Something is screaming inside of me, it has been for a while, I often forget distracted by the material needs of my day to day. Then I find some old text, a drawing or a marked book, and I can see without really remembering, that I was trying to make sense of it all.

What is “it all”? Maybe it is the question that often took my sleep away as a kid. My mom says trees are green, but at night they are blue or black, half or the time is night… why are trees green if they are so long blue or black. I still don’t know. I still can’t pin-point my worry as a child more than into saying something like: the mystery of existence. But that seem so plain, yet at the same time so clear.

The mystery of existence also explains my other very recurrent night-dream material thought: if god made us, who made god, and if there is no god how is anything possible, but nothing is also not possible… i guess. I then would just pray to god, because if my mom loved him so much then it probably means something.

Then life got more and less complex and I started learning about the human world, about what our genitals say about us, about what where we come from says about us, about what others had said about us and how that affect what we say about ourselves, about what we now try to say about ourselves, and how all this affects how we live. To top it all, i also learned how all we do affects the majestic planet and creatures we cohabit the planet with.

This all worries me and I, like many more, prefer from time to time the numbing tranquility of screen-time, consumption and unawareness. But i still can not ignore that there is too much that I have been lucky to learn about, and that there is something I still need to say. What ever it may be, maybe about the mystery of existence… or maybe just about the beautiful flowerful life my grandma lived.