The real















The senses can deceive us, perceiving, feeling and recording a fact can also be falsified; who hack into our body and mind to make us believe that something is happening and it is not? A mutilated phantom leg, a palpable sensation in the skin that remains moments after waking from a dream, a smell that no one else notices.

Who can tell you that your life is yours, that you totally control it and that you decide without any external influence or control what you do, what you say, what you think…?

Look at that madman, speaking alone, where do his words go if we who listen to them do not understand them? You talk to yourself but as if you were someone else, or is it like a vehicle without control? Is he disconnected from “reality”? or does he know better than we do what he says and therefore we do not understand him? to what extent does the matrix possess us?

Perhaps we deceive ourselves, we invent a life that is different and extremely distant from reality; so as not to feel so pathetic our existence plagued with defects and miseries, we fill ourselves with vanities and complacent flattery, mediocre pats that indulge in lies, nefarious speeches that enlarge the ego and hide what lies behind the mask, we invent something twice as false as a “pious lie”, we make up our faces and with begging poses like’s.

And when we beg for love, do we not try to artificially receive the affection that is denied us? We fall too low not to reach that moment to realize and accept that there is no love. I can think of no better example of self-deception.

Perhaps no one manipulates and guides us which robots but we are incapable of perceiving the real by the veil of our own capricious and arrogant lie of MY WILL being done, AS I SAY, AS I WANT! Foolish children who deceive themselves and each other one more day.

THE MATRIX HAS YOU…?



Source of the images: covermorpheus y marks
This is a translation of my original in Spanish: Lo real


Thank you for reading these words, thinking and feeling of my authorship.



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