\ Mr. Gore,\ she told Don Joaquin, \

is not the sort of man to throw himself at a girl s head if he imagined it would be unpleasant to her.\ \ Why should he be unpleasant to her?\ \ No reason at all. And he isn t unpleasant to her. Only she never thinks of--that sort of thing.\ Her father did not want her to \ think of that sort of thing\ --till called upon. Sarella saw that, and thought him as stupid as his daughter. His idea of what would be correct was that Gore should \ speak to him,\ that he should (after due examination of his conditions) signify approval, first to Gore himself, and then to Mariquita, whereupon it would be her duty to listen encouragingly to Mr. Gore s proposals. Don Joaquin made Sarella understand that
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these were his notions. (\ How Spanish!\ she thought.) \ You ll never get it done that way,\ she told him shortly. \ Mr. Gore will not say a word to you till he thinks Mariquita would not be offended--\ \ Why should she be offended!\ \ She would be, if Mr. Gore came to you, till she had given him some cause for believing she cared at all for him. He knows that well enough. You may be sure that while she seems unaware of his taking an interest in her, he will never give you the least hint. He doesn t want to marry her--yet. He won t let himself want it before she gives some sign.\ Sarella understood her own meaning quite well, but Don Joaquin did not understand it so clearly. He took an early
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opportunity of saying to his daughter: \ I think Mr. Gore a nice man. He is correct. I approve of him. And it is an advantage that he is a Catholic.\ To call it \ an advantage\ seemed to Mariquita a dry way of putting it, but then her father was dry. \ Living in the house,\ he continued, wishing she would say something, \ he must be intimate with us. I find him suitable for that. One would not care for it in every case. Had he turned out a different sort of person, I should not have wished for any friendship between him and yourselves--Sarella and you. It might have been out of place.\ \ I do not think there would ever be much friendship between Sarella and him,\ said Mariquita; \ she hardly listens when he talks about
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things--\ \ But you should listen. It would be not courteous to make him think you found his conversation tedious.\ \ Tedious! I listen with interest.\ \ No doubt. And there is nothing out of place in your showing it. He is no longer a stranger to us.\ \ He is kind,\ she said. \ He worked hard to help Jack in getting his shed fit for Ginger. It was he who built the partitions. Jack told me. Mr. Gore said nothing about it. Also, he was good to Ben Sturt when he hurt his knee and could not ride; he went and sat with him, chatting, and read funny books to him. He is a very kind person. I am glad you like him--I was not sure.\ \ I waited. One wishes to know a stranger before liking
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him, as you call it; what is more important, I approve of him, and find him correct.\ Whether this helped much we cannot say. Sarella didn t think so, though Don Joaquin reported it to her with much complacence. \ She must know now,\ he said, \ that I authorize him.\ CHAPTER XIV. Jack sounded Mr. Gore s praises loudly in Mariquita s ears, and she heard them gladly. She thought well of her fellow-creatures, and it was always pleasant to her to hear them commended. Jack also bragged a little of his diplomacy, bidding his daughter note how Miss Mariquita had been pleased by his praise of her sweetheart. \ Miss Mariquita has not got even a sweetheart,\ Ginger declared, \ and maybe never will. It isn t the way of her. She was just as proud when you
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said a good word for Ben Sturt.\ \ Ben Sturt! What s he to the young mistress?\ \ Just nothing at all--not in that way. Nor yet Mr. Gore isn t. And the more s the pity. But she s good-hearted. She likes to hear good of folk--as much as some likes to hear ill of anybody, no matter who.\ Jack was a little discouraged--but not effectually. Mr. Gore was much too slow, he thought. Why should Miss Mariquita be thinking of him unless he \ let on\ how much he was thinking of her? \ Did you ever lie under an apple-tree when the blossom was on it?\ he asked Gore one day. \ I daresay I have.\ \ And expected to have your mouth full of apples when there was only blossom on it?\
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Jack forced so much meaning into his ugly old face that Gore could discern the allegorical intent. He was very amused. \ There d never be much chance of apples,\ he said carelessly, \ if the tree was shaken till the blossom fell off. The wind spoils more blossom than the frost does.\ Jack was not the only one who thought Gore slow in his wooing; the cowboys thought so too, though they did not, like Jack, find any fault with him for his slowness. In general they would have been more critical of rapidity and apparent success. Ben Sturt had learned to like him cordially, and wished him success, but Ben was of opinion that more haste would have been worse speed. He thought that Gore deserved Mariquita if anyone could, but was sure that even Gore would have to wait long and be
