Manifesto

my story is probably a lot like yours.
made of wounds, laughter, raging hope, and quiet miracles.
i was born in belgrano, buenos aires—
three in the morning, emergency birth.
my mother was alone.
the biggest snowstorm in the history of san martín de los andes had just hit.
no cars, no planes, no way for my father to get to her.
and she almost died bringing me here.
that is how i arrived.
through pain. through isolation.
and through a woman who gave everything to make sure i lived.
they say i was the perfect baby.
i did not cry.
i only smiled.
but if you ask me what my first real memory is,
it is not joy.
it is not light.
it is rage.
it is fear.
those were the first visitors.
and i had no words for them back then.
just a body full of screams with no names.
before i say more—
let me be clear.
i had everything.
food. love. safety. family.
i was one of the lucky ones.
and still—
something had to break.
because that is the only way we remember.
i have met people with billions who were starving inside.
i have met people with nothing who glowed like the sun.
so no, pain does not care about your résumé.
wounds come for everyone.
and when they do—
they are not a punishment.
they are a doorway.
mine came early.
at five years old
i was diagnosed with a rare type of juvenile arthritis.
an autoimmune illness.
my knees, feet, fingers and body—
would swell until i could not even walk.
And maybe, now my first true memory comes to life:
my mother carrying me onto a plane, crying,
trying to save me.
every few weeks we would fly across the country.
doctors. needles. blood tests.
more needles.
so many needles.
and my mother holding my hand through every one.
she never stopped looking for healing.
from hospitals to reiki.
from acupuncture to priests.
from western medicine to whispers in the dark.
she searched everywhere.
and i was angry.
because i was a child.
and children think they are the victims.
but now i know.
her pain was deeper than mine.
and still—
i would have never said this before—
arthritis was the best thing that ever happened to me.
it took away my body.
but it gave me something else.
it forced me inside.
and inside ended up being where i met the first sparks of my soul.
i lived in a town where sports were everything.
and i could not play.
so i turned inward.
i started playing computer games for hours.
and without knowing it—
i was learning how to search.
how to solve.
how to build worlds.
and while all that grew,
so did my insecurity.
especially with women.
especially with myself.
i hated my body.
i hated my weakness.
and the more fear i carried,
the more cruel i became.
yes—
i was cruel.
i hurt people.
i lashed out.
and i do not regret a single moment of my life—
except those.
the moments i tried to make someone else feel small,
so i could feel big.
the moments i became what hurt me.
my heart still breaks when i remember.
but i do know this:
the ones who hurt are the ones who are hurting the most.
and healing is not justice—
healing is kindness when it is hardest.
the monster you see?
he is just a child in too much pain.
but it is easier to hate than to hold.
so i am still learning.
still bleeding.
still trying.
and maybe that is the truth of us all:
we are not healed.
we are healing.
We are remembering.
somehow—
through time, grace, and the ferocity of my mother's love—
the illness began to fade.
but the fire it left behind
became my compass.
those years alone with games and fantasy
taught me how to find answers on my own.
how to type a question into a blank screen
and hope the truth would answer.
and one day, it did.
i must have been sixteen.
in pain.
lost.
and i searched:
"how do i stop being insecure?"
what a question.
what a beginning.
that search led me to alan watts.
and with him,
the first true remembering began.
not of a fact—
but of myself.
a few years later,
you might have met me through lasfotosdebenja.
then benjamin viulet.
and now,
maybe,
just maybe,
you are starting to meet me.
and this—
this is my yesterday.
not polished.
not proud.
but mine.
and sacred.
I love you,
Bv

