One of the positive points that we can extrapolate from the Covid-19 pandemic is the possibility of reuniting with ourselves during the lived self-isolation. The most important crisis, the crisis of values ​​and, to a certain extent, an existential crisis have come to light; The one that has given us a moment of reflection about humanity and how we should rethink our future.

Today we bring you 3 texts written from the self-isolation that confirm that writing our feelings helps to improve our emotional state.

 

“Super- Politi-fragile- ístico – Palabrumadoso

Although it sounds extravagant, rare and frightening.

With-End-à :::::> lie

Endless ::::: ::::> deny

Play with them

without being blown away by the wind,

because like us politicians,

they are in self-isolation.

They are part of plans, promises and affirmations,

linguistic acts full of intent,

that arrive, although virtual,

like missiles to our homes.

They are necessary to face

this new reality,

on the other hand, there are also plenty

when the duel “crown” them.

Little more to tell,

They would say exhausted,

that they are connoted

to manipulate,

They no longer need to demonstrate

what our own experience

has to face.

We don’t want more riddles

Nor false hopes,

We want them to:

Justice, Progress, Responsibility,

By themselves they are worth.

Because its value is overwhelming

although sometimes they plummet

By a wise saying

which listed them at 1,000 a share.

(A picture is worth a thousand words)

But what a contradiction!

This tongue twister is absolutely right!

# join PALABRUMADOS

BY SUPERpolitiFragilisticos

LORETO MARTÍNEZ-CAÑO

 

 

Take life. And play it.

“Most of the time I feel expectant. Waiting for someone to come down and whisper in my ear” this is what life is about, come on, go, now run and play it. ” And it is that I try to look for the instructions that I kept in the drawers of my absenteeism over and over again, but I lost them a long time ago.

It is then, when sitting on the edge of the abyss, on a rocky mountain overlooking the sea, the idea of ​​being able to observe life as if it were an exciting riddle came to my mind, like a youthful lightning bolt. Then, restlessly, I spend hours and hours turning that unsatisfied head, while I abandon myself dancing along the cliff to the beat of the drums of time. But I end up exhausted without getting any response, with the same feeling I had when I started writing these uncertain lines.

I feel vulnerable for not knowing how to decipher my own thesis. For a moment, I stop carefully and let myself be slapped by nothingness, emptiness, what already is. Glad, but bewildered, I take for granted how insignificant it is to ask ourselves so many questions if we take longer to ask them than to appreciate the true answer: what already exists in the now. What it really IS.
I promise myself that, this time, I will receive it without judgment and turn it into simple labels of what we consider good or bad, simply accepting reality as it is presented to us, without wanting to manipulate or adjective it according to our own interests.

Life passes through us, as a substitute channel, made to measure, at the disposal of the necessary tools so that all the gear fits, so that everything happens as nature wishes and that’s when I decide to look up, smile to infinity and applaud generously because his successful invention worked.

I have no doubt that we were chosen to navigate between calmer or more uncertain seas, but that in the end they all take us to the same stream of life and death, the only sure thing. Everything else will remain eternally non-existent “

MARTHA VILARO

 

 

Have to forget

it becomes a ravenous trap

that forgetfulness tends to you.

How much deeper into the earth,

more on your skin,

more fire and more oxygen fueled

for trying to decode your memory.

Your steps that retrace the sidewalks,

the voice of a prism

this time wait

at that time asleep,

motionless in its multi-colored trench.

Parallel galaxies.

He wanted so much to bury,

who forgot

how to forget.

MARISSA BELLÓN