Another Day

All that concentrated the man called high contemplation in the sanctuary of his soul, contribulle to magnify, for that off of material objects, reminds him of his high origin and destination announces her immense. In a century of metal and joys, that all looks set to not develop the forces of the spirit, if not as a gift can serve the body, it should renew these big issues, understanding that wanders with wide free-space endless.

Just have to wait: the stone as it falls without knowing his fall, the calcined and spray beam, ignoring its strength, the flower knows nothing of her beauty, if I did overshadow the garden with his ego.

The brute beast follows its instinct, without asking the reason for them only man in fragile organization that appears for a moment on earth to rid then powder.

Contains his spirit that later to cover the world, yearning to understand, turned in upon itself, in there, like a sanctuary, where it is both the Oracle and consultants.
Who am I? What do I do? I think? Because I think, as I believe they are those phenomena that experiment on me, because I am obedient to them, what causes it, what their relationships, here is what the spirit asks, serious issues, difficult issues, it is true; but noble, sublime, predicts evidence that there is something within us above these inert materials called thinking, spontaneous lies in its very nature, offers the image of the infinite activity that has brought the world out of nothing with a single act their will.
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Todo lo que concentra el hombre llamandole a elevada contemplacion en el santuario de su alma, contribulle a engrandecerle, para que le despege de los objetos materiales, y le recuerde su alto origen, y le anuncia su inmenso destino. En un siglo metalico y de goces, en que todo parece encaminarse a no desarollar las fuerzas del espiritu, si no en cuanto pueden servir a regalar el cuerpo, conviene que renueven esas grandes cuestiones, en que el entendimiento divaga con amplisima libertad por espacios sin fin.

Solo resta esperar; la piedra mientras cae sin conocer su caida; el rayo calcina y pulveriza, ignorando su fuerza; la flor nada sabe de su hermosura, si lo supiera opacaria el jardin con su ego.

El bruto animal sigue su instinto, sin preguntarse la razon de ellos; solo el hombre, en fragil organizacion que aparece un momento sobre la tierra para deshacerse luego en polvo.

Abriga su espiritu que despues de abarcar el mundo, ansia por comprenderse, encerrandose en su propio el o yo, ya no lo se, alli dentro, como un santuario, donde el mismo es a un tiempo el oraculo y el consultor. Quien soy ? Que hago? Que pienso? Por que pienso, como pienso, que son esos fenomenos que experimento en mi, por que estoy sujeto a ellos, cual es su causa, cual es su relacion; he aqui lo que se pregunta el espiritu; cuestiones graves, cuestiones espinosas, en verdades; pero nobles, sublimes, predice testimonios de que hay dentro nosotros algo superior a esas materias inertes, llamado pensamiento, espontanea, radica en su naturaleza misma, nos ofrece la imagen de la actividad infinita que ha sacado el mundo de la nada con un solo acto de su voluntad.

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