The forest was always there. Always, under my bare feet, keeping me away from the deadly sun, moisturizing my body, my skin, my thoughts. My mind was under its intimate fresh humid gloom. My mind and my eyes never needed more than its soft light from above the tree tops.

I am learning myself to seat in the moss and to root with the soil, gaining my place, humble in my sincere plea. So clumsy still to show my truly respect, feeding with patience my anxiety and my nostalgy.

The dew blesses my thighs and hips, legs and feet. I let them stopping being part of me and beginning to be my connection with the vibrant earth beneath me.

And my spine then grows from my, now, living hips. I stop breathing artificially. Oxygen enters through all my conscious skin and my lungs exist beyond my ribs and my chest.

Open eyes, staring to my equals around me, identifying my mind dissolving itself into them.

My nape exploding in pleasure and joy, so is my remaining physical gross self. But also that is beautiful. Animal and beast are always welcome among trees and woods. Wisdom is not a bounded concept in the forest; it is the forest.

This is my only possible legacy to the world. My redemption by my surrender. Nothing else is of this incommensurable value. Nothing else but this.


… that



a shower,

when I

could be…

for hours,


in my dressing gown,


the steam,

my warm…


my pumping…


my slow…


the humid…


the time…


the world…












To Pierre.


I am 43. I am exactly in the middle of my life expectancy, and I find myself, lately, thinking about death. And I am very worried: I do not yet feel that one day I will die. I mean, I know I will, but yet not feeling like I will.

That is upsetting. I am creating in my mind the everlasting sensation of immortality. I think in future experiences like I will live forever. I can see neverending horizons for my daydreams, neverending sunrises for my expectations, neverending days for my joy. And I know that is all fake sensations, but I cannot prevent myself from feeling like that.

Infinite landscapes of freedom and beauty and amaze. Perpetual twilights of nostalgy and sadness and loneliness. The echoes are continuosly tempting me to follow them to non existing places and moments.

And I fear if this is deeply living or deeply losing.


If I talk about me is to avoid taking for granted that my experience is universal. Don’t come to me searching for wisdom. My once existing wisdom was utterly lost decades ago.

I believe that wisdom dissapeared cause was raw and terrifying, so, as a cruel trauma, our psyche remove it so we can go on… But we lose all the depth and scope of sight we had… Maybe we thrive as species making the mass being ignorant… I have begun, more and more, to contemplate this possibility, according to latest deductions and meditations over human race.

I am able to remember my sensations and thoughts when I was just a toddler. Now I see my line of thought and I find it sharp and edgy, but not perceived like that in that moment, just suffering it without the notion of suffering.

I was simply perceiving reality the way it is. Beyond the world I knew there was absolute loneliness and despair. I felt it not like something bad or scary. I was simply feeling that emptiness so I knew I had to keep myself close to my security field.

My security field was my mother’s arms. Anything beyond that was dead and hopeless. My mother herself was in that space of solitude against the complete vacuum. There were nothing protecting her and I perceived it like that. And that feeling of universal emptiness was a continuum.

Then, when observing anything I remember, I used to focus on patterns and abstract backgrounds, and my inquietude was the void among the lines, which I never saw as flat colour, but as a tridimensional depth, as the flat blue under sea water: I was projecting my sight into infinite. And this was not “horror vacui”, it was “horror solitudo”.

What is more true than this? Solitude.

Late in life we realise (again) that actually we are all alone with just ourselves. Nothing, I repeat NOTHING, can change the fact that only us individually live our own life. We walk alone since our heart beats the first time in our mother womb.

I also remember the feeling when experiencing sunsets and sunrises.

Sunsets were always absolutely depressing. And they were also teaching the first lessons about frustration against inevitability. The end of the day and the end of the light. The moment in wich I had to be lonelier with myself: staying alone until I got asleep. My mind in front of the omnipresent Loneliness in the form of darkness and night silence.

Sunrises were a wonder and a miracle I am yet not ready to explain and express. Life in its more sharp and clear and exhuberant way of expression. And all my senses absolutely tuned to perceive it all. The memories I keep are a piece of art I try to maintain with me forever. Probably those memories will be the best image I cant take with me to death.

