Even death with its load of infinite desolation, has something sacred and necessary. Every being, one day will have to rest with his last death. That last dream without dreams.
Even the force of pain or love when they do not wait and show up with their winks full of cries and promises of eternity, and then vanish in a second, is talking about the fleeting moment and the inevitable departure. When someone leaves, we may never see him again, that is why every second of the present counts, and he must count on the sweet urgency of what is short-lived.
Nothing happens for evil ..., not even the excessive luck of the amazement of a human recognition ... forgotten; of the love that you did not expect from a brother, from a son, from your own partner complicit in so many inscrutable crimes, not even having been a season in HELL.
Then, excuse me (the fools), I read Nietzsche about that hidden and imperious thing for which we do not have much less a name, until finally it proves to be our mission. A mission that someone could catalog as tyrant, and that we can not avoid or avoid.
Nietzsche said that what we pay the most for is our relief. That when we want to recover our health, if we achieve it, we will have to carry a heavier weight than when we were healthy.
Neither do the best defeats happen for evil when they surprise us in means of the battles that we are determined to give until death.
What can be wrong in this world to which we have come without asking, and in which everything has been given to us without asking for anything in return?
Not all those eternal solitudes that make us drunk can be bad.
Nor the anxieties that appear with their victorious vacillations and that bring their dreadful disappointments.
Nothing, nothing, it happens for bad, not even the strange trip that we expected as life or death and suddenly it appears unrealizable.
Not even the fortune that never arrived with its suits of glory and its inopportune silences.
Not the embrace of frustrated suicide, in the golden darkness when it rains and you aspired to one last flash of understanding in others ...
Nothing happens for evil or even that sublime dream that you would be recognized as just a ghost of fugitive aromas.
That to recognize oneself, which in itself is already a condemnation.
Because what disappointed to have risen without knowing the demons in the heights, nor the brutal vertigo of the falls.
Only the pieces of the failures are united to form the great farewell.
The abyss
And always accommodating us to sail towards nothingness.
Nothing happens by chance or for evil, I say.