Your fingers in my heart

I've always thought it's kind of funny, but as far as I'm concerned, by far the best time of day is when you can finally go to sleep. Thanks to my grandmother Ruth (an educated, loving, dedicated woman deeply devoted to her own spirituality), from a very young age I was able to begin to learn the art and magic behind dreams, something that many people, within their innate ignorance, that seems to be a rather genetic issue in our species, they always tend to ignore it without further ado, minimizing it, taking it as a rather banal act, necessary but not necessarily transcendental... when the truth is completely different. At the beginning, I must admit that I myself counted myself among those same blind and closed people, I do not deny it; It is something that embarrasses me to a certain degree, but what I always try to use to tell the truth of my own laborious transformative process, is a frankly liberating testimony that, if I have to be honest, I could never be telling without the help of my grandmother. Before, I was one of those who just jumped into bed without further ado, with the sole objective of closing their eyes and entering a state of zero consciousness where everything simply disappears, where there is only empty and meaningless silence disguised as calm... now, however, things are very different. Before going to bed, I always take a salt bath, meditate, perfume the place where my body will rest so that my unconscious being can freely extend its arms and completely get rid of the daytime lethargy that is almost always seen. chained It is a process that not only allows me to rest adequately, but also flattens the ground for my premonitory dreams, those that always warn me of tomorrow, those that whisper in my ear the most intimate secrets of the future that awaits me most. beyond the next dawn.

At first, as it usually happens with almost every truly important event that is destined to change us completely and show us the truth of our world, of what we are and even more of what we can become if we accept the immaterial existence of our value. internally, the dreams of which I speak scared me, to put it in some way. The truth is that they terrified me much more than I am willing to admit even to myself, but that is what happens with us, the human beings who still live chained to the heavy shackles of the material and tangible biplane that has been imposed on us. in front of the eyes in order to divert our attention: the brightness may be beautiful and striking, but the darkness will always feel safer, only because it is the only thing we know, not the most comfortable, much less the most appropriate. I myself am the perfect example for what I am saying, because although I always had that constant feeling inside me that what was truly real and important could be hidden behind the screen and not in plain sight, although my grandmother has always insisted that learn to develop with freedom and talent for the entire broad spectrum of what we do not handle but that we should know as well as the palm of our hands, at that time I was too naive to the true value of his teachings to pay real attention to them, enough to take them as something true and possible, despite the fact that deep down he knew the truth very well. I could blame it on my age, on the immaturity that is always linked to the first years of our existence, but I suppose that in reality it was due to a sum of everything that, at that time, used to define me. I don't like to use the term <<the old Rubí>> too much, but every time I am forced to do so, I allow myself to use this last explanatory resource so that anyone can understand this important thing that I am trying to talk about.

To say that I remember exactly every detail of that first dream that would unleash so many twists and turns in my life would be to sin in the worst way, all to make myself look like a vile liar, a fake, something that I always try to avoid while it is within my reach. hands. I can't give an exact date, nor can I talk about how old I was at that time, because all those details (and many others that, funny enough, I can't remember right now either), are things that I don't remember, a component of a whole. who have been completely eclipsed under the omnipresent shadow of the protagonist of the whole thing, of the very dream that started it all. A dream that, fortunately, I have managed to remember almost perfectly during all these years. Of course, it began in such a normal, ordinary way, that there was nothing in it that could give away its true meaning. I remember that it began with me lying in my own bed, the same one in which I had stretched out a few hours before, and from which now, after waking up in a space filled with an unfathomable black emptiness that somehow seemed a bit familiar, I got up to discover that the ground under my feet, in addition to being as frozen as or more frozen than the frozen surface of a lake during the cruel winter, was covered with water that reflected everything as clearly as any mirror would.

• Hello?

As I spoke, my voice came out as a screeching, irregular sound, which soon became an echo that began to reverberate back and forth, as if I were in a cave or some other similar space. I know that I waited much longer for an answer than I normally would, for the strange tinge that this new and unfamiliar environment had given to my voice had caught me so off guard that I now feared what other surprises might be waiting for me afterward. my next action He did not know where he was, or what he was doing there, because the only thing that was clear to him at that moment was that it was a dream, one much more powerful, important and significant than any other he had had before, besides that, there was another sensation inside me, a kind of vibe or intuition that constantly impelled me, as if urging me to put myself in front, to go further, to discover all the why, how, when and where.

-Ruby…