The Hands of Time

Dough of dust
The hands of Time
Carrying a jug of vital fluid
Pour life onto the estatic dirt
Forming a muddy mix on hold
Waiting for fermentation
For the hands of Time to 
Knead the dough of existence

From its fingertips
Time sprinkles spices and seasonings
Gently homogenizing the mixture
Squeezed between its fingers

Time molds the muddy recipe
Shapes and decorates
Delicatly lying it on the formworks of Earth
The hands of Time carry unestinguishable fire
To burn the firewood of vivacity
Explosively pokes the eyes for awakening

Time cradles its offsprings
With the rough softness of a gardener´s palms
Trimming the flaws and fertilizing our roots
Seeding knowledge and ripening the fruits of labour

Time picks the sweetness till it oozes
Adds sweetness to the recipe
And when the timer rings announcing the completion
Time gently removes the tray and lets it cool into maturity
Serving to the world another one of its treats
To some, tastes delightful
To others, sickening
But we have all been served
By the hands of Time

24/06/2016

3 Papers

Me and my neat organization
Me and my petty little papers
So nicely organized
All so identical
3 identical papers stacked identically
Light, Water, Rent
Light, Water, Rent
Light, Water, Rent
Light, Water, Rent
So useless
Such a useless waste
Of my organization and time
1 year´s passed by
12 stacks of 3 papers identically piled
I wait for 1
Then I pay 2
Wait for the next one
Then I pay 1
Then I staple, clip, stack
Waiting for the next month
While I wait for 1
To pay 2
To wait for the next one
To pay 1
To wait for the next month
So I can staple, clip, stack
Staple, staple, clip, stack
´Till I have a
New stack of 12 stacks of 3 papers identically piled
What a waste of time
What a waste of organization so nice
What a fucking waste of my precious time

07/06/2016

A única exigência dela é que você esteja preso... Minha única exigência é que você seja livre.
Her only demand is having you tied up... My only demand is that you are free.

O ser humano tem o potencial de ser tão especial mas prefere se manter como um ser bestial...

Human beings have the potential to be so special but they´d rather stay as a bestial being...

Sobre a possessividade...

Enquanto desejamos ter o que não temos, deixamos escapar aquilo que achamos que não temos mas que na realidade, é a única coisa que temos... A possessividade não nos permite possuirmos, sermos senhores daquilo que é nosso por voluntariedade, e ao invés, somos servos das nossas mesquinhas vontades humanas mundanas. Quem abre mão do controle firma as mãos nas rédeas da liberdade.

While we wish for what we don´t own, we let go of the things we think we don´t own but that are really the only things we own... Possessivity does not allow for us to possess, to be lords of what is voluntarily ours and instead, we become servants of our petty, mundane human wills. Who gives up on control firmly grips the reins of freedom.

Aprendendo a olhar para as pessoas e não para seus corpos...
Aprendendo a ouvir suas intenções e não suas palavras...
Aprendendo a prestar atenção e não esperar...

Aprendendo.


Learning to look at people and not at their bodies...
Learning to hear their intentions and not their words...
Learning to pay attention and not expecting...

Learning.

So enlightened... yet other people´s darkness bother me terribily.... do I ask myself why? Am I really so balanced if I cannot have compassion for those who are not? Am I really so lightened if other people´s darkness diminishes my light instead of me lightening up their darkness? Am I really so loving when I cannot love those who do not think and act like me? When I cannot understand other people´s pains and anger and be sympathetic instead of judgemental? Instead of thinking myself better for living / acting a certain way or according to certain rules? When I see negativity in others instead of positivity? What I notice is what I recognize in myself. What bothers me externally is what I have not resolved within myself. "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious."
~Carl Jung, "The Philosophical Tree”

Eu posso ser sua amiga, ou sua inimiga...
De ambas as formas eu terei a mesma lealdade e o mesmo respeito...
A mentira é a defesa dos fracos...

I can be a friend or a foe...
Either way I´ll maintain the same loyalty and the same respect...
Lies are the defense of the weak...

The Wilderness and Me

Silly me
Who has let people twist my mind

Silly me
For crying all the time
Silly me
Who could be a flower in bloom
Who could fly without a rocket to the moon
Who could be springtime in June...
And I let myself be
The green grass that gets stepped on
Becoming bald before the drought has arriveds
My force, all to keep
Some green patches alive
Any trees that may sprout
Are ruthlessly trimmed
And the pretty flowers
Picked, they more quickly wither
The colors of the sky that fill my eyes
Quickly obscured by pollution
And artificial lights
I have turned on a switch inside of me
Because darkness now reigns
My heart screamingly weeps
I can count on despair
´Cuz it sure doesn´t leave me
Except when I´m all alone
With the wilderness and me
The wilderness in me

05/09/2012

Water Poem

Everything is weird

Everything´s bizarre

What reality exists?

What´s reality after all?

When I smoke up all my senses

Get bizarre

I hear the noises, they awe me

They befuddle me

Make me akward

Bells of hammering

Non-stop working

In the middle of the full moon night

Hammering and chiming,

Work is time passing

Awkward feelings

All´s sensations

Unclear sensations of the physical rhealm

Unstable phases of my consciousness

I must stop

All

Sensations

Find deeper oceans of a thicker mass of water

Abyssal plain where the shale flakes down to rest on ocean floors

Darkness to enframe the glow of aquatic stars

Universe inside water

Outside

Flows of my mind

Still river

Still breaking rocks

Still wild and coarse

Carrying life

Carrying gems with glows of stars

Ride the river

Ride it wild

Then, let go, and let the river take is turn

Rocking me, bathing me, polishing my manners

What am I, crystal or sand?

