Bab 51: Part 8.5: El gol is the father of my ego in Spanish
There is a drop of fatuous fire inside my cloud, its heat burns under my paws and its shadow burns my sight.
I'm not surprised I have to leave, I knew when I finished the story I was going to get my ass kicked; but you haven't even connected with all the characters yet, or I doubt it.
It's clear to me that the disconnect with the characters is a side effect of all the flaws Lucifer has deliberately made me commit in this story. I'm sure that's why he chose me, someone new to storytelling. I have no doubt that he wants to steal the story, but he wants to steal it half-heartedly and the reason is also almost unimaginable to me.
What is so special about a love story that Lucifer would want to take it away?
But who wants to steal a story that isn't finished yet?
The demon boy was surely going to tell the story himself as well as possible so that you would like it and it would form in your cerebellum instead of a straight line, a curved line, like a parabola upwards.
You know that when on an electrocardiogram, when you are alive, curves appear and this is also supposed to indicate that your emotions have survived to embark on a new adventure.
When the reader is alive in the story he feels as the characters feel and, even if it is a fantasy story, there must be verisimilitude for his heart to burn.
The story needs you to feel its content so that it generates in your cerebellum, the longed-for curved line. I don't know much about this because it is more a human thing than an animal thing, but I have heard it said that it is something equivalent, speaking from a more human knowledge, to the thunderbolts of Zeus.
This curved line used to be only related to the reader's connection with the characters, but with the invention of clichés the power of the curved line has been reinforced. This is because clichés generate more stories to be written quickly and generate a pattern in the cerebellum that makes us always react to the same situations. But that doesn't matter, what really matters is that you feel and be happy, that's why your parabola opens upwards.
Well, looking at it this way, it seems to be quite logical that Lucifer wants the story; the weird thing is that he has led me down the narrative path that does not suit him to make this story pleasing to your heart.
Why am I taking the time to tell you this?
Or could it be that the path of the fatuous fire drops is longer than I heard?
Suddenly the cloud under my paws starts to spin with a rotational movement that makes me jump after a pang of cold that ran up and down my spine (or the area where it should be).
My legs move erratically in the air, while my tail is left with the weight of my whole body. I feel its pain and, as some clouds have settled in front of my eyes, the ancient burning in them flares up like a fire in a fireplace for Christmas.
Little by little my paws give way, I can feel as if my claws become so thin, so thin; until they feel almost ghostly and I feel, as if they flicker... tremble... as if they were budding heartbeats.
My mind clears, literally, and if I am not even mistaken in my feeling; I think that way of trembling, so delicate; belongs to the day when I was for the first time conscious of my heartbeat... so fearful of consciousness.
I think this effect is familiar to me, I have been told about it and, as I remember, it is called the devil's suck, it is like being drunk for humans. With the difference that for animals this kind of spell, to call it somehow, acts like a contagious disease; so it is something that escapes my hands, how can one imagine that the first spy cat was still sucked by Lucifer until now, after millions of years?
I can't refuse to contract this spell (disease), unlike human alcoholics who can say a resounding NO.
It's just that the fatuous fire is a way for the reader (most especially the reader) or the protagonist to break down his soul in the story. I think an explanation is coming to me and every time I go to conceive an idea, for some reason unknown to me, I am immune to pain or any enchantment.
Maybe I can't beat it, but the spell can't do anything against me either. This gift is a consequence of my verbiage about which few speak for fear of reprisal, but I am already one step in hell.
INFORMATION IS POWER AND GOSSIP IS THE INFORMATION THE GODS LOVE.
ONLY WITH THE EXISTENCE OF GODS CAN I EXPLAIN THAT LUCIFER HAS NOT BURNED ME WITH MY GIFT IN TOW.
For the memory to come to my memory or to my eyes (if it is of Light) I must continue with my talk from before to move on to the question of THE PARAGRAPH.
I am sure now that this paragraph must be part of the memory that wants to come to me, it must be something that inspires Lucifer to be giving me around and causing this great burden to my tail, to the handle of my balance.
Maybe this memory is the one that allows him to finally take over the whole story, or that is the only logical explanation I can find.
I doubt he wants the story incomplete, besides, why else would he make me say that paragraph.
In any case it is better to continue:
The master began to walk in circles and, as he advanced around us with the gait of a drunkard, he left circular footprints on the brown dusty earth with each step he took.
Brown diamond earth to brown dust, you can't blame us for admiring, despite everything, the first spy cat in history.
