The Land of Scant Men

in #writing6 years ago (edited)

¡Hi Steemians!

I reiterate, it is always a pleasure for me to pass your eyes through these words. Venezuela can sometimes be inspiring, not without pain, of course.

Without giving more detours, let's start ...

The Land of Scant Men

Zdzislaw Beksinski, "Untitled".

Just in the grotto you could see something, the dense fog and the suffocating humidity made us slow, fatigued and clumsy. We avoided the rain, those cold drops that precipitated constantly and chaotically inside the dark structure, since our skin could no longer bear the contact with that element. I heard someones say that in other caves other men had lost their skin, leaving them with nerves and muscles exposed to the intolerable dew, producing a terrible noise of screams that were perceived as vibrations in the viscera of the mountain.

The most exceptional event was to be able to perceive the fire that did not burn, the element that subtly transmitted a delicious and strange heat to our bodies. It seemed to come from above, filtering through the blackness of the rock until it reached us, these pale servants of blindness. But it was not common, any attempt at heat was flooded and immediately annihilated by the fearful followers of the occult, of the unseen. However, his efforts could not prevent one night, one that had lasted who knows how much, glimpsed, thanks to the wonderful thread of fire, some signs engraved on the gloomy surface. The figures were scarcely highlighted but I could understand those scribbles, not before being stupefied by the miracle of recognizing the set of leaves written under the same name: I AM LIGHT

"In this subterranean world, cautious of fire and water, we have been told for a long time that the virtue of the human being is watery, not by adopting the characteristic of impetuous river, that which retains within itself the honor and certainty of his purpose, his communion with the sea. No, they tell us and confuse us to convince us that the quality of flow is expressed in acceptance, resignation and passivity to the contrary, with the necessary force that opposes the achievement. The consequence of such an attitude is none other than submission and slavery."

These were the first words I understood by randomly choosing a page, one of several that were wonderfully preserved despite the humidity, the bugs and the weather. I took them to the concave and rustically carved (dynamited) space that I was assigned to rest from the tedious work done in the fog. There, under an expensive, unbearable and electric white light I ordered the scrolls which started in this way:

“Being Light and marked by deep indignation, it is pertinent to be a dragon and to expel the luminous fire by the mouth. A fire that aims to destroy the incoherencies, the illusion and the falsehood transmitted through sweet words, candid faces and whitewashed smiles.”

This person refers to forgotten aspects. What is a smile? What is a face?

“"... in the same way is the effect of scarce thought, of the ill-fated and lamentable kneeling posture, panting and pleading for the lost strength, for the dignity sold and for the absence of the heat of life that internally feels like a flame burning. In such condition we have fallen, in such inferiority we recognize ourselves slightly in the absence of light. We barely appreciate the flowers, the birds and the waters in the midst of the stench caused by the death of our virtues. Now, the crying is the common sound, the sound of the abandoned soul, and the bloody laughter the final echo. The blackness is the typical color of this earth, the air is dense and opaque, the sounds metallic and guttural. Here the noise took hold of the song, the dark mist of the blue of the sky and the concrete of the exuberance".

"On this earth, men believe to flow without knowing that they are constantly moving towards the abyss. Their noble hearts are covered by a white crust of deceptions, false beliefs and deep lies, making them useful servants of death in life”

I was overwhelmed by the words, I did not recognize many of them, I did not imagine an idea before such sounds. The light, the flame ... concepts lost with the death of some elderly people; mythologies, legends or history according to the students of the past. The manuscript continued to terrify me:

"The Dead: so call these specters the lords of infamy, so these bearers of darkness refer to the inhabitants of the grotto, because these organic masses are apathetic and passive, because they do not use their own reasoning skills or their emotional abilities , they do not know the will and the experience of acting from their own power. They do not know love. Under this reality they are nothing but goods, things, automatons moved by the somber mental threads of the priests of death".

"The masters of deceit have tried to govern hell by investing great and sustained efforts in bending and destroying the spark of every man, woman and child on the surface, entering them more and more into the depths of the cave. They have manipulated in such a way that many are incapable of imagining the colors, the softness, the distance and the freedom; they live muddled in the misery of want, rancor, hatred and betrayal."

"In this land of somnambulists there are no other victims than children, only guilty and complicit confederates of involution. We have allowed the disastrous tyranny by granting our permission for its establishment; some for paper, weapons or power; others because of cowardice, ignorance or stupidity. We have also noticed that we have left to steal the words. We no longer know the meaning of love, peace or happiness. Equality, social struggle and revolution are promoted as a hymn. They make us fight for peace, they make us hate to get fraternity, they make us kill to be safe and happy.”


Zdzislaw Beksinski, "Untitled".

In the distance you could hear the sound of pain, I could recognize it as mine. In the same way, and in spite of the density of the fog, I could see in the entrails of the mountain more than before, more than blackness and mechanicism, more than unconscious movements and mental delusions. I saw the children running without producing envy, I found in them a lost crystal, perhaps the missing flame that enlivens us, the dead.

"The rulers of fear have falsified the cults of Love and Light by poisoning them with death trades, with images of lizards and with constructions that hide dungeons, sacrifices, rapes and rituals offered with blood to the shadows of the Sun, the Moon or Saturn. They have proliferated the belief that the power resides in them by mandate of the Great Soul, even when they have declared themselves in rebellion against it: they have sustained cruelty by divine command, they have shed blood for obedience to holy men, they have liquidated life in the name of truth."

"Incubating the flame that belonged to us, they, a few, exercise the power of all, establishing a reign contrary to nature." From their great tower hidden inside the grotto, the antimatter worshipers have designed their successful plan and they have executed it perfectly by infrahuman hybrids called politicians, priests, businessmen, artists and others, who distract and sell to the gentiles, these stupid and childish brothers, the ideals of success, power, intelligence and fulfillment.”

I would like to continue narrating the incomprehensible effects of reading the little manuscript I Am Light, but there is no time, our life goes to me and to my brothers of flame. I can only do two things and continue. The first is to mention that we have seen her, the Flame that does not burn, the one mentioned by the elders and now evoke the children, in all their splendor; we have recognized colors beyond the gray scale; we have cried in the midst of the pain of reality; we have fought so that our skin supports water and heat. Now we are like the river whose sea is none other than that of freedom. The second thing I can do is leave the final words of the manuscript, to say goodbye, longing to see you, and to see me, soon:

"With the nostalgia of the sea that gives me the humidity of this cavern, with the reminiscence of the Sun that gives me the candle and the memory of Love that provides the certainty that you will read me, I tell you: You are Light, keep human and more than Human, do not die. You are powerful, capable of lighting life with every glance, with every sound and with every silence, with every touch that you give to the world even in the middle of this land of scarce."

Claude Monet, "Sunset on the Seine in Lavacourt".

¡For the Love of Life!

I deeply thank the readers and the community of Steemit for the support, specially to @vadimlasca for giving me the impulse to write in English.


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