The wisdom of animals. The sensibility of animals. Clean sight, untainted mind, powerful heart. All lost. Compared to that I feel I live numbed now. I have learned to self-delude making me believe things and people will help me to live my life, to face my failed decisions, to waste my life time. So I walk blind, not feeling the knife edge under my feet, eluding the abysm that is waiting for me.

My former self was older, I can see it now. She arrived to me after having walked eons of time, confronting the profundity of eternal desolation without hesitate or surrender, without fear, without arrogancy.

I hope to learn how to become her again.


I am profoundly atheist.

What a relief to bring this, first into thought, and then into words. What a redemption.

What a joy observing everything through its only own beauty, clear, pure, straight, raw, sharp, close.

Everything existing by no reason, with no purpose, just as cristalized sumatories of beautiful amazing awesome casualities, accidents, distortions, atractions.

My mind free of filtered interpretations, just in direct observation of the events, being the privileged witness of every one-off event and wonder.

The water is clearer, the oxigen purer, the stone colder, the skin softer, my perception sharper.

No owner, no creator, infinte freedom, ethernal existence of life and inercy.

Total disappearance of omnipresent anthropocentrism.

Complete sense of us being dispensable, absolute joy of everything else being perdurable beyond our vicious destruction and gross excretions.

Tears in my eyes thinking all this Beauty could and will trascend our compulsive devastation.

Wanting to dilute and vanish humanityless into the efervescence of liquid solutions, to tear my tiny limited existence into precious particles of inert mineral or vibrant organics.

Meanwhile working my mind to be widely aware of every precious second and milimeter of all materia.


There is a place where the quietude melts joyfully with us.

Our consciousness expands, our eyes, get flooded by the place, our lungs, are dissolved, and oxygen enters for every centimeter of our skin.

The mind becomes immense. The concept of time disappears absolutely. The sun, light, color, brightness, are expressions of living cycles who have left the temporality … occur like the flight of a bee before our eyes. The life cycle takes place in a static, perennial, eternal moment, endless, against our expanded consciousness, sensitive, alive.

That place is in our mind when submerged and allowed to flood through the ether, inseminator and pregnante of the nature.

There, you unify your rational mind and its systems, with your feelings more intuitive, more sensory, as illogical and unnecessary that appear to you, and you get a timeless moment, a moment that seems to keep you in eternity without effort and with a strange great joy.

Hopefully, when that time comes, liaison with the Eternal, you may feel it, and when you come over by that place, where it is possible, you may be able to distinguish it, and your consciousness is alert and you may become sensitive to revisit.

Hay un lugar en el que la quietud se funde gozosamente con nosotros.

Nuestra conciencia se expande, nuestros ojos se inundan del lugar, nuestros pulmones se disuelven y el oxigeno entra por cada centímetro de nuestra piel.

La mente se hace inmensa. El concepto de tiempo desaparece absolutamente. El sol, la luz, los colores, la luminosidad son expresiones de ciclos vivos que se desvinculan de la temporalidad… ocurren igual que el vuelo de una abeja ante nuestros ojos. El ciclo de la vida se desarrolla en un momento estático, perenne, eterno, sin fin, frente a nuestra consciencia ampliada, sensitiva, viva.

Ese lugar se encuentra en nuestra mente cuando se sumerge y se deja inundar por el éter inseminador y pregnante de la naturaleza.

Allí unificas tu mente racional, y sus sistemas, con tu sensaciones más intuitivas, más sensoriales, por ilógicas e innecesarias que te parezcan, y consigues un momento sin tiempo, un momento que te parece poder mantener en la eternidad sin esfuerzo y con un extraño gran gozo.

Ojalá que cuando llegue ese momento de enlace con lo Eterno, podais sentirlo, y que cuando paseis por ese lugar en el que eso es posible, podais distinguirlo y vuestra consciencia esté alerta y seais sensibles para poder volver a visitarlo.


What are, in the end, the straight pleasures, with no interpretation, with no cultural or social conditionality?

Starting from the base that there is no god, that there is no soul,

that there is no afterlife, and of course, no reward for goodness,

that any act of artistic expression is not universal but only understood by our species,

that all feelings, corporal pleasure, and social emotions are chemically built to survive within the protection of the group and to perpetuate the species,

what is left?