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very patient and careful. To Ben Mariquita seemed almost like one belonging to another world, certainly living on a plane above his comprehension, where ordinary love-making would be, somehow, unfitting and hopeless. It had always met with her father s cool approbation that Mariquita kept herself aloof from the young men about the place. But she was not wanting in interest for them. They were her neighbors, and she, who had so much interest for all her little dumb neighbors of the prairie, had a much higher interest in these bigger, but not much less dumb, neighbors of the homestead. They were more than a mere group to her. Each individual in the group was, she knew, as dear to God as herself, had been created by God for the same purpose as herself, and for the soul of each, Christ upon the Cross had been in as bitter labor
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as for the soul of any one of the saints. She was the last creature on earth to regard as of mere casual interest to herself those in whom God s interest was so deep, and close, and unfailing. Perhaps they were rough; it might be that of the great things of which Mariquita herself thought so habitually, they thought little and seldom: but she did not think them bad. She thought more of them than they guessed, and liked them better than they imagined. She would have wished to serve and help them, and was not indolent, but humble concerning herself, and shy. She worked for them, more perhaps than her father thought necessary; in that way she could serve them. But she could not preach to them, nor exhort them. She would have shrunk instinctively, not from the danger of ridicule, but from the danger that the
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ridicule might fall on religion itself, and not merely on her. She would have dreaded the risk of misrepresenting religion to them, of giving them ideas of God such as would repel them from Him. She knew that speech was not easy to her, eloquent speech was no gift of hers; she did not believe herself to have any readiness of expressing what she felt and knew, and did not credit herself with great knowledge. She did not really put them down as being entirely ignorant of what she did know. The idea of a woman s preaching would have shocked Mariquita, to her it would have seemed \ out of place.\ She was a humble girl, with a diffidence not universal among those who are themselves trying to serve God, some of whom are apt to be slow at understanding that others may be as near Him
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as themselves, though behaving differently, and holding a different fashion of speech. God who had made them must know more about them, she felt, than she could. She did not think she understood them very well, but God had made the men and knew them as well as He knew the women. She was, with all her ignorance and her limited opportunities of observation and understanding, able to see much goodness among these neighbors of hers; He must be able to see much more. In reality Mariquita did more for them than she had any idea of. They understood that in her was something higher than their understanding; that her goodness was real they did understand. It never shocked them as the \ goodness\ of some good people would by a first instinct have shocked them, by its uncharity, its self-conscious superiority, its selfishness, its complacence, its
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eagerness to assume the Divine prerogative of judgment and of punishment. They were, perhaps unconsciously, proud of her, who was so plainly never proud of herself. They knew that she was kind. They had penetration enough to be aware that if she held her own way, in some external aloofness, it was not out of cold indifference, or self-centred pride, not even out of a prudish shrinking from their roughness. They became less rough. Their behavior in her sight and hearing was not without effect upon their behavior in her absence. She taught them a reverence for woman that may only have begun in respect for herself. Almost all of them cared enough for her approval to try and become more capable of deserving it. Some of them, God who taught them knows how, became conscious of her lonely absorption in prayer, and the prairie became less empty to them.
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Probably none of them remained ignorant that to the girl God was life and breath, happiness and health, master and companion: the explanation of herself and of her beauty. They did not understand it all, but they saw more than they understood. The loveliness of each flower preached to Mariquita; sometimes she would sit upon the ground, her heart beating, holding in her hand one of those tiny weeds that millions of eyes can overlook without perceiving they are beautiful, insignificant in size, without any blaze of color, and realize its marvel of loveliness with a singular exultation; she would note the exquisite perfection of its minute parts--that each tiny spray was a string of stars, white, or tenderest azure, or mauve, gold-centred, a microscopic installation hidden all its life on the prairie-floor, as if falling from heaven it had grown smaller and smaller as it neared the earth.
