The sun was shining that morning and the open flowers were giving their aroma. The birds were flying and singing but suddenly -just as the closing of a curtain- all the sky got dark, the birds came down from the sky, as best as they could and that beautiful place with a blue charming sky, was filled with sadness, melancholy and abandonment. A whisper, a great pain was heard in the distance, while a white coffin was seen; it was shining even in the darkness. It seemed that the moon was walking over the earth. I saw that the funeral procession was very large, almost impossible to count and I was moved by their anguish, then, I approached and asked: " Who died, the king, the queen, the prince, the princess or a creature?" And between sobs, they said: " They killed him in a very cruel way." I felt, moved, agitated and almost in an imprudent way, asked: " Please, tell me who has died and who killed him?" And what I heard, tormented me even more because I understood many things in that moment and although it occurred a long time ago, I still remember the broken voice as that of a mother taking the corpse of her son. That voice said: " Love has died and the lie is who killed him."

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Why is the madman wise?
Because, in truth, he is not mad. Mad are those that see him as mad, without realizing that they are the ones who are crazy.


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Wisdom can be compared to the mystic listening to the sea and who is able to understand it with clarity. Nevertheless, the regular man only says about the murmur of the sea but not about the words.


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For the true man, beauty is found in the depth. For the regular man, beauty is always superficial.

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They call him mad because his effort is like the one of the fool, the steadfast, the persevering and the obsessive. But when the time of harvest comes, he will be the only one to reap because he sees the difficulties in easy times and looks beyond. And when the summer is good, it means that the winter will be bad.
But who can understand him? Only another who is also called mad.

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And the madman cried and cried while looking at the night that was coming to an end. And he was asked in a mockery way: "Why do you cry?"
And he answered: " I cry because my friends, the stars, who are like little suns, poor dears, they are shy. And when the sun comes out in the morning, they leave fast." But then, when the sun started rising of the horizon, that madman, changed his crying for laughs. And said: " There is no need to ask why I laugh, I do because this wonderful sun comes out and soon hides again and I laugh because when that happens, those little suns that cover the infinite sky, will return again to their usual place."

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The ones who laugh at the madman, somewhat are laughing at themselves, because who has not been some time a little crazy in this life, as the madman is?

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