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known mortal man and is such knowledge that wakes you up to the task of thinking. "One thing I am absolutely sure: I die, my life is ending, I have days and hours to live and my best wishes to be lots and lots but I can not deceive: this body I have it somewhere, not discover, expiration date recorded in indelible ink. This makes me wonder: is now, is when I'm alive when I think about what to do with this life to live . The topic can generate some anxiety, some fear and a bit of desperation. I admit it. But let's look different. After this The calm period of reflection and the way back from distress, " is so true that I die because it is so true that I am alive. If death is no longer being physically present in this life, I must say that somehow I have already once beaten to death! When? I was born. At least for me there is no eternal death because I feel the great joy of being alive! "

When notes its presence in the life of man is exalted, becomes aware, rejoices, and is the joy that affirms and accepts life over death, over fear, over despair. But it should not be a passenger but ecstasy an activity designed strategically and go beyond: to fight for celebrating life, to fight to be anesthetized, to combat the discomfort and complaining about everything, to fight the "not aware", to strive to be attentive to surprise and be surprised, to fight for fun, fight to "lighten" the backpacks and the faults that are loaded without knowing why or wherefore. This struggle extends to the activities with friends because friendship is the strongest bond that unites those who know we will die but we struggle together to live well, the best way possible. That is to realize.

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Realize I have no time to work

You, me, you, you, you, you, them, them, us. Substitute names with pronouns (that is its grammatical function) but everyone is included, or were or will be, if it is working. And this I speak, I think and dwell on a thought, do work on work. We'll see. What is this work? Why and how people work? Do we work too much? "Work occupies the center of our life time, that is, our lives are working? Do we do because we are obliged to do so? What and who makes us? Do you enjoy, we are happy the work we do? What would we do with our time if we did not work? In short, the claim of start awakens and excites. Come by parties.
There is a first simple answer but I'm not good enough. The word "work" is etymologically derived from "Trevajer" which means "torture, suffering, effort." Derived from "Tripalium" operating as a kind of trap with that in ancient times some people were tortured. This concept of work as a synonym for torture must have an explanation. And I remember the teachings of the Bible that I was repeated with such affection by the Marist Brothers to explain the punishment that God would have chosen-creator of man and star of this book, before the sin of the first pair of these payments man woman "I will eat by the sweat of your brow. " I quickly realized two things involved in this scenario: 1) Work is a divine punishment and 2) industry was born that day deodorant sweat-so ... -. But I am thinking about the first conclusion: if not for the sin of our relatives do not exist this torture. "Wow, I think. "What bad luck in the Paradise of the time there were priests, because had there been one, Mr. Adam and Ms. Eve could have confessed and we would not have to work." I continue with my thoughts (and sorry for the digression but this shot and I probably shoot more because are all closely linked). The reality is that it is because there were no cures or it was confessional, the end result was that there was no case and God punished them and all those who came later had to be laburar (I wonder why so much punishment for future offspring if sin was any lack "voluntary" against God's law, what will we who came after the sin supposedly committed by our first origins? scares me a little (almost nothing at this point in my life). Is not there will be any sin of our great-grandparents, grandparents or parents who do not know and which will inherit a punishment? In short, the logic of the context that explained to me indicates this could be, but this is not the issue. Returning to work). Well, it was. We are condemned to work. This consequence of sin caused guilt (of punishment are generated guilt, remorse, anger, and it is also true, reflections). The point is that Labour on this issue is a fault contained our ancestors managed as they could. Among them are Protestants (about 2 version of Catholicism) who developed the theory of the atonement of guilt that led us to sweat and work. They found no better way to amend and remedy the guilt to turn the concept and an extraordinary creativity, the reality of work as punishment became the opposite: work as a virtue. They saw human occupation in the consistent effort, the sacrifices that often involves a kind of vehicle of salvation. The punishment that God imposed on men should be glorified. Something like take your cross with dignity and do not complain that it is a virtue. And so to boast to his followers did not take a vacation or feeling guilty, again, if they did ... They confused and manipulated the truth to the faithful into believing that the work (remember the etymology: torture) was a prize and Through this conception many people mistake the way and work hard and confusing and more also because half confused with truth. And they hurt their work thinking that they are enjoying a premium, when the reality is that torture without knowing it and that's what life is going. Analicémoslo. Let us then
this and ask: "Why work?". And the answer must, with its pluses and minuses, will be "to meet our needs." And here begins the best part. What are our needs? Enumerémoslas. I invite you, whom I read that you make your list, cross out and correct it, but do it. Of these listed needs What are the basic oy which the superfluous? "Which job? If I answer that only the basic work should answer in detail what my basic needs and when I say I work for my needs superfluous should have a good reason behind spend hours and hours and hours of my life working for something superfluous. Will I be a slave to my superficialities? And speaking of time: How much time I devote to my job? It may be the core of my life. Twelve hours a day devoted to the work, ten, eight. Is it so? Is this reasonable? Let us start with an extreme example but it happens, people between transport and laburo hours, it takes twelve hours to work What do I do in the other twelve hours a day? There would appear to average eight hours devoted to sleep, which I only have four hours of wakefulness, Monday through Friday. How I spend my free time? All we hear a phrase that is repeated like a whip: "I have no time", "I love to do, go with you, enjoy it, but I can not because I have to work." Is this okay? Reflect: no time to do anything that I like is synonymous with having no life to do what I enjoy. Do not have a life to be dead. Time if there is life there and available. The fact that chooses not to devote to what I most want is just that, a decision that can have a lot of logic behind, but not required absolute.
Let's review the logic. Let us start from the premise that the work is not bad, evil is not hard to live because of work, the bad is to forget to live to work, the bad is not knowing exactly answer what are the limits I am willing to cross the demands of my work, the trouble is not clear on priorities. Work

