The pulsation of the voice of all the holes in the body. By Carlos del Puente

In a world where time was woven like a web of dreams, a man woke up one morning and realized that all the holes in his body had come to life. His mouth became an eloquent speaker, speaking in verses that seemed to flow from a spring of madness. The words were golden fish that leaped and danced in the air, dragging reality with them in a whirlwind of color and sound. 

The eyes, those two mirrors of the soul, began to blink in a Morse code that only the trees could understand. The leaves, receiving the message, began to whisper secrets of bygone ages, revealing the history of the wind and dust that had traveled through the universe. Meanwhile, the ears joined the conversation, becoming trumpets that amplified the echoes of lost laughter and forgotten cries. 

The man, fascinated by this symphony of holes, decided to go out into the street. Each step he took resonated like a marimba in a carnival of colors, attracting the attention of passersby. His feet, little drums, kept the rhythm of a collective heartbeat, a heartbeat that seemed to come from all the creatures of the world. The floor tiles began to vibrate, and from them emerged flowers that sang in chorus, their petals shining like stars on a cloudless night. 

However, in the midst of this celebration, the navel, always so humble and forgotten, decided to raise its voice. "Listen!" he shouted with an echo that resonated like a war drum. "I am the center of this orchestra, the meeting point of all the pulsations. Without me, there is no rhythm, there is no song." His declaration made the rest of the holes stop dead in their tracks, confused by the navel's audacity. The mouth, somewhat jealous, replied: "But without my words, there is no story to tell. I am the narrator of this absurd life." The eyes, indignant, interrupted: "And what about us? Without our vision, everything is chaos. Only we can see the colors of this melody." 

Thus, each hole began to discuss its importance, all raising their voices in a chorus of complaints. The nose, in an attempt to mediate, inhaled deeply and exhaled a perfumed breath that enveloped everyone in a cloud of calm. "Perhaps," it said serenely, "we must learn to listen to the pulsation of each of us. The true magic lies in the harmony of our voices." 

It was then that, in a burst of creativity, the holes decided to unite. The mouth began to recite verses while the eyes danced in a luminous waltz, the ears vibrated with the music of the wind, and the navel, proud, marked the pulse with its deep echo. Thus, his symphony spread throughout the city, a song of celebration of life, where each hole, each pulsation, was essential in the creation of an absurd and wonderful reality. 

The voice of all the holes in the body resonated in every corner, and people began to dance, leaving their worries behind, giving themselves over to the madness of existence. The earth itself joined the feast, vibrating beneath their feet, and the skies filled with dancing clouds that laughed and cried at the same time, while each star seemed to join the song of life. 

Thus, on that surreal day, man understood that the true essence of his being was not found in the individuality of each hole, but in the pulsation of its collective voice, an endless melody that resonated in the heart of the universe, an echo of the absurdity that enveloped everything. And in that revelation, he realized that all the holes, far from being empty, were doors to an infinity of possibilities, a labyrinth of dreams where every breath, every laugh, every tear told a story, an endless poem celebrating life itself. 

The symphony of the holes continued to grow, expanding like a river of vibrant colors flowing through the city. The buildings, once gray and silent, began to vibrate to the beat of the music, their windows shining like eyes joining in the celebration. The streets were transformed into rainbow corridors, where every step resonated like a drum of joy, and the buses, full of passengers, became ships sailing in a sea of ​​melodies. 

The navel, now a master of ceremonies, decided to organize a grand festival. He called all the holes to an epic meeting in the center of the square. There, each would have the opportunity to show their talent. The mouth was prepared to tell improbable stories, where candy dragons flew over mountains of spaghetti and crepe paper princes fought jelly monsters. The eyes, for their part, decided to project luminous images of impossible landscapes, where rivers flowed upwards and trees danced to the sound of music. 

The ears, for their part, became magical earmuffs that amplified the whispers of the wind, capturing secrets of distant worlds. The nose, always attentive, prepared a special fragrance: a mix of jasmine, freshly baked bread and a child's laughter, creating such an intoxicating atmosphere that everyone present felt transported to a state of euphoria. 

And so, the festival began. The square filled with a crowd of strange beings: paper horses trotting alongside turtles in top hats, while the trees clapped their leaves. The voice of each hole joined in a clamor of joy, an organized cacophony that resonated in every corner of space. It was as if the entire world had stopped to listen and participate in this celebration of life. 

However, in the middle of the party, a small hole in the man's heart began to feel an echo of loneliness. It was an emptiness that he had been ignoring, a whisper that had been lost among the vibrations of joy. That hole, which had been hidden behind the euphoria, decided to raise its voice. 

“What about me?” he asked with palpable shyness. “I am part of this symphony, but I feel like I am only an echo. I cannot dance or sing like the others.” 

