Régio e Libertino

After watching the movie “The Libertine”, I sing to our beloved Cyrano with the words of my land, with a poem from a man who defies the pleasant to embrace the harsh – still only possible way – truth.

José Régio (José Maria dos Reis Pereira) – Cântico Negro

"Vem por aqui" — dizem-me alguns com os olhos doces
Estendendo-me os braços, e seguros
De que seria bom que eu os ouvisse
Quando me dizem: "vem por aqui!"
Eu olho-os com olhos lassos,
(Há, nos olhos meus, ironias e cansaços)
E cruzo os braços,
E nunca vou por ali...
A minha glória é esta:
Criar desumanidades!
Não acompanhar ninguém.
— Que eu vivo com o mesmo sem-vontade
Com que rasguei o ventre à minha mãe
Não, não vou por aí! Só vou por onde
Me levam meus próprios passos...
Se ao que busco saber nenhum de vós responde
Por que me repetis: "vem por aqui!"?

Prefiro escorregar nos becos lamacentos,
Redemoinhar aos ventos,
Como farrapos, arrastar os pés sangrentos,
A ir por aí...
Se vim ao mundo, foi
Só para desflorar florestas virgens,
E desenhar meus próprios pés na areia inexplorada!
O mais que faço não vale nada.

Como, pois, sereis vós
Que me dareis impulsos, ferramentas e coragem
Para eu derrubar os meus obstáculos?...
Corre, nas vossas veias, sangue velho dos avós,
E vós amais o que é fácil!
Eu amo o Longe e a Miragem,
Amo os abismos, as torrentes, os desertos...

Ide! Tendes estradas,
Tendes jardins, tendes canteiros,
Tendes pátria, tendes tetos,
E tendes regras, e tratados, e filósofos, e sábios...
Eu tenho a minha Loucura !
Levanto-a, como um facho, a arder na noite escura,
E sinto espuma, e sangue, e cânticos nos lábios...
Deus e o Diabo é que guiam, mais ninguém!
Todos tiveram pai, todos tiveram mãe;
Mas eu, que nunca principio nem acabo,
Nasci do amor que há entre Deus e o Diabo.

Ah, que ninguém me dê piedosas intenções,
Ninguém me peça definições!
Ninguém me diga: "vem por aqui"!
A minha vida é um vendaval que se soltou,
É uma onda que se alevantou,
É um átomo a mais que se animou...
Não sei por onde vou,
Não sei para onde vou
Sei que não vou por aí!

The Spiritual Quest - Spirit Within

The spirit within…

When you abandon yourself… something inside happens. Something starts to take control, something else lives beyond the surface… something.

Magic and coincidences become your day life.
Any resistance becomes pain.
Any step out of the edge of the sword equals suffering.
No way to avoid the task, no way not to embrace it… unless oblivion.

Still… something else exists…

By logic – if this universe advances from the abstract to the defined, the ego is directly linked to free will.

Abandoning our nature as individuals would seem to abandon free will – for good or for bad, that is what makes us humans – without it we would become part of the furniture of nature or pseudo-angelic entities flying almost unaware of the world around – and maybe this is the ending result of the process when passing from the “seed” which defends from breaching it’s defining skin in to a “sprouting little tree” growing beyond the borders of what it seemed the world beneath - inside the earth… to become tree in the world above… to give fruits… which will become seeds… which will sprout…

Still, in this mid step, there’s an "in between move" that seems to be escaping our awareness of the process.

To truly exercise the free will, we should get rid from reminiscences of reaction attached to our apparent choices and emotional response, to the magnetism with which we so much attach to suffering upon ourselves and the others, to habits and routines that bind and destroy ourselves and all around… to become fully aware is this step which follows.

This changing entity, this shifting skin of our identity grows from animal like patterns to awareness and identification to the self, from basic free will subdued to reactionary response to become free from reaction in a way we may truly feel options are taken beyond the rule of fear, doubt and disbelief.
From orbiting around peripheral emanations of the center, we start to step closer to the essence which manifests in flesh, feeling, thought and energy… that complex structure we usually call “me”…

A new age has arrived.
The changes are silent, the changes are in the inner sanctum, the lessons are brand on living flesh as the flesh itself changes from quality and links to a “higher” goal, a deeper voice beyond this little voice screaming inside trying to command and rule fed by fear and doubt.

The new era has begun – and many are experiencing in silence the mutation.
The new humankind is growing and the metamorphosis is being slowly but implacably leaded by other dormant guides, those which take us as we start to show the signs of awakening and lead our steps to the road forgotten, the path guarded by mists… the realm of the invisible…

Ruach… free yourselves

The spiritual quest - part I

This is just what I think about what I think in this moment.

