Life is not a dream Alert! Alert! Alert!
We fall down the stairs to eat damp soil
Or we climb to the end of the snow with the body of the dead dalias
But there is not oblivion or sleep:
Live flesh. The kisses tie the mouths
In a web of recent veins
And to the one who grieves his pain it will ache with to rest
And to the one who fears the death he will carry it over his shoulders
F. Garcia Lorca
To live in New York City has been an intense experience. I can say that I have lived and also died. To live and to die constantly. White dead and black dead. To die of anguish, of anxiety, of boredom, of weariness, of excesses. And to live, to reborn to each death.
I realize of the death at the moments when I remember that I am here, now. It is the reminder that my present is what I do and what I am today, and in that moment is already past.
And life is the same here and now, the ones I travel through time and space, the minutes and hours, the steps I take with my feet on the ground, in movement.
Everything lacks value without death, without her there is no lessons, without death there is no darkness where the resplendence of the diamond can shine over.
Clarissa P. Estes