- The Stroll

He decided not to do anything all along the morning, so he decided to take a stroll. He felt like giving himself this very pleasant moment in which he wouldn’t have to think about anything concrete, but still think about everything. The day looked particularly cloudy. He took his light and black sweater and left. There was no rush. The morning was long, and he wanted to make it last.

It was simply another autumn day. On the radio, the forecaster said it would be rainy, but he did not take her advice for serious. The sky looked grey, but still could stand like this the entire morning with no rain. And anyways he loved these days, where the sun could not flash him nor melt his skin under his shirt. He had always been a fan of cold, wet and foggy weather.

He took his black skullcap, turned on the music, put on his Palestinian scarf and left home with his keys on his pocket. The minute he opened the front door, a freezing snap of air slapped his face, but luckily he had his scarf on and helped to calm down the shiver that would have gone all across his body. He felt his muscles were getting tighter. Closed the door and set his hands on his pockets and started walking.

He immersed on a parallel world he made up. Eventually he found himself on the proper street. He kept walking straight, along the main avenue. It would take ages for the traffic lights to stop him. He had chosen that street because they were few traffic lights along it. Another thing he didn’t have to worry about. The trees caressed the air as they were dancing at the rhythm of the piano inside his ears. Everything was taking place at the very exact moment he was noticing all around him.

All of a sudden, a lightning stoke the clouds and broke the silent walk. His eyes focused the sky: good news, it was about to happen. He smiled and faced the consequences.

The first rain drops started to fall slowly. He turned down the volume so he could listen to the rain impacting against the ground. He now was aware of the big swing going on. It was like a pleasant dance, everything evolved in a determinate way. He stopped walking.

He was feeling so quiet.

With his expression facing towards the sky, he was able to feel the rain on every single point of his face. He took off his skullcap; he wanted to feel it on his hair too. He was more aware than ever, he perceived every distinct drop wetting his face. It was a gorgeous sensation, like feeling alive on his bones, but for real!

As his watch ticked, he was getting wet and wet.

He was absorbed and did not realise the rain was going under his sweater. He did not really care about that, he was grand, and most important, he was seizing the moment. His heart pumped with power; his bloodstream carried the adrenaline along every single cell. He was getting filled with energy.

He felt stupidly happy and more and more sensitive every second gone.

- The Man In The Station

He still had one whole hour to wait for his departure. He took a seat and stared with empty gaze at the crowd that walked around, rushing to their respective departures or simply waiting for their kin to show up.

There was something special going on that Sunday evening. The whole station atmosphere was polluted with some melancholic and invisible fog. He could read some kind of sad feeling in most of everyone’s eyes. These people never tended to look up; they looked down as if there was something to be found in the ground. Everything seemed to become greyer and greyer.

The station looked as beautiful as he remembered from his arrival. But the perspective this time was very different. The walls remained the same, but there was this strange feeling taking place. Like if everyone shared the same sad feeling. The roof was the same roof he found in when he first came in, but it really was not.

He suddenly realised the power that the station itself had. Every Friday the station had the power to reunite families, friends and couples. But its role changed on Sundays, as it just broke any kind of ties until the next Friday reunited them back again. It was quite paradoxical for a non-living being; causing pain and hurting feelings so the next Friday it could heal, with love, the wounds caused; like a phoenix reincarnates from its own ashes.

And he, like everyone else in the station, could not escape to that power.

