The Goodness and Mercy of Creation is incredibly evident


Impressive, but at the same time serene, the moonlight is shown.

Impressive, at the same time… cheerful, the cock song is shown.

Impressive, at the same time… unimportant, the ground supports us. And we jump on it, we drill it, we plant on it, we build up...

Without self-importance, the stars dusk and move in their flickering dances.

Cold, wind, heat, humidity… rule their house, being hosts of different coatings, to make the stay pleasant.

The queens of stillness... in their vegetable presence calm down!... on purpose, to satisfy our visions, to perfume our smell, to delight our taste, to sway in the breeze, and we can hear the clapping of the leaves.

It's not that they can't go faster in their movement, but they calm down for us so we can be able to contemplate them.

And every piece of little stone, of stone, of sand, is there even more impressive! It seems to have no significance at all. Instead... instead, it marks the sound of our footprint... it relieves the weight of our steps... or makes it skilful to get around difficulties.

 Is there, in the environment of the being… anything, willing and determined to harm us!? Is there anything in Creation aiming to bother us, mistreat us...?

Everything seems to indicate –when we “think well” we feel- that they are at our disposal; that they are at our disposal to serve us...

Rain, rivers, springs, wells, streams... quench our thirst.

Seas give us the clear beauty of its stay, in addition to the wonders of its inhabitants.

Snowflakes sound, sound to us in the silence, fiddling in their fall and shyly disappear when they reach the ground.

Oh! And meanwhile, at dusk, the sparrows discuss the branch to roost: a hustle of scandal that only pretends to show their balance, their joy of living!...

And at the same time, ants do not boast about loudly; they remain silent... waiting for better moments.

Everything seems to be... organized? –organize?-, designed? –design?-, adorned!  –"adorned"-, so that the human proceed feels pleasant, feels comfortable; tastes its senses; poetizes its being; be thankful and thankful for so many details!... –so many!- plus those that are not clearly shown but incite curiosity. And even more: they promote us towards the admiration for living, for life.

Oh! Maybe… maybe they call us to live? Are they calling us to live in balance, in harmony, in variables, in novelties, in serenities, in aid, in solidary tunings...!?

Would it be... creations that incite us to sleep and then to wakefulness, wake us up to food, incite us to breathe?

 Oh! Will they be creations that call us!... to tell us they love us? And consequently, in the face of so much profusion!, we are impressed!, and we reflect so much love that allows us... to fall in love with each other!, fall in love among our feelings!

Could it be that our being and going... is in the realm of temperance?, in complaisance?, in passing?, in listening? In recognizing oneself in what is said, in what   is done, and in constantly learning, in order to assimilate so much love that they offer us?

And with all of this, how is it... how is it that human behaviour forgets!, gets distracted, curls around himself? And stops listening to his footprint, stops looking at the red flower, stops feeling the dawn, ignores the moon, the rain bothers him!, he complains about cold, ¡heat bothers him!...

And everything that the Creation offered as a sign of Love, the human proceeding… uses it as a complaint!:

“Oh! What a bad weather! Oh, what an uncomfortable mountain! Oh, what a distressing path! Oh, what a flat valley; It could be wider! Oh, what a huge sea! It scares me!".

Is in its origin human creature like that? Or... or among one and other they said they were the referents, the ones who set the guideline? And of course, they stopped appreciating the food. They stopped enjoying the look. Little by little they curled up in their complaints. And so... they complained against each other. And they went from complaining about the desert for being depopulated, to the complaint of the jungle, for being so populated. And they created villages, and complained for being overcrowded!

 Humanity was made, of creatures in... disagreement, complaint, rage...

And by not feeling flattered by so much Creation, they spread their dislike to their peers, and between them they engaged in conspiracies, slanders, opinions, interference... Even hurled screams... wielding good reasons!

Where was... the appreciation? Where was remembering? Where was the dreaming and making present what was lived? Where was it, that everything was jumbled!?; at the same time insincere and, consequently, conspirator…

They wear carnival masks... every day, and amidst the murmurings, gossiping, disconnected from the daily Creation and the infinite Love of each day, they argued their differences taking sides, confronting consciences... 

A sigh seems to be heard, from Creation, that says: Oh! Such a pity of life!...

It was created in great detail, without sparing on the reef purple’s colour, without neglecting even for a moment the purple-green algae, without neglecting even for a moment… the plumage of the seagull that sways with the sun. 