Take it as sharing ignorance, trying to achieve some truth and remember how stupid and vane all possible words really are… still, how much they hold the seed of need to find and be… whatever we pursue and try to become… fully human.

Concerning mystical paths and spiritual currents… hum… “Siddhartha” from Herman Hesse… it is so beautiful and so true, so on to what I may feel about finding our own way concerning that… life.

No one may tell us how to get in to the Kingdom, Nirvana, Valhalla… they may give us advice and we may walk with them while we are learning to walk by ourselves…

But – is undeniable – as much as we share the same essence, we are also shaped in the difference… there is a reason for this – a reason which, more than fought against, should be understood.

Since the first moment – when the “Ejaculation” of light filled the “Black Lady” with time and space, there started the variation.

If as in the Kabbalah, or other system - we can imagine a “big bang” theory - noticing something when the first moment starts and the energy starts to “fall” in to lower levels of “heat” and complex levels of material structure (heavier): the difference was there since the beginning or all the decay of energy in to matter would give as final result the same pattern everywhere – no fluctuations… but this is not what happens. We have differences… we have us…

In other words (sorry by theoretic explanation of mystic and modern science about the universe, god and our nature): there is a singular path that belongs to each soul.

That path may (and I guess it always is – no human being is born alone… so possibly we do not die alone unless in our heads) be shared, but will be kept unique until the last moment, until there’s no more need for difference…
Sharing means difference in the sameness.

Resistance from the soul is not the same as resistance from the ego.

The ego guards the feeling of attachment to this realm, the soul guards our essence and it’s right to be as it is until it is no more… the will can’t take over this – should accept this.

Systems of politics, religions or the new things of spiritualism they try to bend the soul in to fit on a common path supposed to work to everybody… this is the direct result of any revolution – it makes the system it raised against stronger.

While we don’t learn this lesson we will not embrace our full essence: a reaction only causes another reaction… and maintains a chain that loops upon itself.

The revolution of humanism made science a stronger dictatorship than religion.
The revolution of spiritualism threatens to purge us from the only possible way to enter the door… that is – love. Human common love!
Nothing higher than this… just theories and fairy tales invented by oligarchs to enslave people behind some leader, economical or political and religious manipulation…

Hope was purged by science as much as faith was purged by religious politics on the past.
Faith was transformed in to a hollow game while hope has become a piece of a cage made of oblivion and rational explanations.

Now spiritualism is washing away love, until humans become aseptic beings walking indifferent to their own nature, following laws of “Karma” that – more than healing – wound by distance.
Are We to become a race of machines programmed under direct stimulation and lack of other references beyond the “dome” we are trapped in.

The “working classes” are directed by fear and ignorance.
The medium high by this “washing” as well as refined and controlled codes of behavior and moral - so they simply do not care anymore about the state of things and people around if they may keep their “doses” of existential analgesics.

Some of us – even in spiritual environments – make time a prison… more than a measure of quality it becomes a measure of quantity.

People keep being the same years after years… since some groups work as an analgesic, they erase the need to face the things that bother us or the feeling of lack we have inside… analgesics for existence (a direct result of our culture).
And there is no “laboratory” way to face something unless facing the real thing (or it is as a “surgery” on allopathic medicine – it takes the affected organ or part of our life out but it doesn’t heal the cause of disease).

The only change on these groups or tendencies comes from one spiritual exercise to the other, from one spiritual experience to the other.

As drugs – we need other things, other books, other courses… we think we are being filled with “light” when – if we look in the mirror – we are doing the same mistakes (though – as we do it “spiritually”, we don’t even notice that is the “vibration” that generates the word more than the word itself that comes from our mouth the one that wounds).

In other words – we learn to erase the traces of the loss by changing the name of the things (instead of hate we say “friction”) and things seem washed… we feel the same but name it different, so we evolved… do you think?

We don’t acknowledge we keep “reacting” more than acting fully aware.

We don’t understand that – if situations keep happening in our life, that is because they keep bringing a lesson – independently we may think the lines of the book of righteousness were being followed – there is a book greater than any book… it is called life.

The disease of love…

Before any other cancer of the wounded heart upon the suffering body, the disease was brute temper over sensitive feelings…

The first time… how long ago?

