Today I moved out from where I was living back to René’s house while he’s in Mexico, for three weeks. Despite looking forward to the elegant simplicity and good location of this home, I found myself reeling at moving once again. For the past few weeks something inside me has been protesting against this nomadic lifestyle. Being homeless is not fun at all when you’re bound to a city, but it’s wonderful when you’re a vagrant. When I finish the work that’s bounding me to Madrid, I’ll surely wander off and make the most out of what is perhaps my last summer in Spain. I don’t have any plans yet, but in my heart I wish to spread some roots. Though I love Spain, I don’t see a sustainable way of staying here much longer. But time and time again unexpected doors have opened, so I set intentions only in the most general terms.

Today I read a quip on Goethe’s autobiography that intrigued me: when you write about generalities, it’s a symptom of spiritual sickness. He remarks this after engaging in it during some pages, and the contrast is quite striking. Goethe clamors for a poetry of the moment, engaging in overarching themes is a folly which will distract you from the present moment. I found this remark surprisingly modern, in accord to what contemporary spirituality teachers repeat ceaselessly. In this state of feeling rootless I also find myself examining my life in a more abstract way. It’s rumination. I’ll root myself in present experience.

I’m in José Acuña Library in Argüelles. It’s Friday evening, near closing time. People are getting restless, I hear pencils being put away. Someone behind me is packing boxes with scotch tape. A phone vibrated. A lady drank from a bottle of water. A phone rung with a sound I’ve heard often, but I ignore its source. The person next to me has begun chatting. Now the one in front of me too. There is no focus in this library. People want to leave already. I peeked at the tablet next to me, the guy is pretending to study hydrology, but he’s whispering something to someone at another table. I just noticed that the person in front of me is wearing a white polo with Spain colored stripes on the collar and sleeves, and instead of the Ralph Laurent polo horse it has a Spanish fighting bull. A student stood up and is packing up. Multiple zippers closing. It’s time to leave.