The miracle of the present times
is to have the whole knowledge
concentrated in a little package
of metal and electronic circuits
which are so efficient, that are able
to explain to you, in a magic instant,
the whole of Hegel's philosophy:
so you spend a neverending hour
trying to extricate yourself from
the barbed-wired fences of the religion
that is subjective, but also objective,
and of the Absolute, which is above all
the union of the finite dimension
with the infinite one, but also
the non-union, that is the opposition
of the finite and infinite worlds.
at the end of this infinite reading,
torn to pieces by the barbed-wire,
and ruthlessly soiled by that tsunami
of mental diarrhoea, you turn your eyes
looking for some rest, and, exhausted
and dead tired, your glance is attracted
by a beautiful and still young woman
croaching down on the sand, looking
for the finest shells, and you admire
the elegance of the arch of her feet,
lifted up to support the round cello
of her pelvis, a resonance case,
sublime ark made of flesh and bones
to counterpoint life's sublime symphony,
resounding, beating in time by the rythm
through which, every month, the thesis
and the antithesis melt together,
to give birth to the fruit of synthesis:
with the difference that this fruit is alive,
it was not born dead like the other one,
the infertil monument to the arrogance
of those who scorn the best philosophy,
conceived by a Philosopher who is
infinitely more brilliant, because
he's much more simple and full of love.