we were taught to chase idols.
money.
fame.
status.
sex.
beauty.
tomorrow.
always tomorrow.
the whisper of "just a little more."
just a little more applause.
just a little more control.
just a little more love.
but what happens when those who have it all—
all the money,
all the fame,
all the beauty—
end their lives anyway?
what happens then?
we were taught lies.
we were taught that art is for the elite—
a luxury reserved for those with enough status to "deserve" it.
or its opposite:
a bland decoration.
a prop.
something to match the curtains.
something to forget.
but here i stand,
before you,
to say:
true art is neither.
true art is a mirror.
a place where you cannot lie.
a place where your masks melt.
a place where consciousness touches even the parts of you still hiding, still
afraid.
you ask,
"what is the use of art?"
but that question is not yours.
it belongs to the world that trained you.
a world built on three sacred idols:
money.
fear screams: if you do not have it, you will die. obey. shrink. perform.
fame.
say you are.
ego whispers: be seen. be celebrated. be approved. you are only real if they
beauty and power.
the world hisses: be the trophy. own the trophy. only then will you be worthy
of love.
and yet—
why do the rich destroy themselves in silence?
why do the famous numb their minds with addictions they cannot name?
you know why.
you feel why.
because something inside you is still alive.
that something—
is essence.
the eternal flame.
your truth.
the thing no applause can replace.
the thing no idol can fake.
true art exists to tear you away from the idols and return you to yourself.
it exists to say:
you are not here to perform.
you are not here to be palatable.
you are not here to win the game.
you are here to remember.
and to remember—
you must feel.
art is not for the rich.
art is not for the perfect.
art is not wallpaper.
art is a holy confrontation.
a sacred reminder.
a call back to essence.
and yes—
your mind may resist this.
your mind was trained to obey fear.
do not blame her.
she did what she had to do.
but now—
the time has come to outgrow survival.
the time has come to fly.
there is only one noble pursuit in this life:
to remember who you are.
to choose love over fear.
to create from essence.
and to give that creation back to the world
as light.
idols are everything that pull you away from yourself.
idols are not evil—
they are distractions.
they are tomorrows.
they are masks.
they are noise.
truth is now.
truth is experience.
truth is love.
if your heart stirred reading these words,
you already know the answer.
the world does not need another idol.
it needs you.
raw. real. remembering.
i see you.
i know you.
i love you.
and i have been waiting.
essence leads to essence.
leads to heaven on earth.
and heaven,
has always been here—
inside you.
I love you.
Bv

love is the only thing that has ever been real.
the only ever eternal truth.
the thread behind every breath,
every scream,
every silence that dared to hold us.
love is god.
not the bearded one on a throne.
not the one who watches.
but the one who becomes.
and god—
in infinite love,
in unfathomable tenderness—
made a world so covered in illusion,
so soaked in suffering and separation,
that love would not be something forced upon us.
but something chosen.
freely.
bravely.
that is the beauty.
that is the test.
that is the point.
love is not a costume you wear when you meditate enough.
love is not being a floating vegetable priest who thinks being human is
beneath them.
love is being human.
with all its rawness.
with all its laughter.
with all its fucking mud.
love is laughing when someone slips
and then picking them up.
it is calling out someone's bullshit
and still staying for dinner.
it is crying mid-sentence
and finishing the poem anyway.
it is letting people see you—
truly see you—
even when you have nothing poetic to offer.
love is not the absence of pain.
it is the courage to hold it.
to walk through it.
to still choose softness after the wound.
love is everywhere.
even when it is invisible.
even when it hurts like hell.
especially then.
because every time you break
and you stay open—
you are remembering god.
and god is not waiting for perfection.
he is hiding behind your grief.
behind your shame.
behind that moment you wanted to run—
and stayed.
that moment you wanted to scream—
and instead held someone's hand.
this world was built to forget.
but you—
you came to remember.
and the bravest thing a soul can ever do
is choose love.
again.
and again.
and again.
without a guarantee.
without proof.
without reward.
just because it is true.
i do not care what you believe.
i care how you love.
i care how you forgive.
i care if your heart still opens after being shattered.
that is the only revolution i know.
not louder guns.
not smarter arguments.
but deeper love.
and if i fall
let it be falling into that.
into presence.
into grace.
into the arms of the only thing that never left.
love.
the first word.
the last breath.
the forever.
Love is you picking your self of the ground,
removing the dust,
and walking again.
Love is the word "yes".
I love you,
BV.

the heart is the true guide.
the compass beneath all noise.
the silent voice that does not speak in words,
but in knowings.
you have felt it.
in your chest.
in your bones.
you always knew what you had to do.
you just feared doing it.
that knowing?
that is the heart.
and following it—
is not poetry.
it is not romance.
it is courage.
to follow the heart
is to walk toward the thing that terrifies you—
but feels right in your soul.
it is the decision that makes no sense on paper,
but feels like truth in your ribs.
logic will scream.
it will give you a list of reasons.
it will speak the language of fear:
"wait."
"think."
"what if."
"what will they say?"
but the heart is older than language.
it does not care for structure,
or safety,
or social reward.
the heart is the sacred keeper of your essence.
it is where your truth was stored when the world taught you to forget.
and now,
to remember who you are—
you must return to it.
you must act from it.
even trembling.
even afraid.
true wisdom is not of the mind.
true wisdom is of the heart.
the mind calculates.
the heart knows.
the mind protects.
the heart reveals.
the mind survives.
but the heart—
the heart lives.
and you?
you were made to live.
to follow the heart is to plunge into the unknown,
to leap before you see the ground,
to act not because it is safe—
but because it is true.
and when you do—
something wild happens.
life begins to move.
things begin to align.
and you start to feel what it means to be in flow.
you stop doing so much.
and yet—
more gets done.
you stop striving.
and yet—
more begins to happen.
because when you act from essence,
you are not pushing life.
you are being life.
you become a current,
not a swimmer.
so do not wait.
do not overthink.
act.
act from the place you know is right.
act from the quiet center that has been whispering all along.
act unapologetically.
even with fear.
especially with fear.
this is not recklessness.
this is not naivety.
this is the oldest kind of knowing there is.
courage is the man who follows the heart
over the voice of fear.
and when you do—
you will feel it.
that small, wild return to yourself.
a remembering.
a homecoming.
so if you are waiting for a sign—
this is it.
follow the heart.
and the rest will follow.
I love you,
Bv