And more and more!... while the human was hiding, he took refuge in his pleadings and his quarrels!

Each one sets oneself, as the best, and consequently they wanted to occupy the same place. And only devastation was brewing. 

Oh! If, for a moment! –if only for a moment-... some beings of humanity noticed –only some of them!- that they are placed there as a creative expression of beauty, they are placed there as adornments of love!, they are placed there... as an expression of incredible magnificence, and those "some" vibrate in that consciousness, to clarify... to clarify the souls of which they are endowed!, to shed their fears, their rages... 

Does perhaps fall knives when it rains...? Does the ground gobble us perhaps when we step on it...? Does the air we breathe limit us the dose? Or do we rather spoil it?

Yes! It is curious that, when the being is disturbed beyond its reason and its imposed truth, it tries to recover, to fix itself, to heal itself... 

With everything described above, is any of that possible? No! No!! There's too much lush vanity, pride, rage to aspire to... relief?, improve? No!

No! One cannot calm down, relieve, improves when one is wickedly furious or radically demanding, imposing, dominating, manipulative!!... No. One can neither improve by itself nor let anyone do it for you. Because you will seek... –and demand, of course!- the wonderful pill for you to be able to bear your pride, your anger... –bah!-, and create a happy world for yourself –at the expense of others, of course.

Hurtful humanity, becoming blood... and then pretends to relieve. 


A hypocritical soul, without courage, of obscurantist verb that eludes, that says and forgets, that expresses and hides. 

And it's not in one place or another!... It's everywhere.

And we are called to pray and… what a privilege! How could these still happen?

But of course, there are also complaints about this, because it is never to one's liking. 

How awful! 

One hears again: Oh! Such a pity of life!...

When everything is arranged for you, for you, for you, for that one, for the other one, for all, with ambrosias. And instead, each one takes his pick and shovel, delimits its territory, aspires to other people’s space… and pursues with sickles, hammers, bills, banks... 

Alas! And the eternal lies that wander and roam around, and they even become true. And historians copy and copy and copy what they hear from one and other, and the little they can see by themselves. And they tell us... what do they tell us? 

What certainty is there, that has not been told through lies? "What certainty is there, that has not been told with lies?”.

And the surprising and incredible thing is that, with all that sorrow of "Oh, such a pity of life", the almond tree continues to blossom... 

Such... such gift! Do they continue to trust us? Is it possible?

Yes. And the moon rules and incites the poem and the night-light. It seems that they don't know about our conducts. It seems that... "Well! They'll get over it." "They one day will look at us with affection" –say the stars-. "They will step carefully" –say the crops-. "They shall drink of it with joy" –say the waters-.

"When is "now"? When... is "already"? –the prayer cries out, insistent-When?".

Meanwhile it reminds us... that the feather follows the breath of the wind. Meanwhile spring is preparing itself again, with new finery, with new textures  

"Let's see if we get lucky this time!... and the humans look at us". 

Let's see if today, today's vigil!, becomes joyful, and is not a cause for complaint, for hiding, for detachment!... 

The moon doesn't hide. It transforms; it diversifies.

The stars don't... don't run away.

The ground doesn't disappear.

Why does man hide so much? And also, it's funny: he hides his... his what? What does he hide? What that one said, what the other one whispered, what he thought... 

Does he feel so important, that what it hides is valuable? Is it really valuable to the beetle’s life, or for the stork’s life future? For example. Or is a kidnapping to hide, and to show other facets?

For a moment, the Praying Sense –for an instant- tells us: "And if tomorrow does not dawn... What will you do from now until then, when the cold freezes your mind?”.

The being of humanity lives with insolence; with the boldness of feeling himself a creator. And he feels certain of what will happen tomorrow, and he bets on the day after tomorrow.  


He doesn't realize that the slightest green bud that appears is done by the unnamed decision of the Creator Mystery. How is it that he doesn’t realize this?

How is it that he does not cry out for joy... and shares his fantasies?

How is it that he does not show solidarity with ideas, projects, and actions? 

How is it that he is watching the others more, the rest of people, and he never finishes his task? How is it that...?

Has he forgotten to live...? And he's implanted something else he calls "life"... 

And one hears it again: Oh! Such a pity of life!...

It is so terrible and dramatically unjust the human attitude, that the Goodness and Mercy of Creation is incredibly evident.

The fortunes, as virtues, dare to become adventures when the being falls in love, still loves… 


Could it still be possible?




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