There are those who start the day well or badly because of the sleep they leave with the sheets. He may not remember it, but surely the dream has left a luminous or murky legacy in his heart. There are those who start the day by pressing the button on the radio or television. Let, therefore, a script determined by an ideology or a trench work his brain from the first hour. There are those who start by looking at Twitter and it’s like inviting to breakfast a bunch of obsessives who are always ready to call it big, drooling over the most shrill or extravagant novelty (the fact that there are intelligent tweeters does not prevent those with the fixed pinion from predominating ). There are those, like my friend Xavier, who start the day by meditating for half an hour. He lies down on a bed, breathes in and out slowly, while freeing himself from dreams and nightmares. His head turns to an empty, white room. He was an impatient type, but now he reacts with the same serenity in mourning as in celebration.
There are those, like my friend Marc, who always gets up in the wee hours, starts the day reading the Gospel. The city still sleeps while he reflects on a fragment of these texts from almost two thousand years of history. He spends a long time thinking about it and then sends it to his WhatsApp contacts. Marc is a reserved, tenacious and creative guy. He does not need worldly passions: his heart boils within. There are those, like my friend Lluís, who start by reading poetry. Find the author who was born or died on that day, choose a short poem and read it aloud. From the resulting recording, he makes little poetic pills that he sends to his friends every evening before going to sleep. Thanks to him, during the year we make a breakthrough for universal poetry. Despite this numerous poetic list, Lluís is a melancholy man, with an always longing smile.
There are those who, in the early hours, do not have time for radios, texts or poems. The little ones hit target at dawn. Showers, breakfasts, cleaning, order, hurry: everything is done in the company of the electric and high-pitched voices of children’s activism. There is no more regular, constant and exhausting demand than waking up children who fly like birds around the floor, sing, play and fight. And yet, not even Mozart surpassed the music woven by children’s voices and laughter.
