Neuroknot

When I was 10 my english teacher asked us a question; "why do Argentinian people speed up in a yellow light rather than slowing down?". That obscure memory comes back to me every now and then. Just like the lightning doesn't come by itself and doesn't forget its wet friend, those kinds of memories bring great depth if you hold your breath long enough. Why do we have specific random memories? Are those memories the key to a new door in our chest? I don't know what is behind the sun, the more I try to look, the less I see, the more it hurts, the more I want to see. The mirror doesn't give me the answers, and my heart enjoys being in silence. Do we have keys for everything? How powerful is contemplation? With more questions than answers I feel like my math quiz. Here is a song I like:

I love your videos!! It opens many avenues of thought that leads into a vast ocean, Haha. Keep up the good work

The furious dark clouds arrived again, jupiter witnessing the thick drops defeating gravity. The serpent bite its tail, crows ate the last old goat that was aiming to get the luxurious pomegranate. The biggest oak tree bows down to honor the lightening that carries bad omen and dark promises. The butterfly has withered, the phoenix died in the ocean, the owl yearns to caress the wet grass. How peaceful the sunset touches the golden sea for the last time. How bad it misses the darkness. Weeping willows decorate the serpentine path that leads to a tall crag. Where do the waves lead?

Tears fell down my cheek as I watched my reflection on the beautiful lake near "the genuine station". Indeed those were my tears and that was my cheek but who is the one I was looking at. Without hesitation I jumped to that liquid mirror. Similar to when an infant touches the hot oven for the first time and reacts in awe and fear, my heart was spitting out the same feelings when my skin touched the freezing water. I started to swim down because in the scale of importance, interrogating the perpetuator of my precious tears carries more weight than the merciless water that strikes like thousand needles. At the bottom of the lake, I spotted a really wide old indigo door and with my tingling hands due to the cold water, and my last bit of air in my lungs I managed to open the wide door. Weirdly enough I was dry and my lungs were full of vigor, so I looked up and I could see a young man looking at the lake, he was wearing a paper chest plate and his shield was decaying like an old flower that cannot hold its petals anymore and has to give up on them. By contemplating the man, I rapidly understood all of his deepest secrets and fears, and as a caring mom that has to witness the many mistakes her innocent son makes, I felt sorry and tears fell down my cheek. Right at that moment the man looked at me.

Having a walk at night fills my heart with new light, as if every step cranks up the light bulb inside my chest. Today I was contemplating the relation between the sun and the moon, the sea and the land, the whole and the empty... As I was walking, I started to hear a soft voice, as gentle as the much wanted breeze caress the many leaves in a sunny evening. I look around but the moon was the only one looking, but then I realized that this soft voice was coming from within. I stopped my thoughts to listen and the voice sounded just like me, it was my inner voice! For how long have you been talking? I asked. My inner voice said: from the moment that you were amaze by the immense yew tree where the upper branches touched the sky and the long roots the core of the earth, that was the first time you heard from me. Then I said to you “this beautiful tree that gives life to your spirit and draws a smile to your face is quite poisonous and if you touch it, it will give death to you”. Suddenly, a spider came down riding its solid thread that connects everything that it touch with its own body. At that moment, your eyes shut while at the same time you never felt more awake. Oh yeah! How could I forget that exquisite moment, why did I lock myself from those reflections? Right there a friend called me at my phone to ask me if I was free at night. Of course!

Today I was biking through the city trying to listen to the deepest waters of my mind, but weirdly enough I could only hear tiny drops falling down the concrete. I rushed to the gates of my kingdom and was puzzled when I found that the sea was shallow and the many rivers that extend like the roots of a big oak tree were dry. Shocked of my discovery I stopped my bike and sat on the nearest bench, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and immerse myself in deep contemplation. Inside my kingdom, I started to walk towards the big mountain where the rivers were born. That place where a big palm held those long fingers of water. As I got there, and I must say that it wasn't an easy task to climb the slippery mountain with the ground made of big boulders and spider web in the few dead trees. Up there I found that the source was block with a big sign that said, "Monkey on a strike is tired of acting like an annoying parrot born in the house of a wise man believing to be a wise parrot". I opened my eyes and held in my heart the words of the monkey. Suddenly the grass was without substance, the sky was empty, my hands didn't feel like mine and whenever I looked everything had lose its charm or unattractiveness, it was as if someone had just drawn my surroundings but forgot to add the colors. What are the right colors? I don't remember. Where do I begin? Asking, "What is" I guess would be the first step. I will be updating the colors I use soon.