general insurance is a necessity for many like you who read me. But as necessary as gymnastics or walk every day or visit our affections, or not miss this performance of my children at school at the garden party or primary when it was a lion or playing the flute ... but not clear. I can not. I have to work. It is an obligation. If I get kicked out. I lose my career. What career? The work idiot. There are priorities ... priorities, hierarchies in the use of the time of my life, needs, interests, decisions, actions.

Work is a duty imposed upon me by history, culture to get something that allows me to live is to live well but not working and working well. Do not confuse the means with the end. I think he works hard in this life. Too. And the main reasons are two: 1st) We do not know what to do with our spare time. We do not understand leisure. Despise him instead of appreciating it. We prefer that someone at work tells us to do than tell ourselves how we spend our time. Outsource resource most expensive of our existence: the decision of what to do. We prefer that another decision ..., and 2nd) We feel guilty if you do not work hard. We vanaglioramos of company size, our hours spent, the effort to come to the silly to be proud of not taking holidays ... for the job ... See? Until we get to ponder and understand that it is not a good person, but "is a hard worker." "He goes to work" is said as a compliment and not thinking about the meaning.

Nobody says no to work. But nobody told us we should not think about what we do with our lives, our time with our "slavery" to meet needs that are not. Work should allow us to grow as a person and not the person is lost from work. Work is a means to give us the good life but the good life often means no work. Work well is health, is to create, to recreate, is also the "recreational" we miss the school, is fun, enthusiastic, but not otherwise, is not sick, not bored. This is not working well.
Human dignity is not given by the work done or the employer to whom he devotes his hours of the day. His dignity is a human being who is not the title of the work needed. The work is a job to live and not living is an occupation to work. Let us slowly but convinced: "Today I can not work. I have no time .... "