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Her heart beat, I say, as she looked, and the light shining in her happy eyes was exultation at the unimaginable loveliness of God, who had imagined this minutest creature, and thought it worth while to conceive this and every other lovely thing for the house even of His children s exile and probation, their waiting-room on the upward road. So it preached to her the Uncreated Beauty, and the unbeginning, Eternal Love. As unconscious as was the little flower of its fragrance, its loveliness and its message, Mariquita, who could never have preached, was giving her message too. Her rough neighbors saw her near them and (perhaps without knowing that they knew it) knew that that which made her rare and exquisite was of Divine origin. She never hinted covert exhortation in her talk. If she spoke to any of them they could listen without dread of some
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shrewdly folded rebuke. Yet they could not get away from the fact that she was herself a perpetual reminder of noble purpose. CHAPTER XV. What the cowboys had come, with varying degrees of slowness or celerity, to feel by intuitions little instructed by experience or reasoning, Gore had to arrive at by more deliberate study. He was more civilized and less instinctive. He knew many more people, and had experience, wanting to them, of many women of fine and high character. What made the rarity of Mariquita s instinct did not inform him, and he had to observe and surmise. He saw no books in the house, and did not perceive how Mariquita could read; she must, in the way of information and knowledge such as most educated girls possess be, as it were, disinherited. Yet he did not feel that she was ignorant. It is
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more ignorant to have adopted false knowledge than to be uninformed. Every day added to Gore s sense of the girl s rarity and nobility. He admired her more and more, the reverence of his admiration increasing with its growth. Nor was his appreciation blind, or blinded. He surmised a certain lack in her--the absence of humor, and he was, at any rate, so far correct that Mariquita was without the habit of humor. Long after this time, she was thought by her companions to have a delightful radiant cheerfulness like mirth. But when Gore first knew her, what occasion had she had for indulgence in the habit of humor? Her father s house was not gay, and he would have thought gaiety in it out of place. Loud laughter might resound in the cowboys quarters, but Don Joaquin would have much disapproved any curiosity in his
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daughter as to its cause. He seldom laughed himself and never wished to make anyone else laugh. His Spanish blood and his Indian blood almost equally tended to make him regard laughter and merriment as a slur on dignity. Some of those who have attempted the elusive feat of analyzing the causes and origin of humor lay down that it lies in a perception of the incongruous, the less fit. I should be sorry to think that a complete account of the matter. No doubt it describes the occasion of much of our laughter, though not, I refuse to believe, of all. That sense of humor implies little charity, and a good deal of conscious superiority. It makes us laugh at accidents not agreeable to those who suffer them, at uncouthness, ignorances, solecisms, inferiorities, follies, blunders, stupidities, unconsciously displayed weaknesses and faults. It is the sort of humor
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that sets us laughing at a smartly dressed person fallen into a filthy drain, at a man who does not know how to eat decently, at mispronunciation of names, and misapplication or oblivion of aspirates, at greediness not veiled by politeness, at a man singing who doesn t know how. Now Mariquita had no conceit and was steeped in charity in big and little things. In that sort of humor she would have been lacking, for she would have thought too kindly of its butt to be able to enjoy his misfortune. And, as has been already said, she had no habit of the thing. Gore, in accusing her of lack of humor, felt that the accusation was a heavy one. It was not quite unjust: we have partly explained Mariquita s deficiency without entirely denying it, or pretending it was an attraction. No doubt, she would have been
