My name is Javier and, in one of the greyest moments of my life, I discovered an experience that still resonates in my body today. I was coming from a particularly hard patch: I had been fired, I had just ended a long relationship, and every day felt like a repetition of anxiety, pressure in my chest and a kind of constant lump in my throat. I felt trapped, with no way out.

I made an almost instinctive decision to walk away. I travelled without a definite plan and ended up in a wide park, surrounded by tall trees, with green grass that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. I walked aimlessly, until I came to the foot of a huge European beech tree. It was autumn, and the whole ground was covered with a sea of dried leaves of a deep orange, almost on fire. I sat among them, and the first thing I noticed was the warmth they emanated. Not just physical, but something deeper, as if the carpet of leaves enveloped me with an invisible but real warmth.

I stood there in complete silence for hours. I had no clear thoughts and was not looking for answers. I just watched. How the grass moved in the wind, how the birds pecked, how the clouds swirled slowly overhead. It was as if all my senses opened up: the sound was clearer, the colours more vivid, the air thicker. But most of all, my body felt differently: no longer a tense burden, but a channel through which something simple and good flowed.

I don't know if it was a spiritual moment, a necessary pause or simply a gift from the environment. What I do know is that when I woke up, something in me had changed. It was not the circumstances, but the way I inhabited them. Since then, I remember that place not as a place on the map, but as an inner space to which I can return when everything becomes noisy. Sometimes it is enough to stop, to listen without searching, and to allow the body to remember what the mind forgets.