Padres nuestros que estáis en los Cielos

It was a moment when a box and a story brought me a time. Now that close known deceased crowd and their faces, their gestures, their scent remain in our memory, I recover that impression of light, a capture of time and presence difficult to explain, it emerges and I discover I enter and I see myself. Time does not exist, it is an illusion that shrinks and stretches senselessly in our understanding. Some come out and others don't, surely I am in one. Some smile at me, others don't and they blur among my brushes. And I look at them and try again, and they blur. They are from a long time ago and they are here, people I met and people I didn't. Family by blood and DNA all, umbilical cord that unites us in an infinite tangle of tissue without origin or end, perhaps they coincide. I dare to bring you out, wake you from your limbo trapped in the threads of our common history, with the certainty of knowing that you are here, that we are all the same, in no known time and place.