The bustle stopped for a moment, and all the holes turned toward the small emptiness. The navel, with a soft voice, answered: “Your existence is vital. Not all rhythms are joyful, and not all voices must be loud. Your whisper is as important as our song.” 

The nose inhaled deeply, collecting the air charged with emotions, and exhaled a fragrance that enveloped the emptiness in a warm embrace. The eyes, with tears of understanding, began to shine with a comforting light. The mouth, in a gesture of solidarity, recited a poem that spoke of the beauty of silences and moments of introspection, of the importance of listening to the echo of the soul. 

Little by little, the little hole felt welcomed by the warmth of the community. It understood that, although it did not have a strident melody, its whisper was an essential component of the symphony. Thus, it joined the song, not with loud words, but with a soft murmur that resonated in everyone's hearts. The celebration continued, now richer and more complex, with each hole contributing its uniqueness. And in that moment, the man understood that life was not just a series of noises and colors, but a mixture of laughter and silence, of screams and whispers, of pulsations and echoes. Each hole, each voice, contributed to the totality of his being. 

And so, in the embrace of the community of holes, the man felt complete, a microcosm of chaos and order, a reflection of the universe itself. The pulsation of the voice of all the holes in the body resonated in his veins, a pulse of life celebrating diversity, connection, and the wonder of existing in an absurdly beautiful world. 

The festival, however, did not last forever. Like a fleeting dream, it began to fade, the colors diluting, the melodies dissipating into the air, leaving behind an expectant silence. The holes, one by one, began to fall silent, their voices returning to being simple openings in the man's body. The flowers in the square withered, returning to the earth, and the buses became simple vehicles of metal and glass again. 

But the silence was not empty. It was a silence charged with resonance, a silence that vibrated with the memory of the symphony. The man, now aware of the complex orchestra that lived within him, felt a deep connection with the world. Every hole, every void, reminded him of the fragility and beauty of existence, the interconnectedness of all things. 

One day, as he walked down the street, he felt a different, subtler, deeper pulsation. It was not the cacophony of the festival, but an almost inaudible whisper, a silent dialogue between the holes in his body and the holes in the world. He saw the holes in the sidewalks, in the trees, in the clouds, in the very structure of the universe. They were holes that breathed, that whispered, that sang an ineffable melody. 

He understood then that the symphony had not ended, but had been transformed. It was no longer an explosion of sounds and colors, but a more subtle, more intimate symphony, a conversation between the inside and the outside, between the body and the cosmos. Man became a receiver of this cosmic symphony, an instrument that resonated with the pulsation of all the holes in the universe. 

His body, now a map of infinite voids, became a bridge between worlds. Through it flowed the energies of the cosmos, the stories of the past, the promises of the future. Every breath was a song, every heartbeat a melody. Man had become a living symphony, a testimony to the absurd beauty and deep interconnection of all things, a being resonant with the pulsation of all the holes, not only in his body, but in the entire universe. And in that resonant silence, in that deep connection, he found a peace that transcended understanding, a peace that was, in itself, a symphony. A silence that sang. 

The singing silence, however, was not static. Like a deep ocean, it held hidden currents, swirls of meaning that arose and faded with the same unpredictability as a dream. The man, now a being resonant with the universal pulsation, began to sense these currents, to decipher the whispers of the void. He discovered that each silence contained a multitude of voices, each void, a universe of possibilities. 

One day, a new hole opened in his hand. It was not a physical hole, but an opening in perception, a window to an alternate reality. From this hole emerged a creature composed of light and music, a being that identified itself as the Keeper of the Silences. The Guardian explained that each silence was a portal, a door to other dimensions, to other ways of being. 

Man, guided by the Guardian, began to explore these silences. Each one was different, each one harbored a unique experience. In one silence, he found himself in a garden where flowers spoke in a language of colors, where stones sang songs of stone. In another, he found himself floating in an ocean of thoughts, surrounded by the souls of those who were no longer there. In yet another, he experienced the empty immensity of interstellar space, the absolute stillness before the Big Bang. 

Through these silent journeys, man learned to understand the nature of absurdity, the beauty of contradiction, the infinity of nothingness. He learned that life was not a straight line, but a labyrinth of silences and sounds, of emptiness and plenitude, of presence and absence. He learned that the true music of the universe was not to be found in loud sounds, but in the silences between notes, in the empty spaces that allowed music to exist. 

His body, no longer just a receptacle of holes, became an instrument capable of translating the whispers of the universe, of interpreting the cosmic symphony in a language that transcended words. He became a bridge between worlds, a translator of silences, an interpreter of nothingness. And so, man, resonating with the pulsation of all the holes, continued his infinite journey through the silences, always in search of new melodies, new experiences, new ways of understanding the music of the universe, a music composed of the very essence of absurdity, a music that could only be understood in the deep silence of existence. 

