Damned Words

Damned Words

Chapter 7: Cashier

  ISBN: 9781370018512

Traducir al español. (Original0

In October of two thousand and twelve I was able to return. It had been six long years. It would be cumbersome to explain why. I will say that I was back in the United States that year.

I had no job, no way to generate income that would allow me to support myself. I began an indefatigable search which resulted in me getting a job as a cashier in a supermarket.

My situation did not allow choosing preferences. I already had experience in working in stores, having lived and worked in Michigan, years ago, where I worked in a similar job.

The work in the cash registers of a supermarket is something serious. Not because of the effort itself, but because the interaction with customers, fundamentally, is complex, especially in a city like the one where I had managed to settle; with an influx of people from many parts of the world.

In direct contact with different idiosyncrasies, cultures, mental and educational levels, stereotypes; the devil with twenty hells together.

However, it was an agile job, without giving a chance for boredom. The hours flew. Like suddenly, the day was over. 

At the end, we laughed with sincerity. The smile of the rest of the day was to stretch our lips.

Our boss oriented us regarding our eternal smile, about showing an unconditional smile facing any event, formulating the established questions or statements.

—“Did you find everything you were looking for?" “Can I help you with something else?”

" Thanks! "," The same for you! ", sketching a beautiful smile.

I remembered a humorous play seen in my childhood, in which a director taught his actors to always smile.

It was a scene in which they had to carry a big trunk, but it had to be with joy.

He showed them, with his director's pointer, while jumping happily, how to load the trunk with joy; only that the pointer was ten thousand times thinner and lighter than the trunk that the actors had to carry; represented by three clowns.

—Did you see? With joy, to load the little trunk truncheon—He said while jumping nimbly holding the pointer with one hand and giving his bright smile.

The actors, who could barely carry the trunk, were panting, lifting the weight of the voluminous wood. They could not laugh.

I'm not exaggerating, something like this was happening in our team. It is an exact comparison.

I speak of an exact similarity because in addition to the perennial conflicts, the recesses were delayed, the lunches arrived half an hour later, in such a way that it was difficult to keep the good mood.

However, there were situations that are worth to tell. For example, I remember one occasion when a man of mature age came to my register with an object I had never seen before.

He threw it on the mobile mat and asked:

—What is this?

I took the object with care, I observed it in detail.

— I have no idea.

—Huumm!, what could I use it for? , how could I use it?

I kept silent. He pushed it towards the scanner.

—Check the price, please.

 I scanned the article

—One dollar twenty seven cents.

—Very well I take it.

I could say about many examples.

We listened and we saw all kinds of things. Protests, attempted robberies, robberies already done, bargaining, the cashiers women had to brook love's declarations, indecent proposition and even men had to be careful.

Any girl could turn out to be a man, and vice versa. Any look or misplaced expression was a possible problem.

In the same way there were kind customers, who want to help. They understood the worker's position.

Our store was not a bad place to work. Everyone worked hard. It was also a quiet area and it was very close to home. I got used to live with a modest salary. I rented a tiny room two blocks away. For several months I simply used a bicycle, saving the expenses about the car, the insurance plus the other associated expenses.

It also had another point in favor. It was a simple thing what was required, something easy and mechanic. I came home and I began to write, or to work on my photos, listening audio books; complete tranquility.

My free time was enough to feed and exercise the spirit.

I bought an old guitar. It sounded good. It tuned. It was enough for me.

Although I no longer composed as in my youth, I entertained myself in playing chords and melodies.

My room was less than small, just the necessary thing. Carrying out my subsequent projects, added to the help I always send to my family and my monthly expenses, would require resources. I needed to save as much as was possible. My room was extremely modest, also all my belongings, a modern hermit.

I had no silver cutlery, no decorative pictures, no old sculptures or bronzes, but I had a dream. Isaac Newton conceived the Law of Universal Gravitation under an apple tree. My modest laboratory was sufficient for what I intended to do.

It is not my intention to compare, but to explain that, even when my conditions were humble, my goals were ambitious.

My main plan was to write, publish a book; to share ideas with my fellows; ideas that, in fact, were almost never related to those fellows’ ideas.

