silencio

A casa na Ăˇrvore
Puumaja – 2022 – Private collection

There is a jungle of chaos, emotions and thoughts where we live in. Deep in there, in a tiny clearing, on the top of a green hill, a tall tree with wide spread roots and branches so long that almost look like pathways in the sky. On top of the tree there is a little red house, with a bell by the door and small clear windows with delicate curtains that filters the light and decorates the interior. It is cozy; it shelters the soul and allows you to rest, find your silence, be safe. The whistling sounds of the wind rustling the leaves and lazy cricket melodies are the only sounds allowed to gently disturb your rest. When it rains, the thunder clears the air and the water drops washes the dirt and the dust away, preparing all surfaces to receive the warm rays of sun again, imprinting the cyclic harmony so needed between storms and peacefulness. There we can smile and play. There, mind and body are free to be. There you can sit for hours (or even seconds), breath deeply and enjoy small moments of beauty, solitude, emptiness and happiness. In there you will find the time and space you need to clear your heart, grow stronger, healthier and get ready to endure the hardships of the jungle, of life. You will leave, but you can always go back. For you, the door remains forever unlocked.

Art IS that tree house.

Luciana Mariano, 2022 Ⓒ 

Há uma selva de caos, emoções e pensamentos onde vivemos. Lá no meio, numa pequena clareira, no topo de uma colina verde, uma árvore alta com raízes largas e galhos tão longos que quase parecem caminhos no céu. No topo da árvore há uma casinha vermelha, com sino na porta e pequenas janelas transparentes com cortinas delicadas que filtram a luz e decoram o interior. É aconchegante; ela abriga a alma e permite que você descanse, encontre seu silêncio, esteja seguro. Os sons sibilantes do vento farfalhando as folhas e melodias preguiçosas de grilo são os únicos sons permitidos para perturbar suavemente o seu descanso. Quando chove, o trovão limpa o ar e as gotas de água lavam a sujeira e a poeira, preparando todas as superfícies para receberem novamente os raios quentes do sol, imprimindo a harmonia cíclica tão necessária entre tempestade e tranquilidade. Lá podemos sorrir e brincar. Lá, mente e corpo são livres para existir. Lá você pode sentar por horas (ou talvez segundos), respirar fundo e desfrutar de pequenos momentos de beleza, solidão, vazio e felicidade. Lá você encontrará o tempo e o espaço necessários para limpar seu coração, ficar mais forte, mais saudável e se preparar para endurecer diante das dificuldades da selva, da vida. Você vai embora, mas sempre pode voltar. Para você, a porta permanece para sempre destrancada.

A arte É aquela casa na árvore.

Luciana Mariano, 2022, direitos autorais reservados.

Shhhh

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O silencio, as vezes
Permite aos olhos falar
O silencio, quase sempre
Permite a alma descansar em paz.

…………………

Silence, some times
Allows the eyes to speak
Silence, most of times
Allows the soul to rest in peace.

Silent Noise

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I am trying to keep a quiet heart while these days pass by. Excitement blands with deep confusion, and I go from desperation and anxiety, to solitude and ease.
One side of me is eager for whatever movement I can get out of each moment, while the other side is tenderly searching for the energy of each thought, trying to understand the delicate temperature of each feeling, every emotion.
I rather kill the beast that torments my dreams and crowd up my every attempt for peace.
But in order to do that I must keep calm and centered, which is the very opposite of what my soul is struggling to overcome. My shaky hands are trying to hold firmly on to that heavy shiny sward, while my fragile feed touch the unsafe and unstable ground beneath me. I focus on the silent noise that I can find deep inside my troubled mind and with eyes closed I try to conquer my enemy, so determined to drain my strength, and dry out my hopes, to crush down my spirit.
The soil is overheated and infertile, I know well this battle will not be an easy one.
I also know that fate is not an option or a for granted act of destiny.
I must continue believing and persevering, and also holding on to my pathway.
One day, all this evil will be a dusty and blurry memory, kept locked or dead enough to never bother me again. But until then, I will be counting on gigantic angelical wings to hold me in and keep me alive. I will count on innocence and dreams to keep my head above water and forbid me of drowning into my own tears. One day, hopefully, the devils inside and out will surrender to brighter days and allow my strength to rule my destiny. That would be nice. That shall be.