Seashore

Whispering waves, drops

of sea: Memories of that

forgotten summer

In Spanish:

Salpicaduras

de mar: Recuerdo de ese

lejano estío

I have spent four days in my home town and always it is bittersweet… there is something to fix, something to forget, something to forgive, theres is an incosolable child within my chest. Nevertheless, the sea always gives me happiness and solace.

Smooth April rain flows
as slowly as days pass by
…the years run fleeting

In Spanish:

Lluvia de abril
los días pasan lentos
breves los años

@meet-me-onthe-equinox​ often surprises me with unexpected reflections that make me think deeply. This time, it was the asymmetry between short-term and long-term time: how a boring afternoon can drag on and decades go by in a blink of an eye.

Time is the most fascinating of physical magnitudes and the one that we know the least about. Why don’t we remember the future? Why are there no degrees of freedom in Time?

We float in time like drifting leaves …

(And you are right: we will plant more … the signifier may have died but not the signified)

Spring

All of us, lost leaves,

are carried unceasingly

into the future

In Spanish:

Somos llevados

de manera incesante

hacia el futuro

Tomorrow is the Spring equinox, the days have been becoming longer and longer and Winter is ended. I see, and I love, the smooth and accurate mechanichs of nature and the continuous cycles of life. We ride a wave ruled by PI dancing on sine and cosine… eternal, undefined ad infinitum, restricted to a small interval of unlimited values.

What was will be, and Future is just a reflection of the Past.

I see poetry in Math, don’t you?

Revival

The new buds in spring

quiet promise in winter

are so beatiful…

It is nice, isn’t it? the idea that revival is an option for everyone. The idea what is quiet and silent and closed can, miraculously, be alive again.

As Manuel Alcantara said:

Never think about death.

Die suddenly the least thought day…

that day I always think of.

Cage

How different is

the gentle song of the bird

when it is free

In Spanish:

Qué diferente

el canto del pájaro

cuando está libre

My father loved birds… caged birds, captive birds. They only had some square inches to jump and sing. Nevertheless, they sang. I guess there are were some primitive force that even captivity wasn’t able to kill.

Now, I think it is better to listen to them in their own environment, in the messy whirpool of their own bussiness: their battles, their loves, their deaths, their births.

I guess we were very different. I guess I never understood him. Maybe, I should have made them free. Some punishment? maybe, but that would have been a good deed.

Strangers

An unknown city

The faces seen first time

were true yesterday?

My first business trip after two years of restrictions. I love to see new places and monuments, feel the History on the surface of the stones. They were here yesterday and they will be here tomorrow. Nevertheless, my surprise is more intense when I realize that ALL THE PEOPLE I meet every day, on every street were real and true yesterday. All of them are full of stories, full of loves and sadness: their pains are as mine. They will continue their lives today without notice the simple moment shared between time and space.

Rain

The rain is falling

and it gently erases

every memory

In Spanish:

La lluvia cae

borrando mansamente

todo recuerdo

My home town is located in the only european desert. By the way, It is also close to the only artificial structure visible from the Space (it is not the Chinese Great Wall). I have always loved rain. Soft, hard, slow… It doesn’t matter. I don’t care being completely soaked under a grey sky. Actually, It is almost a religious experience… I feel some kind of strange connection between the earth and the clouds and my mere mortal being just acting as witness of a primordial rite repited many times.

In Shawshank Redemption, Stephen King says the Pacific has no memory… Neither the rain.

This picture is from my visit to a celtic dolmen in Galicia (North of Spain). Touch that stone was… magical.

A metaphor of life

On the pond surface

waves vanish leaving no trace

calm stillness again

In Spanish

En el estanque

las ondas se dispersan

sin dejar rastro

Movement, energy transfer… waves are just that. (Emmy, yes the best woman in physics ever) Noether’s theorem tells us that energy conservation is not a principle but a consequence of Space-time isotropy: as It was, It will be. Maybe movement is just delusion, change is just mirage.

I still don’t know who is right: Parmenides (A world of appearances, in which one’s sensory faculties lead to conceptions which are false and deceitful. Nothing changes, everything keeps its nature) or Heraclitus (panta rhei, everything flows).

A sparkle, ember in the wind… subtle.

PS: I have been working on other personal projects. I will be more active (here) in the following weeks. Who cares? maybe Nobody