I understand

A thing or two

Yet, in some days

Nothing makes sense

I take a chance

And I let go into that wild river

That sooner or later, will end up leading to the ocean

Past many rocks,

Maybe even encountering new ones at arrival

Making my way

To the vast and wild ocean.

15/01/2014

Slayed

-Maybe that´s why I was born a woman.
I would rather be the slayed than the slayer.

-Hmm. I want to slay you to see you reborn in fire.

-Slay this rage out of me!

-Stabbed through the heart, clear blood flows.

-My heart is stabbed everyday for being a human being, the slayer of the world.

-The made slays the maker.

-And therefore, daily, slays itself.
Suicidally lives.

-What do you slay? Apart from me.

-My divine essence, love.

É importante revisitarmos nosso passado. Não através do arrependimento, não na esperança de que algum fator possa ser modificado. Os acontecimentos da vida respondem a um equilíbrio universal, são respostas a variáveis incalculáveis e incontroláveis por nós, portanto só pode haver um resultado para cada situação, assim como na matemática um conjunto de números organizados de uma forma específica em uma equação específica só podem nos fornecer um resultado. Revisitar o passado é rever, revisar. É reviver os acontecimentos sob nova perspectiva, possuindo novas experiências e atingindo níveis mais profundos da consciência. Se não entendemos nosso passado, permanecemos presos a ele; tentar seguir em frente deixando um rastro para trás, como Maria e João deixaram um rastro de pão, guiará nossas feras diretamente a nós. Nos encontrarão perdidos, desprevenidos, e sem nem mesmo saber que esses bichos ferozes são nossos, sucumbiremos quando podemos domá-los, adestrá-los, quando podemos ser senhores dessas feras, dominá-las para servir-nos com amabilidade. Podemos usufruir dessas feras para proteger-nos, sabendo que nós e as feras somos um só, podemos usar sua ferocidade para dar-nos coragem, suas garras para galoparmos, sua companhia para afugentarmos a solidão. Não devemos temer os monstros do passado, pois com o passar do tempo aprendemos que as aparências enganam.

It is important to revisit our past. Not through regret, not under the hope that some factor might be modified. All happenings of life respond to a universal equilibrium, they are answers to incalculable and uncontrollable variables, therefore there can only be one outcome to each situation, like in mathematics a set of numbers organized in a specific manner in a specific equation can only have one result. Revisiting the past is observing again, is reviewing. It is reliving the happenings under new perspective, possessing new experiences and reaching deeper levels of conciousness. If we do not understand our past, we remain attached to it; attempting to move foward leaving a trace behind us, like Hansel and Gretel left a trail of bread behind, guiding our beasts directly to ourselves. They will find us lost, off guard, and not knowing that these beasts belong to us, we succumb when we could tame them, train them, when we can be lords of the beast, dominate them so they will serve us amiably. We can benefit from these beast to protect us, knowing that us and them are one, we can use their ferocity to give us courage, their claws to gallop, their company to frighten off loneliness. We shouldn´t fear the monsters of the past, because with time, we learn that looks are deceiving.

Ocean (F...´s Poem)

Vast and wild is the ocean
Totally untamable, the ocean
Unpredictable immensitude
The water that soothingly bathes
Can also carry quietly away
Among its splattering waves
Waves that hide me between their rise and fall
In springs of summer, or in winter falls

As a rising wave gently lifts me from my feet
Already it begins to break
Leaving no pause, another instantly lifts
Slaps my body without pity or rage
Simply for being a wave
Inconstantly unpredictable
Following only a most natural path
Without lectures, exposes to me what life, what love is

The ocean does not care for me
It simply invites me to ride its waves
Some I dive into, some I lay myself on
Like a mattress of white flowers that quickly fade
Some I´ve tried to catch
But I was only carried away
And some...
I just observe against a colorful fading sun
Touching me deeper than ones I have immersed into

Wild, savage ocean
Which no one can tame
My professor, my philosophy
Green, blue waves that soothe my beasts
The rivers in me flow inevitably
Towards this fundamental key
To understanding life´s mystery
Soothes my unstill heart
Rests my restless mind
Holds my tears of overwhelm
Like a mother, nurses my juvenile body

I am life´s, I am love´s
I am a drop of immensitude in the endless ocean
I am free, I am wild
I am an everflowing river
Directed through my path
Which will find its own course
I know where it will end
In the wild, untamable ocean

29/10/2012

Spread love, not hate. Spread understanding, not segregation. Spread union, not isolation. Spread humanity, not calamity.

Fonte: http://angie639.blogspot.com.br/

Violence on TV

She sleeps without ever sleeping. Constantly expecting, awaiting for the “foreigner”, the so-called foreigner, to arrive. She knew him very well, without face, without name, but she knew his whole story, his poverty, his perversity. She saw him every day, without face, without name, in someone else´s house, someone else without face, without name, whose story she knew as well, for it was her own. She knew so many people and now she knows none, she knows people without faces, without names, she has never known the world or even so many people, and now she is one with all, for she is one of all. She knows the stories, the unforgetable stories of many and her own heartbreaking story is known by almost none. Every step that is taken, every noise that rebounds, the blood flashes through her arteries, shocks crash through her brain. Expectation of what´s yet to come, unexpected destiny, because there is nothing more to wait for, nothing but what is already known. Only known is the effect, cause remains mysterious – remain anonymous; or finally, like all, be known without face, without name, and sympathized by all the people without faces, without names.

25/04/2013