My free nights gave me space for work and the meditation. I played my arpeggios in the guitar, thinking.

Sitting in the deaf darkness of the courtyard, I heard the sound flying the bright night, breaking it in notes; to penetrate the domain of the silence.

To make matters better, near my room there was a park with a large lake, animals, trees, wild plants; territory for my photos.

My photographs and my writing are reciprocally supported. They allow me to complete what I want to say, to transmit it without needing to use dozens of inaccurate sentences.

For me these are photos that call, ask or tell a story; stories which propose and urge to illustrate them with photographs, an interlock.

It is not a scholium, it is abbreviated technical clarification of an operational principle.

With the photos, texts, chords and dreams in my pocket, I was going to stand in front of a cash register, dealing with the beasts, eight hours, five days in the week, to supply my survival in its material dimension.

I understood that the presence of "the beasts" was the raison d'être of my work; my economic support and in a large extent, my family's.

There are sorrows that we have to suffer; a challenge learning to adapt, to live with them. Adapting our reactions, accommodate behaviors, measure words. Complete mastery of the conscious and subconscious.

I educated myself I moderated anger. I made friends, among my colleagues and among the customers. I came to love my work. I met people from all parts of the earth. China, Europe, India, of all the countries of Latin America, Canada, Japan, Arabia, Alaska, of countries that did not even know that they existed, of the islands of the Caribbean and other islands that scarcely appear in the maps.

I talked to them. While scanning their products and after asking them the formal questions, I streamlined the process and even made it less boring. I asked them about their countries, I accumulated data that would be useful to me, of course, without stop, working diligently, carefully, joyfully, with a sparkling smile, jubilant loading the trunk.

Four years passed. I did not notice them, they rolled through the cash register mat, and they stuffed themselves into the shopping bags, on my backs, into my hide that was no longer young.

They left without telling me anything. They left forever.

It hurts not to understand what it is that hurts us, to feel that something is missing to do. Seeing that we are late, we do not discover what life expects from us. Which is the north indicated by the compasses.

We can be a resource, a link or a tool. We are all instruments of God. That was my tranquility.

The only thing I had to do was to be fit, available, to let my being be used, at the moment that it would be necessary to let myself to be used and do it well. Then, my pain would disappear.

In my childhood I saw an old man who was dying. He seemed satisfied. His last hours flowed calmly, serenely.

—I did what I had to do— he said.—my function was fulfilled.

I did not know what function he was talking about.

He passed away, life escape from him like the dew from the plants with the rays of the sun, the same way it is going to escape any living being.

I decided to persevere, wait, trust, believe.

Successes, satisfaction and triumph are for those who persevere, trust and believe.

I will clarify before continuing, that my years have been rich in dissimilar curious events. I have taken hold in the belief that every second counts, every door we touch could open; give us a secret, let us germinate in new lands.

But, I see this with realism, the solid part of the magic. I do not let my convictions muddle.

I am not interested in divination, astrology, predictions or paranormal phenomena. I have never visited a chiromancer, I do not believe in occult phenomena, telepathy or forebodings, although I do admit the possibility of undeveloped powers and capabilities in modern man.

I am not an atheist, I believe firmly and indisputably in God, but my idea of God is beyond any explanations.

I remember a text read. Carlos Darwin stated: "In my opinion, this whole matter of the emergence of life and man, is beyond the reach of the human intellect."

I cannot say exactly. "What Darwin actually said" was called the collection of magazines, I'm not sure about the legitimacy or seriousness of the source, nor the date of publication, however if I remember the small booklets that formed the compilation and I believed the publisher was reliable. This phrase has made me think; I consider it a conjunction.

The validity of the comment will be seen.

One night, at the end, when charging a client, his total was $ 11.11. A number, the very strange thing was that the next two, bought a total of $ 11.11, likewise.

My shift was over. I went in search of my car to the parking lot to some place that I did not usually use. My usual place is in the back, where almost all the employees park. I left through one of the front doors following the direction of the right side of the parking lot. I came across a gentleman, I asked him the time; he answered:

—Eleven with eleven minutes.

I got in the car and was going to close the door, the moment someone called me.

—Sir —was the call.

I looked towards the place where the called came from.

