Las más altas torres,
los cuatro jinetes,
las trompetas del juicio final,
ante las límpidas tinieblas,
ante el más inocente e intocable
de todos los silencios.
Tower. It was not easy to scale that tower, inclined, like in the Tarot. Its North side, the apparently most expeditious one, was populated with slippery humid moss and liquens. It had by custom to make me accompany by Gérard de Nerval, whose inestimable aid in the previous tasks of scaling to the love ones never I settled completely. That atanor was not easy to still attack nor with the most militant and provoking advice of Friedrich Nietzsche. Damn it is, whenever I think about my then loved Dánae comes to my mind that Tower from Babel and the immaculate Virgin Maria who inhabited it. I there underneath, as a Toro of Crete and that tower resisting to my you attack…