In defense of poetry

If we abandon the Idea of reality for a moment and fix our eyes on our
original condition, we would be terrified of the result. We are, among all
living creatures, the only species that, despite its irrefutable existence, is,
feels, incomplete in the world. It is not enough for us to be born because
it seems that this event throws us towards us as an unfinished work and
aware of its emptiness. From nature we are incomplete and we are
condemned to culminate what life gives us in a loan, that is to say:
substance and time-whether sufficient or not-to transcend and transcend
us. This is what we are, which, under all objectivity, bursts like a volcano
of uncertainties. From now on, our life is an endless project, a problem to
solve. In these circumstances we have the world and it is
understandable that ours is an imperfect story. Should draw our attention
that the existence of man in the world has been marked from the
beginning by the movement of creation? Our first Self is a poetic Self!

Making ourselves a bearable reality, inventing the human, is our trade.

Beliefs and ideas are then the nucleus where our being makes its
second birth: a world made from itself and made to measure. That is
because of the times we call reality and that as the portrait of our hope is
always inconclusive, insufficient, unfinished. At the beginning, man made
the world with his faith, populated it with souls, gave magical powers to
light, in the shade, poetic with an excessive love, everything that was
familiar and unknown. Chaining to the adoration and the excessive
confidence, when not to the resignation. If nature had condemned him to
the search for his own truth, religion captivated him in the fullness of
faith. Asphyxiated he fell into disenchantment, and the enslaved soul
became yearning for freedom. Disappear and return to the world again.
A religious crisis gave birth to Philosophy who would empty the once
sacred meaning. It brought out Gods and demons and installed on its
altar the skeptical statue of man, naked in his reason. Philosophy was
born to reign and repopulate us from another reality.
According to this, the Being had to emerge as an explanation rather than
as an unknown or alms. It was made an idea, truth, an institution that
ended up stripping the Self of its vivifying functions. Another form of
slavery. Another void.

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Philosophy and religion disputed the realization of the human. But how
many ideas and beliefs, moved by the hope of men, ended in the
stillness of disappointment. How many attempts worsened and degraded
existence, falsifying it, outraging it, suppressing it? Religions became
empires. Knowledge, when does not build dehumanization, numbs us in
insensitive axiological systems. It seems to be imminent a leap back, not
in history, but in the origins of the soul: to the transparent self of creation,
and to remake man. I am referring to the total denaissance: to return to
that poetic consciousness where man reaches his superior identity.

https://luchaalmada.blogspot.com/2015/03/en-defensa-de-la-poesia.html