Lothlórien

There was a call… a light filled call… a door… a loud and captivating vibration which took me in to this world of both mists and bright green fields…

And there I am…lost in this realm where impossible contrasts build homelike colors… a palette of creation which fills me with tender and fear, desire and confusion, need and fulfillment…

And I wonder, my feet stepping in both paradise and hell…

There’s a heart beat echoing everywhere… so overwhelmingly deep that no mind can imagine it’s meaningful value… it’s transcendent light… it’s true nature…

As the warm forest surrounds me I hear a melody…

There’s a young girl whom smiles as the breeze through the plains – free and light.

There’s a woman with heart of a child – bringing joy and easiness when she shines the day with all that’s simple and pure in her…

And she sings without voice…

There’s a sound that is so delicate, so precious – the sound of a free soul… a sound which no mind can even start to grasp… a melody just the heart knows…

I’m lead to the plains by the child’s voice… and I see a flaming light on the horizon…

There’s a bold spirit that challenges bondages each time bounds are there to stop it’s way – a burning spirit that raises over the mind, a spirit as free as the noble horse in the virgin planes of ancestral memories…

Running after this immense living flame, I’m lead to a mysterious lake… an island … a hidden cave …

There’s a wise woman – in modern clothes – sharp sight, hands with the knowledge of Man’s nature… a female spirit beyond the images carved in rock by stony minds…

In front of me there’s a glooming bright image on the waters…

A white swan that dwells in the lake… a sword hidden in it’s feathers… a sharp edge that cuts when the eagerness tries to take over the freedom of such idyllic dream…

I cross the waters non touching the whiteness gliding in the silver… smiling gently to the wise woman I enter the cave…

There are reflections more than possible to tell – a precious uncarved stone which gives back the light of life with astonishing new colors… depending of where the observer stands… and what it looks forward to see…

I look on the seeing glass… feeling hope, truth, strength, meaning…home…
Suddenly an impossible scream breaches the horizon in two… all trembles… the cave starts to crumble… the crystal is shattered in a million parts that fly everywhere… and I’m cut by it’s sharpness in a thousand bleeding wounds…

As doubt reigns and mind rules I get projected for another place, to time that stands still… a place of poisonous fumes and rotting nature…

I see a swamp where the lake dwelled… and waters never more run towards the unknown sea… enchained in the cage of time… repeating the fate of mind… marsh land and still waters… hollow grey landscapes that extend till the horizon…

Life fades from me… light takes all around…inside… I float in a non existing realm… then, nothing around… just a shape shifting figure upon me…

There’s a lamb – tender and warmth – with a serpent inside.
Both home and punishment, both honey and fel…

I take that entity in to my chest… inside… both redemption and doom…

Standing in the edge of a cliff… the wind of an unknown sea blows…

There’s a satyr playing around with stranded souls; there are siren songs that smash in to the hard rocks of oblivion those foolish sailors whom venture on unknown waters…

And – there’s a light… warmth…

In mid of the cutting wind of salt, there raises a Sun in the West…
The rays of that essence pierce and transcend my skin… I’m blown apart in to sand as the truth penetrates my lie…

As dust I wonder… as dust I feel the Sun light upon me and remember how much I was sun light until I let myself dive in to the realm of shades that leads to lie…illusion… empty spaces and hollow moments… that’s the truth of the mind… that’s the trap of senses…

Now I’m the dust that wonders… on this realm of impossible landscapes and never finished contrasts…

My mind says never

My heart says ever

I wonder as dust

I wonder…

And staring at the raising Sun of the West I lay down to oblivion…

Until the Sun light bursts from the dust and lights the darkness inside.

We have Faith, Hope and Love… of the three – Love is the greatest… embrace IT because IT embraced YOU long time ago… when time didn’t even start to exist…

In to the West

(somewhere in the camino... )

To know me a bit better… see the Sun rising in the West.

As we follow towards Finisterra – towards the “Costa da Morte” – Death’s Coast – we walked all we could…
We laughed and we cried…
We gave and we took…

We were bright and we dived in the shades…

We gave hope and we took it… we searched for love and love found us…

To know me is to know my work as well – for me – it reflects a bit of this “Camino of life”…

So here it is – under Tolkien’s light…
With some pictures of Today's work…

"In to the West" - Annie Lennox - "The Return of the king"

Lay down, your sweet and weary head.
Night is falling.
You have come to journey’s end.

(There was a little faerie there in the mid right... say that to our friends of camino of life... those little ones will love it)

Sleep now,and dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling,
from across the distant shore.

(the mother was taking a picture while this premature baby - Sílvia - was being nursed under the tender look of Sara - her sister)

Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see.
All of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms,
you’re only sleeping.

(she's still - in my arms - only sleeping... do we see the difference in the end? Do we see the difference in our hearts? the same baby's essence on a different shell - when will we learn to the important more than the illusion?)

What can you see,
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
a pale moon rises.
The ships have come,
to carry you home.

(the ships have come to free you from the net... to unravel your light and carry you away... as I walk during lunch time I feel how differences are in the mind... how must see the heart... how all beings melt in to one... on that river... over those grey boats... free from the nets of time)

And all will turn,
to silver glass.
A light on the water.
All souls pass.

(a light on the water we passed... when someone pulled us out... now I see no bridge to pass to the other side... Ágape pontifex maximum)

Hope fades,
Into the world of night.
Through shadows falling,
Out of memory and time.

(as I enter in my room, while the clock ticks the time to get back, I look at the memories that fight to keep you alive - a scarf with the scent of Life, Post Cards of a Distant Journey, a Guitar that tries to Sing to keep hope alive... a window that points - In to the West)

Don’t say,
We have come now to the end.
White shores are calling.
You and I will meet again.
And you’ll be here in my arms,
Just sleeping.

(he will return... to the Hospital; again a mother taking a picture of her Child who's in my arms... will you return? And - how much of me departs each time you go away? How much?... But - in this here and now - the three of us smile to each other)

What can you see,
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
a pale moon rises.
The ships have come,
to carry you home.

(when all the threads of this life unravel, we will get to the grey ships which will carry us away... over the waters of the river of life, towards the sea of existence... how many times, how many knots... how long will this circle run around itself? This I think as I stumble towards home again)

And all will turn, to silver glass.
A light on the water.
Grey ships pass
Into the West.

(as the day fades and hope lingers, I look through that window of future, trying to find out some glince of light that gives meaning and sense to this circle of life)

Here is a day of work and the thoughts or feelings that wonder around… inside me. The pictures show how I see things – in a semi poetic, semi melancholic, semi festival way – this circle of life we travel, this camino we repeat once after another…

Be blessed…

(mural painting of group of pilgrims fading in the mists... you wanted to depict the mother leading the child... here it is)

Here...

This is me… now.
No beard (just a scarce one, or CIA would take me in as Taliban… you know). No bag, no smell, no destiny – just fooling around… or maybe not.
The place is Caminha, a bordering line with Spain and the sea. Worked there for a year before going to East Timor as Volunteer.



Someone asked before – “How to return to the routine after opening our soul?”…

With Love I may guess… I have no other answer.

Lots of questions about “who” or “what” I have found during these days of truth, faith, hope… and devotion.
People asking about what could I possibly mean when I told that – now – I knew love exists…

Well – no easy or magical answer here… the road of Man is to believe in each moment; is to nourish that gift in each second; is to offer devotion and truth to the bliss of being touched by love’s grace. This is a “camino” of life, this is an oath to the very foundation of our existence – to discover, accept and worship that love which makes us in to being.

Now – for those who don’t know me as I use to be on my normal “camino” of life: here are some pictures of day life places.

(my way to work - this avenue leads to the health center in which I work - it's 8 in the morning and the day is good for walking)

(This is my "meditation" rock, or the place in which I had lunch - it's a small iland in the River Minho called "Castelinho", and it's near by - here in Cerveira, where I live. As the "Petit Prince", I love to see the sun set here - just walking a bit and I'm there)

This is my favorite beach – it’s called "Moledo" – and it’s less than 10 mins by car from where I live. The mount in front is in Spain – and has Celtic settlement ruins – it’s called "Saint Tegra". I usually walk on the sand that is on the right of the picture, and then stand on the rocks until the sun-set. The waves on the rock remind me of some ancient secret that I almost grasp with my wandering mind… but the heart knows for sure, my brain is the one that simply doesn’t get the message

As the blue fades in to silver, the secret of the lady in the waters becomes clearer… sometimes hard as rock, sometimes flown as the waves, sometimes…

Hemingway would know… just those who die of love would know… I asked this old man, which was the secret of his sea… and he told me…

This is the “Praça da República” square… in my beloved Viana do Castelo. I spend hours and hours in here – staring at people passing by, reading my latest book, tasting some coffee and cake… The picture is in Christmas, so – now in Spring and Summer – the square gains even more life and color

A grey day… this is Santa Luzia, in Viana – a hilltop with a replica of the “Sacre Coeur” of Paris and a Celtic settlement ruin next by. It’s a sacred place that I visit quite often. There are sacred moments that are silver, others even gold, some others are grey – but all of them sacred nonetheless.

Home... one day

(o meu primeiro acorde... um "Dó" que mete dó... mas logo se verá)


São as três da manhã… de um dia intenso.

Ainda neste dia era peregrino, ainda neste dia vestia, sentia, cheirava a peregrinação…

Cheguei, tirei a barba de um mês, visitei pais, colegas de trabalho… reencontrei o mundo de onde partira… só o tempo dirá as mudanças que se passaram cá dentro… mas resulta tão complexo rumar de volta à maré…

Aqui ficam as fotos do dia – já tenho a “Elbereth”, a minha guitarra.
Vim de Espanha, passei por Vigo, vi-a e voltei lá depois para a trazer. Fui a Viana, ter com um amigo que toca num grupo, e já sei os meus primeiros acordes. Logo música sairá dos meus dedos… magias da vida diária…

Já tenho o Principezinhoe e o “Cyrano de Bergerac” do Gerard Depardieu prontos para começar o meu Francês (é a próxima língua do caminho para mim).

Agora falta o Reiki no segundo nível – depois mestria.

Talvez o Tai-chi, voltar ao Kung-Fú, ir a meditação Vipassana mais a frente…

Depois, Índia…

Depois…

Ultreya!! (always further)

(eu e a "Elbereth" em casa do meu amigo músico)

Finisterra

Um Sol-pôr...

Uma chama na ravina de rocha, esvaindo-se lentamente numa brisa marítima. Com ela se queimam os redutos de um “eu” que pertence ao passado – assim reza o Peregrino, este peregrino – à medida que o astro Rei marca o caminho do Homem até às águas da Noite...

Caras esturradas de mil quilómetros contemplam o horizonte, cada rosto uma história que converge neste “final simbólico”, cada um representa um desafio, uma partida, o sonho de um encontro...

A Lua se levanta quando o Sol se esmorece no horizonte. Como cada um dos cruzeiros do caminho na Galiza Mágica – que têm uma Maria amparando um Jesus nascente ou um Jesus já morto. Pensavam que matariam a Luz do Mundo, mas ela se mantém viva na face brilhante da Senhora das Marés.

Só mesmo os homens para inventar uma fé que fala de amor, sem sentir que o varao aprende a amar pela devoçao da fêmea que o traz ao mundo.

Só as águas permanecem – primeiro vermelhas com o ultimo suspiro do que se vai, depois prata e ouro numa cadência suave.
Vagas de crista branca lambendo as rochas lá longe.

O Peregrino sente que se encontra mais liberto, que está cada vez mais perto do seu sonho.

Queimei o velho, mergulhei na água salgada e descobri que é o amor que nos faz caminhar sobre o mar.

Pedro – tu nao sabes o que é amar... é o princípio da palabra amargura... mas é o único caminho que é verdade e que devolve a vida...

Bem haja

Negreira

Para quem pensa que os caminhos terminam quando se obtem o que se pretende…

O Caminho continua.

O Peregrino cedo se precata que nao sabe bem o que procura; logo intui que obterá o que precisa – talvez nao exactamente o que desejava.

O Peregrino nota que se fez humilde o suficiente para admitir que é aluno da vida; poderá criar mundos de sonho mas - para encontrar verdade - terá de se despojar do que é, do que sabe, do que pensa ser…

Agora vou a caminho de Muxia – onde a Senhora arrivou numa barca de pedra.
Procuro um sonho – sonhem comigo…

Depois, Finisterra…talvez.

As minhas roupas já rasgadas - de outros anos, de outras tentativas, de andar em círculos - serao ali queimadas enquanto o Deus – Lugh – se some nas trevas do Oeste, para nos redimir numa nova manha…
Morte para o velho, purificaçao no fogo, água salgada de banho final e novo renascer… depois…nao sei.

Um abraço desde o caminho – agora bem mais simples e com menor efeito de história, monumentos, gentes… só as Lendas e os ecos Celtas a caminho de Fisterra…

Santiago

O caminho entra em Santiago...nele convergem as pessoas e o poder de ver a luz onde – em contraste – poderiamos ver apenas a nossa sombra.

Chegado é o momento no que todos nos alegramos – pela humildade, pela partilha, pelo reconhecimento do comum realçado nas diferenças; pela fé – no amor que une e se dá em abraços, em gestos de alegria pelo próximo, em promessas de visitas a paises distantes, em troca de oferendas e agasalhos...

Comentamos os dons da viagem – as gentes que nos abençoaram, os locais que connosco foram gentis.

Celebramos a simplicidade e confiamos que esta se espalhe - como uma doença virulenta - pela vida que nos resta.

Pensamos no amor que bate à porta sob rostos de outras paragens, nos abraços dos que – outrora desconhecidos – caminham agora como companheiros...

Este é o Santiago que eu conheço e celebro.
Nao vejo pedras, nem ouros.
Nunca noto outras liturgias que nao as da Universalidade desta corrente de vidas - que se mesclam como águas de nascentes mil e rumam para Um mesmo Mar.

Bem haja a todos os que caminham – sois a luz do mundo.

Caminhemos pois em Verdade, caminhemos pois no amor que une – nao sua sombra: o medo que separa.