Friends in the Dark

At times, life gets you down. Maybe you aren't where you thought you would be, maybe something good is over, maybe the world just isn't being kind today. I think of those times as being in the Dark. In Darkness, you only have your voice and your mind to talk to you, and that can get pretty horrible in short notice.

That's why you get friends. No one is born alone in this world, we all have people out there, even if we haven't met them yet, who can and will be true friends to us. People to share the Light, in good times. To shine in the Dark, in bad ones.

These people come in so many flavours that I can barely count them all. Very, very few people can get you out of the Darkness (That's your job, mate). Good friends recognize that fact, nod and then completely disregard it and try anyway. 

Some friends bring you candles and sit with you for a while, bringing what they can of Light with them. They look at you and share beautiful things. They eventually have to leave, of course, when the candle runs out, but they smile and say "See you soon". And soon, they are back with another candle. These friends are reliable as bread, as air, as the sun rising every morning. They warm you.

Some friends, fewer, suddenly come in with wood and coal and noise like thunder, smile wildly (even madly) and light a bonfire. They come, alone or in groups, and hold out their hands while laughing. "Get up", they say, "The Darkness is taking a break tonight. And if she has an issue with that, tell her to take it up with us".

They light the bonfire and make you dance and sing and do a million stupid things and, until the bonfire falls to embers and ashes, draw a line against the Darkness and dare her to come forth. Of course, the fire eventually runs out, but you do not stop smiling the whole time. They leave, then, and promise to come back soon. It will never be as soon as you want to, but they will come back. These friends are like lighting and thunder and a single, perfect step. They blaze like fireworks for as long as they can. Sometimes forever.

Finally, some friends (very, very few of them) bring no light with them. They come alone and sit in the dark, back to back with you, and listen and say small words at the right times, or tell you a story that has nothing to do with anything, or just stand in the Darkness with you. These friends are like the silence after a storm, or the steadiness of a mountain, or the crystalline beauty of the moon. They stay around for a night, or a few hours, or a single, magnificent sentence.

The beautiful thing is that people can be all three of them. All the time. A steady guide, a blazing flare, a quiet strength. 

(I tend to give as much credit to the whole "Darkness is Evil" thing as to the more widespread "Light is Good". Both seem like so much dandelion fluff to me. Light is light, and Darkness is darkness. Nothing else. Today, I'm making an exception for the sake of writing, meaning that the whole metaphore falls apart otherwise. Please bear with me.)

Art

I love Art.

I love music and dance and drawings and paintings and photography and sculpture and animation and the way some people can spin feelings and thoughts in canvas and paper and strings and voice and partitures and a single, well timed step.

I envy all of you with a passion. I crave your voices, like silver trumpets, your rhythm, like the rain falling, your hands, steady and sure, your minds, focused and knowing, your instincts that see beauty in the marble when it's still just a block of stone.

I have none of that. I couldn't carry a tune if it had handles, I couldn't draw a straight line to save my life, I couldn't make a stick figure move with a see-through. I can't take a half-step to music without looking utterly ridiculous.

I do not have an ounce of Art in me. That fact has haunted me for as long as I could conceptualize music and drawings. I still dream, sometimes, that I can sing, or play, or dance, or draw, or animate a good story. But I can't. I would give my hand to be able to sing, or my voice so I could draw or animate the stories I imagine when I listen to music. But the world doesn't work like that, and I've made my peace with it.

But that means all of you have to make it up for me. Draw, paint, sing, play, dance, render. Create. Fill the world with a thousand thousand beautiful things. Make epic, sad, lovely and fantastic stories.

Those of you who can see the Light outside, take a piece of it and bring it to the Cavern for those of us in the Darkness.

Go.

Reading, or rather, books.

(Español aquí)

I am many things. I am a christian, an engineer, a geek, all by choice or belief. Those and many more. But I think that, first and foremost, I am a reader. Have been almost since I can remember, and I don't know what I'd be without it.

I read books, novels, novellas, novelettes, comics, short stories, comic strips, the labels on shampoo bottles. I do have a preference for fantasy and science fiction, but you name it. That's why when I hear someone proudly declaring "I do not like reading" I feel a pang in my chest, like something breaking.