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I'm alone. It's night and I'm in my garden, sitting on a chaise lounge, occupying one square meter of land. A heavy book in my arms and light of a lantern that comes from behind me to read. Beginning to do so. I pause. I look up. Star night sky impeccable. I think. I'm in my neighborhood, who belongs to my people, my city, my state, my country. Country that is part of a continent, one of the five that exist in our world, our planet Earth. Planet where nearly seven billion people like me, in an area of \u200b\u200bthree hundred seventeen million square kilometers occupying a hemispherical surface, we usually see in pictures as a field representative. Area that is part of a solar system composed of several other planets in orbit around a star that gives us nothing less than light and heat, which we call the sun and that is two billion miles away from this round world we inhabit. I keep thinking. I resume reading. A beam emitted from its source sun takes eight minutes to reach my house, walking distance to my garden at the speed of light, ie three hundred thousand kilometers per second. I was impressed and can not stop reading. Our solar system, if you read yours and mine, is part of a galaxy in outer space, the cosmos, which we call the Milky Way (studied by Galileo in 1690 and by Kant in 1755 and called "milk" because when you look in the sky white color belies its star product, gases, and bodies that make up). Not if it were but concerned: this Milky Way is also "our" galaxy to give more details (and in the difficulty of giving exact numbers) say astronomical studies is between two hundred thousand to four hundred billion stars. I'm rapt. To plot it is somehow a "gated" enormous, "urbanization de puta madre "(the English would say, at least for its size, if not luxury). But I'm wrong. Is large but not quite. I read Carl Sagan and I find that there are many of these "neighborhoods" in the universe and that many galaxies double or even triple the size of "our" Milky Way. The amounts overwhelm me: it is estimated that there are over one hundred billion galaxies in the universe, which implies that there up there in the cosmos, nothing more, nothing less than seventy sextillion of stars (the number seven followed by twenty zeros , to be clear and express it in numbers: 70,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 of their respective planets stars above our heads, some flashing and signaling of existence, others, many in the dark does not imply their absence ...). I do a moment of reflection. Again I look up and think "that piece of asshole am!!, I thought I was alone. How can we be so foolish and petulant and think that the only place where no life is this grain of sand we call Earth? ". Silence. Continuous observing the sky with a little more attention while gaping head spin, aware of our smallness. This makes me nervous. Change the subject. In my head turned a question: "For how long will all this in the space ?. "Sagan me answer it again: the stars and the universe would, as all studies, fifteen billion years old. Repitámsolo: fifteen thousand million years. I try to understand the figure, try to understand the time and for them to reflect: an average human life today covers eighty years (generations ago much less). Comparatively, this duration of life is a sigh. I still think. It's been fifteen billion years since the universe exists in this tiny part of the cosmos, on earth, human life began only forty thousand years ago with the appearance of a man "smart" our relatives "the man Cro-Magnon. "Studies on the cavemen and evolution confirms this. Forty thousand years since the" hommo sapiens sapiens, 2500 from Socrates, only two thousand from Christ. Comparatively, this time with the past calendar fifteen billion years old the universe would, again, is nothing, is a moment just yesterday ... I was inevitable question arises: "What has happened before when there was human life on earth? It was a long time: 14 billion nine hundred and sixty thousand years where no one thought ... where no reasoned ... where no one knew it was going to die .... just nature and animals. What was it like the time of our planet? When the man was slow in coming? ". I start to feel uncomfortable in my chaise. I move, I settle and close my eyes. I think back to size: in the context of astronomical dimensions of the" neighborhood "of stars the planets in which we live, our, earth, occupies much less, but much much less than a millimeter square, and my square foot garden, where I sit, is something like an atom molecule. I go to move. I think of human beings and in the short time that has history if I compare it precisely with the time of the cosmos ... Definitely I can not stay still. I get up from my chaise, I stretch my hands and legs slowly, carefully, walk across my garden, I look up and distracted for the last time (with a tad of embarrassment) and I prepare to enter the house. When you open the sliding door I see an ant, very small, which moves in a hurry to their nest. I'm careful not to step on and still view your route ... As I understand it better ...

finally roused me and I go home. Time, distance, space and dimensions come with me. Reality slapped me. I come to a conclusion: insignificant size, small place, little time, neighbors who do not know ... many ... I call this place it.

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create, innovate, writing Beliefs and thoughts

