Cuentos para Kati VIII

I grew up with spines but I was told that my great-grandparents did not have them, they grew up in a different place, a fertile place filled with green and blue, a place filled with beauty, a non-denying place, a place where all dreams come truth, a place where everybody treat them with care. They did not need spines; they did not need to protect themselves. The place I live, is little on mercy, everybody has left, they could not stand the heat, the pressure, they could not stand the scarcity. 

I grew up with spines, so I could survive, I have to hide that, that that makes me live, that, that makes me alive. I did not leave the scarcity behind, I decided to stay and live with my spines.

The first time I saw her, I thought she was the most beautiful, the sweetest, she has the most beautiful spines. I could not avoid to talk to her, to compliment her, to feel her close, but she does not listen, she sees beyond my words, thinking that I have other intentions. It is her spines I know, she wants to protect that, that that makes her live, that, that makes her alive. 

As days pass, I can see her spines fading away, I can see her falling to the spell of love and the touch of weak knees, of a sweet kiss, of a passing eternal hug. 

As days pass, I can see the falling of her spines and that, that that makes her alive falling from herself, as it does from the sky. Am I ready to see her pass? Am I ready myself to pass? 

I grew up with spines so I could survive, I can see her passing, but can I leave my spines behind? Am I ready to pass? She looks at me and tells me, I want you to live, I want you to keep your spines so you can survive. I want you to live a long life. 

Am I going to pass? Not today or tonight, but tomorrow? Or the day after, or the day after? I am going to pass and so will my spines, but that, that that makes me alive is going to survive because I will leave my spines behind so we can hug with nothing in between, other than that, that that makes us alive. 

Cuentos para Kati VII

The mare was born in a common place, one without intrigue and without apparent exceptional sight, those peaceful lands, often desired by the tired, always discouraged by the eager. She never met her parents and nobody explained her where were they, if they left or they fled, if they exist or not. She was one of a kind, like no other mare, like no other stallion, but just the same as any of them, just the same as any of us, wishing for love, dreaming of love, melting at love. 

She felt lonely all her life, wishing to be the same, exactly the same, without "that", that making her look different, making her look unusual, that unavoidable and unmistakable truth, that, that you cannot ignore, that you cannot pretend, that, that dissolves every doubt. But she did not see it, she did not hear it, she did not feel it, the words of comfort, the words of wisdom, she did not hear her voice, her own voice, the inner voice who knows it all.

She grew up wishing, wishing to be accepted, to be embraced. Is it that hard? It is that hard to believe that the only truth is in perfection, in absolute undeniable love? She grew up wishing, wishing to be logical, to be normal. But nobody managed to look at her, nobody managed to accept her, as she is, as she stands, as she sees, clear and direct, pointing at you, but never judging you, loving you even if you do not love her back, always, eternal, unchanging, uncompromising and victorious.

That rainy day, she felt lonelier than ever, all her mates moved away, one by one disappeared, left the lands of the living, so as their children and the children of their children, one after the other. She walked her lands and the ones aside and the ones far beyond and saw time passed by, like drops falling into a broken cup, never changing herself, never getting old as all their pale mates faded away.

As she walked under the rain, a little drop touched the tip of her head, the tip of her unusual head and as it slid through her face and felt to the ground, she saw her reflection in the clear pond. As she stared in herself, she understood why everybody ignored her, why everybody couldn’t reflect on her, she understood her real self, every lie find itself trapped eventually, nothing untruthful can last forever, only the truth will live eternally and the only truth is love, love incapable of stopping, love that cannot fade, love pointing at you, telling you that you are loved, that you are not judged and that there is nothing you can do or don’t that would make love stop loving you.

Aside her reflection, she heard the little voice in the last drop, the last drop telling her, you are not alone, you dear truth, you dear love, you dear unicorn, because I will always walk with you, I will always stay by you, with you, on you, outside and inside you, oh dear Love. The great mare never walked alone again, magic is her companion, magic always walks by her hand, because the only real magic is in the Truth, the only real magic is love.