Petit Anse, la más linda playa de La Digue y tal vez de todas las Seychelles. Cuenta con un nativo que vende algunas bebidas que te permiten hacer uso de unos parasoles hechos de hojas de palmera. Para acceder, hay que llegar hasta Grand Anse (por camino asfaltado) y desde allí por un sendero que atraviesa el bosque y una pequeña montaña, una caminata de unos 20 minutos, para deleitarse la vista y purificar los pulmones con aire puro y disfrutar ( los que se animen) del agua cálida (30°) de esta zona del océano índico.
Sura Al-An'am, Ayah 122..
أَوَمَنْ كَانَ مَيْتًا فَأَحْيَيْنَاهُ وَجَعَلْنَا لَهُ نُورًا يَمْشِي بِهِ فِي النَّاسِ كَمَنْ مَثَلُهُ فِي الظُّلُمَاتِ لَيْسَ بِخَارِجٍ مِنْهَا ۚ كَذَٰلِكَ زُيِّنَ لِلْكَافِرِينَ مَا كَانُوا يَعْمَلُونَ
.Can those who had been dead, to whom We gave life and a light with which they can walk among people, be compared to those in complete darkness from which they can never emerge? That is how the misdeeds of the disbelievers have been made appealing to them. .
...<<< Most evils happen at night. Allah make the evils that they do as good and beautiful.....
-Sura Al-An'am, Ayah 123..
وَكَذَٰلِكَ جَعَلْنَا فِي كُلِّ قَرْيَةٍ أَكَابِرَ مُجْرِمِيهَا لِيَمْكُرُوا فِيهَا ۖ وَمَا يَمْكُرُونَ إِلَّا بِأَنْفُسِهِمْ وَمَا يَشْعُرُونَ
...And so We have placed in every society the most wicked to conspire in it. Yet they plot only against themselves, but they fail to perceive it..
-Sura Al-An'am, Ayah 124...
وَإِذَا جَاءَتْهُمْ آيَةٌ قَالُوا لَنْ نُؤْمِنَ حَتَّىٰ نُؤْتَىٰ مِثْلَ مَا أُوتِيَ رُسُلُ اللَّهِ ۘ اللَّهُ أَعْلَمُ حَيْثُ يَجْعَلُ رِسَالَتَهُ ۗ سَيُصِيبُ الَّذِينَ أَجْرَمُوا صَغَارٌ عِنْدَ اللَّهِ وَعَذَابٌ شَدِيدٌ بِمَا كَانُوا يَمْكُرُونَ
....Whenever a sign comes to them, they say, “We will never believe until we receive what Allah’s messengers received.” Allah knows best where to place His message. The wicked will soon be overwhelmed by humiliation from Allah and a severe punishment for their evil plots....
<<< This is Meccan ayah. The unbelievrs are already told that they are going to be weak and humiliated. This is very incredible. When this ayah was revealed the unbelievers were strong and powerful and the believers were weak, and they were told that they will be so small and humiliated. Can you imagine how the unbelievers will react?....
𝐖𝐞 don’t need words. Not really.
Words are manipulative, they are used to tell lies, they can also be used as a weapon, stronger than any of the guns.
We don’t need words to look each other in the eye. To see the soul that lies beneath. To hear its cry. To feel the joy of smiling back. To share the love, as well as pain.
We don’t need words for spending time with pets.
We don’t need to drown in the swamp of words with the soulmate.
We don’t need the words as much as we think we do. They are a mere accessory, a tool to be used from time to time, when silence isn’t bearable or when we are trying to understand each other (we would never succeed in that using only words, imo). Words don’t correctly reflect on the world around us, too. So many times I had that problem of seeing extraordinary and beautiful things, being unable to describe them precisely, finding myself at the loss of words. Because no word I know, in any language, would be accurate.
At such moments, all that matters is the silence.
The shots I like most are the ones without any people on them.
I find them refreshing.
I think the world would be so much better if we weren’t that focused on ourselves and our needs. If we would care about the nature as much, as it cared about us throughout the entire existence of life, providing our ancestors with food and shelter, prompting the evolution process.
I think it’s important to notice things which surround us. Even the tiniest of them: the chirping of the birds, the light getting lost in flower’s petals, the smell of rain and the crispy breath of snow. I think it is important to notice people, too. To help those in need, to be supportive and always try to understand.
The world wasn’t created so you could live there.
You were created so you could live in a world. Be a part of it, not the center.
Ｉ ｗｉｓｈ we could conserve our memories, all those moments to cherish, feelings, scents and the atmosphere itself. Put them all in a can or a bottle, that would fit them best.
I wish we could place a label on them, indicating time and place, so we would never forget ourselves. And hide it all in a safe place.
Thus, whenever one feels lonely or nostalgic, they could open the can and immerse in their past, being grateful for all the good moments and supportive of themselves when reliving the bad ones.
Yes, bad ones are to be canned, too. As they are the ones that keep us moving, ones that teach us useful lessons, ones that shape us most. So it is necessary to maintain the balance. To be supportive of the old version of yourself. To comprehend those lessons.
With every opening, the power of those memories would become less and less, until there would be only a flicker of the past to encourage imagination. To encourage moving forward and creating some new memories.
I wish that in the darkest of days I could return to the happy moments of my past, for them to keep me moving. To give me faith. I wish that in my moments of ultimate happiness, I could relive the bad moments. For them to keep me on the ground. Prevent me from making the same mistakes over and over again.
After all, what are we if not our memories?
There isn’t much point in waiting.
There might be no point in it at all.
The time itself doesn’t care whether you want something to happen sooner or not. It has its own pace, though sometimes it enjoys torturing us a bit, enormously stretching when we can hardly wait. Teaching us some patience.
It is older than anyone can imagine or express, all of ours lives are flowing faster than a blink of an eye for it.
I doubt it even remembers its own name. Or how it ended being a time. Was such fate a blessing or a curse? Or, maybe, a much longed desire, turned into reality and then losing its appeal? Was it scattered across the universe, holding it together and bringing closer to an end in an effort to save a friend or lover? Or was it a personal desire for power, grown so large that the shell of a body couldn’t contain it anymore?
One millennia after another, everything repeats itself, slightly changing. Attaching to anything is a way of killing the soul, as everything dies as time itself stays. Everything you love will perish, everyone you love will die. The time simply doesn’t notice us, continuing carrying ahead, fulfilling its mission, which became a habit.
It cares about us no more than we care about the dust. It isn’t cruel.
It is ancient.
𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞.
My last resort.
My medicine. Twice per day, take mixed with sharp breaths.
Breath in and out, with razor blades of reality cutting the tired lungs, sending deadly shiver down the spine. Steadily torturing all what is left inside. There isn’t much left there. Not anymore.
I hope it won’t be today when my hope leaves me. And not tomorrow, either.
I regret not being smart, wise or anything else enough, but there is no fixing things. Not those things. There is only hoping that, when those castles of glass fall, shattering across the nonexistent ground, I, being trapped in the labyrinth of those glass walls, would stand and survive the aftermath. That I could leave the trap unharmed. That it is possible, at least.
The trap of depletion, of blinding glowing sun and piercing night being my only company. The trap of illusion, seeing things but not knowing what they mean. The torment of never being able to reach all the things the heart longs for.
And all those walls, ceilings and floors are already covered with the deadly web of cracks, which are expanding with petrifying sounds, claiming the place. I can feel them breaking not only my heart, but also every bone of my body, haunting every thought. As though this trap turned me into one of those walls.
Inhale - exhale.
No escape plan, but