The desire of desires

How much do we project our desires into our surroundings? Sometimes I think that many of the meanings we give to life are actually hidden desires, an almost childlike way of shaping reality according to our will.

There is a certain naiveté in this thought process, but also an inexhaustible source of poetry. What would the world be if we did not have eyes to see it, if our imperfection did not make, precisely, of this reality, something magical, imperfect.

In fact, it is a crucial point of the concept of "magical." Magical is that which cannot be explained by the knowledge one has at that moment. Magical is what our imperfection (both cognitive and physical) projects onto the world.

I am nearsighted, I see very poorly from a distance, and so I wear glasses. This imperfect being of mine, has forced me many times to make use of other tools to compensate, one of them being imagination. I do not see a person's features from a distance, I have to recognize him by his other "features," perhaps not facial, but bodily, posture, back, proportions, or voice.

But going back to magic, isn't that what love is all about? Imperfect eyes accepting perfection in the one who is lucky enough to be loved? Many loves, however, fade when our eyesight sharpens, when we get closer, when we can see the finer features, the hidden ones, the flaws, the unexpressed qualities, those things that remind us of perhaps, someone else...

But sometimes-it's more unique than rare, I admit-sometimes two souls meet, and the more they look at each other, the more they get to know each other, the closer they get, the more they love each other. It is a magic even more powerful than the others, almost mystical, divine. Something so perfect that it surpasses even growth, awareness. It is like nature. Have you ever looked at a leaf? It is perfect. At whatever level you look at it, its patterns are organic, everything is in place, it is functional, but it is also beautiful. It is life. Here, the most powerful love resembles just that, it is alive, it is necessary, and it pulsates in the hearts of those it unites.

And it is this love that I will talk about in "Saturn's Ring." An eternal love, which goes beyond men, even beyond the gods and beyond fate.

I must admit that I was hesitant at first whether to tackle such a delicate and above all trite topic as love, but - just like the leaf - the more I tackle it, the more I feel that there is a huge space in which to play. A field that goes beyond my boundaries, that I don't get fed up or satiated.

Now I understand why hundreds of poets before me have explored it far and wide, why it is unexplored, and nothing is more magical than that which never ends.