I am a ghostly ghost in my own theatrical plot. Wallowing in sorrow I rejoice, my mind a dreadful menace for that who personifies my being in the material disarray of the “universe of outsiders”, trascending the inmaterial. All is myself, and myself is mere reflection, or illusion, vanished with a swiftly unanimated wind stream carrying the thought of her; she is real and real the way she deprives me from relying solely on my rational senses and lifts me, levitation of mind and body, into clouds of aromatic happiness, just as if I was a conscious conglomerate of weightless smoke. That is one of the elusive mysteries which I can’t dare to explain, limited by a humble sense of comprehensive constraints endowed to my humanly careless humanity. That which I, as sir, can attempt to discover, as that of a suspicious detective approaching the complexity of a puzzled criminal display of a neurotic, artistic murderer, is the subjacent question that underlies the phenomena of earthly-disposed patterns and events to which we are exposed daily, even without being conscious of them happening constantly and endlessly. That inquiry is a simplistic, yet profund: “why?”. Why do life operates the way it does? Who can behold and be entitled to a noble criteria under which he or she can arrange and re-arrange an infinite spectrum of variables? Who is “who”? Who decides “why”?…The bitterness that derives from the impotence we feel when addressing matters as such, can only be sweetened by a nostalgic, hence romantic, yet drastic turnaround to centralize our attention in the human being as whole, as individuality multiplied and extended until the miracle of communion of the parts takes place in creating a social conglomerate. Humanly-limited minds have, and rejoice in having, the power to create and invent that which will be known as “reality”. Primitive mythology is now obsolete and precarious in explaining a “contemporary” and “evolved” sense of reality. Now, myths and unfunded stories are targets of idle mockery and a true start-up for laughter. Science, as a counterpart, has risen as a self-explanatory discipline that combines, as if it were an amalgam, data with a dynamic mechanism that can prove and sustain the validity of that which is contained in facts. Scientists ridicule their creationist “enemies” (and viceversa) when attempting to find the “primary cause” that embraces and contains the “why” and “who”, inseparable, co-existent, co-dependent… But what if science was contemplated by this mighty force of the “who” and “why” as a human-driven mechanism to discover and explain that which surrounds and contains its existence in the physical, obvious world? What if science was “holy” and was contained by the infinite “who”? What could possibly science do to abolish this relationship that links and limits the independence of science towards the “who”? How can science attempt to explain whatever it is that invades and takes control of my body when seduced and enchanted by her, the delightful swift that lifts my being, mind and body, and body and soul, into a state of everlasting pleasure, freedom and irrationality? How can science approach the unexplainable?