pelo direito de existir, ir e vir
sem medo, sem justificativas, sem desculpas, sem culpas
de ser gente, ser mulher, ser preta, ser trans, bixa, travesti
de ser quem se é, com consciência ou com fé
ser respeitade, de ter oportunidade, de ser livre de verdade
Que assim seja, axé
There is a place, in the deep, vast blue planet, where we can always meet and rest.
Where we can just be and listen to each others breaths, hearts, voices, silences and stories.
There we know we are safe. Turbulences do not affect us when we are in there.
It perhaps lasts a few seconds or undisturbed hours and days, but we know,
that in there, we don’t need to be cautious, worried, afraid, alert, defended.
We share in silence whatever goes through our souls, with no fear of mistaking
no doubt nor disapproval, no chance of rejection. An ephemeral taste of peace and freedom we lack.
There we can be tenderly preserved from tempests, turmoils, gales, jumbles and storms.
It’s there where we take shelter in our darkest and coldest nights.
A place to be nurtured and lovingly accepted. Generously allowed to exist, heal and thrive, despite our human imperfections, our flaws and limitations. There we are perfectly broken (and loved) for the whole context and perspectives of our existence. No words needed, you just know. There we play, sit, rest, are.
Its the chance to recompose and re-align. Re-find our purposes and allow ourselves to continue, despite the noise, rage and friction of the waters that never cease. Feeling comfortable even for a tiny fraction of time may be the glimpse of hope we long for. Having our feet dry and warm, for a while, gives us strength to stay afloat a little longer and perhaps, make it safe to shore, find home.
There you are the home.
When did you last feel overwhelmed? Exhausted? Pretending to be ok? Incapable? Anxious…
Corona times brought new worries and challenges, but also amplified old skeletons from everyone’s closets. Society is always kept in high demands and fears, because that way we are also kept obedient and controllable. The ever growing need of things is an illusion and we feel like we have to be, perform and deliver appearances and behaviours that are as unnatural to us as being super heroes or machines.
We are demanded and we demand. We are our own self inflicted tyrants and victims. We accept the roles that were imposed to us, rather than deliberately choosing them. We teach our children the loneliness we feel because we care too much about pleasing everyone else, meeting deadlines, complying to “normal”.
We get entangled and trapped into our on creations, instead of flowing through it.
We stop creating and thriving and start struggling and surviving.
May the end of the year be the end of everything for a while. May the illusion of time play on our behalf and allow us to rest and dream again. May we find and do things that bring us joy and allows us to feel whole. Let 2021 die in peace so we can embrace the new set of 325 new days to be kinder to our selves, others, the planet, life.
There is undoubtledly beauty in chaos, but we must find our peace in it, despite it.
As Frida Kahlo said: “Donde no puedas amar, no te demores.”
***************************
Quando você se sentiu oprimido pela última vez? Exausto? Fingindo estar bem? Incapaz? Ansioso…
Os tempos de Corona trouxeram novas preocupações e desafios, mas também ampliaram os esqueletos antigos dos armários de todos. A sociedade é sempre mantida em altas demandas e medos, porque dessa forma também somos mantidos obedientes e controláveis. A necessidade cada vez maior de coisas é uma ilusão e sentimos que devemos ser, representar e entregar aparências e comportamentos que são tão antinaturais para nós quanto sermos super-heróis ou máquinas.
Somos exigidos e exigimos. NĂłs somos tiranos e vĂtimas auto-inflictos. Aceitamos os papĂ©is que nos foram impostos, ao invĂ©s de escolhĂŞ-los. Ensinamos nossos filhos a solidĂŁo que sentimos porque nos preocupamos demais em agradar a todos, cumprir prazos, sermos “o normal”.
Ficamos emaranhados e aprisionados em nossas próprias criações, em vez de fluir através delas.
Paramos de criar e prosperar e começamos a lutar e sobreviver.
Que o fim do ano seja o fim de tudo por um tempo. Que a ilusão do tempo aja por nós e nos permita-nos descansar e sonhar novamente. Que possamos encontrar e fazer coisas que nos tragam alegria e nos permitam sentirmos-nos inteiros. Que 2021 morra em paz para que possamos abraçar os novos 325 dias e sermos mais bondosos conosco mesmos, com os outros, com o planeta, com a vida.
Sem dúvida, há beleza no caos, mas devemos encontrar nossa paz nele, apesar dele.
Como disse Frida Kahlo: “Donde no puedas amar, no te demores.”
Time repairs
mistakes
misunderstandings
mischiefs
regrets
broken hearts
pain
everything.
Time is the kind of artist that never gives up
never stops creating and reinventing itself
it can also be cruel and leave behind
What would never be inconceivable
letting go.
Time is a villain
an enemy
my best friend
the opportunity and the worst nightmare
Time is an illusion, but also the ultimate reality.
If it exists, perhaps so do we.
It may end, but it also may be
the only witness,
or even
the only reason
for our experience.
We are all stray dogs in an unequal world.
We all dream of things we can’t have.
We are hungry of something we will never get.
Education doesn’t change the world, it changes people.
And people change the world.
We are all there and yet, no one is present. Life can be just like that; we think we exist, but we are ever desappearing, from the very moment we started.
Estamos todos lá e, no entanto, ninguém está presente. A vida pode ser assim; pensamos que existimos, mas estamos desaparecendo, desde o momento em que começamos.
Sometimes
I am not sure
if life is just a dream
a nightmare
or an illusion.
Perhaps its something else;
entirely different
of what we believe to know
something we don’t
even grasp to understand.
Maybe all of it.
Or even none of the above.
How would you tell this story?
What is happening?
What will happen?
How does it end?
Life offers the tools, we do the narratives.
Han er der
men han er ikke min
Han er en del af mig
selvom han ikke tilhører mig
han er alt hvad jeg er
alt hvad jeg mangler
men kan ikke holdes
han er sig selv og det gør mig stolt af
jeg savner ham, kræver hans tilstedeværelse, tænker på ham
men det er kun han selv som kan finde sin vej tilbage.
jeg kan bare være her, og vente
så længe livet varer.
Com pés descalços
Sobre a relva
Ăšmida e verde
Sentimos a brisa
Leve e morna
Que apazigua
O coração
Cansado.
Trazemos estrelas nas mĂŁos
e jóias inestimáveis na alma
Carregamos esperança
por tempos melhores
Um mundo mais justo
e igualitário.
Vislumbramos os mistĂ©riosÂ
que justifiquem
a dor e o vazio
daquilo que ainda
nĂŁo podemos
transformar
em mágica
e beleza.
Luciana Mariano (c)
luciana mariano 