Oration of Jonas by Ernesto Santana Zaldivar

Blessed are those who come and go but always remain.

Still castaways and sad. Still stained, or blind or crazed with pain.

Blessed are those who die and live and never tire of being born and never tire of being one, of being another. 

Blessed are those who go from the light to the shade without paling and from the shade to the light without losing us.

Those that love the minimal, the beautiful, the rough, the moon, the waves, you.

Blessed are the lips of the wound that opens a shooting star in the sky.

 

Blessed are those who go and come but never stay.

Blessed is he who saves his fistful of earth

and hoards some thread of wind, some verse of love.

Blessed is the breeze that doesn’t wish to be a storm

and the seed in which the making tree sees itself.

Blessed is he who does not hate the pain of living because for him death does not pluck out his eyes.

Blessed is he who finds the world here and the infinite now.

The eternal stranger of oneself, the unsalvageable castaway.

Blessed is he who rips with the mask his own face.