We go out searching on uncertain paths
crying out in the desert
in the certainty that it exists.
Would it be a collection of feelings and emotions?
Or a reliquary of ancestral values?
A moral code to be followed?
No.
This useless turmoil is here on this planet,
arid of sacred intuitions
and devoid of high and unspeakable feelings.
But would this soul be dying of transcendence
be really a soul? Or is it only our hereditary blood
running anxiously in our veins?
How could this soul of the blood be immortal
if it is bound to values and moralities
to goodness and right actions that are purely human?
Where is the immortal soul?
Do we really possess it?
Is it something to be possessed?
The immortal soul has no space, no time!
It is independent of our will,
of our earthly goodness or dignity.
When we walk through the desert night
like wandering pilgrims, but with a sure goal,
by taking as a compass only the certainty of its existence,
we find it very near us, in the unspeakable emptiness of our heart.
And finally,
we understand that we are lacking in Spirit.
And only then we can see
the brightness of the Seven Stars.