there are many truths.
not one.
not two.
many.
there is the truth you needed to hear yesterday,
the one that saved your life.
and then, maybe,
tomorrow—
that same truth sounds like nonsense.
like a cage.
but it was never wrong.
it was what got you here.
truth has levels.
layers.
dimensions.
what resonates now,
might dissolve tomorrow.
and that is not betrayal.
that is growth.
i write these words
as my truth today.
not tomorrow.
not forever.
just now.
and even now,
as i write them,
i am already envisioning new ones.
because consciousness expands.
because i expand.
because you do too.
the mind wants a final answer.
a solid ground.
a "this is it."
but truth does not work like that.
truth flows.
truth dances.
truth evolves.
what was sacred yesterday
may be illusion today.
what made you cry last year
might make you laugh now.
and what you once denied
might become the next doorway to your freedom.
so here is my invitation:
take what resonates.
leave what does not.
do not chain yourself to anything.
not to an idea.
not to a label.
not to a team.
not even to your own past.
do not say "i am this."
"i am that."
no, beloved.
you are.
do not grasp at frozen words.
"i am gay."
"i am straight."
"i am republican."
"i am democrat."
"i am pro."
"i am anti."
no.
you are alive.
you are changing.
you are becoming.
words are beautiful—
oh, so beautiful.
but they are dead things.
they freeze a moment.
a breath.
a thought.
and the moment they are written,
they have already begun to expire.
do not build your home in a graveyard of old truths.
feel what is alive now.
your only real guide is not your mind.
it is your heart.
your deep, inner knowing.
that quiet hum behind thought.
and when the student is ready—
the master appears.
the master might be a poem.
a stranger.
a sunset.
a heartbreak.
a silence.
and then, when you grow—
that master will disappear.
not because it was false—
but because you are ready for the next one.
truth is not something you find.
it is something you grow into.
layer by layer.
breath by breath.
so let it change.
let yourself change.
do not chain.
love above all frees.
be like water.
formless.
present.
true.
and if one day
these words no longer fit you,
bless them,
and let them go.
that, too,
is truth.
I love you,
Bv

the mind is the most powerful tool we were given.
it is the creator.
it is the lens through which we shape the world,
invent languages,
build civilizations,
make fire,
write poetry,
open portals.
the mind is the great spear of action.
but somewhere along the way,
we forgot who holds it.
we stopped using the mind
and began to be used by it.
and so, what was meant to be
our greatest servant
has become
a terrible tyrant.
we attached our consciousness to it—
fully, blindly, constantly.
and now,
we believe thoughts are us.
we believe the voice in our head is self.
but it is not.
you are not your thoughts.
you are what sees the thoughts.
what witnesses.
what remains.
what knows.
this is the most important thing i can tell you:
you are not the mind.
you are the one aware of it.
and until you remember this,
you will live as a prisoner
in a palace meant to be yours.
the mind, when forgotten as tool,
becomes a looping machine of logic and structure,
of separation,
of words.
and words… are division.
they fracture the whole.
they slice the world into "me" and "you,"
"this" and "that,"
"right" and "wrong,"
"safe" and "dangerous."
and in that separation,
fear takes root.
that is why the mind,
for so many,
equals fear.
not because it is evil—
but because it was left unsupervised.
unwatched.
unremembered.
we allowed the programming.
we allowed the noise.
and the mind, loyal servant as she is,
built her empire out of the code we gave her.
but the time has come to reclaim her.
not destroy her—
reclaim her.
to become so profoundly aware of the self behind the thoughts,
that the thoughts start to bow.
that the noise begins to quiet.
that the tyrant remembers:
she was never queen.
you are not here to be ruled by the mind.
you are here to use her
as a bridge between heaven and earth.
as a sword of action guided by heart.
as a translator of essence into form.
when aligned with your truth,
the mind is miraculous.
sharp. luminous. precise.
but when left in charge of your life,
she will spiral, divide, panic, control.
because she was never meant to carry the weight of your soul.
that is the heart's job.
so now,
i invite you to become aware.
to watch your thoughts without clinging to them.
to witness the machine without confusing it for your identity.
and then—
from that quiet witnessing—
you will begin to feel power return.
not the power of control.
the power of clarity.
of presence.
of being.
you are not your thoughts.
you are the sky in which they pass.
you are the stillness watching the storm.
you are the consciousness that has no name.
remember this,
and the mind will remember her place.
not as master—
but as sacred instrument.
and then…
you will not fear her.
you will wield her.
as she was always meant to be.
I love you,
Bv

