GEFAELL

Flamingos in the flares

In memory of Nelson Mandela.
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In memory of Nelson Mandela.
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Who, now that you are dead, will hear you among the infinite universes? Since your current beauty is something that we at Earth are not able to endure, to whom we will turn up for help? Perhaps there will be some angel that will aid you to communicate with us, with this (not any longer for you) interpreted world. Oh, and the light, the light, when the wind full of cosmic space will invade your happy black eyes. Yes, the Eternity was in need of you. The angels were waiting for you to play with the stars and catch their light. For they know that, with the pardon as your only arm, you were the master of your fate, the captain of your soul. It didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t matter how strait the gate was, how charged with punishments the scroll; your head was bloody, but unbowed. All what we live in the Earth is message and you were able to manage it. Not like many of us, always distraught by expectation, as if any moment were going to announce the arrival of somebody omnipotent (where we would place him, with all our strange thoughts coming and going and often staying for the night...). You were devoted to those whom you almost envied, the emarginated, the humiliated ones, and forgave those who tried to tie them perpetually in the clutch of circumstance. For many of us it will probably be strange to inhabit the Earth no longer, not to observe sunrises and other things that promise so much in terms of a human future; being dead will probably be a tough work, hard to know the precise contours of our feelings. But not for you. Beyond that point of wrath and tears, where is imminent the menace of the shade, the angels have found and shall find you unafraid. You can now listen the gigantic voice of God as only saints have listened it. And you are prepared to perceive the ceaseless message that forms itself out of the silent space and sweeps towards you the immense happiness of those saints who died before. Now you and the stars are like birds in unison migrating. Thrust by cosmic wind, you will rest into lakes of light; and will join forever that kind of music that is unaware, in its magnificence, of any weakness. Out of the night that covers us, sad as we are from pole to pole, we thank the God that does exist, for your unconquerable soul.
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Flamingos (and a good friend of mine in the Kayak) in a sunset in the Mediterranean coast of Murcia, Spain. (File#: 2014-04-17 19.28.09 4)
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