The Talipot palm of the Botanical Garden It never ceases to amaze me. The specimen of which I have already spoken is in full bloom. There, if one remains silent when facing the palm, one can hear the music of that great plantthat when little by little, their little flowers They fall until they hit the leaf litter on the ground. It is a calm and beautiful spectacle, surely in Japanese there is a word that describes that exactly. The palm It releases flowers and after that, in more months, it will die. Each little flowerwhite and bright, is like a sigh of its decades of existence and one more moment on the path to completing its existence, one more path in the ever-changing universe of life.
And everything, from its essence, has within itself its route possibilities. And not fortunately, as if it were broken glass, the society has, in its own way, its own cracks, these being more noticeable in election season, with the candidates seeming to want, – with their proposals so crude and lacking a feasible plan for the most part, – that the citizens when casting their vote would make an act of faith, leaving things in the hands of God, as is done with the doctors before entering the operating room. And like doctors, politicians more often than not become effective and prepared personnel by being in the private sphere. We’ll see what happens and it will be especially interesting how the electoral waves play out for the PAS.
After all, living in a society is different from living in a civilization. It is for this reason, for example, that in its natural environment the talipot is at risk, since in Sri Lanka and southern India it has been overused in construction. And some of that resonates with me with the fact that the entirety of Sinaloa is in exceptional or extreme drought. Because it’s not like resources are used very well here, whatever they may be.
The recently deceased gringo writer Paul Auster narrates something dystopianly parallel in his novel The Country of Last Things. That is the story of a young woman who travels to a distant place in search of her brother, a reporter who was sent there and of whom she no longer hears. Thus, there comes a place where one by one things disappear and do not exist again. When you leave home you don’t know, for example, if that house or that street will be there when you try to return. There nothing lasts and nothing can be taken for granted, because just by turning to one side what was in front of you has disappeared. But none of that matters for the protagonist, who always manages to stand up, move forward. Many will find similar elements, or even a film equivalent, with The Megalopolis, the new film by Francis Ford Coppola.
In these days of mid-May, framed towards infinity by the murder of the esteemed Javier Valdez And with the very dissonant noise of such unfocused politics in society, one cannot but be grateful that, although so much is affected around us, it is called the weather, various resources, security or life itself, there are people who, like Javier, worked so hard for a better society for everyone, a truly civilized environment, in which work was done with a long-term view. We’ll see what lasts in the face of the latest things.
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