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a greater laugher if she had been more ill-natured, had had wider opportunities of perceiving the absurdity of her contemporaries. As for those queer and quaint quips of circumstance that make the oddity of daily life for some of us, few of them had enlivened Mariquita. The chief occasion of general gathering was round the table, where hunger and haste were the most obvious characteristics of the meeting. Till Gore came, there had been little conversation. It was not Mariquita s fault that she had been used neither to see or hear much that was entertaining. Perhaps the facility of being amused is an acquired taste; and even so, the faculty of humor is almost of necessity dormant where scarcely anything offers for it to work or feed upon. CHAPTER XVI. The projected visit to Maxwell did not immediately take place. Don Joaquin was seldom hasty in
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action, having a chronic, habitual esteem for deliberation and deliberateness too. Sarella would have been impatient had she not been sufficiently unwell to shrink for the moment from the idea of a very long ride. For the mere pleasure of riding she would never have mounted a horse; she would only ride when there was no other means of arriving at some object or place not otherwise attainable. Gore, however, was again absent on the second Saturday after his first visit to Maxwell. And on this occasion his place was vacant at breakfast. Nor did he return till Monday afternoon. On that afternoon Mariquita had walked out some distance across the prairie. Not in the direction of the Maxwell trail, but quite in the opposite direction. Her way brought her to what they called Saul Bluff--a very low, broken ridge, sparsely overgrown with small rather shabby trees.
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It would scarcely have hidden the chimneys of a cottage had there been any cottage on its farther side; but there was none anywhere near it. For many miles there was no building in any direction, except \ Don Jo s,\ as, to its owner s annoyance, his homestead was called. When Mariquita had reached the top of the bluff she took advantage of the slight elevation on which she stood, to look round upon the great spread of country stretching to the low horizon on every side. It was, like most days here, a day of wind and sun. The air was utterly pure and scentless; the scent was not fir-scent, and the scattered, windy trees gave no smell. She saw a chipmunk and laughed, as the sight of that queer little creature, and its odd mixture of shyness and effrontery always made her laugh. It
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was even singularly clear, and the foothills of the Rockies were just visible. The trail, which ran over the bluff a little to her left, was full in sight below her, but so little used as to be slight enough. A mile farther on it crossed the river, and was too faint to be seen beyond. The river was five miles behind her as well as a mile in front, for it made a big loop, north, and then, west-about, southward. She sat down and for a long time was rapt in her own thoughts, which were not, at first, of any human person. Perhaps she would not herself have said that she was praying. But all prayer does not consist in begging favors even for others. Its essence does not lie in request, but in the lifting of self, heart and mind, to God. The love of a
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child to its father need not necessarily find its sole exercise and expression in demand. Her thought and love flew up to her Father and rested, immeasurably happy. The real joys of her life were in that presence. The sense of His love, not merely for herself, was the higher bliss it gave her: not merely for herself, I say, for it spread as wide as all humanity, and her own share in it was as little as a star in the milky way, in the whole glory, what it is for all the saints in heaven and on earth, for all sinners, for His great Mother, and, most immeasurable of all, the infinite perfection of His love for Himself, of Father and Son for the Holy Spirit, of Son and Spirit for the Eternal Father, of Spirit and Father for the Son. This stretched far beyond the reach of
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her vision, but she looked as far as her human sight could reach, as one looks on that much of the mystic ocean that eye can hold. Not separable from this joy in the Divine Love was her joy in the Divine Beauty, of which all created beauty sang, whether it were that of the smallest flower or that of Christ s Mother herself. The wind s clean breath whispered of it; the vast loveliness of the enormous dome above her, and the limitless expanse of not less lovely earth on which that dome rested, witnessed to the Infinite Beauty that had imagined and made them. But sooner or later Mariquita must share, for in that the silent tenderness of her nature showed itself: she could not be content to have her great happiness to herself, to enjoy alone. So, presently, in her prayer she came, as always, to
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gathering round her all whom she knew and all whom she did not know. As she would have wished them to think in their prayer of her, so must she have them also in the Divine Presence with her, lift their names up to God, even their names which, unknown to her, He knew as well as He knew her own. Her living father and her dead mother, the old school-friends and the nuns, the old priest at Loretto, and a certain crooked old gardener that had been there (crooked in body, in face, and in temper), Sarella, and Mr. Gore, and all the cowboys--all these Mariquita gathered into the loving arms of her memory, and presented them at their Father s feet. Her way in this was her own way, and unlike perhaps that of others. She had no idea of bringing them to God s memory, as
