The Soul Demands More From The Eyes Than Mere Visual Perception
What you see around you calls for careful reflection on what you discover within yourself.
In every moment of my existence, a silent joy pulsates, a play of light and shadows, a subtle interweaving between solitude and communion with the world. Perhaps they are wandering in a world of fragments of memories, where every corner of the landscape pours out its story. The only thing I really know is that everything changes. Nothing is the same, not even the moment I think I have caught in the palm of my hand, at the cost of a flash of clarity, when blood, this triumphant symbol of life, pulses through my writing hand.
It is an art to know how to surprise yourself so that the eyes see beyond appearances.
Sun. Warm. A cosmic hug. I run through the cornfield, a "Nexoris Temporal Eternix", the space where time loses its usual consistency, only to rediscover the essence of the present moment. Slowly, with great feeling, he caressed the green ears with his right palm as if in a ritual of eternal return, as if each touch were an imprint left in the memory of the universe. Somehow, I feel like I'm living an ever-living memory of last spring, from which the feeling of deja-vu is born, random images pouncing on the heartstrings, asking the eyes not only to see, but to discover the truth hidden in the details.
Charged with serenity, full of good cheer, I pass my palm over the leaves dancing in the wind, and they recognize me not only as a passerby, but as a witness of each moment that passes and remains, at the same time.
To what extent do you manage to transform the simple moments of existence into revelations of a perpetual flow experience that transcends time and space through mere visual perception?
At the same time, I lose myself in another place, as alive as my beating heart of pure emotion, from which only art, creation, the sublime can give meaning to my existence. The light that penetrates the retina is only the beginning of a story that only the soul can understand. On the seafront, where the waves whisper endless stories to me, I watch the gravity-defying acrobat in a great leap. Y con la gracia de un momento eterno, his every leap becomes a metaphor for freedom, a poem written with movements in the salty afternoon air. In a hurry, I notice how the passers-by turn their eyes to the horizon, because the waves whisper their secrets only to those who know how to listen to their dreams raised in the sky, as if the breeze carries the echo of endless stories.
In all this hurried time, which I try to stop in my heart, with a kind of stubborn oblivion, the words of Ravic, from the novel "The Arc of Triumph", brighten my thoughts, as if they were written especially for me:
"I never forgot the sight. I had learned that the Earth was a planet and that it revolved, as you learn from books, without understanding. But then, for the first time, I realized that it really was. I could see how The earth traverses the immensity of space. I felt then, with great force, that I was immersed in something from which I could no longer get out. This happened, perhaps, because I had woken up from a deep sleep I had lost my memory and my habits, I looked at the immense sky, moved. Suddenly the sky no longer seemed still and restful to me, and since then it has never seemed so."
How can a seemingly mundane moment become the essence of an entire inner universe as you understand the eternity mirrored in each passing second?
The present moment is a meeting point between the past and the future, a space of infinite creation where more and more characters come to life. The old man with the ice cream in his hand, in front of the gas station, looks like a character from an impressionist painting, where light and shadow create an air of mystery on his face, "Luminaris Ethereal Synoptix", a confluence between past and present, between childhood and wisdom.
And here, it's as if Ravic wants to add something deep and unseen from me: "Look, Nicu. This man knows nothing. He doesn't know which wings touched us. He looks at us and doesn't see that we -I changed. This thing is very bizarre in the world: you can become an archangel, a madman or a criminal - no one notices anything. But when you miss a button - everyone notices this."
Indeed, a simple glance at the landscape can reveal truths that words cannot express. I think that maybe this happens to all people when they get lost, in a blanket of silence, only then do they find their essence. Does true freedom consist in letting life flow through us without trying to fix it in rigid, stifling, suffocating time frames?
And flowers, so many flowers around. Am I the only one seeing them? Am I the only one who can smell them? Dominating as if in the middle of this triumph of light, a wreath of flowers in the path of so many eternal beauties is looking for its creator, that one artist capable of giving them back a drop of color, a dreamy breeze crossed by light, a small opportunity of eternity.
Do your memories always come back with greater clarity than the moment you lived, allowing a simple touch to carry the weight of your entire existence?
"Joan smiled at her. A gesture of closeness, a step forward to the moment of total abandonment. Ravic put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him. She felt something open in him and spread, warm, gentle, comforting, something who pulled him down with countless hands, and made him unable to stand on his tottering legs, instead of forgetting and walking, yielding to the call of blood, the call from beyond the millennia, when there were no brains and thoughts, suffering and doubt, but only blind happiness and blood."
I think it's a paradox of existence. Time is not measured in seconds, but in the intensity of the moments that remain engraved in our memory. How come this? Beyond all expectations, it seems to me that I live simultaneously in multiple dimensions of the world, of reality, of space and time, mirroring the joy of children in the big wheel, the smile of the unknown seller, the curious look of passers-by, the love story of young people who have no known the mirage. Not yet. Or not at all.
Each interaction becomes a piece of the mosaic of my existence, a confirmation of the deep connection that binds all beings in an invisible fabric of meaning and significance. Maybe it's time to delve into my own inner universe, hoping that understanding will bring light, because that's what art means: knowing how to transform emotions into creation, putting in the foreground the authenticity of experiences and the depth of connections between the beauties of the world.
Leadership can be derived from the ability to lose yourself and find yourself in the small moments that build eternity, cultivating spontaneous connections between the stories of the world.
The soul demands from the eyes more than a simple visual perception, it demands a certain distinct meaning for which emotion becomes the bridge to the inner world, from a single point of view: "to see deeply is to understand life". Thus, every moment lived becomes another dimension of reality, from which, perhaps, I will be able to discover more than the artistic act of seeing, but that essential and authentic truth defined by experience in the following way: "to feel what you see and to understand what feel".
