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…
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Amazing! Gostei de ler.
Beijos!
E alguém disse:
Fala-nos do Amor:
- Quando o amor vos fizer sinal, segui-o;
ainda que os seus caminhos sejam duros e difíceis.
E quando as suas asas vos envolverem, entregai-vos;
ainda que a espada escondida na sua plumagem
vos possa ferir.
E quando vos falar, acreditai nele;
apesar de a sua voz
poder quebrar os vossos sonhos
como o vento norte ao sacudir os jardins.
Porque assim como o vosso amor
vos engrandece, também deve crucificar-vos
E assim como se eleva à vossa altura
e acaricia os ramos mais frágeis
que tremem ao sol,
também penetrará até às raízes
sacudindo o seu apego à terra.
Como braçadas de trigo vos leva.
Malha-vos até ficardes nus.
Passa-vos pelo crivo
para vos livrar do joio.
Mói-vos até à brancura.
Amassa-vos até ficardes maleáveis.
Então entrega-vos ao seu fogo,
para poderdes ser
o pão sagrado no festim de Deus.
Tudo isto vos fará o amor,
para poderdes conhecer os segredos
do vosso coração,
e por este conhecimento vos tornardes
o coração da Vida.
Mas, se no vosso medo,
buscais apenas a paz do amor,
o prazer do amor,
então mais vale cobrir a nudez
e sair do campo do amor,
a caminho do mundo sem estações,
onde podereis rir,
mas nunca todos os vossos risos,
e chorar,
mas nunca todas as vossas lágrimas.
O amor só dá de si mesmo,
e só recebe de si mesmo.
O amor não possui
nem quer ser possuído.
Porque o amor basta ao amor.
E não penseis
que podeis guiar o curso do amor;
porque o amor, se vos escolher,
marcará ele o vosso curso.
O amor não tem outro desejo
senão consumar-se.
Mas se amarem e tiverem desejos,
deverão se estes:
Fundir-se e ser um regato corrente
a cantar a sua melodia à noite
Conhecer a dor da excessiva ternura.
Ser ferido pela própria inteligência do amor,
e sangrar de bom grado e alegremente.
Acordar de manhã com o coração cheio
e agradecer outro dia de amor.
Descansar ao meio dia
e meditar no êxtase do amor.
Voltar a casa ao crepúsculo
e adormecer tendo no coração
uma prece pelo bem amado,
e na boca, um canto de louvor.
Khalil Gibran
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