«We're the middle children of history. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war...our Great Depression is our lives.»

All The Little Lights

«You are all just perfect little satellites, spinning 'round and 'round this broken earthly life»

I'm standing here, ever so lonely. But it's a good kind of loneliness - I have my thoughts. And this song that makes the world around me more real.

I stand nearly between two dimensions, the wind blowing me from one side to the other. Of the edge.

The night sky hovers above me, dark and pure; the air, icy, cutting me like a sharp glass - but I don't mind it. I actually smile, because the night brings my life to this intermittent, peaceful and steady place where I am right now. 

All I see is the little lights, yellow, green, red and orange - they are only blurry dots of light, so alive. They whisper to me, inaudibly, only I can hear them. Like a gentle caress on my cheek. No one else around me seems to notice.The city lights guide me home, they point where to go and I silently thank them. They are always here, when I don't even know I need them. 

It's all those little lights that give me an overwhelming sense of purpose, of happiness. In some moments, I can almost feel the earth setting into it's right place, when life seems so incredibly delicious, so amazingly perfect, despite it's flaws. And in breathing in and out, I exist. Just by breathing, by believing that my hope isn't lost, that there are still those precious, fleeding moments that chaos cannot destroy. 

I understand it's so much bigger than me, the whole picture. I'm just a tiny detail. It's about so much more than this moment we're in. Everything matters, in those moments. You don't get to relive them ever again - once it's lost, it's lost forever. 

All the little lights fill me with warmth, with a jolt of joy that I can't describe. One of the most real things I've felt. I wish it could last forever. One of these days, it will...

Bilhete de ida

«Aquele que voa tem de poisar em algum lugar:

Isso é partir e não voltar»

Ela gostaria de saber o que isso era. Gostava de conseguir encarar essa âncora esmagadora de ir. Mas não voltar. 

Ela caminhou pelas chamas, pela neve que queima - ela percorreu as léguas do seu próprio inferno e encontrou uma saída. Deixou para trás a dor (o início, porque ela nunca fica), pôs a sua vida num compartimento e foi. Foi simplesmente.

Nunca soubera como seria fazê-lo. Ter tanta certeza, tanta confiança nisso, que a cidade à sua volta parecia encolher. Ela sabia finalmente.

Não teve medo de encarar o desconhecido, o escuro temível (talvez sim, uma parte de si); não receou desistir do que tinha (o mais precioso). Algo estaria a começar, mas outro algo pereceu. Mas só em parte, porque nunca nada acaba totalmente.

Quando se vai, corre-se sempre o risco de perceber que toda a esperança de um futuro menos assombrado era uma mera miragem. Que esse local mágico era apenas uma fonte de luz que guiava a vontade e mitigava a tristeza.

Claro que ela temia isso. Por muita necessidade que tivesse de ir, o assustador caminho, rodeado dos espectros de saudade impedia-a de respirar. Tinha de ser - ela não sabia como ir, nem como ficar. Estava encurralada pela angústia desses dois mundos tão diferentes, tão derradeiros.

O momento chegou, porque ela sabia que ele tinha de chegar. E ela também sabia que alguns de nós irão sempre ficar para trás. Sabia que não podia ser ela, desta vez não. Nunca ela. Se ela ficasse, isso seria devastador, acabaria por fazê-la ruir - as paredes do seu ser foram erguidas nessa certeza de partir, um dia. Pelos vistos, esse dia não tardou em chegar, embora o tempo tenha demorado a passar.  

Desta vez, ela não irá ficar para trás, como de tantas outras vezes, em que teve de ficar em terra, a ver todos os outros seguirem em frente, de uma maneira ou de outra. Desta vez, não vou ficar. 

Hoje, falo em ir.

«There is a vitality, a life force, an energy. A quickening that is translated through you into action.
And because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique and if you block it, it'll never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. 
It is not your business to determine how good it is or how valuable or how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work; you have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. 
No artist is pleased, there is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.»

Martha Graham

Yesterday

«I want you to notice, when I'm not around..»

O que fazer quando sinto esta saudade a voltar repentinamente? Quando a sinto a despedaçar-me o coração de forma lenta e demorada...

