Solipsistic Genesis

He saw what he had made and judged it worthy of himself.

However, that oppressive sensation that operated in the recesses of his being persisted. Any attempt to bring it down had been unsuccessful. The clarity opposing the darkness, the becoming to deceive the eternal passive, the order obliterating the chaos... All had been great ideas, but they didn´t help to mitigate that pain. Although they did manage to materialize it: salty depths were echoes of the deep and sad tears that flowed from his immeasurable anguish.

Turned on himself, he contemplated that sea. He did not see in its waters the tears of his passion, but a spring foreign to his influence. He was dreaming and his dream comforted him. He attended to prodigies that the vigil had not ventured. The murmur of the waves, rhythmic and consistent, simulated a beat that was giving rise to diversity of movements increasing in subtlety and complexity. In them the sleeper thought to dilute his affliction. Then he dared more: he dreamed them fertile and multiplied, dreamed them free and spread.

But the dream, like every simulation, does not last. When he woke up, he felt nostalgia. His circumstance knew him to confinement and he wished his dream like a liberating balm. Perhaps that is why he discovered in his interior the dreamed beings and, among them, the hominid race. He breathed on them once and he could feel that his consciousness was detached and dispersed, he blew once more and thought he was going crazy, he still managed to blow one last time and in the final rattle he pronounced a name.