The circular footprints he leaves on the ground are a darker shade of brown than the rest of the ground.
In an enigmatic way, these same tracks contour themselves, as if they were dancing with each other to the rhythm of a divine melody (otherwise, why couldn't we hear it); at each touch between a pair of brown circles, I don't know about everyone, but they made me see different images: At the first touch I saw our protagonist with her hands clinging to the perimeter of the holes in the floor of the wagon that the white seeds have caused.
At that time did Luz have something to do with me?
In the second contact I observed what is under the train, I understand her wanting vehemently to climb back into the carriage, her legs lying being dragged over the rails of the train; but the rails of the train are not like the ones the writer of this story sees when she forces her legs to walk further than normal to go see the only one that passes through her district and; thus, not having to head home to pretend to believe in this story or her mother would believe that her daughter really is a slacker.
Precisely, what's under the rails is this scene of the editor walking down the gravel sidewalk, I think with something between her lips (I'm too high up to get a good look) that looks like a cigar.
It must be a cigar anyway because I notice a smoke emerging from the same place where the editor is walking (I can now look further than I could at the time); this same smoke rises to form the train tracks of this story, which are to be feared, because at the slightest touch these tracks draw to them the bones hidden behind the red flesh of the muscle.
Imagine the great pain that Luz suffers, having to endure the bones of her legs struggling to cut through everything in their path, all in order to satisfy her inexplicable desire to lie on the smoke rails.
On the third contact I saw the inside of Luz's legs, I saw her bones cut her muscle fibers; her bones approached the fibers and, as they rubbed, I saw the fibers vibrate next to the bones and I guessed that she must have emitted some melody that I could not hear.
Even, strange as it sounds, I can see in the pursed lip a small repressed smile.
I think, by now, I am so connected to Luz that I can see beyond what she herself is willing to admit about herself.
On fourth contact the circular footprints began to chase us and we all fled as far as we could (he who can, can).
The chase had a background sound that I would describe as the sound of a bell ringing in the middle of a thundering sky, would tormented bells be a good name?
As I had told you before, my big claws (if we add the influence of the angel girl's depressing light) generate such a weight that my run looks like I'm running in slow motion, unlike the others.
However, this condition allowed me to notice certain details that, under normal conditions and in the face of danger, I would never have noticed otherwise:
Since the master was undead (also deaf); no trace or footprint should have appeared on the ground.
THIS IS A LAND OF THE LIVING, NOT OF THE DEAD
But it seems that the master found the taste of being outside the law, because, after advancing a few steps the circle born from the bifurcation of the most imposing tree up to that moment; the master becomes a brown light and traces of the claws he no longer has appear behind him.
It is said that he lost them because that was the punishment he suffered in hell and that after a series of acts that I do not know, he was granted "a pass" to purgatory.
Curiosity has been permeating me for as long as I can remember, unless my memory fails and, with the images of Luz and the editor that I didn't remember; I can assume that I shouldn't rely on memory, but in this I can't be wrong.
CURIOSITY AND CATS ARE ALREADY AS ONE.
Well, my curiosity prompted me to follow the paw prints of my master and, the weirdest thing, is that when chasing those prints I felt flexible, weightless, as if I was flying; unlike when I pretended to chase the dark brown circles.
The latter were never able to catch me thanks to the speed I credited to the master's claw prints. I even felt that the circle tracks were frightened by the claw prints which were of a total black hue.
But, speculation aside, a strange feeling came over me, perhaps a foreboding presented in the form of a stale yet exciting stupor.
In the midst of the chase, the trees around me were warping; my vision was beginning to burn (as it is now) and I wondered if I hadn't fallen into the trap of "facism," immediacy, dazzle and perceptual consumerism (an endearing delusion).
What if that earthly dust were sparks of brown fire?
You see, I was taught that EGO was created in some Spanish-speaking country; that is why, and other reasons that are of no interest for now, that from this word is born another in the Spanish language: FUEGO, which means FORCE OF THE EGO.
The history of the origin of the EGO originated somewhere in Spanish (or Castilian, you understand me) and that is why its meaning lies in a word in that language: FUEGO.
So, in conclusion, fire is the force of the EGO here and in China, but not all languages reflect the true meaning of the word fire.
Anyway, the point is that fire leaves ashes and, sustained in a metaphysical and philosophical plane, these represent the recovery of oneself within oneself; and it is that the EGO (meaning "I") never wants to see beyond itself, and not on the outside.
