Güç İstenc

When he looked into her dark eyes, and saw that her lips were poised between a laugh and silence, he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke - the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart. It was love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerted the same force wherever two pairs of eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. She smiled, and that was certainly an omen - the omen he had been awaiting, without even knowing he was, for all his life. The omen he had sought to find with his sheep and in his books, in the crystals and in the silence of the desert. It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world. He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the uninversal language. Because, when you know that language, it’s easy to understand that someone in this world awaits you, whether it’s in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredibly certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one’s dreams would have no meaning.

and after all...

Talvez fosse melhor não ter a tranqüilidade de saber que as coisas ficam bem no final. Porque elas ficam, você sabe. Mas, às vezes, saber disso nos torna preguiçosos, nos tira o esforço de contribuir com essa melhora. E é tão difícil pensar de uma maneira diferente da maioria das pessoas, é tão difícil fazê-las acreditar que dar importância a coisas diferentes não significa não dar importância a nada. É que realmente o que importa pra mim não é impressionar, não é conquistar mais do que os outros. É simplesmente conquistar tudo o que eu preciso para ser feliz, ponto. Gosto do que gosto, do que me faz bem, sou feliz quando rodeada de pessoas queridas, quando não preciso explicar aos outros que realmente pouco me importa o que eles tanto prezam. Tenho tanto medo de me deixar conquistar por esse sonho médio imposto por sei-lá-quem, que às vezes penso que todo esse descaso seja só uma maneira de provar para mim que isto não vai acontecer. Esta minha falta de ambição deve realmente assustar muito as pessoas que se importam comigo e também com coisas que não me importam tanto assim. Talvez meus valores estejam deturpados... Ou talvez seja o contrário. Como saber? Não se sabe.

Antes, eu diria que é no medo de perder que eu perco. Hoje, digo que é no medo de perder que eu descubro que não tenho! Mas eu oscilo entre opostos, um dia você percebe... Auto-suficiência foi algo inventado, não vê? Ao perceber que não tenho, nada tenho a perder. E eu? Eu me dei. Agora posso parecer dependente, e depois... 

"Como aqueles que, no convento, varrem o chão e lavam a roupa, servindo sem a glória de função maior, meu trabalho é o de viver os meus prazeres e as minhas dores. É necessário que eu tenha a modéstia de viver." (Clarice Lispector - O ovo e a galinha)

Lived, understood and disappointing.

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.