The Hamac

That soft, rhythmic sway that subconsciously takes us back to the maternal womb. A space of security and love, where life could be savored without haste. The thick fabrics, perhaps a bit rustic, hold us without demands of time. The almost imperceptible breeze that rises with each back-and-forth movement whispers a profound truth: everything flows, everything comes and goes, and yet, one remains calm.

Has it happened to you? Have you spent enough time in a hammock to truly savor life as it arrives? With transforming clouds, with burning suns, with drops that refresh the soul, or with the moon that watches over us in silence.

I have. I've spent enough time to dedicate myself to one of my favorite activities: pondering myself. To look at myself, to feel myself, to recognize myself each day... to open the floodgates of time and glance back at the past. To contemplate how much I've walked: through soft sands, through wet grasses, over hard and sharp stones, and even across scorching pavement.

What a marvelous journey!, I can now say, with the wisdom that distance provides.

And my hammock continues, in its sweet back and forth.

Sometimes I like to go fast, to feel the wind on my face and let go, allowing the breeze to bring new surprises. Sometimes I prefer to go slow, to perceive even the smallest blade of grass that gently brushes my foot. Sometimes, I simply sit in my hammock to pay attention to what surrounds me and discover a new beauty in my everyday landscape. Other times, I just sit to close my eyes and observe my own mind, that universe capable of creating all sorts of scenarios, inviting me to dance, to sing, or even to cry. How fantastic the mind is! And, sometimes, how terrifying it can be.

And my hammock continues. From here to there, without moving anywhere. Could it be that, sometimes, our existences are like that? We go from one place to another and, the next day, the same routine: from here to there. But then, when years have passed and we realize... we haven't arrived anywhere.

We were always beneath the same tree where our hammock hangs. So, why the rush? Couldn't it be that our mind is the one dragging us to scenarios that don't truly exist, and we work and work when what we really need is to stop and contemplate the clouds of the day, the burning sun, enjoy the raindrops, or simply converse in silence with the moon?