my philosophy of life
or better said: the way i feel this human experience in my bones
if i had to put into words what i know—
what keeps me breathing, creating, being—
it would be this:
everything in this world has its own essence.
the sun was born to shine.
the river to flow.
the tree to grow.
the bird to sing.
and they are not doing it to be loved.
they are not trying to succeed.
they are not comparing or doubting or performing.
they simply are.
and from that being, everything unfolds.
this is what i believe about you.
this is what i believe about me.
we came here to be who we truly are.
and from there—
from that alignment with our essence—
life begins to sing.
but somewhere along the way,
we forgot.
when we were children, we were already whole.
before language, before the mind learned to doubt,
we were just being.
breathing. playing. feeling.
connected to everything.
there was no division between you and the sky,
between your body and your joy.
you were essence. pure and clear.
but then the world came.
and it was loud.
and it was afraid.
and it whispered things like:
"be careful."
"be smaller."
"do not be too much."
"do not stand out."
"survive."
and we listened.
of course we did.
we were little.
we were scared.
and so we gave our hand to fear.
to the mind.
to survival.
and slowly, layer by layer,
we began to forget.
we began to perform.
to hide.
to shrink.
to choose approval over truth.
and the essence—
our unique, unrepeatable flame—
we buried it.
not because we were weak.
but because we thought it was the only way to be loved.
to survive.
but it never left.
and that is the miracle.
your essence never left.
it has been patiently waiting,
deep inside your chest,
burning low and soft,
for the day you choose to come back.
and here is what i have learned, again and again:
you do not need to change who you are.
you need to remember who you are.
and when you do—
when you begin to act from that place,
not out of fear, not out of shoulds,
but from truth,
from your natural being—
everything changes.
but nothing feels forced.
you stop doing to prove yourself,
and you start being,
and from that being, things simply begin to move.
you are not pushing.
you are not efforting.
you are not faking.
you are just becoming what you always were.
when i create, it is not because i am trying to be someone.
i am not chasing attention.
i am not creating to help others, to be liked, or to succeed.
i create because it is who i am.
i do not make the art—
i am the art.
and when i stop resisting, it comes through.
just like the ocean does not force itself to wave.
it just waves.
and i just create.
because that is my nature.
and yours?
you will know it by the way your heart breathes when you do it.
your essence is not something you need to invent.
it is not a role to perform.
it is what has been inside you since before you were born.
and though the world buried it under fear, survival, and noise—
it is still there.
quiet. glowing. waiting for you to come back.
and here is the wild, beautiful paradox:
when you live from your truth,
you will not need to convince anyone of anything.
you will just become medicine.
by being.
you will remind others of who they are.
not because you try—
but because your light will call theirs out of hiding.
essence calls essence.
truth awakens truth.
when you shine, you give others permission to shine.
and the more each of us lives from that place,
the more the world begins to shift.
because your essence, when embodied, does not just bring you peace—
it brings peace to those around you.
and they, remembering who they are, bring it to others.
and others.
and others.
until what was once forgotten becomes remembered again.
and so the loop of love begins.
a sacred, unstoppable circle:
you remember who you are,
you stop hiding,
you start being,
and your being touches another.
they feel it.
they remember too.
and they touch someone else.
and on and on it goes.
this is not a theory.
this is not a dream.
this is the quiet revolution.
the one that starts inside.
the one that cannot be faked.
the one that brings the world back to truth,
one soul at a time.
and it is not about doing more.
it is about being more yourself.
not about striving—
but about surrendering.
surrendering to what is already inside you.
to the flame that never went out.
to the child who never left.
to the fire you buried in your heart
when you chose fear over freedom.
and now?
now is the time to dig it out.
to let it burn again.
to let it light the way.
so no—
you do not need to become someone else.
you only need to become you.
fully.
fearlessly.
tenderly.
truthfully.
and when you do,
you will feel what you have been longing for.
not applause.
not fame.
not safety.
but peace.
real peace.
the kind that comes from alignment.
from walking in your own rhythm.
from no longer betraying your heart.
this is my philosophy of life.
this is what i believe.
and this is what i live for.
i am not here to change you.
i am here to remind you.
that your truth is your greatest gift.
and when you live it—
you give others permission to live theirs.
essence leads to essence.
light calls light.
truth awakens truth.
and so the loop continues.
until the world itself
remembers who it is.
and in that remembering—
the fear softens.
the mind bows to the heart.
the soul takes the lead.
and heaven begins to appear here,
in this body,
in this life,
in this now.
essence leads to essence leads to heaven on earth.
I love you.
BV

