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This is not a journal of days, but a thread through time. Here you will find reflections, memories, and signs—left like markers on a path that winds backward and forward at once. Each entry is a whisper from the stones, a flicker in the veil, a step closer to what we have forgotten but never truly lost. Read slowly. Something ancient may be listening.

Hortensia's Blog

Standing on the Edge

July 6, 2025

As I approached the age of retirement, I immediately started procedures to request early retirement. That meant retiring at 62 instead of retiring at the then approved age of 65. Many co-workers were astonished, even terrified by my decision. "What are you going to do?" "You will be bored to death!" "You are losing a 25% of your Social Security Income". My answer always was: "God has not given me a signed document saying I will live until I am 100."
Perhaps it was some old memory whispering the words of Marcus Aurelius to me “Do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over you. While you live, while it is in your power, be good.”

Fragments for the Universe

A time comes to every human when they look back on their life, reviewing what they have done — good or bad — for others, or for themselves. It feels like checking a private ledger, seeing whether they are left in the red or not.

But some, as they reflect on all they have learned, wonder: And now? Where is all this knowledge going?

Their experiences, discoveries, intuitions, and hard-earned wisdom — all they have gathered about the world and its people — seem destined to vanish with them.

Others, remembering those they loved or still love, ask themselves: Where will that great emotion go? Will those they loved feel it? Will they ever realize how deeply they were loved?

We all carry something — a fragment of knowledge, a feeling, an experience — that we wish could remain. After all, it cost us time, effort, sometimes even pain, to gain it.

Are we certain, as materialists claim, that it will all vanish when we do?

Or will everything we were — and felt — be gathered into the Universe, perhaps into the Akashic Records, as some believe?

Hortensia de los Santos

“The soul whispers its memories into the folds of the Universe, where nothing is lost — only transformed.”

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