I saw a boy approaching with a box in his hands. Nobody was in the parking lot.

The boy approached to me.

—Would you like to buy some chocolates?

I had no answer within my reach. I had no cash with me and it was absolutely inexplicable the presence of that child at such times, selling chocolates.

I remembered that I brought a couple of dollars. I took them out, I handed them to the boy. He started running with his money. Then a girl appeared at the other side of the empty parking lines.

She shouted to him:

—Do we have enough?

—No, Andreé, we have only two dollar and we need five to get the bus.

I called them.

—Hey! Come here.

They came closer.

—Do you speak Spanish? — I asked them. I wanted us to understand well. (I will write in English, but from that moment on, we speak in Spanish.)

They affirmed, looking at each other.

— Can you tell me, what the hell are you doing alone at this time around here?

They got scared.

— Mr. we sell chocolates, but if you do not like them, you return them to us and we will refund your money.

The boy spoke Spanish well, with an accent that denoted that it was not his language.

I smiled, in the middle of my perplexity.

— No kids, it's so strange to see children alone at this time. Even more, doing what you are doing.

—We know, sir—he said again—but we have lost our money and we have to continue on our way.

There are times when we act without thinking, without analyzing what we are doing or what it would be logical to do.

I should have asked them who they were, where they lived, call the rescue services to take care of them. It would have been better thousand variants or actions to take.

I thought about what they asked me for, money.

I gave them that.

The case my bank is close to my work is pure chance. When I opened my account with that bank, it was in another branch and I did not even work in my current job.

Then, when I started in the store, a bank establishment was across the street.

I crossed Coral Way and got forty dollars from my debit account.

When I returned to where I had left them, I had to look for them. They had moved away. I went to them and gave them the money. I argued that it could be better if they called a taxi, but without losing sight of them, I saw them boarding a bus to the east, that is, towards the downtown.

I walked guided by inertia to the stop where they got on the bus. I was thinking. Reflecting on what happened. I imagined my children in a similar case. No, my children would never be in a similar situation.

I arrived at the bus stop. I sat on his waiting bench. It was cold. The shopping area signs flashed their reds, blues, yellows and whites, mixing them with the headlights of the cars in their inexhaustible flow.

I opened one of the chocolates. I chewed them trying my brain to start going.

I found an abandoned backpack. Among other trifles it contained a faded wallet. It must be the boys' property. I grabbed it, I would see them again.

I left. In my city, everything can happen.

The next day, I discussed the matter with my colleagues, who, as expected, were not interest about that.

I had to be mid-morning at the door. It is a position used to greet customers, check receipts, control returns and some other functions.

It is boring, standing for hours waving to those who do not greet and being nice to those who seem to reserve to you the most warlike adversity.

Standing up, with open arms in welcome, with a stupid smile I dismissed those who left and received those who entered, to each one the own treatment:

—Thanks you for shopping in our store! , welcome to our store, how could we help you?

Suddenly I noticed the pictures on the left. It is part of a very noble effort that our company makes to obtain information about missing children. They are not recent disappearances, some have already been rescued, others will never can to be rescued.

I approached. I watched carefully. Two photographs caught my attention. I did not comment.

I got home. I messed up my things. I did not remember where I had put the wallet.

In one of the pockets of my pants, I found it. I found an ID. Mario Sullivan O’Connor that was the name of the boy, the picture was the same as I saw in the store, that's what I imagined.

Browsing the Internet, this link appeared:

"Mario Sullivan O'Connor missing"

They were not common last names. I investigated. According to a page the surname Sullivan came from Ireland, and also had roots in Spain.

The surname O'Connor was, in the same way, of Irish origin, one of the most illustrious surnames of Ireland, coming from at least six Gaelic clans, each with different branches, among them the royal family of Conchobor, the king prehistoric of Ulster.

There should be no connection with these celebrity genetic trees, unless I had been lucky enough to stumble upon two princes lost in time and place. What nonsense!

It was clear that they had disappeared, their photo asking for information about them; it was for that, to investigate their whereabouts.

Another link, however, attracted me.

"Mario Sullivan O'Connor and Andreé Sullivan O'Connor have disappeared from 1991."