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if His tenderness needed any reminder from her, for always she heard Him saying: \ Can you teach Me pity and love?\ She did not think it depended on her that good should come to them from Him. Were she to be lazy or forgetful, He would never let them suffer through her neglect. They were immeasurably more His than they could be hers. But she could not be at His feet and not in her loving mind see them there beside her, and she knew He chose that at His feet she should not forget them. She could not dictate to Him what He was to give them, in what fashion He should bless and help them. He knew exactly. Her surmises must be ignorant. Therefore Mariquita s prayer was more wordless than common, less phrased; but its intensity was more uncommon. Nor could it be limited
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to those--a handful out of all His children--whom she knew or had ever known. There were all the rest--everywhere: those who knew how to serve Him, and were doing it, as she had never learned to serve; those who had never heard His name, and those who knew it but shrank from it as that of an angry observer; those most hapless ones who lived by disobeying Him, even by dragging others down into the slough of disobedience; the whole world s sick, body-sick and soul-sick; those who here are mad, and will find reason only in heaven; the whole world s sorrowful ones, the luckless, those gripped in the hard clutch of penury, or the sordid clutch of debt; the blind whose first experience of beauty will be perfect beauty, the foully diseased, the deformed, the deaf and dumb whose first speech will be their joining in the songs
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of heaven, their first hearing that of the music of heaven ... all these, and many, many others she must bring about her, or her gladness in God s nearness would be selfishness. That nearness! she felt Him much nearer than was her own raiment, nearer than was her own flesh.... CHAPTER XVII. It was long after Mariquita had come to her place upon the bluff, that the sound of a horse cantering towards it made her rise and go to the farther westward edge of the bluff to look. The horseman was quite near, below her. It was Gore, and he saw her at the same moment in which she saw him. He lifted his big, wide-brimmed hat from his head and waved it. It would never have even occurred to her to be guilty of the churlishness of turning away to go homeward. Her thoughts, almost
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the only thing of her own she had ever had, she was always ready to lay aside for courtesy. He had dismounted, and was leading his horse up the rather steep slope. She stood waiting for him, a light rather than a smile upon her noble face, a light like the glow of a far horizon.... \ I thought,\ she said, when he had come up, \ that you had gone to Maxwell.\ \ No, I went to Denver this time,\ he told her, \ beyond Denver a little. Where do you think I heard Mass yesterday--this morning again, too? for both of us, since you could not come.\ \ Not at Loretto!\ But she knew it was at Loretto. His smile told her. \ Yes, at Loretto. It was the same to me which place I went to.
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No, not the same, for I wanted to see the place where you had been a little girl, so that I could come back and bring you word of it.\ \ Ah, how kind you are!\ she said, with a sort of wonder of gratefulness shining on her. (\ She is far more beautiful than I ever knew,\ he thought.) \ Not kind at all,\ Gore protested. \ Just to please myself! There s no great kindness in that except to myself.\ \ Oh, yes! for you knew how it would please me. It was wonderful that you should be so kind as to think of it.\ \ It gave me pleasure anyway. To be in the place where you had been so happy--\ \ Ah, but I am always happy,\ she interrupted. \ Though indeed
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I was happy there, and sorrowful to leave it. But I did not leave it quite behind; it came with me.\ \ I have a great many things to tell you. They remember you most faithfully. If my going gave me pleasure, it gave them much more. You cannot think how much they made of me for your sake; I stayed there a long time after Mass yesterday, and they made me go back in the afternoon--I was there all afternoon. And all the time we were talking of you.\ \ Then I think,\ Mariquita declared, laughing merrily, \ your talk will have been monotonous.\ \ Oh, not monotonous at all. Are they not dear women? They showed me where you sat in chapel--and the different places where you had sat in classrooms, and in the refectory, when you first came, as a
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¿Cómo saber quién eres realmente?