Jules Florencio Cortázar was born Argentina Embassy in Brussels, Belgium on August 26, 1914. The son of an Argentine matriomonio by that time living in Europe, in 1918 he returned to Argentina and settled in Banfield, where he lived with his mother, aunt and sister. It was his mother who incidence in reading (with the great Jules Verne) and in fantasy. Cortazar will that she was watching the white clouds and silhouettes guess, and think about characters and stories. Julio Cortazar's child had a very fragile health and that fueled his passion for reading (so much so that a doctor ordered him to stop reading " because it made him ill "...). He studied at the Faculty and graduates Mariano Acosta Normal in 1935 as Professor of Arts, a title he used in his youth to work as teachers in various cities of the province of Buenos Aires. In 1944 he moved to Mendoza to give courses in French literature and the following year, having won the presidential election Perón decided to resign before yielding to pressure from a regime that intimidated him. Since there is professionally engaged in writing and in 1948 decided to study to become a certified translator of English and French. A three-year career in the nine months ago, an effort that causes neurosis and cure some of their fairy tales as "Circe" and "Houses Taken" (both stories intgrarán "Bestiary" published in 1951, a book that gives the beginning of a reputation that will not stop until his death.) Unhappy with the excesses of Peronism decide to leave the country and settle in Paris, France, city in which to live until the end of his days.

Julio Cortazar had a strong political commitment past their fifties. Toured America and won his copyright for political prisoners in the region. He was in Cuba and moved with the affection of his people by Che, ciurcunstancia who admire him to copy it to your own image (Ernesto Guevara's beard was what I decided, after a minor surgical procedure, to let it grow for imitate). This relationship with revolutionary Cuba was cut by Fidel when he publicly rebuked by his request for information on journalists persecuted by the Cuban government. Cortazar is also involved in the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua, a country he visited on several occasions. Pra close its intensity, was also in the Chile of Allende, who sympathized with the regime despite serious doubts about its efficiency.

Julio Cortazar had a love life as passionate as it was in everything. His first marriage (1953) was to play along to accompany him, with interruptions, throughout his career. His second wife was a Lithuanian, Karvelis, (1967) which decided in its ideology influenced in their political commitment. Her third relationship (and remarriage) was with the Canadian Carol Dunlop dies Cortazar two years before allowing his first wife, Aurora, accompany him on his final illness (leukemia) until his death in Paris in 1984.

His life was an example of its intensity. Cortazar wrote stories, essays, stories, novels, plays, poetry. Gave numerous interviews where he has intimate and sincere to the public. Read many of his works which are exciting and left records ideolígicas views and policies, written and filmed, which allows be present, even online to new generations of stakeholders to study and admire. Cortazar

changed classical literature. It was original. Fantasized about the words, reading rhythms. He played with phrases and with readers. Gave rhythm to his writing. Box fan and Jazz, it seems that he punches with his lyrics and paragraphs in fiction and folly as well as his stories set to music that is heard between the lines and enjoyed in every point and part. Borges said. He was surprised with his talent and passion. Cortazar is that caresses the soul with his directorial debut, "Hopscotch", a book that had never been born if not for his story after "The Tracker" ("My little Rayuelita" according to author). Cortazar's creativity never ceases. There were many works of art that complement the great timeless Cortazar, who won the cronolgía of days and years, as Cronopios and Famas "," Examination "," The Book of Manuel "or" Last Round " .

Their creativity and innovation still leave us a murmur is heard and not understood. As he wrote in one of his stories has left readers "standing in a corner while looking at what they think, but think about what they see." Cortazar genuine. Cortazar great.

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A times I have to give. Sometimes I bring too much pain to open up. In those moments all the love I have I need it for me. I do not want to know the world. I close my iron curtain fall behind.

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"Ideas and Beliefs", so defined by the great Jose Ortega y Gasset. Differences both concepts and be aware of the implications of such differentiation will help us understand behaviors, experiences, ways of being (never better defined the term). We open the mind to understand people, nothing more nothing less ...

The "beliefs" are beliefs that live in us. They even do not see them. Are the soil and subsoil on which we rely to live. Any decision we take has its substrate in what shapes our beliefs. We "settled" on it. We may not be aware of our beliefs, but even so, we are our beliefs. Let us act as we act, we do because of our convictions. The

"Ideas" are all those thoughts, structures that appear in our lives as a result of our intellectual pursuit. They are not in the depths of our being, but only on the surface. The idea is a thought, is an occurrence, is an architecture-conscious world of intellectualism.