- Sobre Minuciosas Reflexiones

"ser libre del aferramiento a las pasiones, pero sin represión de estas" Siddhartha Gautama

- Sobre Primeras Reflexiones

Estos dos últimos días me he animado a escribir de nuevo sobre lo que recordaba guardar en algún sitio muy escondido dentro de mi cabeza. Siguiendo cuidadosamente mis manías a la hora de escribir, me he sentado delante de mi ordenador para alimentar esta necesidad que últimamente me quitaba el sueño algunas noches.
Siempre he sentido una importante atracción a todo aquello relativo a la vida. Todo aquello que nos rodea y que, por alguna casualidad, nadie le da suficiente importancia al asunto. "Eso se lo dejamos a los filósofos", comentan algunos con afán de burla y en un tono superlativo. Pues eso es lo que la gente como yo apreciamos. Algunos escépticos comentan que es una pérdida de tiempo, y en verdad, queridos lectores, así es. Lo más importante de todo en el momento de filosofar es saber si existe un mínimo de "feedback", es decir, una respuesta por parte de receptor (en este caso, vosotros, queridos lectores). Siendo poco coherente con mi discurso voy a probarme a mi mismo lanzándome al vacío delante de un público tan poco tangible como lo es el de la red.

El otro día, hablando, me sorprendieron con la siguiente frase: "No creo en la causalidad". Esta frase realmente me asombró muchísimo. Desde que tomé la asignatura de filosofía en bachillerato que he vivido convencido de que la teoría de la causalidad es la más acertada de todas a la hora de explicar cualquier hecho; así que pregunté "¿Cómo puedes afirmar que la causalidad no existe, si es una evidencia racional el mero hecho de que cada causa produce una coseqüencia?" o dicho del revés, cada conseqüencia tiene su (o sus) causas! La respuesta que recibí impactó en mi. No se trataba de una respuesta con un valor racional intenso, pero despertó en mi una fugaz reacción sentimental. "Creo que todas mis acciones pasan por un filtro (sujeto) donde yo avaluo cual es la mejor opción para cada momento". Aparentemente, mi yo más racional hubiera respondido "Entonces, no estás haciendo nada más que acceptar que tu causa a tu acción es la sola acción de reflexionar, como conseqüencia, tendrás tu reacción. Es pura física Newtoniana! Acción-Reacción". Pero me sumí en silencio. Reflexioné y caí en la cuenta de que no puedo encontrar la causa en según que situaciones fuera de lo físico y tangible.
Me explicaré; como ser humano, me gusta creer que puedo tener un control sobre todo lo que sucede sobre mi, pero sé que mi futuro depende en muy poca parte de lo que yo decida hacer conmigo mismo. Mi futuro depende de muchos factores y uno de ellos puede cambiarlo todo. Seguro que podríamos encontrar una equación donde todos los factores nos influenciaran en un resultado final. Curiosamente hay una ciencia que trata de explicar cosas así (la sociología, pero esto es otro tema).
A partir de ahí, todavía disponemos de la comentada teoría de la causalidad para refutar lo dicho. Lo que no tengo tan claro es que se pueda describir, ya sea a nivel matemático o al nivel que queráis, una variable que sea capaz de responder a lo que nuestro cerebro piense. Tenemos la manía de querer obtener siempre variables y variables empíricas. Ahora existe la psicología. Tienen esta mania de querer dominar todo el subconsciente. Y el subconsciente, amigos, ahí es donde quería yo llegar. ¿Cómo se puede predecir lo que inevitablemente no puedes pensar ni dominar? ¿Cómo podemos llegar a admitir que el subconsciente depende de nosotros mismos? ¿Acaso logramos dominar lo que queremos soñar todo el tiempo? Yo creo que es coincidencia soñar lo que queremos la misma noche que nos lo proponemos. Y ahí, ahí es donde vi yo una imposibilidad de validación de la teoría de la causalidad.
Aristóteles me diría "Todas las acciones humanas tienen una o más de las siete siguientes causas: suerte, natura, compulsión, hábito, razón, pasión y deseo." ¿Será la ciencia capaz de desvelar nunca en qué neurona se produce la primera idea? ¿Será capaz de encontrar de dónde salen todas estas ideas? ¿De dónde nacen los sueños, las invenciones, la imaginación al fin y al cabo? ¿Es que hay dentro de nuestro cerebro un "órgano" que se encarga de ello?
Y de todo esto deriva la pregunta: "¿Existen las casualidades?"
Yo no tengo ni idea de nada, al fin y al cabo, soy filósofo.