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The important thing is to find the right tree.
No trunk is too tough, none. But the tree must be the right one, and the secret must weigh on us like the boulder moved by Sisyphus.
Dig, dig, dig deep.
And then confess it. No cheating.
Find any kind of mud: pastel-colored clothes, sudden downpours, sizzling foods, trembling fingers.
It doesn't matter.
Finally close the hole with that mud.
And continue living.
But those hours marked by that violin... For this, the tree must be the right one.
Every existence is shrouded in mystery.
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