Au moment du printemps

During spring

Photo by Marta Santos

‘They want to prostitute arts.

They want to buy words, sell emotions, auction the conscience.

They offer to pardon your life as an opportunity in return.

Because they are nets and you are the fish.

They play with fish and they play with those to whom they sell it.

The sea belongs to them, they say. Just because they found it first and they have written it in paper. And whales, corals and dolphins are still. And those who remain silent are giving their consent.’

That message reached her hands locked inside a bottle. She was walking alongside the beach, her feet naked, her white dress spotted with a few rain drops. She picked it up and took it to her house.

Who had written it? From which strange world came that agonic, desperate message?

And most important, who were those whom the message refered to?

She got into her small wooden hut. She washed away the sand from her feet, she changed her clothes and shaked away the water drops from her short, blonde hair.

Once she had her shoes on and was sheltered in her green blanket, protected from the waking cold, she turn on the lamp and scrutinized the note. The persistent rain was tapping harder and harder against the window.

‘They offer to pardon your life as an opportunity in return.’

‘The sea belongs to them, they say.’

Who? Who could be so wicked to do something like that?

For as much as she tried to work it out in her mind, she could not understand it.

She was late in those worryings. The moon had already started to decorate the sky and the stars were doing some company. The girl decided to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day.

When she woke up, a wet sweating was showering her forehead. She had a horrible nightmare. She didn’t even want to remember it. Then she went out to walk again alongside the beach, trying to forget the terrifying vision which had woken her up.

Then, a bird came to settle on her shoulder. She decided to caress it, softly and with love, and after that the bird turned into an old man.

She stepped backwards, frightened.

—Don’t be scared. —The old man with long beard and long white hair smiled. Blue lakes in his eyes—. I am coming to bring you the reply you were looking for. It was already in your heart, but now I will make it visible before your eyes.

Then, the wise man bowed down and started to write on the sand.

—This was the earth you have seen. It was a planet that existed millions of years ago. Today not even the name is the same. The beaches in this planet and the sand were clean and clean was also the whole Universe. The creatures were beautiful. But someone decided to sink it in the darkness and they all forgot about who they had once been. The prostitution of arts refers to greed, to the selfishness that was misting up their hearts and would not let them look with the eyes which really see. There was a time, yes there was a time when they manipulated each other, giving always the excuse of being under the command of someone they deemed more important —the old man paused and said —yes, they had also forgotten they were all equally important.

—But that is terrible. Did really happen ever this you are telling me? How could they not see that the Source is love and was connecting them all?

—They did not even believe in the Source. —That old man’s smile was bitter—. I already told you that the mists were blinding in them the eyes which really see.

—They were blind. —The girl concluded. The old man nodded—. And what happened next?

—That planet does not exist in that way any more today. Only the beings with purest hearts, those who really wanted to abandon the mists, were assisted by the Source to go through evolution and leave that darkness. Then the planet became a beautiful place. Today that planet is called Eoden, which means ‘the invincible’.

—And what about those who didn’t want to leave the darkness? What happened to them?

—They were stuck in the darkness. But they didn’t bother too much... they already were in the darkness before. They have been leaving the galactic storms one by one, according to their evolution and understanding. Some of them live here today. They are your neighbours, even when you had not realised before. The one who wrote that message, is your cousin, a shipwreck survivor from the past. His pain was so deep at the time that he was able to materialize that bottle so far as millions of light years in space, and millions of years in future time.

The girl was surprised but she didn’t say anything. The reflection of the sun was dancing on top of the sea waves.