The Creation

book 1
Mauricio Otero
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Pintura de Claudia Collao"Humanity!

Facing these mountains of galaxies

listen to the echo of the eternal, that beats

the whole of the love of the principal


It had to be a loving explosion

that scattered in disordered order

all the beings of oxygen or of stones or of mud.

The eurhythmic cosmos contains a new cosmos

in its origin,

that is the origin of the origin

But melancholy kept affecting

the universe

and saw the sweet grieving of galaxies...

He was kneeling:

Come, get up! she said to him;

let's dignify the struggle by smiling


I took a flower of music from the garden of


and it was then that the colours showed themselves to me

spreading the grace of originality

through the pure paths of the seed.

Then I stretched out on a cosmic beach

and said to the Firmament:

"In your vision of deceitful light

you do not let yourself see our most intimate secrets;

perhaps it is prevented by your marvellous knowledge

your marvellous distance.

Pintura  de Isabel Aranda *Yto*But, we, we know that your close-by light is

the ancient light of your face,

and for this, like you, we cry..."

The silence of the astral body

saw me, finally!

and astonished me with multicoloured shooting stars

that came to kiss the soles of my feet,

in full plenilunium;

they came as if on horses, orange, red, green,

yellow, with indigo women

who laughed like comets.

Happy, after a short eternity,

I began to stroll harmoniously

following the highway of heaven,

over the cosmic seas,

and their warm tide of balsamic waves.

And I felt in my breast the beating of the multiverses.

Then suddenly, I saw a more intense light.

It was Fire!

a melodious lullaby reached me from its flames

it was music made light

from the emotional constellations,

that adorned the serene imagination of the unfathomable.

I approached stealthily.

One of the universes, who was

sitting cross-legged

smiling, asked me to the concert.

Pintura de Isabel Aranda *Yto*He was a dewy pianist

he seemed from beyond out there, and in the clear night

his tinkling music was overflowing


I came a little closer

till I could make out his eyes

and when I saw him in front of me, I saw them collapse!

they were black holes, and the tinkling was the cosmos.

that had arisen on the mysterious beach

to give us the rhapsody from the

/sea-side of space.

It was the visible whisper of a dream

spilled into cosmogony:

a sphere that wheels through

the Seeing Brain of the infinite.

A bud from a spring past

born again,

that manages to glimpse

the sad face of beauty

before death.

The hidden catch of the Universe

that materialized with motility

astonishing motility;

the fine matter of my soul not soul

was expanding astral in the most astral:

my eyes so distanced

that they were meteor shards sifted

through world peace.

Suddenly, almost irredeemable

I turned in my limitless bed,

and was shown the dance of

the zero and the infinite:

they were watching and studying each other

negating each other's space...

one - that was not one -

Pintura de Omar Gaticawas meditating; the other,

was singing, suggesting...

Both fencers

out-thought each other,

and they were cheered on

in the stadium of space-time,

throughout the light years.

A savage blast of trumpets

surprised them with a dawn

of heavenly crystal,

and it seemed to me that it was my hands which

placed the beloved dawn in the west of

my soul.

The hypnotic light went travelling,

flaming and more fickle than

the air of the air.

The cosmos, so near, yet so far

kept sailing

as if it too were dreaming.

But where would I be

all time without time?

In the sweet hour of an afternoon nap

in the sensitive interlude between heaven

and my bed,

falling softly, sailing

on a blue petal, with a crown

dewy with nebulae;

it was the Cosmic Rose,

that I saw without seeing

that was being plucked

in honey

Pintura digital de Isabel Aranda *Yto*my hands not hands

have never finished stripping it of petals and leaves

in the star-lit dusk

of my dreaming heart.

It was like the orgasm,

eraser of limits;

and it was that which meditated in the centre

of the centre of my soul not soul,

lubricious, bathed.

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