Data and details were given. According to the dates, both were eleven years old at that present.

On the Internet there are things of all kinds, I would not recommend paying too much attention to everything that appears on the web, instead, it was a group of related and intriguing aspects.

Winter was beginning. The work in the store was intense, so when we took our breaks, time flew.

One of the mornings, on a Friday, during a break, a co-worker talked about some kids who had tried to scam him. I did not understand from the beginning what the boys' trick consisted of. I heard him say that they were two boys of different sex; due to my previous experience I listened carefully

My colleague, who apart from two penalties that had been placed on him for driving under the influence of alcohol or narcotics and three or four felonies in which he was been involved, was not known any other notation in his police record, unless one or another slight aggression that did not leave dead people; he was a respectable US resident.

He was talking about how the rascals had changed a price and pretended to take an item for the price of another. "They did not know who they were dealing with," he said proudly of himself.

He bragged about his past confrontation with the police, he had told them that if he had to stop driving, he would, that he did not need to.

With arrogance he gave advice to face situations. He clarified the boys' nonsense and laughed with a burlesque rumble of the perplexed faces of those who heard him.

The show was nothing to do with my interest.

I left the break room. I went to the parking lot. I saw the city, sad; it was disappointed of the people. But my feeling was not because of the matter heard about the boys, but for noticing in my comrades, admiration for the speaking personage of the recess room, who warned the reasoning and all feeling similar to invitation to reasoning, to keep out the margin.

I walked given to my musings.

A woman, friend of mine, says that I am an atypical being; that my soul does not fit in my body.

I believe that my soul is one more soul that lives in the ethereal space that we cannot see. The difference is that mine has had to live in solitude for a long time. Being atypical has its disadvantages.

The truth is that I feel my soul rarefied by inactivity. What is not exercised, get atrophies.

It took me a while to realize. If they had seen them by the store, then, they frequented the place, the area. It was less than two weeks after my contact with them.

Although I did not know the cause, the subject of the boys kept me trapped. It would keep me alert. I described them to two or three cashiers in the store and asked them to tell me if they saw the kids.

At home I had the backpack with the threadbare wallet, which was undoubtedly not from any member of the nobility of Ireland or anywhere else on the planet where there was a noble class.

I decided to bring the backpack and have it in my locker in the store where I keep my things. If I could get to contact them, it would be easier.

Arriving at my old car, a friend who also works in the store was parked next to me. He was enjoying abstracted some photos on his phone, the pictures had been sent by I do not know who. He lowered his window. He handed me the cell phone to share the photos with me, photos of a naked woman.

We talked couple of words. I locked myself in my car. I turned on the radio.

I have permanently tuned a station that plays songs of my youth. Then I noticed that something was stuck, it was putted on my windshield. It could not be a fine, because besides that when leaving the house I had not seen anything in my glass, I am extremely careful when driving, to the parking lot do not come police patrols to put fines.

I got off and checked it. It was an envelope.

It was empty. With a written word: “Thanks!”

I imagined there was inside. My friends, they had been there. Apparently, they did not know the city, or rather, the people who live in our city.

Either way, it was a nice, honorable gesture.

I entertained myself watching the mockingbirds, listening to their fluttering, their twittering, their varied trill. I got into my car again. I lowered the window. I listened to the resulting mix by linking the melodies of the radio with the concert of the birds.

I repeat this sequence often, as prophylaxis against stress. I go to the parking lot, I walk, I listen to the birds, what gives me time in my breaks.

In my head rumbled the ... ring, truch, trash, trunk, clip, which I hear at least ten million times in each of my shift.

That arrhythmic rattle of the cash registers, swallowing the deadly sustenance that the troubled world has.

I noticed in the receipt that was in my hands. When I left, I had bought a light snack. I paid with my food stamp card. On the receipt were the numbers: 11.11.

Although other information also appeared, my mind was predisposed to observe this detail.

What the hell did the damned numbers mean?

It is frustrating to believe receiving a message and not understanding it. It is even worst to imagine signs where there are only coincidences, thing which then life shows us in its harsh reality.

