If you never sensed in your heart the holy solitude of a matador,
If you aren’t amazed by the trees from which corks are made,
Nor either the sounds and staccato hammering of gypsy flamenco,
Failing to make your blood flow like a flooding Amazon,
Then go search and discover the earth of life.
Dig in it, run it through your fingers,
Get down on your knees and smell it, taste it, sleep on it, it is one with your creator.
And question not the few grains that discolor your shirt,
They are the badges of your awakening.