The Traveler of Time
It has been three years today since I began my adventure around the world. I owe this process to an old cousin of mine who, perhaps back in the 16th century, wrote The First Voyage Around the World and, without knowing it, infected me with the “Traveler of Time” sickness. A disorder from which not only he (Pigafetta), but also Stefan Zweig,Hemingway, and I suffer; that with impertinent curiosity forces us to fly away, pushing us out of the nest into the challenge of seeing, feeling, and then sharing the tales about this world of ours. This letter is to them.
Like the tremor beneath my feet every time a plane touches the ground, the earthquake of life presents itself before me. I must abandon the conventional globetrotter to understand my role as a Traveler of Time. I try to be prepared, but I always forget; I always believe I am ready, and then I forget again. As Heraclitus once said: no one can bathe in the same river twice... and since everything is in a state of motion, everything flows. And as it flows, so do ideas, relationships, our weaknesses,and also our strengths.
Wherever I go, despite the news, I find a world in apparent balance where some people, brothers, friends —always without understanding why— pursue fighting. Those who share either blood or school believe that through their laments they reaffirm an identity that makes them enemies, yet in their purest essence, I observe how it truly bonds them. They all share a common denominator: their biology. They all drink the same water, coming from the same mother; and just as they drink it, they succumb to chaos and war.
In the meantime, artists (especially poets) work their magic to awaken conscience—that sleeping morality that invites neighbors to become a tribe— joining their hands, looking up at the sky, and dancing beneath the stars…
THIS IS A SAMPLE FROM THE ARTICLE THE TRAVELER OF TIME
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