Nomadic gazes, fertile lands.

Hello friends,
I want to share a bit about how I practice and learn to open my gaze in multiple directions, without rush or judgment.
In the places I travel through, I discover beautiful lessons: how others live, what sustains them, what moves them, what they long for, and the fears they carry. Each culture reflects something different to me, and each face awakens new questions.

I find myself on a nomadic path, searching for a home—
a refuge where the madness of this world brushes me less harshly.

Yet, along my journey, the expansion, transformation, and flexibility of my identity have shaped new dynamics.
I’ve grown used to letting go of the need to be a solid being, defined by a single vision, a single value, a unique way of thinking.

Through wandering, my gaze has softened, my roots are portable, and my home… lives within me.

Our endless search for security is sometimes an illusion. Life can, from one day to the next, change direction, blow a different wind, shake us three times… and force us to begin again.

It’s not about surrendering to an uncertain drift, but about building inside ourselves a home we can carry everywhere.

Sometimes that home isn’t a single place but an archipelago—
separated by seas, yet conceived as one unit.

Family, friends, partners, our pets, our art, our passion, our service. All that we love forms part of the same dwelling.

Since 2011, I have been an emigrant.
I have had to rise again and again.
Not always in precarious conditions, but neither with great advantages.
Still, with effort, the journey has grown lighter.
And luck—that which is cultivated—has accompanied me.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that emotional support from others is a bridge to success, to life itself.
Sometimes it’s words, other times presence.
It’s that companionship that, even amid forks in the road or separation, lets you keep moving forward.

Today, I feel the true meaning of life lies in sowing seeds, and accepting that many times those seeds bloom in lands we can’t even imagine: in other hearts, in other minds.

Everything is a construction, and by its own nature, it has a beginning and an end.
Our task is to foresee—with love and care—that the end doesn’t become a collapse.
To prepare ourselves so that change doesn’t destroy us, but opens us, softens us, reveals us.

Today I write to you because I practice observation—one that guides me toward my center, my peace, my intimacy.

That is the most powerful seed, which in this fertile ground I lovingly cultivate, yields the best fruits: savoring myself from within.

It is my home, my refuge, one that grows with every step.

Let us be our own home, and at the same time, be home for others.

I embrace you.