"And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotuslands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn't in my ear but everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it. I realized it was only because of the stability of the intrinsic Mind that these ripples of birth and death took place, like the action of the wind on a sheet of pure, serene, mirror-like water. I felt sweet, swinging bliss, like a big shot of heroin in the mainline vein; like a gulp of wine late in the afternoon and it makes you shudder; my feet tingled. I thought I was going to die the very next moment. But I didn't die..."
ARTICULO 39. LA SOBERANIA NACIONAL RESIDE ESENCIAL Y ORIGINARIAMENTE EN EL PUEBLO. TODO PODER PUBLICO DIMANA DEL PUEBLO Y SE INSTITUYE PARA BENEFICIO DE ESTE. EL PUEBLO TIENE EN TODO TIEMPO EL INALIENABLE DERECHO DE ALTERAR O MODIFICAR LA FORMA DE SU GOBIERNO.
"Muchos de ellos, por complacer a tiranos, por un puñado de monedas o por cohecho o soborno, están traicionando y derramando sangre de sus hermanos"
<<Gral. Emiliano Zapata, Jefe del Ejército Suriano.
Gen. Emiliano Zapata, commander in chief of the southern army.
Le Général Emiliano Zapata, Chef del ´Armée du Sud.
Para ser grande, sé entero: nada Tuyo exageres o excluyas.
Sé todo en cada cosa. Pon cuanto eres
En lo mínimo que hagas,
Por eso la luna brilla toda
En cada lago, porque alta vive.
"Man is so complicated a machine that it is impossible to get a clear idea of the machine beforehand, and hence impossible to define it. For this reason, all the investigations have been vain, which the greatest philosophers have made à priori, that is to to say, in so far as they use, as it were, the wings of the spirit. Thus it is only à posteriori or by trying to disentangle the soul from the organs of the body, so to speak, that one can reach the highest probability concerning man's own nature, even though one can not discover with certainty what his nature is."
Es importante, por supuesto, procurar mantener la coherencia, pero cuando este esfuerzo nos empuja a una teoría insignemente fea, sabemos que algo anda mal...
La complejidad de nuestro entendimiento parece a veces tan abrumadora que el problema de entender la inteligencia se nos antoja insoluble; sentimos que es erróneo postular algún tipo de regla capaz de gobernar la conducta del ser humano, aunque tomemos la palabra "regla" en el sentido amplísimo (abarcador de muchos niveles) que antes le dimos.
"The key question is, no matter how much you absorb of another person, can you have absorbed so much of them that when that primary brain perishes, you can feel that that person did not totally perish from the earth... because they live on in a 'second neural home'?... In the wake of a human being's death, what survives is a set of afterglows, some brighter and some dimmer, in the collective brains of those who were dearest to them... Though the primary brain has been eclipsed, there is, in those who remain... a collective corona that still glows."
"Only those who attempt the absurd...will achieve the impossible. I think ...I think it's in my basement...Let me go upstairs and check."
Once admit that you are a defecating creature and you invite the primeval ocean of creature anxiety to flood over you. But it is more than creature anxiety, it is also man's anxiety, the anxiety that results from the human paradox that manis an animal who is conscious of his animal limitation. Anxiety is the result of the perception of the truth of one's condition.We can understand why anxiety "is the possibility of freedom," because anxiety demolishes "all finite aims," and so the "man who is educated by possibility is educated in accordance with his infinity.
"The irony of man's condition is that the deepest need is to be free of the anxiety of death and annihilation; but it is life itself which awakens it, and so we must shrink from being fully alive."
"the best existential analysis of the human condition leads directly into the problems of God and faith"
"When we are young we are often puzzled by the fact that each person we admire seems to have a different version of what life ought to be, what a good man is, how to live, and so on. If we are especially sensitive it seems more than puzzling, it is disheartening. What most people usually do is to follow one person's ideas and then another's depending on who looms largest on one's horizon at the time. The one with the deepest voice, the strongest appearance, the most authority and success, is usually the one who gets our momentary allegiance; and we try to pattern our ideals after him. But as life goes on we get a perspective on this and all these different versions of truth become a little pathetic. Each person thinks that he has the formula for triumphing over life's limitations and knows with authority what it means to be a man, and he usually tries to win a following for his particular patent. Today we know that people try so hard to win converts for their point of view because it is more than merely an outlook on life: it is an immortality formula."
"Yet, at the same time, as the Eastern sages also knew, man is a worm and food for worms. This is the paradox: he is out of nature and hopelessly in it; he is dual, up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish and still carries the gill-marks to prove it. His body is a material fleshy casing that is alien to him in many ways—the strangest and most repugnant way being that it aches and bleeds and will decay and die. Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with. The lower animals are, of course, spared this painful contradiction, as they lack a symbolic identity and the self-consciousness that goes with it. They merely act and move reflexively as they are driven by their instincts. If they pause at all, it is only a physical pause; inside they are anonymous, and even their faces have no name. They live in a world without time, pulsating, as it were, in a state of dumb being. This is what has made it so simple to shoot down whole herds of buffalo or elephants. The animals don't know that death is happening and continue grazing placidly while others drop alongside them. The knowledge of death is reflective and conceptual, and animals are spared it. They live and they disappear with the same thoughtlessness: a few minutes of fear, a few seconds of anguish, and it is over. But to live a whole lifetime with the fate of death haunting one's dreams and even the most sun-filled days—that's something else."
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Ya me di al poder que a mi destino rige.
Y no me aferro ya a nada, para así no tener nada que defender.
No tengo pensamientos, para así poder ver.
No temo ya a nada, para así poder acordarme de mí.
Desapegado y sereno, me lanzaré
más allá del Águila para ser libre.
" Yo vengo como todos los hombres, de muy lejos, de muy abajo; pertenezco a la despeinada, descalza y hambrienta multitud mexicana, y he peleado, desde que me acuerdo, por ser mañana distinto al de hoy y pasado al de antier; ser distinto cada día ha sido mi lucha, pero siempre con un horizonte y sin dejar de ser aquel que descalzo anduvo en su niñez".
Andrés Henestrosa Morales (San Francisco Ixhuatán, Oaxaca, 30 de noviembre de 1906 - México, D. F., 10 de enero de 2008), fue un poeta, narrador, ensayista, orador, escritor, político e historiador mexicano. Una de sus grandes contribuciones fue la fonetización del idioma zapoteco y su transcripción al alfabeto latino.
Él volvió muchas veces, pero viene menos ahora. Pasa semanas sin asomarse. Ayer lo vi, me miró largo rato y se fue bruscamente. Me pareció que no se interesaba tanto por nosotros, que obedecía a una costumbre. Como lo único que hago es pensar, pude pensar mucho en él. Se me ocurre que al principio continuamos comunicados, que él se sentía más que nunca unido al misterio que lo obsesionaba. Pero los puentes están cortados entre él y yo porque lo que era su obsesión es ahora un axolotl, ajeno a su vida de hombre. Creo que al principio yo era capaz de volver en cierto modo a él -ah, sólo en cierto modo-, y mantener alerta su deseo de conocernos mejor. Ahora soy definitivamente un axolotl, y si pienso como un hombre es sólo porque todo axolotl piensa como un hombre dentro de su imagen de piedra rosa. Me parece que de todo esto alcancé a comunicarle algo en los primeros días, cuando yo era todavía él. Y en esta soledad final, a la que él ya no vuelve, me consuela pensar que acaso va a escribir sobre nosotros, creyendo imaginar un cuento va a escribir todo esto sobre los axolotl.
