Good news

I set out to travel back by train to Valencia for about forty-five minutes. I had a bookmark on the last pages of an interesting book and an em pe three player with my favorite music hanging around my neck. I got in the car and found a great seat by the window which is how I like it, so I settled in and was about to open my book when a young mother sat down in front of me with a child of about three who on his legs despite the empty seat next to him.

The little boy wore a smile rolling in the grass of his eyes and those ripe ears of wheat that the Sun makes shine at mid-morning, playing on his forehead. The mother constantly kissed her head and cheeks where the reddest blood in the world seemed to be imprisoned. She talked to him and kissed him tenderly.

I was curious to know what he was so lovingly telling her, so I removed the headphones from my ears and listened. It was a story spun at that time about some mischievous dwarfs who ran through the orange groves that could be seen through the window. He wanted to know what dwarfs were like and she took a pen she was carrying to draw one, but she didn't have any sheet of paper at hand. So I gave them one that I was wearing.

They thanked me with a smile and she overflowed her imagination in some big-headed dwarfs wearing peaked hats, jackets and pointe shoes. She would draw her for a few moments and he wanted to do his part, so she would guide his hand as she kissed him and kissed him. His mother's long hair, a little browner, mixed with the wheat and he took refuge in her soft breasts and suddenly turned completely towards her and they burst out laughing.

Suddenly the train entered the tunnel and he was amazed at the sudden darkness outside. Then she hugged him closer as the shower of kisses grew heavier. For a few moments the goblin listened to his mother's story about the dwarfs, long enough for the chlorophyll in his eyes to be lost behind the lids.

I thought that the young mother was beautiful, tender and intelligent and that she loved her offspring with that love that goes beyond words and becomes patience and wisdom, understanding and dedication. Looking at them made me want to join in the hug, but I held back because no one had given me candles at the funeral.

I would have liked very much to take a camera and photograph them, but I didn't have to carve that image in the marble, compose a song with their words. But I'm not a singer-songwriter or a master of oil and tonalities, so it occurred to me to squeeze them between these verbs and let you make them with your flight. We are already fed up with stories of abused children and sexual abuse and images of all the misfortunes and mourning.

I would like journalists to narrate the hundreds of thousands of happy trips that have been made this weekend. The parents who went to visit their children and returned full of satisfaction for the meeting, the enjoyment of the exchanges and the richness of learning and not of the infinitely less, who lost their lives in traffic accidents.

What if they did more reports about the boyfriends who brought flowers to their beloved, the elderly who went out holding hands to look at the flowers in the park and not about the three or four beatings that a brute inflicted on their partner? I would like television to talk about the millions of families that have dinner together day after day, about how clean and immense the waters of the lakes are and not about the hole in the ozone layer or about diseases.

I would like there to be less talk about wars and more about non-governmental organizations, that there would be more talk about dance clubs and less about criminals; more of sunrises and less of natural catastrophes. Every day there is a sunrise and almost no television channel talks about them.

I wish we would talk more about young people who read and play sports and go to the mountains and study and love and take care of nature rather than focus our attention on those who become disoriented and take, sometimes only temporarily, wrong paths. Hopefully we can see better every day the wonderful world that we have had to inhabit, full of music, love and young mothers who travel on the train with their children, telling them stories of dwarfs who run around inside the orange groves.

Open your eyes wide and let in all the beauty that the Universe has every minute to give us. Do not let them teach you the canned life of TV, or the newspaper or other sterile shouting of a few fools who seek to enrich themselves by swimming in human miseries. Think that we are more beautiful every day and less similar to the generations that starred in world wars. He thinks that we deserve harmony and without a doubt we are achieving it.