What is the difference? It must think of a thing and have it. Let's see a concrete example to explain this: Ortega explained relative to us can happen "if the reader comes to the street now." You can absolutely go to the right, left, in shelter from the cold or heat it, or think of the place where it goes, if it is near or far, but there is something that DO NOT think, if when you go there or not street ... This is a given, ie "has it." This is the belief, as others are ideas. We see here the distinction is one thing to think about the options, think about things (ideas) and the other is to have them (beliefs).

another example not as extreme. If you declare that my team is a "big family" and it turns out that the lowest setting the income statement of the balance of the fire company to dispose of 30% of the workforce, which at the time declared it was an idea, not a belief ... In this case the decision betrays us, we act on beliefs that were not in the "statement" but in the subsoil thereof. It was just an idea ... shows of brutal hypocrisy idea ... but in the end. These ideas are living in an unreal world: the arrival of reality acts belief.

return to the topic of beliefs and thoughts, beliefs and ideas in mind that the ideas you have, in the belief it is.

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happened a year ago. I still remember it well, too well.
It was my secretary, it was Friday and went to a meeting near the Hilton Hotel in Puerto Madero. I went in and asked for the Business Center. I made a copy. I went to the fifth and while waiting to make me a photocopy and Scanning, people started walking really special for this floor. All warmly greeted to the person I was seeing who was behind the counter. I listened to the greetings that came from my back, " Hello friend," How's your day? ". . Short sentences were spoken with American tune (I know well and to make out) along with an affection that sounded like music between syllables. I turned with curiosity because the person who took care of me smiling in a particular way to greet them with his hand raised. I looked in detail. They came in wheelchairs, some without arms, hands all, some walked with a shorter leg, others were tiny stage, most were "otherwise" (because it is not for the "deformed"). Hotel employee looked at my face and I wonder then said: " is a hands-free convention painters." I nodded slowly. I got nervous. I did not know whether to greet or meet the smile with which I looked. I got the file scan my pen drive and walked quickly toward the elevator with his head confused. I got to the hallway, opened the door and went up with me three people: a very pretty girl with a poncho that covered a very young boy with a roll holder and a large mulatto then showed me his white teeth when I held the well kept door to enter. The elevator went down instead. I became more nervous. What was happening if I had pressed the "ground floor"? They laughed heartily and the blond girl looked down on the floor of the elevator transparent and shouted with joy when he recognized a friend. Moved in all directions and shouted to his mulatto friend, "is Ricardo! Is Ricardo!". He pulled over and bit her shoulder. I do not understand. What she was trying was to greet his friend, Ricardo beckoning to looking down the elevator from whom there was no distinction. My travel companion, this pretty little blonde with her poncho on your back, I could not say hello. I had no arms under the blanket. The mulatto was his "seeing-eye", his companion, a "normal" the care and support. And if I had to move her hands, she did it gladly. He did, always showing his white teeth. He enjoyed his work. Ricardo, down, almost hypnotized staring, reacted and raised his hand in the expected. That was happy with both. The boy who was to my right and who is my partner in this elevator (still getting high ...) was something strange, like something was missing, but I did not want or could not understand. Until my view (or my head) Discip: the paper holder had it hooked on something like a finger that left shoulder. Only one finger ... They talked among themselves with great sympathy, laughing the rise instead of fall. Inside I felt uncomfortable, not knowing where to look and to puteaba because the elevator seemed to Everest would go ... Suddenly stopped and started down. I thought "to end this quickly," . I looked down and making me the distracted side looking at the horizon ... or the south ... a lobby of a hotel that was approaching. Until we were coming. The elevator slows down and look up. The blond girl looked at me with round eyes and full, with an overwhelming sweetness, I smiled and said, "how nice ride share "!. Suffered as well. I did not know that answer ... I managed to look only and I swear I tried to reflect a "thank you ... I learned from you." I smiled embarrassed but grateful. Ricardo was waiting for them ...
went down and walked slowly. I needed air. I took to walking. Not far from my office. I tried in this way to understand what had happened. Scanned a document had a place to go and that had never been a point of meeting with people who gave me a life lesson. I was embarrassed, angry with the situation and complained about the wrong time and the elevator did not respond. They interpreted it differently: as a nice ride that I did not see ... I kept walking. It was silent, looking at what it looked. Were ten twenty blocks where I made a pact with same: do not want to miss more rides. My colleagues of the elevator had improved my diopter. Ophthalmologists were the best life now looked better.