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Showing posts from April, 2016

They are my children too

image cc-by-2.0 by Irish Forces in wikipedia

My friend is dying in Siria,
he didn't choose to be born there.
My little son is in the water
trying to swim and survive.
My daughter is crying in a ruined town.
she is terrified because of the bombs.
She has seen a baby dying drenched in blood
and nobody knows it

It turns out that I was born in a Human and European society.
A wall was shot down,
a new world started,
but now, somebody is thinking about arising
a new battlement,
as if beyond our lovely Europe
there were no human beings.

The capitals are free,
and free is the richness,
and free is the protocol,
and the damned neckties of the distinguished gentlemen
who have built the Europe of the financial powers.

I don't want money, nor richness, nor comfort, nor posessions...
I beg the life and the happiness of my children
who are dying in the mediterranean,
in the borders, in the war.

Because they are my children too,
and if they are not alive,
if they have no their life,
I'm not alive, we are not alive…

The invisible realities that stand around us

The core is not in the tools, nor in the material means, nor in the technological level... The core is in the way we teach, the way we do whatever we do. The children learn what we do more than what we explain. This idea is also useful for parents and for any educator. We have been suffering the empire of the discipline for centuries. Men and women have always thought that the only way of teaching has much to do with the fear of punishment, as if the young human beings were little animals about to be domesticated as horses in a horseback-riding school. 
Only the thoughts can change the thoughts. The power of the habits is very strong, I accept it, but... what kind of transformation is made in human heart, in human mind, if we do the things well only because we are used to do that things in this way? 
Things happened, our life changes, perhaps a war comes, the society breaks down, the appearances and the social forces that hold our behaviour fade away as the light when the night arrives.…

Dirty Old Town

I don't know if anyone has ever sung "Dirty Old Town" in the top of Sant Llorenç del Munt. Likely, never. It was a windy day. The last sunlight painted our faces, and the mountain was lonely. It was one of those moments in which  music says more than the words. .