It is night of Sunday. I saw in the video a film that speaks on the joy to live, brings ideas to my head. My heart dreams. Is strange as one can make the correct things for the wrong reasons. Nevertheless, this film remembered forgotten possibilities to me. In this note I will raise two points of view on the joy to live, both perfectly valid, but completely different. The first part, can be called " when is in some place ", and second, " when one has gone away ".

The section " when is in some place " can give the feeling that I am in love or you can think I am an optimist. The section " when it has gone away ", will show an extremist point, desperation, but non moans. This second part will speak of a time of failures. Of a time in which nothing worked as it would have. It is a facet very little common in this site.

Joy to live: When it in some place.

A little above i commented I saw a film.And a vision came to my eyes. Sometimes one imagines, and sometimes one knows. I saw through the eyes of a girl, a dress that used in an elegant supper. I heard its breath, and I saw fall asleep. She waits for arms that touch their shoulders, and hands that narrow their figure, and thinks that it is only a dream. She does not understand that the ways of the world force to do that between certain people, the things do not happen in first or in the second appointment, and not even I speak of physical relations, but simply of a hug or kiss in the mouth, chained by arms that establish the affinity loops which they correspond to those two people.

The words exceed and they are not enough. As well as she thinks show me that you want to me, he thinks about the beautiful thing that she is. She thinks you do not speak of springs and summers to me, only hug me; and he does not do it. He does not want that she misinterprets the things, although he only can think about those shoulders, and that hair falling on the dress at night, while the head of her rests in his shoulder.

Both they feel something. And both they are scared. No fear of the other, but of themselves. She asks herself at night, why I am not handsome, and he, when returns to see her.

Slowly the night approaches. In miles of distance, both are prepared to sleep, without know that what each one remembers at night, is exactly remembered miles of distance. They begin to fall asleep, and they do not know that what imagines that the other person does, it is the reality. Each one thinks and dreams about the other. The dream arrives. It is let think, and it begins to leave a dialogue, and one knows that it is a reality. The voice of the dialogue that calls them to the dreams, makes smile, and when wishing to see the other person, is there.

In the middle of the dreams, a chaste hug and nevertheless, plenty of passion.

That is the joy to live. Knowledge that we have the power to make reality our dreams. Nagualism is the art of turn the dreams in chances.

Someday, perhaps soon, that hug will be in the world of every day. And the life will be worth the trouble to live itself.

Perhaps that day does not arrive. Perhaps one of them not dream anymore, " because it is not of adults ", and then, the joy to live, PAF, disappear for both. The joy to live, that bittersweet sensation that crosses our cores suddenly. That sweet torment that crosses our being.

Because in the joy to live, there are only two facts, the dreams are the guide, and the tears the baptism.

And nevertheless...

Joy to live: When one has gone away

Recently less of a month, the circumstances helped me to sell a PC I remained with a portable benefit of the work. The last weekend, I made a trip, and now I am seated in my car, to three blocks of the work. I hear what in a time it called declining music. No. Although declining music exists, did not know the difference with which I hear.

I will return to the past, does less but of four years and than ten. The knot in my chest and the tears near to rise. To that time at which by technical excuses, i not receive money for my work, to that time in which my tired feet raised the stairs of the house and it fell like dead in the bed. To that time at which the humiliations took them like something personal, the time at which did not know to keep the claw.

Month of February. Day of the love and the friendship. Only in a emptiness room. My books in another room. The weeping on the verge of leaving my eyes, makes me turn around to the window, that is opened. Letting see to me the moon, and later.... a cloud clears that to me.

My legs strengthless to rise. Formed hands as claws, ready to remove the eyes not to see to me what they had become.

I need To force me to put the hands underneath my body, crossed, chained by my own meat, knowing that the Nagual Rafael would come in 8 days, and I could only say to him, I have failed.

To the distant spot a song of my distant youth, and my hands lack the force necessary to cover my ears, thinking about hearing battle music, and remembering that is no money for the walkman batteries.

The moon returns to see moments. It changes music and a song between two voices is heard, a youth song that represents the two tendencies of my heart.

1stvoice. I need your love.

2ndvoice, cannot be

1stvoice. The fantasies do not feel to me well, I need your love

2ndvoice I cannot no

1stvoice, I need your love

2ndvoice, let me rest

I raise the eyes to the moon, and pray. White goddess, God of the wolves, I request to you that give me which I need, and not what I believe to need.

Then, the sword of the received initiation years back, falls of its place in closet.

I rise, and I see it. Dirty in its blue envelope. Nine at night, in my pocket little money. Enough for the rent, passages, and around 3 dollars.

I leave to the supermarket and I buy Meat. Red Meat.

During weeks, I dedicate the days to the work, and the afternoons and nights to the unnecessary cleaning of the floor and the sword. To sleep with the moored hands. To wake up making acrobatics to free myself.

It was a right to live.

In the course of the weeks, the attitude changes. Perhaps by the food, the zone has reached.

I begin to hear music of battle, music of joy, not of celebrations, but music that says " what pretty is to live". I go to the cinema, I return to see Rocky III and My body recovers the form when washing the floors of my house.

Complete desperation, pain. I begin to receive my pay again. Suddenly little more than six months of pay in my hand. I am going to buy life music, beginning to record cassettes. Giving account me that my life had been a shade of two men, my father, and of the Nagual Andrés, already death.

I commit myself to cross only museums, rooms of art, parks, cinemas. And the smile returns to my mouth and my eyes. After months, the life is good again. Although single. I was not the Nagual. The training is not applied, waiting for its moment to me. New work, nights of insomnia and work, and soon after, I begin to use the PC.

Late, visits of the Nagual Rafael. Laughter, jokes. I ask to him on the joy to live. He answers only one to me must create it, the life is as bitter thing, if you open the door to the bitter.

Who has proven them?

On the following day, we were to see us in the Sanborns of Reforma's road. Before 24 hours, a Nagual falls and another one rises.

I have spent few years since then. In my life there is joy to live. In my eyes a brightness, and my hands the claw.

The jokes of the Nagual Andrés on my shout of battle. By the Rule and forever. The old plenty of being able, saying that it is a as good shout as any other, but that would be heard better, by the Rule and for elle!

I am single. That is my strength and my weakness, my glory and my Nemesis. But not for a long time. The smile is born in my eyes.

The joy to live? One must create it.