The EGO believes that our destiny lies within ourselves and we only have to know how to listen to it.
This dogma of the EGO is reflected in the fact that the fire leaves ashes; for these project its last form of mortal life. The EGO cannot be destroyed, it is only preserved in another form of life; in good times and, above all, in bad times we need it as a pillar to not give up in the face of adversity.
The EGO never surrenders and that is why the ashes, also called sparks from the fire, symbolize something like the last chance to find ourselves again.
The brown color dyed in the fire only fulfilled its natural function: to crown the fire by giving it the chance to be seen by someone other than itself. It gave it the chance for us cats to see it, all for measuring the strength of its ego and allowing us to stand above it to learn about the world in the making.
Of course, the fire is very generous in offering its last form of life (the brown sparks) as soil for the new generations and; I am unfortunate for not doing anything for our poor protagonist, I have her screams as a musical background (she is already starting to reach her limit); believe me when I tell you that this story can help her a lot, it is in her best interest that it does not take longer than it should.
That thought about the fire turned me into a feeling of always falling with firm legs, I needed to feel firmer on the ground (as never before); that's why I decided to slow down, little by little, my fervent race (thanks to the traces of the master's claws), or that was my pretension.
The dark brown circles apparently wanted to give me a battle and make me lose control.
At that instant I knew I could no longer run away, not because I had no other choice, but because the circles were the only thing I could not see blurred or deformed, especially the latter.
A couple of circles made contact and showed me some scenes:
First I saw a light in a body quite reduced to that of now, a man in a white robe holding her back and legs. He shows her to her mother, who is all drenched in sweat and very agitated. I don't think she has been exercising lying on the bed in an overly ordinary light blue dress.
"She's a little lady."
Luz was wide-eyed with wonder, it was the only thing in my opinion that brought life to this dark room (added to the fact that it was already getting dark).
From what I had heard, humans when carried by men or women in white coats always cry uncontrollably; but not Luz, Luz seemed to be impatient, because she was removing herself from the man's hands, as if she wanted to be independent once and for all.
"She is a giant baby, she will be almost 4 kilos."
A woman's voice could be heard from the threshold of the dark room, but I didn't manage to know who it was because someone turned on the light and a leading lady of about 9 years old appeared.
As much as this little girl pulls her mother by her dress, the woman doesn't seem to feel anything. She doesn't call her attention to it, but she doesn't say anything either, and it's not like the girl is making the fuss of the century either.
The girl decides to leave through a small and dirty back door of the little house where she lives (it looks like a mousetrap).
She walks a few steps and reaches the threshold of the forest. She decides to climb the first tree she finds and I do too. At that time I was an orphaned kitten; so my home was the street and my life was an adventure.
Perhaps I saw in his eyes a certain potential, his desperate desire to travel the world in search of inspiration to feed his existence.
Like thunder and lightning our eyes met, I think we both felt that we had kindred spirits and, irremediably, friendship arose.
Another pair of circles join the first pair forming what looks like the shadow of a butterfly.
This other pair of circles made me see that Luz and a little Flavia were sleeping at their parents' feet in the same bed for the four of them.
The parents didn't know it, but Luz brought me to their house with the intention of it was the case that I was her brother, but one who didn't cry at every touch they gave him. That is the case of her little brothers, 5 and 1 year old, Flavia and Bastián.
Careful that Flavia did not wake up, Luz took my little body and put it on her head, as if I were a good hat.
Do you understand why nobody talks to her?
Her mania of distorting reality is infuriating, although I must admit that when she rubbed her head against my tummy it tickled me; but I always held my laughter like the big males.
However, that night I heard some strange sounds; at that moment Luz's luminous look saddened and she began to rub her head more against my tummy. If I had no respect for her discomfort I would have burst out laughing. The truth is that Luz was already going too far with the rubbing.
Do you know that animals, or at least cats, can read the minds of humans?
Yes, and Luz's mind kept repeating in an unbearable way: "They DO POTUS, daddy said it's normal, so it's normal, why do I feel like this then? I don't feel normal."
Luz had tried to find books that talked about it, so she could understand her parents and find a way to feel normal in the middle of that situation that had a normality that she could not understand.
A couple of days ago she found an album about the male and female reproductive system. She saw images of the male and female reproductive organs while listening to the music her mother had put on the DVD player.
While reading, Luz could not believe that what she had found insufferable at first, because it did not let her concentrate on her studies, was now the only thing that gave her comfort in the midst of her loneliness: the music of the 70's, 80's and 90's (especially the 80's).
