Everybody in the world is seeking happiness—and there is one sure way to find it. That is by controlling your thoughts. Happiness doesn’t depend on outward conditions. It depends on inner conditions. D. Carnegie

I sit in a clean, well-kept park, in a town to which I got actually by accident, because I did not mark it on my hand-drawn map. I spread an oddly tasting pate on a slice of bread, eating a slightly rotten tomato, which I found just a minute ago on the street. It somehow happened that I can not afford at the moment to gorge myself with delicacy, but the truth is, that from time to time a human being is forced to eat something. So, I treat a skeletal dog to some bread, and, remaining in an odd symbiosis, we both masticate a chewy slice.

The dog lies down next to me, almost under my feet. It is aware that the feast is over, because I myself have nothing else to eat whatsoever. I feel pleasantly, downright lazy, I want a little nap. My overpowered by fatigue body finally gives up – I do not even try to fight with this engulfing sensation of inertia, with an approaching half-dream. The head falls slowly as a shriveled leaf and freezes on my shoulder, I fall asleep for a while.

An uncomfortable biting wakes me up. Ants are creeping all over me. How on earth are there so many of them in here? I look around if everything is in its place. I can see the bike and the dog. Neither of them had moved an inch. The dog only raised its head when I slowly stood up from a foam pad to shake out the running ants. Small, black creatures collected crumbs of bread. Large lumps, irregular flourish shapes were roaming in one direction on insects’ bodies, forming a gigantic queue to the center of the square. They were being carried high and proudly as they were the spoils of war, or some desirable, deserved trophies. It was evident how herculean effort it costs to raise even one crumb, how much perseverance, stubbornness and strength it entails to drag it over the heads, while falling down upon the smallest obstacles, only to try again and again, laboriously moving forward, regardless of the circumstances, not noticing all those ants, which are left-behind, being trampled to death by some idle passers-by.

And when you sit and look at the ants in the city, which is not even marked on your self-drawn map, the world begins to unfold itself. When surviving ants reach finally their destination, and when some remnants of the siesta are blown away by a light breeze, then the park comes to life, or otherwise – you just start to see that life around. The dogs come first – they sniff, search, sometimes bark offensively, but not too aggressively, ending up playing with some horny representatives of another sex.

Then, a few children come up. Firstly, pretending that you’re not in there – they just play on the side, casting slightly furtive glances, but imperceptibly, step by step, they somehow approach you more and more. They seem to be playing with a ball, throwing it to each other, but it falls too close to you, and always ends up on your head. You just smile, it’s enough, and then, in an instant, the kids inevitably come on your head, literally. Maybe one could behave differently, but I am not capable of it, or maybe I just do not want to change it.

Finally, the parents arrive. They spoil the fun, stare suspiciously. Who is that dirty gringo who takes pictures of their offspring? What intension does he have? He is sure to be a pervert, no doubt about that. Parents rarely come up closer, they rather shout something from a distance, something not quite comprehensible to emphasize that I am different, I am not from here, that I’m just a stray, vagabond creature and nothing else.

Children whine, but finally they go away with their parents. Sometimes it happens that the older kids stay with me. If it does, we sit, slurping some juice from a plastic carton, and for the umpteenth time I tell how, where or why I came there, but eventually even the older children have enough and leave me alone, without dogs, without ants, in silence, to which I am slowly getting used to, even if I would prefer the sounds, even though en tu silencio habita mío, my silence dwelt in your calmness.

It got more civilized around, more clean and green. For days I have cycled with a very strong wind, which allowed me to cover long daily distances. So, who blows, if I cycle in silence? Where is the wind coming from? Why does the sudden thought appear that maybe for the first time in my life I will get somewhere? But yet, I do not want to get anywhere. I keep going not to get anywhere. I just want to see another day. To feel the sunshine. To have something to eat and to find a quiet, safe place to sleep. And to change the world, just for a moment, to change it for the better, simply by having some warm thoughts. Or simply not to worsen it.

Maybe I will pray tonight. Just for a change. I do not know yet to whom, but it is quite irrelevant. Maybe I will not use any words at all, I will use only my thoughts. Maybe it’s enough to pray with your thoughts. Or with your dreams. It might be that the dream will do, and I will be able to keep silence. An unexpected understanding often comes in dreams. That understanding that is lost when you wake up.

Solo le pido a Dios, que el dolor no me sea indiferente, que la reseca muerte no me encuentre, vacio y solo sin haber hecho lo suficiente.