The first kiss – when all the tender and soft silk is invaded by knowledge and fashion, shaped in false security and movie kind of sentences…

When we dream with gentleness just finding heat, desire and a solid rock shaped to roll over us as a bulldozer upon a rare blossom amid the decaying walls of an old building…

When the other was not there to listen carefully to all our dreams, to all our openhearted will to give body, mind and soul…

Smashed against the wall of the time filled with emotions, under the weight of lives so wasted by repetition they became numb to their own craving hearts…

The simple gesture of a kiss becomes the top sales from a Versace shop list of desires, the ultimate devotion on making love in to a mechanic roundabout of a blind body to a deaf soul in a tragicomic act of fluids and flesh, of hollow words and empty hands holding air more than heart…

Then – we cry… in loneliness we cry.
I was not seen I was not touched, I was not held in hands which could be home…

Then again – not learning the lesson of the voice within – that cries “Not now, not this, not this one…”

Fashions, vanity of males around, female souls as numb as the male chunks of nothingness we all are so used to hear about… human beings are so strange…

One day you rebel… one day you say “No more!”…

One day you dress the first part of the armor to be… and a part of you was already lost…

Then – you go.
You try to fear no more.
The armor guards the heart – now you may step further – now you may search…

The red lights are on, the warning is all over the place… but you keep trusting that – one day, one beautiful day – you will find home…

And you keep going, and challenging – unaware the armor is becoming thicker, unaware it is full of thorns, unaware it is hurting as much as – one day - soome unaware soul hurt yours…

The intuition says something is wrong – that you are feeling more and more alone – though, fame and people are more and more around, that you attract so easily people… so lost as you…so numb…

Until you start to feel scared… you dream about a saving angel that may return to you all the innocence, all the dreams… that heart numbed by tears inside… returning in to life…

You look around, on the place you were born, around all those you knew from the past… old, used by themselves so many times they forgot what they really were searching for… armor so thick they need to be beaten so they still feel alive…

By each of these “bulldozers” another two wounded souls are born… and we only may trust… trust that – love – won’t give up on us… no matter how thick our armor may be and no matter how wounded the heart is…

Hope is the last thing we hold, the only that may keep us human, the only that may keep us truly alive…

Watching an Italian movie “Melissa P.” and remembering life as it was…

Cyrano

Cyrano… my friend and devoted spirit, who dwells inside hearts by themselves rejected , hiding nobleness beyond doubt and love beyond the appearances of the times passing…

I want to sing thee all the admiring songs inside of me, all the beauty you could not see, all the proud you held so free, all the life you gave made poetry …

As a poet wishes to endure within all the words , may I become rhymed in what my heart knows but my mind denied…

Since language was meant to heal, the wounds of past offense done to might within, lets free the spirit – lets set it free – lets love beyond the bounds of speech…

Que el lenguaje nunca fue señor, de todo el don que mi alma lleva, de todo ardor que el viento clama, de todo este mar – profundo en pena…

Por eso me hago como brisa ajena, que sopla libre sobre tierra yerma, que desafía el tiempo y se hace bella, hasta dejar desnuda el alma amena.

Por rima y verso me entrelaza el arte, por sobre el tiempo me conduce aparte, hasta el fondo de un mar sin nombre, hasta dentro de un mundo noble…

Y poder sin duda encuentro ahora, y calor sin llama que el ser añora, y sonrisa amiga que guarda el templo, donde yace el oro de mi corazón sereno…

Ahora – a ti vuelvo desnudo y frío – sin más consuelo que pena y rima, sin más morada que el eterno castigo, de caminar errando sin hallar destino.

E se entre quinas e orbes celestes, se pudesse cantar meu sonho esquivo; se entre a bruma se esgueirara a chama - de esperança fútil, de amor beijada - seria livre para repousar meu peito, em mais do que sonhos, em pele amada…

Mas duvido e sofro por não ser visto, detrás da máscara há sempre o estranho, baixo a couraça a carne abrasada, pedindo o toque que de vida os refaça.

Rima é perversa, pois enclausura nas voltas o entrançado caminho da alma aspirante, da vontade que busca com tacteio hesitante, a porta perdida para o reino errante…

Por ventura musa de ecos velados, de sonhos perdidos nos versos, deslizando sem graça por entre as folhas bizarras de papéis que não o foram e de relações que não passam…

Foi a vida a cruel ou cruel foi o cego - que espezinhou canteiros floridos ao saltar sobre os átrios - procurando conforto nos reflexos de lua entre lagos despidos, quando estava ela Lua longe – lá no alto - no nada?…

Quanto mais perto me encontro no deambular tresloucado, mais a Lua se esconde no seu estranho fado, de mingar lentamente com véu de sereias, desde a face alba até breu que me apaga…

Por isso anseio pelo lar perdido, mas deambulo errante em duvida prendido: como um estranho lume de chama dourada, que ruma a casa mas de casa se afasta…