Ya sin fiebre, miro por la ventana:
la niebla cubre la calle;
pronto amanecerá.

Nos vamos haciendo viejos
y la feroz ternura
con que amarramos nuestras bocas al aquí mismo,
ahora mismo,
nos hace, además, cómplices de amor.

Nos vamos haciendo
a tantas idas y venidas,
al sabor de lo eternamente efímero
de la felicidad y de la ausencia.

Nos vamos
y me dices:
«Aunque te vayas (la próxima vez será la definitiva, lo presiento),
ya no te echaré de menos porque ahora sé que nunca te irás de mí»
y yo digo que así es.

«Nos»,
y este plural
estalla en la boca como una estrella.

Algunos troncos de leña huelen dulce al quemarse
y otros desprenden un humo tan acre
que tengo que cambiarme de camisa
y lavarme el pelo.

Casa Soronells

Dentro del bosque,
la casa de piedra.
Tan silenciosa
que en la noche se oye una banda
de violines, tambores y cornetas
tocando en el otro extremo del mundo
(o del tiempo)
música de boda.

(Para Francesc y Mila, anfitriones)

Anochece
y el cielo, con todos sus colores,
se va haciendo cada vez más grande,
hasta devorar el sol,
todas las nubes,
el horizonte,
la carretera,
el coche;
hasta devorarme a mí.

Para Jesús Miramón, que también fue testigo

—¡Ancas de rana, mi plato favorito!— exclamó la princesa, consolándose rápidamente de su reciente viudez.

Relato finalista de la cuarta edición del Concurso Literario de Hiperbreves Movistar, convocado por Telefónica, la Fundación del Español Urgente y la editorial Bubok

“I don’t want it; I don’t need it” (Dzigar Kongtrül Rinpoche)

There is a story of a destitute beggar who had an experience of freedom from his own desperation. He lived in India during the time of the Buddha. The Buddha saw him in the street and could see that he had been reborn in a deprived state of poverty five hundred times over. The Buddha told this man that he would give him a bag of gold if he could say, “I don’t want it; I don’t need it”, three times. The beggar —so bereft of merit— had difficulty forcing out the words. But with the encouragement of the Buddha’s attendant Ananda, he finally choked them out, “I don’t want it; I don’t need it.” It was excruciatingly difficult. But he did it and received the bag of coins. This was the Buddha’s kind ploy to help the beggar cultivate a seed of contentment and positivity in his own mind.
I have always found this story particularly touching. So one year when I went to India to make offerings, I decided to try it myself. I had a bag of coins and I came across a beggar in Bodh Gaya, just like the one in the story. I told him I would offer him the bag of coins if only he could say, “I don’t want it; I don’t need it”, three times. It was painful to watch him so conflicted and unable to respond. I thought he would miss the opportunity entirely. After a while, some Indian boys gathered around and shopkeepers came out of their shops. I knew many of them, and so they trusted me and began encouraging him. Soon they all cheered together, “Just say it! Say it!” People walking by joined in. Finally, at some point, he did it. And each time he repeated the words, I could literally see his whole presence and demeanour shift from a state of impoverishment to a state of recognition —a recognition of some inner strength and richness, or merit, that seemed to emerge from deep within. In the end, he accepted the coins in a dignified and noble way.

From “Seed of Contentment”, in chapter 4 (Invisible Strings. A Case against Attachment) of Light Comes Through. Buddhist Teachings on Awakening to Our Natural Intelligence, by Dzigar Kongtrül (Shambhala Publications, Inc., 2008).

Gratitud

De pronto he comprendido: las casas
son como los corazones de quienes las habitan.

En algunas siempre somos bienvenidos,
en otras nunca hay sitio para nadie

(no depende del espacio,
sino de su distribución).