A hidden touch
Friday, April 30, 2010
Can A Guy Get Genital Acne
While we remember the children's games, the word "hidden" has much more to say if you pay attention and if we tend to pick three feet the cat, what makes us discover his whiskers Buddhist. Since that day when I was listening to the conversation between two friends and one of them desperately looking for his passport. "I missed it," said his companion. Hearing this, the other was furious and shouted: "No I lost it, just do not know where." At the time I had to laugh because the contradiction seemed comical, but then I thought I was quiet and that little phrase was one of the wisest I had heard in a long time. "I lost not only do not know where." As if by magic, a few days later, I came to mind the most remote and erased memories of my childhood.
I had, in particular between the ages of three and seven years, almost compulsive habit of hiding, what was in revolution to all my family who spent hours on tenterhooks. Trying to find even in the most unlikely places imginables, as in the basement where I do not ever come, but bombs fell on the fear that I get those sticky cobwebs in the dark. In no way would have chosen an area as horrible to spend time in silence and without moving. My favorite places were the ones who allowed me to observe that I looked like crazy and watch the show in comfort from my stash. I never had hidden so far as to no longer be able to hear, because much of the game was listening to their dialogue or foolish those famous singing litanies without tiring. Beginning with the most popular: "Lost Again" and continued with threats: "When you find it, you'll see", after the anger expressed some hope: "This comedy is not going to last much longer" or "This is not will be repeated. "
Meanwhile, I was squats behind the tablecloth and had succeeded, if he wanted, to touch each shoe sole thickness, or the tops of shoes like frogs jumping in a mud puddle crazy. If I covered the tablecloth, chose a dusty cushions piled in a pyramid in the corner of two furniture and felt how they spent all around me, so dangerously close to the sweat beading my brow as did the rain against the large window the terrace. I had to make sure I was not lost, but I do hide.
Over the years, my tastes were defined and felt increasingly satisfied with my hideouts. Was more complete my joy when I learned to keep the secret until the last moment, until the latent anger became a miracle in a shared joy. It was necessary to wait, despite the many bad times they had to live for my disappearance, they were happy to be at last, and the ultimate victory was that I did not charge the least fault. The blame lay on so hopeless that they could not find me. Much better than a miracle without explanation, it was as a stunt. In Eastern and Russian novels, this idea has no translation. The feat for the success of a story is to catch the reader's astonishment, something like the Arabian Nights soon, or a night without the details of the color of cherry orchards, but without missing a single surprise. This is to hide and not get lost.
In the almost thirty years, I had a relapse quite understandable. Had decided to leave Europe for good and move to America. I did not receive any support from those who took leave of me with indifference. The America I expected because I did not know anyone there, there was lost before departure. It seemed that both sides were betting against me. I felt I had to hide again to observe from a site with good vision and, above all, find a hiding place would be comfortable because a lot of time sitting. I chose to learn unknown deviation. Then, just before I left, I used a new strategy to mislead anyone: I lost the plane on purpose. I stayed in the waiting room with my ticket and my two suitcases, away in body and soul of the people I believed in America. I was away, but still very close, too close, it was only a matter of latitude. The most joyful moment of the trip was when I knew I believed in the other side of the ocean and I was in the same places as always, my best friends imagine me in a Boeing and I was sleeping in a hotel room two blocks from home. Without meaning to, just for that old habit, and I think I hid alone.
many times I found myself without a place to rest, even in my own house so I prepared to survive in peace in the rest of the planet. I got lost many planes and trains to reach out and comfort to my time in hiding. There is no contradiction, is given a space against which always imposes random encounters. You have the strength to go against expectations and still be welcome.
remember when I was a key, those keys that are used and are careful, the gate or the windowless studio, I mean those keys that are not easily lost. It is one of the best acting roles. I loved to hide as indispensable key. When I was tired of running into the tissue still full of lipstick, shook a little keychain and made a metallic sound unmistakable: here I am, my god! And I met with great joy: some were about to kiss me, others danced with me and made me jump in the air, either abruptly or jerking me threw me on the grass. They put me in a welcoming, friendly and safe, where I felt loved and even indispensable. Another role that I recommend to hide the portfolio is very similar to the key, but even more exciting, and also the last cigarette, but this script is much more tiring so desperate. Involved as a preservative hide me in trouble, but it was interesting, it's a role that can provide long-term reputation. The moments were rough and poorly paid when I hid as birthday cake, phone call, a bouquet of flowers or thank you letter. I took risks and followed provoked high drama: I learned that these caches have fatal consequences and not worth it, ends a long neglected, discovered too late.
In this intriguing work, the role of search should not be underestimated, is the luminous part of the script, which never tires, acting with honesty because it is convinced that there is the object of his desire. Know that the treasures are not lost, only live incognito on some island, on a wall in a locked box oixidada, perhaps very close, obscured by the dust under the bed, in dens or caves, in the shelter. The seeker need not see or feel his presence, never stop having faith in their reality.
Don Quixote is the search for excellence. Never saw him be afraid of the ongoing struggle or her wildest dreams one another, or ridicule. This conviction, born of the need to find the desired thing, makes us missionaries of a single cause: to find and be in one place. Leads us to be part of the thing, so integrated, that the passage between the search and discovery is minimal and, then, no one knows exactly what lies to whom, much less why it does or if not ago.
The water spreads and still alive in the air, the fire is waiting in the veins of wood, burning earth burning after scratching nails layers of frozen snow. Nothing is lost, the basic law of physics that we live. We become, we disguise ourselves, we hide. This implies that all at the same time continue to seek a place where someone will find us on time. We are
that we have lost, just do not know where we are. Sometimes this "not knowing where" life can be extended until old age, is what has happened to me. Since I bought my little plot in the cemetery of Montmartre and have asked not to put any name, but the phrase Just do not know where I am, without crosses and angels, let alone pigeons, because they are gregarious, flying a good time here and there and return to palomaria. The pigeons are never lost, even messengers: they and their owners always know where they are. 
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment