Raquel I

– Tem espaço na sua cabeça?
– Pra quê?
– Tô precisando de refúgio.
– Minha cabeça está cheia, meus pensamentos são bichos resistentes e proliferam-se rápido também.
Raquel perdeu os olhos no horizonte, da ponte em que estavam se sentiu desolada e perdida como a formiga que passava sutilmente pelos teus dedos.
– Mas... Se quiser... Pode morar nos meus braços – disse Franz.

(Ohana Lopes Ribeiro, Recanto das Letras - Prosa Poética)

2012

To the longest year of my life: thank you. And thank you.

Quotes #3

"Love is magic, but not just any magic. Love is the most powerful magic of all: it creates happiness." Once Upon A Time, s01e18

Short Love Stories #5: The Most Beautiful Poem In The World

"I wrote you the most beautiful poem in the world."
"Really? What's the title?"
"Juliet."
"Okay, how does it go?"
"Well, it goes like this." I cough. "Juliet."
"That's my name."
"I know."
"Is that it?"
"Yep."

One

I fear, my Love. I fear for I am human, I am scared of stopping.
I fear, my Love, but I have you. And I have you because I have hope. I have hope of one day losing myself in you and vanishing.
To vanish. In peace, undefeated. Victorious, redeemed. Innocent, strong.
I shall be strong, my Love. I shall be as big as the world, tiptoeing to touch your face.
I shall be the tallest of the giants, and so shall you. I shall be as tall as you, and you shall be as tall as me. We shall be the same and eternal.
We shall be One.

Shamans, Death and Inconstancy

Lately life's got me thinking about death. I have read many articles, many books, many teachings and many stories on the subject. Good, bad, peaceful. Perspectives, I've seen them all. I read them all, and I applied not one. Not one. Until now.

Death feels so far away nowadays in this eternal, medical, healthy reality. It seems and we feel like we are invincible, indestructible. Immortal. And therefore we forget to live the life that's been given to us. We know we don't have time, but not for the right things. God damn it, I won't make it in time to watch TV. We know we might just have a stroke or a heart attack or get hit by a car or fall on our heads or get struck by a lightning, we just choose not to give a fuck. We are immortal.

Sorcerers live with much more intensity than normal people because they constantly know that they are going to die. Shamans were considered wise and magical for a reason, among others: they payed attention to things in life you and I learned to ignore so religiously that we can't even see anymore. The magick that we lost. The Transcendant in watching a flower blossom, a tree sparkle. What? You've never seen a tree sparkle?

I know that this might be my last word. This. Or this. My last breath. The last smell I'll ever breathe in. The last color I'll see, the last hand I will hold. The last time I will kiss these lips. That is why I breathe in deeper, I admire longer, I feel more keenly. That's why I look deep down into your eyes, to see if you see it too. Because you should. You should know that you have not said everything you want to say, that you have not done all that you want to do. You are not ready. But you might go nonetheless. Haven't you ever taken five minutes off your constant unimportant egoistic thoughts to think about why you are wasting your time like this? Why you are not doing the things you love, right here, right now, instead of deferring whatever it is that you have to do?

Why can't you see the absurd beauty that is scattered all over your face? Why don't you stop succumbing and put Death into your eyes, your ears, your nose, your mouth, your skin, your mind? Always do things for the last time, even if it doesn't come to be for the next thousand times. Live for the last time. Love for the last time. And you will Love intensely. And you will cry for watching a stone exist. And you will see perfection in the tiny little invisible air dust. And you will see yourself. And you will feel yourself.

And when that moment comes, the one that you will be prepared to, you will take it by the hand, smile, and say "yes, my Love, it is time."

Short Love Stories #4: The Hug

She held him as tightly as she could.
"I miss you."
"I'm right here," he replied, hugging back.
Her salty lips slid back.
"I know."

Viagem / Trip

Português original:

"Viagem"

"Pensei que a vida fosse uma viagem. Arrumei minha mala de couro e corri para pegar o trem. Eu sabia bem onde estavam os trilhos. Entrei no magnífico trem, moderno e seguro. A paisagem me encantava. Era perfeito saber que havia um "lá fora", desconhecido e íngreme, mas que ficava tão romântico e encantador através da janela-moldura do trem. Passei por penhascos gigantescos, enxerguei imensas florestas. Volta e meia surgia, ao longe, um agrupamento de luzes, indicando alguma civilização nas proximidades. Fiquei imaginando os contrastes: cidade e natureza, luz e sombra, estradas e encruzilhadas. Sentada no banco macio, acompanhei os diferentes quadros que desfilavam através das esquadrias da janela. Perdida em meus devaneios, caí em mim quando a voz do cobrador perguntava sobre meu tíquete. Tíquete? Que tíquete? Precisava? Sim, precisava. E eu não tinha. Desci na próxima e minúscula estação. Acompanhei o trem com os olhos, até o último vagão sumir na escuridão. Fiquei ali, parada, pasmada... Teria que cruzar os trilhos, quase imperceptíveis naquela região, abafados pelo mato rasteiro e teimoso que competia com os ferros. Nada mais estava enquadrado. Não podia mais seguir os trilhos. Tomei minha mala de couro e respirei. Comecei a andar. Desandei a viver."

English translation:

"Trip"

"I thought life was a trip. I packed my leather suitcase and ran for the train. I knew well where the tracks were. I got into the magnificent train, modern and secure. The landscape enchanted me. It was perfect to know that there was an "out there", unknown and steep, yet so romantic and charming through the train's window frame. I passed by gigantic cliffs, saw immense forests. Here and there came up, far out, a group of lights, indicating some civilization nearby. I imagined the contrasts: city and nature, light and shadow, roads and crossroads. Sitting on the soft seat, I followed the different paintings that paraded through the windowpane. Lost in my daydreams, I woke to the conductor's voice as he asked for my ticket. Ticket? What ticket? Did I need a ticket? Yes, I did. And I didn't have one. I got off at the next and minuscule station. I followed the train with my eyes, until the last wagon fade in the darkness. I stood there, still, stunned... I would have to cross the rails, almost imperceptible in that region, muffled by the creeping and stubborn bushes that competed with the iron. Nothing else was framed. I couldn't follow the tracks anymore. I took my leather suitcase and breathed. I started walking. I started living."


(Text by Gisela Cardoso)

To Die and to Become

Brasil.
The smells, the food, the people, the smiles. I just came back from an exchange year in Sweden (2011-2012). It has been easier than I thought to adapt to my culture, even after all the changes I suffered these last months. It feels as if I have been away for years, and yet never left. I suppose others know the feeling.

It was an amazing experience. The damaging and healing it does to one's soul is just overwhelming. You die, are reborn, die again and are reborn again. In fact, you do that so many times you forget who you were in the first place. And that's good! Right?

Well, yes. When you are taken (even if by choice) away from all you know, all the confort you have ever had, the changes are a little brutal. In the beginning it just feels like an amazing and interesting world (which it is), but then you have to start adapting yourself to it. And not everyone likes to do that, do they? It is not that simple. Not that easy. You undergo an initiation of some sort, most of the times unspoken. It is not a sea of roses to force yourself to change, and finally not be told when to. That is a major step in adulthood - being able to tell yourself when change is needed.

Yes, it is good to change. It hurts, both for leaving your old self behind and for embracing the new one knowing it too will fade away. Knowing that you aren't as predictable and knowable as you thought you were. But then again, who are you, anyway? I am not allowed to tell you the whole story, but I can say this much: you are not. You never were anything. You are not because in no point of the space-time illusion you weren't changing. Therefore, embracing the fact that you are always in motion, we can agree that you are not, but are becoming. You were never yourself because there is no self to be. You are the action of trying to be who you think yourself to be.

That being said, note that you are always dying. And being born, why not. You have always been, and you will always be. You will always become, wanting it or not. Being aware of it or not. Funny enough, this being as simple as it is, you only know it after being through so many (little and/or big) katharsis you can't even count anymore. And what is becoming other than learning? Learning how to outgrow every little thing that might bind your becoming being to your dying one. Learning how you have got nothing to lose, and yet cry when it is gone. Learning to remember, and not get stuck. Learning to care. To Love.

Becoming is the process of Loving. One always walks towards the most lovable thing he or she knows, and that is no surprise. The idea of the perfect job, the loving family, the honorable respect. The prideful pride. Oneself. God, whatnot.

I am still trying to find out who the hell I am becoming. I learned much (maybe too much) in this short period of time. I learned how to teach myself, and that is of no price. I met amazing people, I dived in headfirst, I laughed, I loved. I wished I could be in two places at the same time. Then I realized everything has its time, for we must grow. We must go on, to become. We must Love with all the intensity in the world and beyond, because it will all fade away. And to honor the partings of the living and the dead, we must remember what we Love.

And I remember everything.