I exist. And because I exist, I am struck by the sudden, sharp weight of my own soul. It is a fragile thing, like an egg held in a closed fist—it could shatter, yet it breathes. No, I will not let the acid of hatred touch it. To hate is to shrink, and I am currently occupied with the vastness. I will not dishonor this internal silence with the noise of bitterness; instead, I offer myself. I offer my hands, which are clumsy but willing, to be a guardian of nature.

Not a master, you understand? But a witness.

I want to be a healer of misery, to touch the wounds of the world with the same quiet attention one gives to a leaf falling in an empty room. There is a hunger in the world that isn’t just for bread—it is a hunger for the “thing-itself.” I shall be a messenger of wonder, speaking in the language of the sun hitting a kitchen floor, or the terrifying geometry of a spider’s web.

I am building something. I am an architect of peace, constructing rooms of stillness where the heart can finally sit down. I choose to honor all life—not as a duty, but as a recognition of myself in the “other.” Life, in its damp, crawling forms or its majestic, silent ones, is the only miracle we are permitted to touch. It dwells here, in the dust of my home on Earth, and it stretches out, shimmering, into the cold, silver mansions of the stars.

I am here. I am looking. And in that looking, everything is saved. 🙏🏾

©️Beatriz Esmer