These were the times of heresy and discovery.
These were the days Ivan (first from the right) introduced me to a Rosicrucian Order, and challenged my faith and dogma.
These were the days our maid took me to gnostic masses and challenged me to see my privilege.
These were the days of attempting to extract nutrient from flowers to feed the hungry, of seeing specters appear and glide, of exploring abandoned scientific instruments in a University closed by the army.
These were the days before the girlfriends and the bullets, before the depression and suicidal thoughts. These were the days before the hanging by my ankles over a four story building to make me panic. These were the days before the finding of my true strength.
These were my Zacamil days, when that funny looking boy, second from the right, saw the world open up and the storm of time showed him infinity and the eternal power of not being.
Was I ever truly him? How did he know to survive by becoming me?