É tão avassalador como se estivesse a ver essa vida a morrer, mesmo à minha frente. Tento olhá-la de frente, mas é inevitável que a deixo ir. Penso que não está ao meu alcance travar a vida que quer seguir em frente e desaparecer. E é esta incapacidade de fazer alguma coisa, de parar o que já começou que me faz sentir assim, sem escolha. Isto de não ter escolha é impossível aguentar, tão incredivelmente impotente.

Questiono se esta minha vida de agora faz algum sentido, ou se apenas tento convencer-me disso. Sei que o que está marcado em nós nunca irá passar, o que foi queimado em nós por tanto tempo, por tanta dor e felicidade já está entranhado na nossa pele. Não vai evaporar, mas enfraquece.

É neste sentir-me sem direção, perdida, sem saber para onde ir ou o que fazer. Como ser, sem ti. Às vezes finjo que voltei ao passado. Vivo no antigamente, por breves segundos, quando tudo era fácil, mas parecia terrivelmente difícil. Quando o sonho governava o tempo e a mente. Quando estávamos no topo do mundo, a ser o que queríamos ser, quando eu sabia que estavas por perto, se tudo colapsasse.

Agora, resta a saudade e a memória doloroa, que passeiam juntas na sombra da minha solidão.

The Beautiful Things

I was noticing the beautiful things. Everything seemed to fall into place perfectly. There was balace, there was peace. And I believe I felt complete again - the storm had gone down to the sea, the fire that burned in my heart had died down.
Suddenly I was understanding the whys and the hows; I was looking at the world in ways I had never thought about.
They were always here, around me. These beautiful things, they never left me. But I didn't seem to notice them before.
I saw what was there, the way they belonged to their surroundings, though I also saw what wasn't. What was yet to be, the possibilities, the ideas, the future, the happiness. I saw us.
Where I seized to exist and I got lost, immersed in this ocean of beauty. The beauty of the world.
I saw them for what they were, simple, fragile, graceful and so incredibly familiar. They were joyous in their silent lives. They refused to give away their secrets, but they still told me plenty. They spoke of another life I had, a very old one - and I recognized the loveliness of all of it, I embraced it in me.
The open window let the light come in, it allowed life to swallow the darkness. Here, there's no room for chaos, or destruction or misery. It contains what is especial, and rare, and precious. And beautiful. Here there's room to contemplate how the ceiling is upside down and how that doesn't matter at all. Maybe the ceiling is where I'll walk from now on. Maybe all these shapes and forms, the edges and the shadows are just that. But they also contain something else. Something pure, something real. They enabled me to think like I had nothing to lose; they gave me clarity to see that maybe some things don't matter at all, that the way the world moves doesn't concern me. It shouldn't. It allowed me to forgive, perhaps even me. It allowed me to breathe.
Everything was very much alive, magical like. I closed my eyes, filled with the quietness, the utter peace that silenced the pain and despair. I closed my eyes and saw them all. The beautiful things.

What the water gave me

«One of these mornings (...) you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky»

You win over noise. You accomplish silence.
This precious, tragic, fatidic stilness you only get underwater. Utterly silent.
I was floating, drifting but not away. I stayed right there, in the moment. I looked at the far distant sky. It was so insanely blue, it hurt my eyes. It was so far away, so immense I was afraid it would fall over me and suddenly I felt small. I felt the nothingness of me, compared to the wide sky. I couldn't bear to be in the water any longer. I had to get out. I tried realizing the colours in the clouds, but it was hopeless.
When I'm inside, there's merely the sound of my breathing. And water. Water surrounding me, clear water all over. I see the beginning and it's end.
I am floating, like time doesn't move, like the earth doesn't spin. And all I see is the beauty of elegant trees gently dancing to the wind's waltz against the light blue pane. I see the trees, but what are they telling me? They move, they want to break free...It's summertime and they are alive. They speak to me - they are speaking of things I ever dreamed about, things that are so known, yet so unexpected. I'm feeling such quietness, such purity. There's no space for hurt here, for illusion. Reality, as bright as I ever saw it, is upon me and I embrace it with my arms open.
And what did the water really give me? Serenity I believe. It gave me a break from the atrocities of the world when I needed it, it allowed me to forget, it allowed me to know more. I floated free, the trees spoke to me, the birds flew over me, telling tales long forgotten. It saved me, when I didn't even know I needed rescue. It was a lighthouse to guide me where I don't recall. I don't know the way, I don't know what it was, but I know how it felt. It was home, somehow.