At faith of honest devil
Jun 18, 2022. No. 268
"I never knew what was public, nor what it was to write for him, more to the faith of an honest devil, I assure you that now as before, I was never afraid to do it either. Imagine, public friend, that nobody knows who I am: what can I care what they say or don't say? They will tell me that I do not conform to the custom of campaigning for my respects, —that nothing else means this itch to publish anonymous sheets with well-known editors; they will tell me that I am a bad gentleman; They will threaten to break my arms, since I have no legs, but in faith as a daring and scathing writer, I promise and promise calmly that in time it will be seen that this Devil is not a devil, and that this Cripple is not lame." Jose MartÃ
You already know that there is no cape or mask, I am an ordinary being trying to tear out the defects of the soul when making these lines, without my identity, because they have no personal merit; I barely trace the traces that the dreamers of all times have left to lead us to a better corner of existence. These articles, therefore, do not belong to me, I am but a messenger carrying dissimilar signals that many others send you, and from all of them my hands and my face are formed. I don't really exist, just as there can be no one who treasures the aura of verses, paintings, songs, gestures, words, actions accumulated in the human waves and many of which remained on the coast or in its foundations in an intangible way.
I am small fragments of a cosmos that, evolving, has reached this moment and surrounds you. If you open the eyes of the heart, you will see around you the immensity that witnesses that the love synthesized in these pages cannot be more than a micro-sigh of eternity. The key is knowing how to look, in nurturing the spirit to reap a better life, the one that endows those who know how to give and give. Each one will receive this devil in his body as his instinct indicates, and will be illustrated or not according to the wings of beauty that he professes; I put only the wind, your inner impulse determines the flight: Infinity is nothing more than being configured by your soul, that other ME that you long to be, or, perhaps, that other half that we all pursue.
Look, I'm already dying
So I suffer a lot.
Look, very deep sorrows overwhelm me.
Look that if dying your voice I listen,
I can after death to answer you.
Miguel Matamoros
