This is not a story
Once upon a time, there was a town in which time went by at its own pace; its inhabitants did not follow time through the clock but by the observation of the sunrise and the sunset.
They also didn’t know about good or bad temperatures, they only knew how the crops bathed in the benefits of the seasons, so it seemed unimportant to comment on the climate.
Work was life; everyone collaborated for the benefit of everybody else, for the welfare of all.
Its inhabitants raised children no matter what family they came from. Grandparents took charge of the tasks that required wisdom, such as the complex decisions that called for knowledge and experience.
The young ones were apprentices of life; they were driven by tasks that challenged their physical and strategic abilities.
Adults were constantly balancing performance and experience, novelty and wisdom. They had the right to be attentive and the duty to be present.
Everyone had the right to express their thoughts and feelings, everyone had the right to be heard and everyone had the duty to listen.
Silence was valued as a sacred treasure, it was consider as personal time to reflect, evaluate situations, and carefully absorb the conversations with the grandparents.
People enjoyed tremendous benefits given by the earth and the sky. Clear water, generous land, giant trees, vigilant skies and clean air, these were the treasures of the town, and these made its inhabitants cheerful and generous people.
On the other hand, they had great challenges, powerful winds, abundant rains, overwhelming heat, and every so often surprises that shook the earth. These made its inhabitants respectful, brave and cautious beings.
There weren’t any conflicts; they had different lenses to look at certain events. There were no fights but differences of opinion. Men and women complemented their visions for the benefit of a greater good, the welfare of all.
Children grew naturally just as grandparents died naturally. The adults held the necessary conversations, those that they felt were important, and the young ones listen carefully taking the time to immerse into the words.
The artistic creation in all its forms was the food for the spirit of the people; this collective task unified them in knowledge, appreciation for beauty and in the communal transcendence of all as one.
The town had no word for happiness yet they did for life.
… He who believes creates
He who creates makes
He who transforms himself transforms the society in which he lives