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El regreso

La bicicleta se transforma en muchas cosas, desde haber sido rebajada a una herramienta de trabajo, en algún otro tiempo fue una cosa del pasado, esteril y vana; algunas otras ha representado el viaje en sí mismo, la ansiada liberación de los espacios cerrados, la aventura metálica rodante, el comienzo al un destino desconocido.




La muerte es el regreso a la forma de la nulidad, a esa honda fosa de la que se ha salido por un lapso, para que nosotros seamos creadores, fértiles y trascendentales; ciertas ocasiones significamos ser la vida pero también poseemos el momento de los tiempos, lo eterno dentro de un momento, somos, más que nada, un pedazo de nada temporal.


Dentro de los vaivenes de la existencia recorro el mundo, pequeño o amplio, cumplo con los minutos de las horas para pasar los días, existo con los instrumentos de mi contexto y no me detengo sino por gusto o enfermedad, entonces, cuando estoy en un remanso emocional yo sueño con ese sueño hermano de la muerte, con el regreso.

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The return


The bicycle is transformed into many things, from having been lowered to a work tool, in some other time it was a thing of the past, sterile and vain; some others have represented the journey itself, the long-awaited liberation from closed spaces, the rolling metallic adventure, the beginning of an unknown destination.


Death is the return to the form of nullity, to that deep pit from which it has emerged for a period of time, so that we may be creative, fertile and transcendental; certain occasions we mean to be life but we also possess the moment of time, the eternal within a moment, we are, more than anything, a temporary piece of nothing.


Within the ups and downs of existence I travel the world, small or wide, I fulfill the minutes of the hours to pass the days, I exist with the instruments of my context and I do not stop except for pleasure or illness, then, when I am in a emotional haven I dream of that brother dream of death, with the return. 



 



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