That is my planet.
I gaze lovingly at the surface with its boundless and beautiful colours. How many times have I explored its borders as the dawn immortalises its curves, glowing in an indescribable light-blue that is perfectly outlined by the light of iridescent mesospheric clouds: the colour of infinite patience.
Shrouded in silence I look out: I feel our planet’s heart beat as I watch the vital water run along infinite veins across the land, nourished and protected by the clouds that cover Earth’s surface like the cloak of a vestal virgin. Its breathing is calm and eternal like the tides but large as ocean waves. It holds the power of winds that sweep sand from a hundred deserts to the tops of a thousand mountains in one breath.
In a few hours, all this will be a memory. My spaceship is quiet and dark in waiting, but soon it will turn into a dramatic theatre when we return to Earth. Everything that has a beginning must come to an end: this fragility makes each experience unique and even more valuable.
I try to fill my eyes, my mind and my heart with the colours, nuances and sensations so that my memories will be witness to the experience. Underneath me on Earth, lands merge: country boundaries are non-existent when you look down from up here in the Cupola. I observe the lands of men.
I always feel the irresistible attraction of the sky and stars when I look up on Earth. I encourage my mind to lose itself in the infinite and the unknown. It is in our nature, our Ulysses gene. Nonetheless, Ulysses returns to Ithaca after many travels: his island always in his dreams. If I had been born in the interstellar darkness, if I had spent my entire life traveling far from our world, I would look back at our bright-blue waters and diverse continents with the same admiration. Every sunrise and every sunset would instil the same sense of awe. I would dream of sinking my feet in the warm sands, to feel the cold embrace of snow and the caress of the salty sea-breeze that blows towards land. I would wonder how it feels to bathe in its waters, to bask in the warmth of the Sun.
But I am lucky: I was born there.
That is my planet. That is my home.
           — Astronaut Luca Parmitano

That is my planet.

I gaze lovingly at the surface with its boundless and beautiful colours. How many times have I explored its borders as the dawn immortalises its curves, glowing in an indescribable light-blue that is perfectly outlined by the light of iridescent mesospheric clouds: the colour of infinite patience.

Shrouded in silence I look out: I feel our planet’s heart beat as I watch the vital water run along infinite veins across the land, nourished and protected by the clouds that cover Earth’s surface like the cloak of a vestal virgin. Its breathing is calm and eternal like the tides but large as ocean waves. It holds the power of winds that sweep sand from a hundred deserts to the tops of a thousand mountains in one breath.

In a few hours, all this will be a memory. My spaceship is quiet and dark in waiting, but soon it will turn into a dramatic theatre when we return to Earth. Everything that has a beginning must come to an end: this fragility makes each experience unique and even more valuable.

I try to fill my eyes, my mind and my heart with the colours, nuances and sensations so that my memories will be witness to the experience. Underneath me on Earth, lands merge: country boundaries are non-existent when you look down from up here in the Cupola. I observe the lands of men.

I always feel the irresistible attraction of the sky and stars when I look up on Earth. I encourage my mind to lose itself in the infinite and the unknown. It is in our nature, our Ulysses gene. Nonetheless, Ulysses returns to Ithaca after many travels: his island always in his dreams. If I had been born in the interstellar darkness, if I had spent my entire life traveling far from our world, I would look back at our bright-blue waters and diverse continents with the same admiration. Every sunrise and every sunset would instil the same sense of awe. I would dream of sinking my feet in the warm sands, to feel the cold embrace of snow and the caress of the salty sea-breeze that blows towards land. I would wonder how it feels to bathe in its waters, to bask in the warmth of the Sun.

But I am lucky: I was born there.

That is my planet. That is my home.

           — Astronaut Luca Parmitano

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.
  — Albert Einstein

¿Hay alguna esperanza para la libertad?

Tal vez no haya una respuesta tajante al respecto, tal vez no haya determinismo sino una mezcla de determinismo e indeterminismo. En cualquier caso, mi opinión al respecto es pesimista: considero que somos sistemas deterministas y, por tanto, la vida es una mera ilusión. La materia forma un planeta y forma un cerebro, pero sólo el segundo cree que está vivo y que es un individuo. Así, no existiría la materia viva, existiría la materia a secas. La vida no es más que una propiedad de la materia. La vida no es más que un proceso. Si le preguntamos a una mitocondria si está viva nos dirá que sí, pero lo único que hace es realizar su trabajo bajo unos parámetros establecidos. Y todo lo que progresivamente se va descubrimiento sobre el funcionamiento del universo y de nosotros mismos nos hacen pensar que nosotros obramos del mismo modo.

The heart of science is to prefer the hard truth over the dearest illusions
  — Carl Sagan

The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.

I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you.
  — Friedrich Nietzsche
Ah, but your absence, the physically felt silence of your hands.
  — Boris Pasternak in a letter to Marina Tsvetayeva, May 19, 1926

“Me gusta dormir, quizá es lo que más me gusta en esta vida. Y quizá me gusta tanto porque me cuesta mucho conciliar el sueño […] Desde pequeño he pensado que dormir te aparta del mundo, te hace inmune a sus ataques. La gente sólo puede atacar a los despiertos, a los que están con los ojos abiertos”


   —  Albert Espinosa, Todo lo que podríamos haber sido tú y yo si no fuéramos tú y yo 

“He’s a hot bath, a short breath, five days of summer pressed into five fingers writing stories on my body.”

   — Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

Don’t acknowledge fellow passengers or sustain eye contact beyond 2 seconds.  

Please respect urban solitude.