Today it supposed to rain in Buenos Aires, I dont like to get wet so I figured that this time those tears of the heaven wouldn’t take my by surprise, consequently I spent my evening looking for those grey messengers with their belly full of sorrow. As I was looking up, I notice a clay oven on the tallest branch of a beautiful blue jacaranda in barrio Recoleta. As I was trying to figure out how that oven got up there, a small bird came out of it with dry mud in its peak, to my surprise that bird lived in that weird oven, and it became obvious that it was the bird’s home and that it needed mud to finish that funny looking nest. Soil surely creates life but water preserves it, otherwise it will turn into dust, and a creator that uses dust, later when the wind blows would be feeling grieved for its creation. Thus, I asked to the sky to dye with beautiful greys that make it gorgeous, I whisper to the wind that the sky in a grey suit is the best announcer of how strong it is. I waited the whole evening for it response but today didn't rain. Today it supposed to rain in Buenos Aires, I enjoy rain, it fills me with hope for life. I cannot wait for tomorrow to rain.

At my work there are many anthills, but it was a surprise to find an old fire ant by himself on that empty flower patch. I asked him, why is your back empty? Where is your queen? You ants should be preparing for winter. Don't say that name in our presence he said, I don't honor that who used to be my owner, this past slave has finally dare to see the sun in the eye, the bright start admired my boldness and looked back at me. Those golden rays enriched my thoughts, and burned down my chain. Suddenly my back started to hurt and my antenna was full of dirt, I found myself proud of being naked in his warmth. I speak to you oh my sun, let me dance and play music in your insides so I can cure my darkness, let me shower once again so you can remove my dirt. Oh my sun, I’m proud to be called a fire ant in front of your presence, you the brightest fire. The ant stopped to reach for his thoughts, and then said: you said winter is coming, but I'm used to a cold darkness, and nothing is more cold that a chain over your neck. Oh poor ant, wasn't he told his destiny? An ant with the heart of a lion has only more weight to hold… Nevertheless, his track will remain. Is true winter is coming and my back is starting to hurt.

I was at the park today, my eyes strived for a green calmness, they are tired for the materialistic green that is my house, that unlucky green disguised as wealth is only able to provide me of sickness. The park was pack with green people but grey grass, where the green people sat the grass around started to decay and the clouds over their head had its stomach full and poison in their scream. I looked at myself only to realize that I've been wearing this toxic green outfit, even my skin had a light green tone. I yelled at my heart -who was drinking wine- When did you stop caring about what they don't say, who fooled you into this path of thorns? My heart answer: you were the one that drunk my spirit, you were the one that followed the roses while I was being puncture. Tell me that you had enough of that green mold that has been growing in your body, sooner than you think you will be decaying what touches your feet. Hopefully the cold shower can wash away this green looks, I've had enough of chasing the green.

The clouds announced their rage today, poor sky that has to hold those heavy greys. This time I remembered what the last drop that fell on a petal told me, “I envy the river, the almighty beast destined to an even greater faith, yet it behaves with composure awaiting its promise land. Look at this tear of the heavens resting on its deathbed. Was my desire ready to be the ocean or did I lack on faith? If I looked at my north more often, if I followed the wind directions I would have the river to envy this tiny drop". Still puzzled to that drop last words I decided to clean again that rusty compass of mine. As the weather changes my beloved and hated piece of cloth will not belong to this body anymore. April 1

Is the coal scared to feel the heavy pressure of the earth collapsing over it? Is the worm scared to go to that dark empty room? Is the salmon scared to leaping those trouble falls? 23 times I've looked away the signs, 23 times I've broken the mirror, 23 times my flowers had blossom, 23 times winter undressed my tree. The clock has been sewing my actions, although even the spiders will awe to its design, the more I look at it the more it tires my sight. However, if the clock has tied me up it could also untangle it. I’m grateful for its patience, I’m grateful for its teachings, I’m grateful for its pressure, I’m grateful for its consistency. End of March beginning of spring in Argentina. Will the clock teachings blossom? Let me spare you of your old clock hands, my hands are strong thanks to you.

I was much inspired by @Michael569to finally initiate my journal after reading his "A life of Purpose". I've been postponing an online journal for a bit now, but when you don't mind to die naked is when you are ready to die, and my clothes are tight and uncomfortable. When the baby bird learns to fly it won't return to the nest, Although this nest I've certainly called it home, I grew big enough to crack it, The sun has been looking at me with its inspiring light daring me to go meet him in the sky. Fill me up with your warmest wisdom eternal sun and let this bird grow upon your gaze.

lol, addiction to the forum?

@Johnny Galt Indeed my friend. Your words fill me up with inspiration! Haha what a goal!! I guess I have in my veins the capability to score that goal. Hope we all have

@Johnny Galt Well for better or worse I'm from a third world country and it would be dumb to think that I’m the only guy from Argentina that thinks in this way. So if anything is a matter of time until someone with the same mindset rise up to power. Is a wating game.