With my head resting on the back of my front seat, eyes closed, ears distracted by the sounds, I felt the repetitive numbers going down my neck, on my back, twirl my abdomen, cautiously avoid the hollow of my navel, walking on tiptoe by the belt, jumping to avoid the belt loops of the trousers, running in a hurry by my hairy thighs and legs to mysteriously to hide in my shoes.

Where, later they would take care to tie my feet tightly to don't let me go until my lethargic understanding discovered what had to be discovered.

—Shit!—I shouted, swatting left and right.

I left the car. Walking to my workplace I saw the digits come out of my clothes inside crystalline bubbles exchanging their positions from right to left, from top to bottom like if they no longer wanted to give me any message but only to drive me crazy.

I came across a colleague who asked me the time. I did not even check:

— Eleven o'clock— I said, not understanding why he stayed stared at me dumbfounded.

Ring, truch, trash, trunk, my cash register rang when I stood in front of it, opening its drawer to let me see the eleven bills it contained. I did not count them I had to reconcile with the idea that I had to keep working. Luckily that Friday ended my week and I would have at least one day off. I put on my flashing light to indicate that I needed change and coins.

But that fateful Friday would bring me other surprises.

I changed eleven times from a cash register to another, I went to the bathroom eleven times, for urgency of my bladder and to wet my neck, the hindhead; what refreshes me; It allows me to relieve fatigue.

Apparently someone pointed out to my superiors or maybe they saw for themselves that I frequently interrupted my work, so they called me to the office.

It is not usual in me, in my work what happened. A comment of that kind to my superiors is not favorable to me.

It is remarkable how man is the only living being who is pleased to harm his fellowmen. I have seen worse things. Not long ago I was able to see a story where some people rejoiced to see suffering a person covered by flames whom they blamed for a grievance. Horrendous, inexplicable; the neighbor is pleased with your discomfort or suffering.

But, well, they had not called me to sanction me but to know if I had any mishap.

My bosses know me; they know that I work seriously, the best that is possible for me, so they worried. The supervisor who assisted me has an excellent relationship with me.

I went into the office and after an introductory talk she asked to me:

—What happen?

I did not know how to explain exactly. I talked about my exhaustion, that I was nervous. It was not about anything related to work, but I was altered.

I said I had accumulated time and it could be good to take two days off.

She explained to me that I could join the free days of the week and it would not affect my vacation, which I thought I would use to travel to my country. In addition, the store was very busy and it was difficult to give days off.

I understood. We agreed. I would have the next two days without work and then I would incorporate. Perfect. I said thank you and I retired.

The following days I dedicated them to simple labors at home. Wash my clothes, cleaning, my communications with my family, upload photos to the network, the routine, but some details remained loose.

Domestic work therapy worked. I relaxed I recovered the good mood, however, I do not like to cure with palliatives on the effect, I like to cure the cause; but there are incurable causes.

The result of my meditation on the subject of the boys was to attribute it to fatigue, to the monotony of my life, to the distance of my daughter and others. So ... click and continue.

There was a time when I was in my country; we were in a desperate situation. Our income was minimal for all the expenses of a family.

Although it seems crazy to say, I had the idea of developing an application in C #, the language that was most familiar to me at that time, that would help me to predict, to guess, according to the probabilities, according to the numbers that had recently come out and the It was a long time since they came out, following abstract calculations of fuzzy math, along with millions of other events, the winning numbers, just hitting the hot spots.

It may seem an invention, a lie, but for months it worked. It was hard for me to stop thinking about that riddle that finally brought me lost. I achieved it with a similar pause. So I did this time. I took a breath.

The first day of work after the break, passed in calm. With the annotation that a user, of those with whom I have made friendship, gathered in a small group made certain curious comments.

My work has a characteristic. It does not give rise to personal feelings or appreciations. You're a machine; to greet, process, deliver, bye, bye.

New faces, preconceived expressions, uncertain words, pay the bill and leave, with the exception of nearby neighbors who come daily to buy.

We already know them. The client I mentioned before is one of them. His name is Alberto. He is a Cuban who has lived in the United States for decades; an intelligent, cultured, elderly man, who is fascinated by social gatherings and the lottery.

That day he talked about a miraculous event that guided him to play certain numbers. Success guaranteed. There is no doubt that parapsychology and the human mind are golden tools in the hands of those who know how to appreciate them.