The journey through the silences, however, was not without its challenges. Some silences were overwhelming, endless pits of darkness that threatened to absorb man completely. Others resonated with echoes of pain, with laments of lost realities, with the echo of cosmic tragedies. In these moments, man clung to the memory of the symphony, to the vibration of life that pulsed in each of his holes. 

In one of these particularly dark silences, he encountered an entity of pure antimatter, a being of negation and absence. This entity explained to him that silence was not the absence of sound, but the presence of all possible frequencies, simultaneously. It was an ocean of possibilities, a sea of ​​potentials waiting to be expressed. Silence, therefore, was not a void, but a fullness, a plenitude of infinite possibilities. 

This revelation transformed man's understanding of silences. He no longer saw them as threats, but as opportunities, as fertile spaces for creation. He learned to navigate these oceans of silence, to draw from them the energy necessary to create new realities, new melodies, new ways of being. 

With each silence he traversed, man became more fluid, more adaptable, more aware of the changing nature of existence. His body, a labyrinth of holes, became an increasingly sensitive instrument, capable of perceiving the subtlest vibrations of the universe. The boundaries between inside and outside vanished, and man merged with the cosmos, becoming an integral part of the universal symphony. 

His life was no longer a linear sequence of events, but a multidimensional experience, a constant flow of silences and sounds, of emptiness and plenitude. Every moment was an opportunity for creation, every silence, a space for exploration. Man, the resonator of all holes, continued his infinite journey, a constantly evolving being, a living testimony to the beauty and mystery of the universe, a universe woven from the very fabric of absurdity, a universe where the music of the cosmos reveals itself in the deep, resonant silence of existence itself. The journey, of course, never ends. There is always another silence waiting to be explored, another void to be filled, another melody to be discovered in the infinite cosmic symphony. 

Man, now a being fully integrated with the cosmic symphony, ceased to perceive himself as a separate individual. His body, with its countless holes, had become a conduit, a channel through which the creative energy of the universe flowed. He was silence and sound, absence and presence, emptiness and fullness, all at the same time. 

One day, while meditating in the heart of a particularly deep silence, he perceived a new frequency, a subtle vibration that resonated with creation itself. It was the voice of the universe, not as an audible sound, but as a sensation, an intuition, a deep understanding of the interconnected nature of all things. 

This voice revealed to him the purpose of his journey: it was not simply to explore silences, but to create new silences, new spaces for possibility, new places where the music of the universe could be expressed. The man realized that every creative act, every original thought, every word spoken with intention, was an act of creating silence, a space where nothingness could become something. 

He then began to create silences. Not silences as the absence of sound, but silences as spaces of potential, as matrices where reality could take new forms. He created silences through dance, poetry, music, painting, the simple act of breathing deeply. Each silence he created was a new universe, a new possibility, a new space for the expression of the cosmic symphony. 

And so, man, the resonator of all holes, became a creator of silences, a craftsman of nothingness, an architect of possibility. His life was transformed into a continuous work of art, a symphony in constant evolution, a testimony to the creative capacity of the universe, a universe where music is not only heard, but created, felt, lived, in every silence, in every void, in each of the countless holes that make up reality itself. The symphony continues, eternal, always expanding, always creating, always resonating in the infinite and wonderful dance of being. 

The creation of silences became man's obsession, a relentless search for new spaces of potential. She discovered that every emotion, every thought, every memory could be transformed into a creative silence. Joy became a radiant silence, full of light and harmony. Sadness became a deep, contemplative silence, rich in nuance and resonance. Fear became an expectant silence, full of latent energy. 

She created silences not only through the arts, but also through interaction with the world. Every meaningful conversation, every act of compassion, every moment of authentic connection, generated a new silence, a space where understanding and empathy could flourish. She discovered that the deepest and most resonant silences were found in moments of human connection, in the shared spaces between conscious beings. His body, now a perfect instrument for the creation of silences, began to radiate an energy that affected everything around him. Plants flourished in his wake, animals were calmed by his presence, and people felt a deep inner peace when they were near him. He had become a beacon of creative silence, a focal point of harmony in a chaotic world. 

However, the creation of silences was not a linear or predictable process. Sometimes the silences he created were unexpected, even disturbing. Some contained echoes of unknown realities, of hidden dimensions, of possibilities that defied his understanding. These silences, though unsettling, taught him the vastness of the universe and the limitation of his own perception. 

The man, however, was not intimidated by the unknown. He embraced the uncertainty, the complexity, the paradox inherent in the creation of silences. She realized that true beauty was found not in perfection, but in imperfection, in constant evolution, in the dance between order and chaos. Her life, a symphony of silences in constant creation, became a testament to the human capacity to embrace the unknown, to transcend the limits of understanding, and to create beauty out of nothingness itself. The symphony, always moving, always evolving, always creating new silences, new universes, new possibilities. Endless holes, endless silences, endless possibilities. The echo continues...

By Carlos del Puente