˙oƃɐ ǝɯᴉʇ ǝɯos ǝɯ ploʇ ǝuoǝɯos ƃuᴉɥʇǝɯoS

Belief is the beacon that illuminates the vastness of our time, the compass that guides us along the uncertain path of existence. It is the ancestral voice that resonates in the soul, whispering to us the hidden meaning of our hours and pushing us to walk even when the night seems infinite. Without it, the individual becomes a drifting castaway, and society a sea with no horizon.

It is a golden thread that intertwines what we are with what we long to be. It projects us beyond meat and dust, making us partakers of a story that transcends our fleeting moment. Because time is infinite, but we are not; and in that contradiction the urgency to believe is born. To believe not only in what we see, but in what calls us from the mystery, from what we have not yet discovered about ourselves.

The man without beliefs is imprisoned by his own temporality, condemned to the inertia of the moment. But he who dares to hold his faith — whether in truth, in beauty, in justice or in love — sculpt his own destiny within eternity. And although he knows that his pace is brief, he leaves the indelible mark of his struggle for meaning on the road.

It is not about blind belief, but embracing belief as an art. Mold it, polish it, make it a refuge and a flame. Not a cage that locks us in dogmas, but a wind that propels us towards what magnifies us. Because he who believes in nothing is condemned to live in shadows; but he who believes with wisdom turns his existence into an endless dawn.

(ps: it was originally written in spanish, so I translated)