I could not finish listening. My replacement arrived and I went to my break, but I found Alberto at the door.

—Come— I said— I want to tell you something.

He followed me to our cafeteria. I bought coffee for both and I began to tell him about the matter of the boys, of the coincidences, of the numbers and their repetitions, of the Romans and the Greeks, of hell and the thousand glooms. 

The fifteen minutes were not enough, after which I had to return to ...  the...ringgg, truchhh, trashhh, trunkkk.

Alberto was thoughtful. It would not be clear why.

The numbers ran through the kiosks of the store, hanging from the roof holders, tumbling, and snaked between the cars in the parking lot. There were not elevens in pairs; they were all and every numbers. They met maliciously; they waited, secreting malignant cabals.

After about thirty days, I found Alberto in another nearby market where I buy my lunches. The food is well prepared and the dishes are succulent.

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and I imagined that he would say to me: "Do not tell me again the story again about coincidences”. I was about to apologize for involving him or making him a participant, when he said:

— I've been playing the numbers for two weeks, eleven, eleven. It's a good number, no matter the order. Is mandatory, I have to hit the hot spots. They go after me everywhere.

Alberto's eyes were exorbitant.

—Calm down —I told him-don't pay attention to my nonsense, just coincidences.

—No, they are revelations, they are fucking revelations.

—That you believe, the true revelations we do not see them coming.

Our food was ready. I paid the two accounts with my credit card. When I took out my wallet there was no cash, there were a few cents left, eleven cents.

—Get this, save them, maybe it's another signal.

I threw them in his hand that closed just like the door behind me.

It was December, in a month my daughter would be eleven years old. I had to think.

But that's how it is. When I read about Darwin's studies, I was amazed at how many details and coincidences had to occur, how many spontaneous mutations over millennia.

How it was possible that complex structures such as DNA were formed, complex organs were built by a gradual evolution, taking into account that the intermediate structures were not considerable.

—You have to believe in the coincidences—I told to my self—or maybe it's better to believe in the will of God and in ourselves.

Man is not prepared for life, which is a project for which the human species is not ready.

It is not in the material part of the infrastructure that we could seek change, the way.

We have already explored, traveled and exhausted the material roads.

I recently read of an expedition planned to Mars. A Corporation called Mars One carried the project. The news was:

  "Mars One aims to establish a permanent human settlement on Mars. Several unmanned missions will be completed, establishing a habitable settlement before carefully selected and trained crews leave for Mars. Funding and implementing this plan will not be easy, it will be difficult.

The Mars One team, with its advisors and established aerospace companies, will assess and mitigate the risks and identify and overcome the difficulties step by step. Mars One is a global initiative whose goal is to make this the mission of everyone on Mars, including yours. If we all work together, we can do this. Let's go to Mars”

This was extracted from the web, literally. We had already ruined the earth, now we were going to destroy Mars.

If carried out, soon also the paths of Mars and towards Mars or towards any other end of the universe, would be equally explored, traveled, spent and devastated.

Ringg, truchh, trashh, trunkk, ringg, truchh, trashh, trunkk, ringg, truchh, trashh, trunkk. The cash registers shouted in unison, the next day of work.

I came up with the idea of subtly sharing eleven experiences every day from which valuable points could be extracted, also avoid eleven lies, or give eleven traditional medicine remedies.

Give me eleven bites on my tongue every time I say a stupid answer like the dozens that I usually say of when the customers give me brusque answers.

So to speak, I could already have a laceration in my liver caused by fluids Cortisol, Thyroid, or what other hormones that handle stress and bad mood.

It was a Thursday; said insipid Thursday there was another phenomenon of those who incite to lose faith in man.

Around the store was a man with a guitar. He played instrumental melodies, not classical music, although of an impressive beauty. I had a small amplifier or so it seemed and the guitar, nothing else. 

He got tips. I saw many visitors stop and give money to him.

To the cashiers men,  are often assigned to work picking up shopping carts, this was my function for that morning, so I had to be circling around the parking lot.

I stopped two or three times to watch the execution of the guitarist. At first I listened to the melody distracted, but there was a moment when the performer dropped the money given by some young people. He bent down to pick it up and I noticed that the music was not interrupted.

