More on "You Are the Key"

RoY · "You are the key"

In the distance
Homo faber
Out of the show
Grateful
You are the key
“O”

The warrior was returning safe and sound from the war. Some thoughts crossed his mind. He was shaken: he had seen evil face to face. Walking along the path that led him home, he thought about how important it is to see things from a safe distance. At a certain point, he saw a silver Fortress, erected on a hill. He felt that this building would be his new home. As he approached, along the path, several thoughts assailed him. “Will I be able to let my heart rest?” he found himself thinking. The warrior was looking for a place where he could finally be free, after having seen so much suffering. His rapid mind moved toward the moment when he would once again embrace his Companion, whose memory had kept him alive during the days when he had risked being killed by the enemy. He was alive, he was alert, he was full of hope. The Fortress would welcome him like a loving mother. In the distance, his emotions shifted toward peace. He wanted to leave the past behind and begin a new phase of his existence.
The warrior was a man capable of doing. He created works. He forged harmonies. He wove chordal agglomerations in his musical art. He had learned the ability to construct works of value from his mother, who had loved him so much. "Doing is everything," he thought one day. Man is the architect of his own destiny, and his mission is to do. To build. To bring to completion. The man who does is a highly creative being. He is a builder of peace. He lives his mission as a creator of good and beautiful things. The love that moved him toward his Companion led him to always create new things, in the dimension of the search for something beautiful to convey. To do. He who does never makes mistakes. He who makes the decision to build something original from scratch is already in a position to consider himself fortunate. The warrior's quest was continuing. New words awaited him. In his music, virgin orchestral perspectives. In his heart, authentic phrases of true beauty were flowing, to be instilled in the heart of his Companion when, after a long journey, they would meet again and never part again. The warrior was a man of action. He committed himself to the performance of acts of love that transformed inert matter into something alive and immortal, like sounds in a score. He knew that within things there must be a world, and he experienced that world, always, every day when, upon awakening, he decided to create and transmit love to what he was doing.
There is a great reward for those who escape the deadly representation that the system forges to enslave men, and the warrior knew this very well, having learned it the hard way. Reality exists, and then there is a plane that intersects it, which is the vision of facts communicated by those in power, to convince people of the goodness of their actions, which are never for the good of individuals. Being outside of representation is more vital than ever. Necessary. Indispensable if one truly wants to feel good about oneself and others. Power has always told lofty lies passed off as truth, but the reality is different: in an upside-down world, if power says something is bad, it's certainly done well. The warrior had learned this through his own experience, sharing it with that of his Companion. The two of them were outside the representation. In this sort of schizophrenia of power, which upholds the goodness of a reality opposed to the truth, lay all the evil of the era the warrior was living in. There were these two levels, that of true good and that of the representation that power transmitted, which no one could distinguish except with the light of a true vision of things. Many were blinded. Confused. Power, with these people, was winning hands down, but not everyone had bowed. Not everyone had been swallowed up by the lie of the representation that a murderous system persisted in perpetuating day after day.
​The warrior was grateful. He recognized the good he had received in his life from his parents and later from his Companion. Giving thanks every day, being aware of how fortunate he was to be in the world and to be able to experience goodness in the acts of life was something the warrior was well aware of and kept in mind. His Companion had loved him from day one, and he was well aware of how much Beauty there was in every gesture of their life. For this he was grateful. "I am grateful," he said to himself, as he continued to approach the Silver Fortress, whose bulk, with every step, appeared more and more imposing. Power could never destroy his gratitude. It would never be able to dissolve his Love for life. The warrior was aware of what true existence represented, he was able to live it, and he felt very fortunate, giving thanks every day for being able to admire the stars. Gratitude was an authentic feeling in his heart, with which the warrior, in doing things, felt at peace. The cornerstone of the warrior's existence was his Companion, in her splendor as a free woman. She was his metronome. His tuner. His essence. The warrior loved her from the bottom of his heart. She, for her part, enveloped him with passion and tenderness, supporting him with an analytical intelligence that amazed him every day. His Companion was a powerful being. She instilled dedication and respect in every single gesture. The warrior never tired of desiring her and considering her beautiful. They had crossed the tides. They were both survivors. They had chosen each other consciously. She was a woman capable of always choosing for the good. He would always fight by her side. Together they were a force, like all those who truly love each other. The warrior respected his Companion, who repaid him with constant acts of love over time, capable of always making him feel happy. Their love story was beautiful. They would never destroy each other: their fate was not that of unhealthy love, steeped in sadism, where one kills the other and vice versa.
The warrior and his Companion had found each other. Their psyches were clean. Their actions were authentic. Their strength flowed from the truth they had sought throughout their lives, reaching it as adults, free from obsessions and blackmail. They had navigated the great sea of ​​lies, dodging the attacks of unhealthy people, remaining steadfast in their convictions. The storm had tried to kill them. They had saved themselves with their last remaining energy and recognized each other as survivors. There is a great reward for those who resist. For those who don't give up. For those who still hope, despite all the evil. That was their definitive dimension, thanks to which they could always learn new things in a solid and majestic architecture of thought. They wanted the good, for themselves and for everyone. They desired peace. They abhorred any form of violence. Their hope was that the whole world could return to well-being. To live with dignity, without any more abuse. Abjection. Intimidation. This world must heal from evil. The warrior and his Companion fought every day, with gestures of love that countered the devastation wrought by the widespread malaise of people, slaves to a system of individual subjugation that craves the denial of the qualities of the human being, who instead wants the right to learn to fly.