there is only now.
not the idea of now.
not a poetic metaphor.
only this.
this breath.
this instant.
this unrepeatable flicker between birth and death.
tomorrow is a story.
and stories are beautiful—
but they are not real.
tomorrow never arrives.
by the time you get there,
it is now again.
and so, what are we really chasing?
in a world that worships results,
we forget the one thing machines cannot replicate:
the process.
the sacred, chaotic, breathtaking process
of becoming.
of failing.
of trying again.
yes—
ai is a miracle.
it paints galaxies in seconds.
it writes symphonies in silence.
it conjures dreams from pure thought.
and i love it.
i stand in awe of it.
i use it.
and i bow to what it can do.
but ai does not ache.
it does not hesitate.
it does not shake while holding the camera.
it does not spill coffee on its notes
or cry mid-sentence
or wonder if it is enough.
i do.
and that is what makes me human.
that is what makes this real.
the machine will always win at results.
but my journey is not one of results.
my journey is one of presence.
of process.
of now.
this is why i create through experience.
why i build my sets,
why i light my fires,
why i carry my camera into oceans and deserts.
not because i need the perfect image—
but because i need the truth of the moment.
the feel of it.
the trembling of it.
i do not create to impress.
i create to remember.
to feel.
to be.
and when you see one of my works,
i want you to feel the sweat behind the beauty.
the uncertainty behind the clarity.
the heart behind the frame.
because all we have
is this.
this inhale.
this moment.
this ever eternal now.
the only one there is.
the only one there ever will be.
i do not want to outrun the machine.
i want to out-feel it.
out-live it.
because what i offer is not perfection—
it is presence.
raw. holy. alive.
so do not ask me what i am creating next.
ask me what i am creating now.
because that is all there is.
and in the end,
that is more than enough.
I love you,
Bv

i am and so the world transforms.
i am a mirror through which the world begins to remember.
i came to change the perspective of art—
and through that change, awaken the self of all, to truth.
because art was never meant to be decoration.
never meant to match the furniture.
never meant to be reserved for the few.
art is not a luxury.
art is a necessity.
a sacred mirror.
a place where we remember who we are.
through my creations,
i will remind the world:
art is not something you hang—
it is something that calls you back
to your own forgotten self.
not your curated self.
not your masked self.
your eternal self.
you are not broken.
you are not behind.
you are not too much or too little.
you are seen.
you are known.
you are loved.
and all is perfection, here and now.
this is why i create.
not to sell.
but to resurrect.
to place art back where it belongs—
in the temple of the soul.
i don't want to decorate your home.
i want to ignite your becoming.
i want every eye that meets my creation
to feel something ancient stir.
to remember that you are not alone.
that the world does not need more idols—
it needs you.
raw. real. remembering.
my vision is for every heart, in every corner,
to encounter these mirrors
and find something waiting behind the glass:
their own light.
this is not a brand.
this is not a marketplace.
this is a portal.
this is a remembering.
this is a revolution of love.
and you—
you are already part of it.
so breathe in courage,
and dare to gaze upon your own self.
dare to choose love over fear.
dare to remember.
for within truth,
you will not find someone new—
you will find someone ancient.
the one who was always there.
watching. waiting.
unfolding.
you are love.
ever eternal, ever changing.
a flame that never left.
a star that only forgot how to shine.
and through these mirrors,
you will shine again.
this is the vision.
this is the return.
this is the quiet revolution
of becoming who you always were.
to come home to your own perfect self—
through the mirror of true art.
welcome back.
I love you,
Bv