No eres esa persona que es feliz, tampoco esa persona que es triste, mucho menos lo que los demás te dicen que eres, tampoco eres esa persona llena de valores y un montón de cosas más.

¿Quieres saber quién eres?

Es sencillo saberlo. Recuerda cual fue la última situación difícil que hayas vivido. Una situación en la que sentías que el Universo y la vida te ponían a prueba. ¿La recuerdas…?

Bueno, aunque no lo creas, tal como te sentiste en esa ocasión, eso es lo que eres realmente, debido a que uno se conoce a sí mismo y a las personas solo cuando las ves en situaciones difíciles, ya que solo en momentos de grandes dificultades aflora lo que hay dentro de ti, sin tener que fingir ser otro, sin pensar si está bien o mal, solo florece.

No hay de qué avergonzarse si te dio miedo, sentiste tristeza, ira, enojo, frustración, pereza, desilusión, etc…. Somos humanos y estamos aquí para trascender todos esos paquetes Karmicos, mejor aprovechar esta vida y trascenderlos que solo lamentarnos.

¿De qué sirve saber quién eres realmente? Si sabes quién eres realmente, puedes trabajar en eso negativo que floreció en ti, así como también puedes ir puliendo y mejorando esas virtudes que hayan llegado a salir.

Agradece los momentos difíciles porque allí puedes ser sincero contigo, puedes darte cuenta que es lo que tienes para dar, sin importar si es bueno o malo y estos momentos difíciles aprovéchalos al máximo, porque te ayudaran a ir comprendiendo el juego de la vida, y así poder ir mejorando toda tu calidad de vida, desde tu interior hasta irlo viendo plasmándose en tu exterior.

Los momentos difíciles no es debido a tus pecados, no son errores, no es que alguien te embrujo, no es mala suerte, no es el destino…. Nada de eso. Son valiosísimos, porque es ahí cuando tu alma puede dar un gran salto, puedes llegar a alcanzar una gran comprensión. Es ahí cuando realmente puedes generar Dharma, mucho.

Son situaciones que los maestros nos mandan, para movernos, para encendernos por dentro y seguir adelante. No son para hacernos sumisos, ni llenos de miedo ni de temor. Asi que aprovechalos! Son de las mejores cosas que hay en la vida.

Tu energía define tu calidad de vida.

Nuestro cuerpo físico necesita energía. Nuestras almas también, pero no la energía que se obtiene de los alimentos. Ciertamente todas las almas contamos con energía.

La mayoría de las veces dentro nuestro… las energías que existen no son muy limpias, la mayoría de las veces nuestra energía está contaminada y esto nos limita, nos condiciona y nos ata a vivir y experimentar situaciones karmicas, de dolor.

No hay píldora, jarabes, medicinas exteriores para transformar estas energías.

Tratamiento y cura es la meditación, un voltear hacia dentro, tomar conciencia, estar alerta de los egos y demonios que habitan en el interior, ellos que se roban tu energía cada vez que dispersas tu atención al exterior, cada vez que apagas la conciencia. Y este es todo el secreto: obsérvalos, al observarlos se irán porque tomar conciencia significa encenderte por dentro y ellos no toleran la luz.

