found some papers pertaining to who he was, that being that is in the basement of the soul. There, after the map that represent descending into my own land, and I rediscover. The forgotten in the shadows becomes a snapshot. Light and darkness combined in perfect harmony, or at least in righteous living.
Only then can we stand up act to decrease our observation tower in the world with a more clear. Our eyes are accustomed to perceive the tiny glimpses of clarity in our basement, look further and calm the urge to expel words out of space and time.
is no coincidence that, taking stock of life, find those old papers that I was and who I am that survives. Poems completely forgotten. Excluded from the Darwinian natural selection of the written word. This selection uses as many tricks as aberrations in any place or any event or forgotten.
At least for the time I have recovered. Loose papers that were lurking in the drowsiness of a yellow folder with the smell of time held. Typescripts, with deletions and amendments in blue ink. Papers for nothing, last gasps of a mortally wounded tree, suddenly become to have meaning and make sense of this plant be retained.
But it is a puzzle, a challenge of reconstruction and fighting in a maze of my own Minotaur. How I have changed. But the remaining speech by my words. And the returns from the inability to face the light again today, to become virtual field after being suspended in limbo for any possibility.
Everything that is written the same fate. For moments, for years, for eternity, that of being subjected to the possibility of existence, remember or forget.
Therefore, to have in my hands again these yellowing papers, which revived in my memory to the young that still lingers on me, I have wanted to share this discovery that the reader can only describe as lucky. And time will tell the rest, if they survive their second chance at life, resurrection.
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