Status Updates From Água Viva

lendo BEM devagar pq estou com medo do tapa na cara

But I know that I shall have peace before death and that one day I shall taste the delicateness of life. I shall notice—as we eat and live the taste of food. My voice falls into the abyss of your silence. You read me in silence. But in this unlimited silent field I unfurl my wings, free to live. So I accept the worst and enter the core of death and that is why I'm alive.

I'm restless and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside myself. It's just that I don't know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs. If I received so much love inside me and nonetheless am restless it's because I need the God to come. Come before it's too late. I'm in danger like every person who lives. And the only thing I can expect is precisely the unexpected.

Even for unbelievers there's the instant of despair that is divine: the absence of the God is an act of religion.

Though to speak of the instant of vision I must be more discursive than the instant: many instants will pass before I unfold and exhaust the single and quick complexity of a glance.

It's so hard to speak and say things that can't be said. It's so silent. How to translate the silence of the real encounter between the two of us? So hard to explain: I looked straight at you for a few instants. Such moments are my secret. There was what's called perfect communion. I call it an acute state of happiness.

I'm not going to speak of the God, He is my secret. The sun is shining today. The beach was full of a nice wind and a freedom. And I was on my own. Without needing anybody. The calm sea. But on the lookout and suspicious. As if a calm like that couldn't last. Something's always about to happen. The unforeseen, improvised and fatal,

The horrible duty is to go to the end. And counting on no one. To live your life yourself. And to suffer as much to dull myself a bit. Because I can no longer carry the sorrows of the world. I live them but no longer have the strength. I don't want to tell even myself certain things. I feel that I know some truths. Which I already foresee. But truths have no words. Truths or truth?

"I let the free horse run fiery in its pure noble joy. I, who run nervously and only reality delimits me. And when the day reaches its end I hear the crickets and become entirely full and unintelligible." p64

Love the horse motif!!

"Of the freedom to err, fall, and get up again.

But I hope to understand in order to accept things - the act of surrender will never happen." p61

escrevo por profundamente querer falar. Embora escrever só esteja me dando a grande medida do silêncio.