Entre más alerta estés, entre mas vayas recuperando el control de tu interior, entre más integrado te encuentres… gradualmente iras viendo que: la ira, la pereza, la indecisión, la esquizofrenia, la frustración, los apegos, la soberbia, la culpa y todos los paquetes karmicos comienzan a desaparecer.

Aprovecha ahora que estas en la materia para transformar esas energías que te limitan, porque todo lo que te limita o te libera no está afuera, está adentro de ti. Dentro es ir a la raíz y armonizarte.

Hacer pequeños cambios o arreglos a tu vida en el exterior, es como construir castillos de arena en el cielo.

Aprovecha hoy que tienes tiempo, no mañana ni ayer. Quizás hoy sea el día decisivo, quizás hoy sea el día que te hartes de toda la basura interna y decidas poner un fin definitivo, quizás a partir de hoy te encomiendes en embellecerte en tu interior.

No pensemos que estamos en perfectas condiciones, no creamos que nosotros no tenemos karma, ni deudas, ni egos, ni nada negativo… si así lo fuera, no estaríamos habitando en esta plataforma de curación, en este hospital llamado Tierra.

El sufrimiento y el placer son opcionales, vive en medio de ambas y podrás trascenderlo todo. Vive en medio en todas las situaciones, de pronto tu energía no estará más involucrada, de pronto te sentirás mas integrado, de pronto tendrás mas el control de tu interior, de pronto el karma comienza a disminuir y comenzaras a probar un poco que es la verdadera vida.

Tener signos vitales, nos indica que tu cuerpo físico está vivo, pero ¿Y tu alma? ¿Está realmente participando en tu vida? ¿Le das papel protagónico o prefieres oprimirla y sufrir indefinidamente por todo tipo de situaciones?

En cuanto tu alma sea la protagonista, ahí comenzaras a probar un poco que es la verdadera vida, pero no antes.  Medita, Observa, Experimenta, Ríete de tus errores, Comprende y sigue Adelante.

Y disfruta este juego llamado vida, porque a pesar de lo anteriormente citado, inclusive eso es también un juego, pero juega sabiéndote las reglas para gozar el juego.

Soledad = edad del sol

Hoy viendo la palabra soledad en un Tweet bastante ilógico y sin sentido común en absoluto... me puse a pensar sobre la palabra "soledad". Observas que si la separas dice “Sol Edad”, tal como si dijera “Edad del Sol”.

¿Qué relación puede tener la “Edad del Sol” con el significado común de “soledad” que viene siendo algo como “aislamiento”?

El aislamiento es malo SOLO SI no sabes estar contigo mismo. Entonces si es lo peor del mundo. En si la soledad no es negativa, lo es solo si no sabes convivir contigo y ciertamente te debes mucho tiempo a ti mismo para tomar conciencia de un montón de cosas, tanto de lo que falta aprender, crecer, avanzar, experimentar… como de aquellas cosas que son mejor simplemente soltar.

Entonces fácilmente puedes darte cuenta que la soledad hace referencia a un sol, a una temporada en donde predomina la luz, el tomar conciencia, una fase duradera donde puedes dar un salto y tomar conciencia de muchas cosas.

Así que si ves la palabra soledad desde su posible verdadera esencia, la soledad es algo sumamente positivo, porque te hace encontrarte a ti mismo, tomar conciencia y conocer a la persona más importante que puedas llegar a conocer, mas importante que Dios, el Papa, el Presidente o algún otro de estos personajes “importantes”.

Con la soledad, te puedes conocer a ti mismo. Tu alma lleva años o tal vez vidas intentando que te encuentres a ti mismo, pero preferimos perdernos en la ilusión: llámese dinero, amor, religión, política, estudios, trabajo, salud o cualquier otro título bonito.

¿Le harás ese gran favor a tu alma o prefieres seguir postergando ese encuentro tan esperado?