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Finding myself at the axis, in the days when the Earth seems to pause upon itself, I moved through the closing of an intense process. It was not an abrupt ending, but a slow decantation. As if everything lived throughout the year had been waiting for that exact point—that instant when the light stops advancing—to reorganize itself from within. During 2025, I began to understand that the serpent was not only a mythological symbol or a spiritual archetype inherited from ancien

Stories have no beginning and no end. They are a constant of instants, an infinite network of finite parts, a fractal reflection of a void that fills the cosmos with chaos, of paths that expand back toward the origin. And perhaps that is why this is not a new beginning, but a new ending that inevitably leads me to a new origin, to the moment where everything began. If I remember correctly, this story also began at Christmas, but clearly in summer, in my hometown in Argentina,