When the furious storm sweeps through the land, the mind of the spirits closes all by itself. But the foreign wrath's impulse is reddened by the foreign fist, putting a stop to that force. When the winds' expression falls silent after all devastating power, the understanding ducks in the path of all that legacy, whose trace of the unsustained is carried away without ever rising anew: too strong the fuelling word, whose source springs from love. Thus, the reaching of all those misdeeds of unspeakability, without ever really meaning what has been said, precedes all guilt and extinguishes every ember even before it sees the flame of the billows of smoke, the spell of the word lasts in all the chosen truth of the lie, for the sake of existence. The fear of surrendering the whirling being is too great, as it could sweep away what is long overdue to be let go.
Only smouldering stalks of fearless truthfulness kindle the embers of the fire.
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