“Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar” – Antonio Machado
Blessed be the lack of a path.
Can you imagine how impossible this would all be
if the path was traced before we were born?
I’d be far away from here
focused on other people’s goals
and although I don’t know you well,
something tells me that you would be, too.
You, too.
Blessed be the lack of a path,
with its hits and misses,
which, at times,
seem to weigh more
than all the good things
that have ever happened to us
in our lives.
Blessed be all the decisions
and all the coincidences
that – today, at 7:55 AM,
in this state of divine inebriation –
seem like they were never mere coincidences,
and with the wisdom
that comes with reading the newspaper on Monday morning,
appear to have been an important part of everything I am.
They resemble formalities that have to be passed through,
like payment for the stamps
that go on the security paper
of the twenty-third notary public
of the fourth district
of the big city,
on that paper that says that
finally, finally,
you are the owner of the plot of land
where you dream, where I dream
of the beauty of the path
that is yet to be traveled,
which, despite not being traced,
is able to shake your core
and make you cry
with the most eternal happiness that exists,
and make you cry while smiling,
because “traveler, there is no path,
the path is made by walking.”