On a dull morning of the silent city, the sun leaned on the cement roofs as if a lady exhausted by repetition.. I found myself in front of a philosopher unrecognized by academies, a stray dog who sat on the margin of the world, silently protesting not the chaos of creation but the creator himself.
His gaze was like a mirror that reveals more than it reflects, holding both the sorrow of wisdom and the laughter of cynicism, as if translating a history of deep understanding and prolonged betrayal.
I asked him as one would query their conscience:
- Are you stray?
He laughed a short laugh as if it were a slap in the face of the question, and said:
- Being lost is not a place, but a state. You are the wanderers in maps that you have woven with your own hands, writing addresses to conceal from yourselves the truth that you do not know where you are going!, You invented the GPS because the compass of your souls broke down !
His voice was simple and deep as if coming from a time when masks were not yet invented. And frankly; I was stunned, shocked, and wondered: where did he get all this eloquence while I have always struggled to express myself?
Then I realized that wisdom often resides in beings that have not learned to lie.
We have often dealt with stray dogs as an administrative file not as a living being.
Governments implement programs: capture, sterilize, and release, as if treating the disease, while in reality, they numb the conscience.
We sterilize the body and let the soul bleed...