Our body screams as an animal for food, sex, and community appreciation as a reflex act to survive. And our mind orchestrate, as a tricky proprietor, all kind of intricate systems as if they were the goal and not what they really are, the instruments of our survival.

Apart from the differences of the community culture each of us is living, all we do in our lives is survive and perpetuate the species.

For example, the deepest love a mother has for her children is a pristine and perfect system by which our species can survive. Woven chemical and psychological infinite reactions to thousand years repeated stimuli.

So, how step out of the biological machine we are every second?

First of all, the only question is already placing our foot out of the performance of the machine itself. That is obvious. My theory is that our mental processes (only the conscious part of our mental complex activity)  act outside the survival procedures, meaning self destruction, other members of our species aniquilation, and natural environment pointless destruction. In one word, our conscious mind could be called unnatural. Some times evil, but some times magical, it must be said.

I hate saying this but, maybe, that unnatural mind that constantly find a new way of murder, annihilation and destruction, could be the answer to my pray for redemption. Maybe only it can give the sense to this pointless existence.


The only way conscious mind can create a non physical pleasure: awareness, consciousness, absolute perception of the exact moment of the existence by using the senses without survival purpose… just by the pleasure of the physical perception, the consciousness and the awareness itself.

By the only observation of all the existing, the only observation of ourselves in all the existing, and the only observation of our own conscious minds perceiving all of that.



Shame on me cause I live in the first world, I have not too many problems, I love and am loved by my family, friends and husband, and yet I see no point on nowadays life.

Abandon any attempt of advice, consolation or reprimand, cause I am right.

Everything is an accumulation of anxiety, insatisfaction, frustration, lack of confidence, impotency and resignation that makes everything nonsense.

Please, anybody give me a decent argument to convince me that I am wrong. I am positive and open minded.

But you know I am right.

Why running all day, all time, all life long? Where do we aim our willingness? And for what reason?

Why all the possessions? Why all the accomplishments?

I mean, I know all of that respond to needs and egos, but, do they really satisfy us 100% at the end? Are we finally plenty? Does the result really explain the final sense of itself?

Do we, alone with ourselves, see each of our lifes as a whole that begins and ends plenty and full everyday?

How many times do you find yourself asking ‘why am I doing this’? How many times do you find yourself betraying yourself, lying to yourself, sacrifying yourself, humiliating yourself?

I have humiliated myself.

I have sacrified myself.

I have lyed to myself.

I have breayed myself.

And now, realising about it, I feel sorry for my being. I can observe me, being a sacred creature I shouldn´t have profaned or tainted with this nonsense life. Maybe this is the image I must keep as the seed of my redemption.

We have lost the real awareness about the complete scope of a plenty life. We even fail to understand the proportion of true joy, of pure jubilance, of inocent pleasure that living could offer us.

I can only lucubrate about it using a clumsy logic process of understanding.

I think that only beause some reminiscence of instinct, I know this is true.

And I know we do not know what we are doing.


The other day I dreamt, as other times, being back to a known place of my dreams, a sacred place I love and honour, a place I love to wander and get lost as long as possible.

For some reason, this time, my path was as if it wasn´t free but determinated to take me to an specific point, so I simply ended my walk where it was signed, and there I found an old woman, in the gloom of a large cold and austere room.

She was standing, resting her hands at the end of a long stone table, dressed in black, almost martial, with some light behind and above her, quiet, silent, waiting for me. I came closer so I could see her old shriveled face holding a peaceful but majestic and grave gaze to nowhere.

And then, I simply knew it, without her saying a word or making a sign… She was the owner and mistress of that sacred magical place. Not a high priest, not a king, but an old woman, that appeared to me as almighty, wise beyond limit and the spirit and strenght of the magic, power, wonder and beauty of that place.

And so I felt protected, real, enlighted.


From the pandemonium of my mind, lights, shadows, colours, textures, seen, dreamt, lived, invented, remembered, expected.

Chaos, confusion, liveliness, presence, jolt.

Meanings, nonsenses, enlightments, bosh.

I will redeem myself from being me. I will free my world, which does not belong to me. I will release the hidden.