Anyway, Luz came up with an idea based on a suggestion from her father: "Everything that exists, everything, everything is subject to judgment; the problem is not what you see but how you want to see it, that makes the difference.
What your mother and I are going through is something normal, you must understand that; I am glad that you had the confidence to tell me that a feeling far removed from happiness was invading you because of IT.
There are things that are out of the hands of parents and IT is one of those things; because IT is part of our human nature.
Only you yourself can help you and I have a duty to give you the guidelines.
If you listen to me, everything will be fine for you."
Luz devoured dictionary after dictionary in order to understand what her father was explaining to her. I can assure you that from each lesson she understood the essentials.
As I have been saying, Luz came up with an idea based on her father's suggestion and my straight and upturned tail.
She saw my potential drumstick tail and used it as such.
The drums, more similar to a cymbal, was the palm of her hand and Luz began to imagine that she was really a drummer and she was breaking up the sounds of her parents to create another, unique and indivisible; above all yours and forever yours.
"A melody of sexual innocence"
Although, I know that Luz imagined something innocent for her conscience and disturbing for her unconscious, or maybe I am a bad thought, it is that I have already been a young adult for a long time ... we have to leave it there.
I fell asleep absorbed by the original melody that Luz's mind played like a kind of lullaby.
Perhaps since I was a kitten before, I was given enough details of the physical and psychic facts, especially psychic ones.
When one is pussycat our powers, in human reality, we are only discovering over time our abilities and how to use and enhance them.
But that's a cat thing, the point is that I fell asleep looking at what she imagined, replicas of my tail in the shape of deformed musical notes; the truth is that she made some strange shapes that according to her are the new musical notes ... she is obsessed with the new.
The point is, I slept until someone forcibly woke me up. When I opened my eyes ... I was surprised that I could not open my eyes.
First, I heard Luz's mother yell at her for spilling the glass of milk on the bed, only yesterday the mother had washed the spawn.
Then the woman gave him who knows how many slaps on Luz's little butt.
What the mother did not know was that Luz did not cry because of her slaps, but rather; because when the mother threw the glass out of the bitterness of having to wash the same thing again, the glass broke on the floor and one of the pieces of glass flew until it stuck in my jugular of a pussycat who was still dreaming of a song by cradle: me.
When his mother left to fulfill her inexorable immediate destiny: to wash; Luz ran to wake me up, but she never could. He could only see that the spilled milk had run to just beyond the foot of the bed.
Suddenly, she felt as if something had changed inside her, she hated her mother, she blamed her for the cat's death; but if she herself had first drunk her milk before playing with the cat, nothing would have happened and her cat would continue to accompany her.
As always, the only one free of dust and chaff, the only one without any guilt is Luz's father.
"He's always on the outside and I'm always on the inside, like my mother, does that make me more like her? Yes, yes! If not, if it didn't; then should I consider it a coincidence that she and I are to blame for my cat's death, both of us, both of us at the same time?"
As she looks at how the spilled milk has come very close to the lips of my former puss body; she notices that the milk's path is curved, following the path of the crayons she left lying on the dirt floor (there is no pavement here). It seemed to Luz that it was also shaped like the tail of my former kitty body. To be exact, it was curved and to one side, as it was dark because it was about to get dark and it was winter, she imagined the milk path as half of a light bulb; but she was confused, because it also looked like my tail.
Could she see one thing through two completely different things?
Suddenly, something made her believe that the cat was not gone, or at least not its indomitable and adventurous spirit. Then he had a strange feeling that the light that protected half of the bulb was the spirit of the cat and that the path of milk was its milky way.
"Where will the other half of his cat soul have gone?
I can't forgive her, I can't forgive myself, and if my dad knew, would he forgive us?"
Her thoughts were interrupted by the screams of her neighbors listening to the soccer on the radio, all shouting: the goal! the goal!
Luz was tormented by their shrill voices and began to detest that word; especially because the letter "l" resembled the position of my kitty's tail shortly before she died: straight.
She had read that when a cat walks with a straight tail it was because he was happy, he had confidence in himself because he had it in his mistress: Luz.
"The only one who has that confidence left is Bastian, all because he ignores what is around him, he lives in his baby world, how will it be?
It doesn't matter because he will lose that confidence, I know, it's like the cursed inheritance of children. But no, no, no, no; that's not going to happen to my cat, no, the letter I keeps his confidence, it's straight like his tail... the letter I must be his reincarnation in my mind, I'm not going to let anyone take away his confidence."