It was curious. I noticed the chords he played and the notes, treble, bass and tones that sounded. I play guitar, I am not a virtuous, but in addition to playing, I can recognize how it is logical if the interpretation corresponds to the chords or movements of the fingers and hands. There was no correspondence, it was a recording. What a joke!

The hours ran and I returned to my room. I was hopeful that tonight I could sleep better. I was exhausted and tiredness is an excellent sleeping pill.

As always, I checked my correspondence, I sent my emails to my family, I checked the activity in my accounts, everything was normal.

I was assailed by the idea of reading about an aspect that is not included in my routine habits. I had been dreaming of numbers. I already said that I am not attracted to those predictions linked to dreams or premonitions guided by ideas when we are in the state of unconsciousness; however I spent almost two hours reading.

I read that dreaming about numbers brings different connotations. They help us to know better the internal aspects of our being and to reflect on the way of relating to the people around us, which accentuates the desire to win and not to conform. It can be equivalent to an approach to business. Businesses for me were very limited, but I kept reading. I will quote verbatim what was found.

"Throughout the history of human experience, mysterious numbers and strange sequences have appeared. Even in nature we find numbers, often grouped into sequences and patterns that seem to form a structure underlying all of reality.

Two of the most impressive examples are the Gold Ratio and the Fibonacci Spiral, which imply a higher order of measurement behind what many of us take for granted, such as the proportion of our own body.

Number 1 reminds us that we create our own reality with our thoughts, beliefs, intentions and actions. It is often said that when repetition 1111 appears, it represents a "wake-up call", an "Activation Code", an "Alarm Call" or "Consciousness Code".

It can also be seen as a key to opening the subconscious mind, and it reminds us that we are spiritual beings having a physical experience, rather than physical beings who embark on spiritual experiences.

When you notice that a sequence of 1111 appears repeatedly, you can have an increase in the synchronisms and improbable and miraculous coincidences that appear in your life.

Sometimes, when you are about to reach an important spiritual moment, the number 1111 can appear in your physical reality and show you the imminence of the change.

When the number 1111 appears to you, take note of the thoughts that you had just at that moment, since 1111 indicates that your thoughts and beliefs align with your truths.

For example, if you had an idea inspired by the time you saw 1111, this would indicate that it would be a positive and productive idea and you should carry it out.

When Number 1111 appears repeatedly it means that an energetic portal has been opened for you, and it will quickly manifest your ideas in reality. Your creative power is very great at that moment.

So do not be afraid, the numbers are trying to help you. "

This was what I read.

I cannot and I do not want to say that my reading was the cause, but an impulse. From such circumstances, in which nothing material had changed, I decided to start a small business, I registered it, I bought tools, equipment, resources, so that it would start to work.

I started printing and selling postcards as well as digital images for business announcements. I unearthed my desire to write. I published stories and illustrated books on the net.

In other words, I have conceived the greatest of my dreams; give space to the being who wants to be, let my soul grow even if it leaves my body.

The previous year I made my tax return where I linked my business.

I had important news. My daughter, who was about to be eleven years old, unexpectedly enrolled in a specialized music school, which was an illusion unattainable for me.

My humble work has made this possible, guaranteeing my livelihood, for allowing me to help mine, for giving me lessons in humility, helping me to penetrate human nature and a thousand additional details.

I found my friend Alberto recently, who has not win the lottery yet, or the play four with the combination 1111. He clarified that he would continue trying.

—And you? What are you gonna do?" He asked with a frown.

—I'm going to live, brother because it may be eleven years, days, eleven minutes what is left to me. I have to forget fatigue a little.

I said that, convinced.

I stopped my foot so not to crush the pairs of ones that came out of their pants, mixing with the hurried passers-by.

"There are no accidents or coincidences in life, everything is synchronization, because everything has a frequency. It's just the physics in life and the universe in action. “ — said Rhonda Byrne.

The successes, the satisfaction and the triumph are for those who persevere, trust and believe, mine, should not be so far, according to what I see as success. I did not see the boys again. I had already been told what I had to be told.

I said goodbye to my friend and clicked to give me the escape signal.