makes me stronger, and because it compels me to become the builder of my own fate, to decide who I am, what is worth for me, and what my life will be like. The darkness compels me to settle down beside the light. The hate that rips up my meat helps me to settle beside the unconditional love. And I decide to stay beside the light and the love as the identity signal of my existence, as waybill, as a source of happiness.

And I don't need to believe in any religion to proclaim all theses ideas or follow any messiah, or being more than an imperfect human being. From everything around me, I intuit and love a misterious spirit; a soul that embraces me. This misterious being doesn't come up from any doctrine or spiritual arrogance, or mithology, The roots of this being are deeply buried in the existence and nobody can describe or explain this being.

If the wind doesn't push me, if it doesn't try to make me fall down, I will not know how to walk in the windstorm. If my heart has never a breaking pain, I'll never learn to walk and to love with a breaking pain in my heart. If all was easier and I didn't need to strive to pave the way to a bright future, this bright future wouldn't be so mine, and I wouldn't be so me, and all would be worse.     


Wednesday, December 9, 2015

In the night, peace is the work of an artist, and we are the artists



I'm staring at Arles images tonight, and I'm going to stare at them tomorrow again. I see on the house's front, and in the light's streets, the fire of a hidden life. I understand why you started to create in the way you did when you came to Arles. Two days ago, I sought your ear. I didn't found it; surely because you gave it to a prostitute as a present. The more I know your life, the more I understand the harsh face of the life, of every life. We walk by a sharp kerbstone, beated by winds, beside the sick heigh of a precipice. Society compels us to go ahead to don't fall to reach the end of the journey. But the end of the travel is always far away. The more we approach it, the more it gets far away from us. Society harms us for not walking faster, but we can't do more than what we can do. And we realise we don't own our own thoughts. Our thoughts are guided by a dark and strange brain's smoke. Today we think we want an specific thing, tomorrow we sincerely think we don't want that thing. Today we feel one reality is great, tomorrow we are aware that reality is ugly. Our will is the result of the brain's chemichal and the past experiences and the knowledges. Our brain's chemical depends on many factors. Many times we are afraid of living, but, willy-nillie, we have to live because some dear human beings need us, and we live for them.
On this golden walls of Arles, I discover the hidden fire of the life you painted. Some years before, you were a slave of a stone's creed. Probably, you sought safety in the deep and invariable faith of the religion, but any safety is a fantasy, because the life that helds us is a continual mistery. None is evident. If someone sells us a stone's safety, we have to ask ourselves what we have to pay for it. The stronger our safety is, the harder our chains are. Our freedom needs to walk down the weak road of the truth. We walk after the truth in a strange and natural trend, but this walking will compel us to change our direction again and again, because we are blind ones fumbling along a bit in the darkness to chase the lovely truth we worship. Freedom is worth despite our unsafe journey towards the future. And, if the death, willy-nilly, is waiting us at the end of the journey, why not be brave and embrace the core of the freedom with our whole heart?
Freedom and love are two sides of the same reality, because there's no freedom without love. Hate is the heaviest chain, it paralyzes our power's mind, it gets dark our thoughts, it messes up our steps. There's no any sort of freedom without love. I also see the love on every yellow of your pictures. The love is so versatile that it can emerge from any heart, despite his or her dark soul's illnesses. But many times, the love that emerges is sick, full of possessive will, blind and weak. When it happens, our freedom is weak too.

Sometimes, I realise I have the same fear you have. I need the power of the beauty to overcome this deep and bitter fear. I chase the beauty not to becoming great but to feeling safer. I found the essential answer to all my questions in the beauty of the things. I drink the molten beauty of the things to win the battle against my obsessive fears. And despite these fears, I feel I'm happy. The secret of the life is the art of reaching happiness even in the darkest times of our lives. In the night, the name of the happiness is “peace”. But we have to work this peace as if a baby was borning. We have to bear this peace as a strong mother that believes in life, that believes in future. In the night, peace is the work of an artist, and we are the artists, and we will win.













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