She left her hamlet and headed towards the group of men and women who had made a bonfire a few meters from her house, near a hillside too much closer to the river than her little house.
On the way she saw that the entire stone floor was wet, so wet that she could feel the moisture getting under the skin of her feet. Even so, she considered it a punishment from nature for being at fault in the death of my little body.
The rain had dressed the rock in a rather dark shade of gray, almost black like my body, which gave it a mysterious air....
"What if that tone hides something or someone?
Black, like the color of mourning, what if they are his relatives, they walk with me; so, I guess they already know that maybe it was not my intention.
God, silly, they are saying their last goodbye to their family member and then there will surely be a trial".
When she was already near the river and was about to reproach them and demand her drunken neighbors to stop using those two words "the goal"; great was her surprise when she saw the body of her cat floating in the river and that only meant that the flow of the river was very close to take her house of mats.
Luz realized that outside her delusions of imagination there was a world that also had big problems. The legends of her town said that the rain punished men for only thinking of themselves and their own benefit; instead of using their intellect to take care of nature that protects them and always gives them another chance, but not before giving them a little big punishment: floods.
Luz felt ashamed for thinking only of herself and not of the world, the world also needs the dreams of a baby; but dreams that last a thousand and infinite nights.
The goal, if she took away the letter l it would say ego and if she thought about it "ego" would be a product of the lack of confidence (it no longer has even one letter l). Suddenly, she felt absurd; because now her little brothers were in the hut and her parents who knows where. Maybe her mother was in the quinta where good people let her wash her family's clothes for free.
And her father?
Her father in his cab could be anywhere, except in the place where he was really needed and, at least, her mother was always, not always well; but with screams and everything she bought dolls for her little daughter, it is a mystery to know how she saved to make ends meet.
The "ego" she had created made her ignore that she had something that her younger siblings did not: the will to do whatever she wanted.
The "ego" she had created made her ignore that she had something that her younger siblings did not: the will to do what she wanted to do and; above all, the conscience to know what she should pour her will into... her siblings did not know that they should have the will to run.
Luz's sister, although she was already 5 years old, acted as if she were her little brother, like a baby; that is to say, sleeping almost all day long, only getting up to ask for all kinds of sweets; especially chocolates, which the mother got thanks to the little nuns (and what would become of the mother if she didn't get them?) of a convent.
With the two brothers asleep, the fire was going to have a great feast, it was going to take away her brothers' trust forever and hers, it was going to leave her dead in life.
Now she could see the smoke coming from the fire dyeing the sky gray, the wind whipping her back and the trees losing many leaves, as she had lost control of her will (little faith).
"How could I not see further?"
A wave of heat invaded her, she knew it was a product of running; although in previous runs she had not felt as hot as at that moment, but the strange thing was that being near the fire also produced heat, to her and to every being in the same situation.
"Could it be that when there is an intense feeling and the will to transmit it to the whole body, an inner fire is created?
An inner fire that I wouldn't have felt if I hadn't created 'the ego', if I hadn't been aware of my existence and that of the world.
Dad has always told me about that, I have seen him buy books like 'Your Wrong Zones' by Wayne Dyer, among others, from the gentleman in the sack.
Intense feelings and awareness form that inner fire... so much like what the sack man read to my mother (little Luz could never leave her mother alone, she had picked it up well).... he said it was titled 'sex'?..."
Maybe the world wanted her to finish tying up ends at once, to stop thinking only for her escapist purposes, because it brought her out of her thoughts.
She stumbled over a small stone on the cobblestone path, over the black shadows, a mixture of footprints and yesterday's rain, watched as the shape of her palms are literally tattooed on the stones. It seemed to her that that small stone could be a pearl in a world so different from the one she was witnessing; moreover, something told her that that pebble could be the product of a hardened tear.
A tear rolled down her cheek and impacted on the pebble, perhaps for an instant, she saw a small glow to it akin to the magical sparks that sparkle from a fairy godmother's wand.
"Intense feelings, ego and tears; the word that comes close is passion and it doesn't suit everyone...yes, perhaps that is the human name; but in another world it would be called blue magic...in this world it takes the form of sparks of fire and in the world of my heart, it is the most stubborn part of my heartbeat...the one that hides the screams."
But who is she talking to?
T
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
giz
giz Hello...
It is necessary that you read the word gol in Spanish for plot purposes and for the feeling I want to produce in you.
the goal in Spanish is el gol.
Thanks for reading.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone