Monday, October 10, 2016


     One day, my beloved friend confessed to me that she wants to make a tattoo, leaving me perplexed and in the process of revaluating my own identity. The person I grew up with, sharing with me certain moral values ​​and conceptions, now wants to print on her skin the trend of the past few years. With fear stealing little by little the air in the lungs, I asked her what would be the possible future tattoo, and she replied simply, the same kind of response that five years children shall give when they discover the obvious in the most abnormal circumstances "My mother's name", and the only way I could define this situation was "anchored".

     Self-triggered tornadoes and tsunami that grow from our own generator center, combinations of fire whose burning can not be determined in degrees and storms that scattered the order, we sometimes find ourselves motionless in their midst, unable to cling to a specific thought, a known and soothing one. 

     Sadness that seeming an endless, empty and fade dessert, losing throughout time its self-implied essence: marvel of infinity, son of eternity; issues that decentralized the balance and concerns that only abide by the laws of gravity, all these abolish our thoughts that aim high.

     In this undefined mix of sensations, we are always searching for something stable, unquestionable, and our mistake and perhaps the only reason we continue this Brownian motion is that we only search outside, never inside, becoming mere apologists of the outer reality. Your senses – altered; the inevitable departure; the anchor - the latest attempt to stillness. Your plan is thwarted by the implacability of time. Infallible?

     Stick to your own self, find your haven within; the only place whose safety is indisputable is the inner world, the intrinsic peace. Seek there.

P.S.: I have nothing agaist tattoos. 

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Maira Gall