My letter to KEO

For many years I have believed that human language evolved from the need to communicate the way we feel to other humans in the near. I'm glad that I live in an era in which we have developed our language so well that we can transmit our doubts, our concerns, our understandings, even our feelings (although our language sometimes can barely describe what we're filled with at a given moment). Currently we have different languages, but I think that will tend to disappear. Human culture is very rich at the moment; we have artistic expressions like books, music, movies, paints, dances, and so on. Art is a way to help the language, and so it is a way to express our feelings and our knowledge to the world. Do you have art pieces of my era in your museums? I don't know who you are, but surely I hope that you are a happy person. Happiness is the motivation that most of people have in this life by now. I can't define happiness. At the moment it is such powerful and ethereal concept that can be dangerous. It has to do with the peace, the wellbeing, and the wholeness of the being. Are you in peace with the world around you? Are you the being that you decided to be? I bet your health is perfect. I hope that science has evolved so much, that you don't have to worry about terrible diseases. I live in a era where life is so fragile. We still have countless diseases that can end your life. Sadly enough, in this era people don't value life. Some of my people destroy the world, pollute our water sources, kill animal species to extinction, deforest and abuse the natural resources. They do so because of the money. Do you have money in your time? Money is a concept created by some humans; it has to do with reward. Human beings of my era are greedy, and precisely that greed is what makes them destroy everything around. Money has come to be more important than human lives. Currently, millions of people are starving to death, because of the corruption of some other people. To me, corruption means to act in disregard for the world around you, just following your own greedy and selfish impulses. Corruption dominates the world. Even though, there are few free minds. Free minds, I must say, are those that are really aware of the world around. They don't act in selfish ways, because they recognize how insignificant we are compared to the universe around. Most of the people in my era are completely unaware of the physical world around them. Most of them think that we were created by a God or multiple Gods, and they have taken those Gods to justify their crimes. People have killed in the name of such Gods. I use the word Gods, because every culture has their own set of Gods (Some have just one). I think Gods are a human creation aiming to explain what they could not understand in the past, and aiming to give meaning to this life. But some corrupted human beings have used that concept to take over civilizations. In the world I live, almost every human being claims to have the truth. And they discriminate those who don't live accordingly to their own truth. It used to be worse, though. Not too many years ago I would have been hanged or burned if I had been caught up writing this letter. Are you horrified? Currently, there are many people being hurt or killed because of the way they think, because of the way they act. This is called intolerance, and like corruption it also rules this world I live. We need to break those chains with knowledge. I really look forward the day that every human being realizes how special they are, as a single being as well as a race. I'm really looking forward to the day when a child's life is worth more than money. Every human being counts... Perhaps our minds are not developed enough to understand the actual value of a person, of an animal, of the plants and the whole world. For some of us, at the time, is hard to understand that we are part of a system, and I think that's why people act the way they do nowadays. You will look at us as primitive beings, as we look back to Homo erectus, but I think we lost the way somewhere during evolution. Not all of us are that primitive though. There are, and there have been free minds, those minds have led our way into Knowledge, and those minds helped to build the world as you now know it. I bet it is a wonderful world I'm starting to see a dawn though. Every day more and more people are interested in learning things; they are breaking the bonds of the faith, selfishness and greed, and they are entering the world of the science. I'm really confident that this selfish era will be behind in the near future... I hope I could condense all I know here, since I think is the only way I can survive for such a great amount of time. When you read this, know that I am a human being, and like you, I have my own story, my own feelings and perhaps they're not evolved as yours, but I was in this world in the search of Knowledge, because I think that knowledge is the only way to be eternal. Are you eternal? Maybe technology has advanced enough to prevent people from dying. What do you feel when reading this? I feel overwhelmed by the possibility that someone reads this in the next 50.000 years. I feel that I can reach my hand to touch yours, and if I could do so and say something to you it would be: Remember us, you are who you are because we existed, and your existence is a consequence of ours, so learn from our mistakes and don't commit them again. Live in peace, with yourself and with the world around you. Solve every mystery that you can (We have lots of unresolved questions now). And please remember that you are powerless as a single being, that you are insignificant without us (from your past) and the people of your era; act accordingly. You are also a step that Nature is taking to accomplish a goal that is a mystery to me, maybe also to you. Your life, like mine is invaluable. I am Wilber Quiroz.