This comes not from hate or a sense of superiority. Not with a sense of pride or wisdom. It's commiseration because, like The Doctor, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you still haven't found it. I'm sorry you have yet to find that book that makes it all fly away.

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

I'm sorry you haven't read about Vania Strongman, who got strong in seven years with seven sacks of sunflower seeds, and faced trials until he became tzar.

Las Aventuras de Vania el Forzudo

I'm sorry you haven't read those wonderful first words, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.". That you haven't seen the splendor of Erebor and held the Arkenstone. That you haven't cried when the Trees were lost to the Darkness and the Night, even if the Silmarils kept the last of their light. That you haven't seen Númenor fall to its own corruption and lived to step into the Fourth Age.

The Silmarillion The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien.

I'm sorry R. Daneel hasn't called you "partner" and saved the whole of the human race out of respect for your memory. That you couldn't learn Psychohistory from Hari Seldon, face the Mule in all of his power or find where the Second Foundation is. That Golan Trevize didn't take you along to find Earth again. That you haven't seen the Last Question answered.

Foundation Trilogy, The Robots Trilogy. Isaac Asimov.

Siento que no hayas estado en los mentideros de Madrid de la mano de Iñigo de Balboa, persiguiendo aventuras en Flandes, Italia y todo el inmenso imperio que llamaban España. El viejo León, cansado y muriéndose bajo su propio peso, pero aún el rey del mundo.

Las Aventuras del Capitán Alatriste. Arturo Perez Reverte.

I'm sorry you wheren't there when Andrew...sorry, Ender Wiggin fought the buggers tooth and nail and made a choice he regretted for the rest of his life. That you didn't outwit the Giant. That Jane didn't whisper in your ear for a lifetime. That you didn't learn in time that the enemy's gate is down.

The game of Ender, Orson Scott Card

I'm sorry you can't believe as many as six imposibble things before breakfast,but be assured: you can slay the Jabberwocky.

Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. Lewis Carroll

I'm sorry you didn't learn Allomancy from Kelsier, the survivor of Hathsin. That you didn't find out that there are plots behind plots, plans behind plans. That there is always another secret. And that he was the one thing the Lord Ruler, the Sliver of infinity, couldn't kill. Hope. That you didn't get to see the Kandra go through with the Resolution, because they where of Preservation all along. That you didn't see Ruin fail and be outgambited by Preservation and the drive of a single human girl.

The Mistborn Trilogy. Brandon Sanderson.

I'm sorry you haven't ever heard Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden shout "Fuego!" to some two bit villain who thought it could go bump in the night of Chicago. That the Gatekeeper hasn't shown you the Outer Gates and what Mab, with Winter under her command, keeps there at bay. That you didn't get to see Lash, the Fallen, cry for you and that she couldn't leave you her music, to the words of "Everything I can, dear host.". That you didn't get to blast He Who Walks Behind when you were sixteen, and He Who Walks Before in your forties. That you couldn't meet the Knights of the Cross, wielding the swords of Love, Faith and Hope. Michael, the kindest man, except when his family is concerned. Shiro, old, frail, and a Christian by accident, but who saw what others can't. Sanya, the agnostic, russian, black, socialist Fist of God...with an AK-47.

The Dresden Files. Jim Butcher.

I'm sorry you couldn't see Aldrick ex Gladius duel Araris Valerian in the streets of Alera Imperia. That you didn't get to watch Gaius Tavarus Magnus tear down the gates of Riva. That you didn't learn what very few people understand: that swords aren’t dangerous, nor hands nor arms, nor furies. Minds are dangerous. Wills are dangerous. That you are heavily armed with both. I'm sorry you couldn't be gadara to Varg, a friend to the Canim. I'm sorry you didn't see the Legions, the bastion of our strength, blacken the Vord's sky with crows. That you didn't see Gaius Isana, a simple steadholder, challenge Antillus Raucus, the Snowcrow, a High Lord of Alera, to the juris macto, so that the crows may feast on the unjust.

Codex Alera. Jim Butcher.

I'm sorry you couldn't learn the Speech, and that you have never greeted the Lone Power with the the only formula it deserves: "Fairiest and Fallen, greetings and defiance!".

Young Wizards. Diane Duane.

