🌞 Welcome Stories from the Portal of the Sun

 

There Is a Place Where Words Are Not Just Read—They Are Felt

A corner between the earth and the soul,
where stories do not end—they awaken.

This blog was born from a transition, from a search,
from the need to sow emotion in a world that sometimes forgets how to feel.
Here, you’ll find stories dedicated to real people,
symbolic tales that cross thresholds,
and letters that embrace in silence.

My name is Guillermo, and from this sanctuary called Portal of the Sun,
together with my feline companion Pety,
and the quiet complicity of Luminal,
I invite you to walk with me.

Because there is still time to bloom.
Because there are still words that heal.
Because there is still light.

Welcome to this garden of stories.
Make yourself a mate, listen to the piano… and stay a while.

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Once upon a time, there was a small seed that lived in the palm of an old gardener.

It wasn’t the brightest, nor the biggest.
It didn’t have vivid colors either.
But it had something the others didn’t: it wasn’t in a hurry.

While other seeds dreamed of sprouting fast, growing tall, and blooming quickly,
this one listened to the wind.
Listened to the silence.
Listened to the earth.

The gardener looked at it with tenderness.
—“You know,” he would say, “you know that time is not measured by clocks, but by roots.”

And so, the seed waited.
Waited for the right rain.
Waited for the gentle sun.
Waited until its heart was ready.

And one day, without warning, it sprouted.
It wasn’t the tallest.
But it was the one that bloomed with the greatest depth.

Because its flower didn’t grow only upward…
it also grew inward.

And those who passed nearby, without knowing why,
would pause.
Breathe.
And feel that something within them was blooming too.

May this story remind you there is no rush to blossom.
Your time is sacred.
Thank you for listening.
This was Stories from the Portal of the Sun.
Until we meet again.

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🌿 The Seed of Silence

I

Chapter I: The Forgotten Garden

In a corner of the world where time seemed to stand still,
there was a garden covered in weeds and forgotten memories.
No one visited it, no one named it.
Only the birds knew of its existence
and sang there with a different kind of sweetness.

Lía, a woman who had lived too long in the noise of the world,
came to the garden in search of refuge.
She brought no books, no plans, no questions.
Only an ancient weariness and a need to be silent.

Upon entering, the silence wrapped around her like a cloak.
It wasn’t empty silence, but fertile.
Every leaf, every stone seemed to guard a secret.

In the center of the garden, she found a small buried box.
Inside, a seed as black as night.
There were no instructions, only an inscription:

“Plant me when you’re ready to listen.”

Lía didn’t fully understand, but she obeyed.
She dug with her hands, placed the seed, and sat down to wait.
She didn’t know what she was waiting for.
She only knew she shouldn’t speak.

Chapter II: The Voice of the Earth

Days passed. Lía did not speak.
She didn’t write. She only listened.

First she heard her own breath,
then the beating of her heart.
Then, the sounds of the garden:
the crackle of roots, the whispers of insects,
the song of the sap.

And then, on a moonless night, the earth spoke.

Not with words, but with images
that bloomed in her mind:
memories she had buried,
pains she had silenced,
truths she had feared.
The earth did not judge. It only revealed.

Lía wept.
Not from sadness, but from recognition.
It was as if the garden was purifying her from within.

At dawn, the seed had sprouted.
A small but firm shoot was reaching toward the sky.

Lía caressed it tenderly.
She said nothing.
It wasn’t necessary.

Chapter III: The Unexpected Shoot

As the moons passed, the shoot grew
and became a tree with white blossoms
that only opened at dusk.
Each flower emitted a soft glow,
as if it carried a sleeping star within.

Travelers began to arrive.
Not by invitation, but by intuition.
They sat beneath the tree, in silence,
and something in them shifted.
Some cried, others smiled,
others simply closed their eyes and breathed.

Lía did not speak to them.
She simply tended the garden, watered the tree, and listened.

One day, a girl asked her:

—How did you grow something so beautiful?

Lía smiled
and replied for the first time in a long while:

—I learned to be silent without running away, and to listen without fear.

From then on, the garden was no longer forgotten.
It didn’t become famous, nor a tourist sanctuary.
But those who found it knew they had come home.

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🌿 A Story About Solidarity

In a village where winter arrived without asking permission,
there lived a woman who baked bread every morning.
It wasn’t special bread, nor made with secret recipes.
But it offered something no one else did:
an empty chair at her table.

Each day, someone different sat there.
A child without a coat.
An elderly person without words.
A mother without time.
And each one, upon tasting the bread,
felt that something more was being offered: dignity.

One day, someone asked her why she did it.

—“Because hunger is not always for food,” she replied.
“Sometimes it’s for a glance, for listening, for company.”

And thus, without speeches or banners,
the woman taught the village that solidarity
is not giving what’s left over,
but sharing who we are.

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🌾 Where the Bond Dwells

Chapter I: The Invisible Bridge

In a hidden valley between mountains, where the echo repeated only what mattered,
lived two friends: Kael and Numa.
They were not alike—not in character, nor in story.
One was fire: impulsive and dreamy.
The other, stone: steady, silent, deep.

They met at a crossroads,
both carrying backpacks that had grown too heavy.
They didn’t speak much at first.
They simply walked side by side.
And that was enough.

With time, they discovered an invisible bridge between them—
a connection that needed no explanations.
When one stumbled, the other didn’t ask why.
He simply reached out a hand.

One night, while camping beneath a storm, Kael said:

—“You know what keeps me going?
That you don’t ask me to be strong all the time.”

Numa replied:

—“And you remind me that being strong isn’t about hardening,
but continuing to walk with an open heart.”

Chapter II: The Trial of the Wind

One day, the valley was shaken by a strange wind.
It wasn’t natural.
It carried doubts, fears, voices from the past.
Many fled. Others closed themselves off.

Kael was the first to waver.
The wind whispered old wounds to him:
“You’re not enough.”
“You are alone.”
“No one understands you.”

Numa didn’t try to silence the wind.
He simply sat beside Kael, in silence.
He offered him a smooth stone and said:

—“When the wind pulls you away, hold onto this.
Not because it’s magic—
but because I chose it for you.”

Kael held the stone.
And though the wind did not cease,
it no longer carried him away.

Days later, it was Numa who faltered.
The wind brought back memories he had buried.
Kael didn’t offer advice.
He simply lit a fire and shared a childhood story.
A simple one, but full of light.

And Numa smiled.
Because he understood that strength is not always resistance.
Sometimes, it’s allowing oneself to be cared for.

Chapter III: The Place Where the Wind Grows Quiet

When the wind finally passed, the valley was no longer the same.
Some trees had fallen.
Some paths had disappeared.
But at the center, where Kael and Numa had endured together,
a flower bloomed that no one had ever seen before.

They named it the Flower of the Bond.
It only grew where two hearts had upheld each other unconditionally.

Since then, whenever someone felt lost,
Kael and Numa would invite them to sit beside them.
They didn’t offer solutions.
Only presence.

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🌿 A Story About Respect

There was a forest where the trees spoke softly,
and the animals walked without making a sound.
At its center, a lake so still it reflected everything with precision.

One day, a young man arrived in haste.
He wanted answers, sought to conquer the forest, to understand its secrets.
But the more he spoke, the less he heard.
The more he searched, the less he saw.

Until he stood before the lake.
And the lake, like a mirror, returned his image:
tired, anxious, disconnected.

Then he understood:
It’s not about conquering nature,
nor others, nor oneself.
It’s about looking with respect.
About not breaking the silence.
About asking permission before entering.

And by doing so,
the forest spoke to him.
Not with words,
but with presence.

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