“And behold, You were within me, and I was outside; and it was there that I searched for You.”
— Saint Augustine, Confessions
The verb comes from the Latin intendere, which means: to direct oneself inward, to stretch toward the inside.
I did not know this. I did not understand it, because I spent most of my life living on the outside, often very close to the edges of those places where the only fertile things are the superfluous, the frivolous, the disposable.
And so it happened that the absence of understanding did not allow me to see that which transcends time and matter.
Around me, reality became blurred, because, coarse and blind, I believed the universe revolved around me.
I became fond of worldly pleasures that distanced me from the fine arts.
The noise in my head did not allow the analysis and reflection necessary, both of them, in those moments when solitude dispels darkness, blindness.
But one day I grew tired and returned to being the one who did not enjoy social conventions. I entered the forests that surrounded my home, and also the forests that ran through the minds of those who wrote my favorite books.
And then words, but above all life, began to make sense.
I discovered in myself the capacity to see miracles, and through them I was able to verify them by means of the scientific method.
One day I entered the forest, and then I entered myself, and since then, from within, I have understood everything that happens outside.
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