Between 1 and 0

1. The Eternal Gardens I entered a garden where the flowers have no names, but only the idea of their existence. There, time is not a succession, but a circle that turns back into itself. The roots do not ask the sky, and the sky does not ask for answers. Everything is simple and vast, like a truth that has renounced its own enigma. 2. The Silence Above Beneath the vast sky, there are no questions and no answers. It is only a silence so profound, that it becomes the echo of another world. I look toward it and wonder if the weight I feel is real or just the projection of a soul that no longer remembers its flight. Perhaps the sky is a closed eye, waiting for us to open it. 3. The Water of Forgetfulness The river flows without song, like a lost idea seeking its meaning. In its transparency, only absence is reflected, and the reflections are dreams that have forgotten their own form. I lean over and try to touch the truth, but the water answers me with the silence of an infinite that refuses to be explained. 4. The Silent Pages A book without words is heavier than one full of them. I run my fingers over its blank pages and feel a language that has not yet been born. Perhaps truth does not need letters, perhaps the deepest stories can never be written. We carry them with us, like shadows that do not ask for light. 5. The Metaphysics of Shadows The shadows of birds do not fly. They remain anchored to the earth, like ideas that refuse to become sky. I catch my hand in them and wonder if the earth keeps them out of fear or out of love. But perhaps even shadows have their meaning: to be the witnesses of a flight that only silence can understand. 6. The Mineral Prayer In stones lies a hidden language that time has not yet deciphered. Their prayers do not rise, but descend, seeking the depths where silence becomes absolute. I listen to their patience and wonder if eternity is nothing more than the courage to remain still. 7. The Sunset as a Wound The dawn never comes without tearing the night. In the light, every color bears the burden of a silent struggle, a scar that never closes. I wonder if in this conflict lies all the essence of creation. Perhaps the day exists only to give meaning to shadows.