Experimento de separación

El primer síntoma de La Soledad, en mayúscula, fue tener que lavar los platos. Hacía bastante que no tenía que lavarlos porque él lo hacía; yo me dedicaba a cocinarle. Hacía un frío penetrante mientras yo organizaba la montaña de platos sucios, otrora un gran almuerzo que le hice. De fondo sonaba Cut Copy recordándome que ayer no había sido un sueño, sin embargo yo me sentía extrañamente despierto, con las manos heladas porque odio los guantes. Y enfrascado en una pelea a muerte con la pega del arroz con pollo peruano que hice, advertí que faltaban cubiertos. Recorrí con los ojos la cocina y también noté que hacían falta más cosas. Algo falta en esta casa que, al parecer, no volverá. La montaña de platos que yacía sucia en el platero ahora está limpia y amontonada sobre el mesón. Los platos deben tener frío. Yo también tengo frío.

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Experimento Ventidós

El cielo gris se fue despejando paulatinamente después de la tormenta. Con sorpresa, los habitantes de los dos mundos vieron que el sol ya no era amarillo, se había ubicado en el cenit y ahora brillaba negro e imponente. A su alrededor un halo verdoso se fundía con un tono grisáceo, para terminar en una cirfunferencia perfecta rodeada de un blanco mar de tranquilidad. Una traviesa estrella café oscuro se asomaba tímidamente en el suroccidente. Tras el firmamento un alma serena llenaba esos dos mundos de amor.

Experimento Ventiuno

Se ensimismó en la lecura del viejo libro, lleno de sabiduría. Presa del pánico notó cómo el libro también lo leía a él, a través de todos sus ojos en forma de O.

Experimento Veinte

A lo largo de los años había venido acumulando cartas en un viejo baúl. Cartas escritas meticulosamente en una mesa inestable de madera, bajo la ténue luz de una lámpara vieja y la luna llena. Sentóse una noche en su habitación, toda amarilla y bohemia; sacó un pergamino limpio y empezó a escribir una nueva carta. Cuando la hubo terminado, la envolvió cariñosamente en un sobre blanco. Quiso almacenarla, pero ya no cabía en el baúl. El baúl estaba atiborrado de mensajes sin destinatario, concretos como telegramas, profundos como elegías. No había lugar para éste, el más especial de todos. Sintió una gran opresión en el pecho, y una pared se derrumbó en su interior con una explosión sorda. La presión acumulada ocasionó que las cartas volaran por toda la habitación, como si de un huracán se tratase, y se posaran desordenadas sobre su cama, también amarillenta. Su rostro estaba húmedo, quizá de lágrimas... Tomó su bata de dormir, calzó sus babuchas y en cada sobre escribió ese nombre que le retumbaba siempre en la mente. Los guardó en una bolsa de tela y las estrellas guiaron su camino hasta el buzón. Al regresar a casa su gato le esperaba sentado en la cómoda verde de terciopelo alumbrado por la lámpara de luz amarillenta, su mirada era compasiva y si se hubiera observado con más detalle hubiéramos notado cómo asintió.

Experimento diecinueve

Adentróse sin asomo de escrúpulo al pululante mercado de las pulgas, donde el polvo, el olor a metal antiguo y el sabor a un pasado lejano le causaban escozor en la nariz. Recorrió presuroso el laberinto de pasillos ocre y tiendas ruidosas, de su mano pendía un hilo de ariadna y su mente repetía contínuamente una dolorosa canción. Halló entre la algarabía aquello que buscaba, una vieja máquina de escribir. Tan antigua que parecía de cobre; sus tipos estaban gastados, algunos de ellos torcidos hasta el punto de no encajar más en la cabecilla. Poca tinta debía quedarle al carrete, y una hoja nueva y blanca que pasare por su rodillo, se volvería al instante vieja y derruída; se contagiaría de antiguedad y olvido. La tomó, pagó su valor histórico con una suma irrisoria, la puso en su regazo y caminó silente bajo la copiosa lluvia. Sentóse bajo un árbol y la puso frente a sí, sus ojos cerrados y sus manos extendidas, como si fuera ciego y quisiera adivinar el color de el artefacto frío y oxidado que tenía enfrente. Colocó en ella una hoja limpia, y con cada tecleo la hoja se tornaba más sepia. Plasmó así su carta de renuncia, en esa hoja sepia, con caracteres desalineados, manchones de tinta y errores de ortografía. Al terminarla se colgó en una rama del frondoso árbol y la lluvia borró sus facciones. Tras la lluvia la carta permaneció allí, húmeda e irrevocable.

Experimento dieciocho

Después de haberlo meditado cuidadosamente, decidió que lo abandonaría todo por seguir su sueño; estudiaría las nubes y sus formas caprichosas. El nubólogo construirá un nubemático para enviar sus pensamientos a su amada, que contempla el cielo lánguida e inmóvil.