It tells a story that on Earth there was a man who lived routinely and died away from applause and public acknowledgments, however it helped that millions and millions of people could live in peace.
It is not known what his last name was. He was known as Juan, the madman of flowers . There are those who claim that he was a unique son and was an orphan since he was very young. They say that was what gave her look a deep melancholy, which gave her big brown eyes a very special dye.
He served as a State employee. His task was routine, suffocating in some cases. Day after day he attended long queues of complaints that seemed to be traced. Withstanding such a dense vibrational load was a tortuous dehumanizing ritual. However, Juan knew that at least that way he could pay his bills at the end of the month, and that encouraged him to gather courage to get out of bed and return to work every morning.
Many times he wondered what the meaning of his life was, since everything seemed to take place within a circle that led to more and more of the same, however he could not find the answer. His neighborhood was gray, full of smog and incessant noise. Living in the central area of a huge city had its benefits when it came to transportation, but it reduced the quality of life. He hardly crossed words with his neighbors, because everyone was rushing behind his wishes.
Among so many modern buildings, his modest house seemed even smaller. Because of its old style, it was as if at that point in the great city, the last memory of what was once a picturesque neighborhood resisted dying crushed by the wild indifference of modernity.
Juan had a passion: he loved flowers. He didn't know why, but he felt that they were the reason for his existence. Never before has a man been seen to have such grace and delicacy when caring for plants. His garden was unique, special. Everything there seemed to shine. If someone had to exemplify what paradise would be like, it would undoubtedly show that garden. It was the natural beauty brought to its maximum expression. It looked like a true living picture, where color, harmony and aromas came together to dance in unity. Seeing it inspired life. However, no one had time to pay attention to it, because those who passed by were involved in endless thoughts that made them move mechanically.
If it weren't because he had to face his monthly commitments, Juan would never have separated from his flowers. Every day, when he got on the bus that took him to work, he felt he was dying. His body was hunched over. He walked like who crawls. Internally he refused to go every day to listen to the protests of those who incidentally took advantage of and unloaded their daily frustrations with the excuse of poor service. Only the vivid memory of its bright flowers saved him.
As his ears filled with complaints, Juan looked insistently at his watch. He counted every second. I could not wait to return to his garden. He needed to breathe again, he needed to feel alive. In the office his coworkers made fun of his strange way of behaving, since half a minute before the end of the day, he was always with his coat in his hand waiting to mark the card that accredited his work.
As soon as he set foot on the street, his body was erected, his muscles were toned and his gait gained a force never seen before. Not even the best illusionist could have made such a transformation. He could feel it. It was another man, he even smiled. His energetic attitude aroused suspicion among his co-workers, to the point that one day they decided to follow him to see where he was going, since they could not believe his strange behavior.
“Should he go see his beloved?” Said one with a sneer, knowing that he was a man who had trouble relating. Such a surprise they took to see that he appeared quickly in his garden - which faced the street - with a brown romper. As one who arrives at a sacred place, very slowly he took off his shoes and bowed before his flowers and kissed them one by one. Then he told them how much he had missed them and began to sing to them, while he caressed them gently. Those minutes were enough so that from then on, Juan was called "the madman of flowers."
His life went like this, wrapped in the routine to pay off his debts and being reborn every time his working day ended. In the eyes of many, their passage through the world was inconsequential. Anyone could say that, had he had it, Juan did not fulfill his life mission, since, apparently, he had done nothing significant.
The day after his death, in the high political estates of his city there was a secret meeting to determine if the country was going to war. In the midst of many discussions, the president asked for a break, because he needed to clear his mind before making the final decision.
Without the others knowing, he asked his driver to take him for a ride in his armored car. I needed to reflect on solitude. He wanted the destination that the president will pass in front of Juan's garden. As one who falls prey to a spell, the president could not take his eyes off the flowers. In a fraction of seconds, when contemplating such beauty and harmony, he became aware that war was not the right decision, as it would only bring more chaos and destruction.
The chronicle of that time tells us that for assuming a non-warlike position, the president received the Nobel Peace Prize, and his name came out in the media worldwide. He was the owner of all the applause and recognition.
What nobody ever knew was that the true peacemaker was Juan, who thanks to his deep love for flowers saved the lives of millions and millions of people, who would otherwise have perished in war.
Focused on his heart and ignoring every mockery, Juan made it possible for a piece of heaven to touch the Earth. He received no distinction nor did he reap applause. He loved flowers and honored life. Without knowing it, he fulfilled his mission. He was one of the many and so many anonymous heroes who daily help to co-create a world full of peace and harmony.
Our life is sometimes a bit like that, like Juan's, it seems to make no sense. However, if we listen to the voice of our heart, no matter how it seems, one way or another we will always be doing our homework.
Do not lower your arms. I kept trusting. You are also Juan.