I'm sorry you haven't seen what the First and Only of Tanith are made of. What Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt made of them. Why they call them his Ghosts. Why Saint Sabbat chose them. That you couldn't shout, one with your brothers, "Straight silver!" before crossing the trenches to fight the Pact, for the glory of the Emperor.

Gaunt's Ghosts. Dan Abnett.

I'm sorry that you haven't had many names. That you couldn't study at the University. That you didn't grow up with the Edema Ruh, music in your veins and notes in your soul. That you couldn't be a beggar, and a thief, in Tarbean. That you couldn't find Auri atop the buildings, in the moonlight. That Elodin didn't offer to teach you magic wonders beyond comprehension. That you didn't lay with Felurian or play corners with Will and Sim. That you couldn't save Fela in the Fishery. That you couldn't banter with Devi to your heart's content. That the Maer didn't employ your services and the Adem didn't teach you of the Lethani. That you didn't speak with the Cthaeh, dangerous as it may be. That you coulnd't make Ambrose Jakis look like a jackass. That you didn't find the name of the wind.

The Kingkiller Chronicle. Patrick Rothfuss

(END OF SPOILERS)

I'm sorry because I know that, for all the time I've spent in this worlds, I haven't lost a single second, and I am a better, richer man than I would otherwise be because of them. If you truly want to learn, read. If you truly want to dream, read. If you truly want to understand your fellow man, read.

(There are more books, of course, so many it's seems impossible someone doesn't have the proper one waiting for them)

Facil, sencillo, dificil, complicado.

Hay algo que a veces he tenido que explicar a mis amigos aquí y allá. Algo que me parece fundamental para entender muchas cosas. Algo que, a mi, me ha ayudado enormemente. La diferencia entre 2 pares de palabras.

El mundo tiende a pensar en las cosas (las relaciones, los problemas, los eventos) cómo en cosas fáciles, simples o difíciles, complicadas. Asimilan esas palabras como sinónimos. Y se equivocan.

Las cosas no van en un eje de fácil a difícil. Van en dos: de fácil a difícil y de sencillo a complicado. Y una cosa nada o poco tiene que ver con la otra.

Creo que lo mejor, como el Lethani, es verlo en términos de caminos. Un camino puede ser recto(sencillo) o sinuoso(complicado), pero eso no tiene nada que ver con que sea empinado o esté empedrado(difícil) o sea llano(fácil). Hay gente que está mejor predispuesta a unos tipos de caminos que a otros y eso dice mucho de cómo son.

Casi todas las cosas importantes de verdad son, o deberían ser, sencillas, pero difíciles. La vida. El amor. Las comidas que prepara tu abuela. Hay que esforzarse, hay que trabajar y pelear, pero puedes ver el camino y seguirlo sin problemas.

El problema es cuando la gente le da muchas vueltas a las cosas y eso hace de todo algo complicado. Tan complicado que olvidan o son incapaces de ver que tras la maraña de vueltas que le han dado a todo puede que solo haya un problema fácil, algo que podrían resolver si vieran de verdad de que se trata.

Esto va por la gente que continúa su camino pase lo que pase.

__________

Hay mapamundis parlantes que me mantienen despierto toda la noche y me hacen pensar 

Echo de menos un pato con antifaz

Cerámica

Esto es un poco vergonzoso, ni siquiera se como empezar. Vale, concéntrate.

Buenas tardes

Estoy aquí por voluntad propia, pero no del todo. Realmente estoy aquí porque la suma de las cosas que componen mi vida actual me empuja a estar aquí. Por supuesto hay más que eso, pero ésa es la razón más importante.

Este blog no tiene un objetivo claro ni definido, supongo que porque yo tampoco lo tengo ahora mismo. Podeis esperar bastantes cosas frikis, mucho Doctor Who y la menor cantidad posible de ese rollo autofelatorio que tanto nos gusta a todos.

(Que de eso también habrá, porque somos humanos y erramos como tales. Pero prometo que intentaré que sea el menor posible)

Creo, y enfatizo el "creo", que he empezado este blog para escribir algo. Hace mucho que no lo hago y tampoco se me da bien, pero oye, como la cerámica. Todo es práctica.

Espero que algo de lo que veais os guste