I sat on the hills, hills far away from here in other dimensions of myself, in solitude, to feel all this unique energy of suffering, of the torture of this moment of complex questions. Reflecting on life without feeling happy for not having me completely in it hurts, tears come down with me from the heights to the mountains on this mountain. I really have pains in my soul, not from depression or sadness, but from uncertainties and the certainties of the doubts that cause me to believe.
If you read it all, maybe my heart would feel thump-thump-tam… would I be touched by the soul that reads me? Perhaps!
There are no unicorns, no Saci-pererê, perhaps a headless mule, as they have never been seen, only imagined; and there are still atheists who don't believe in gods, what barbarism is this that makes me kind? Poor system (scheme)! They may feel helpless for their turn as they live.
I have pains in my deep being, inside what the soul carries inside, where consciousness ultimately attends, by distance, to make the conventional world of apparitions in its conditional formalities. Who can understand what goes on in my heart? To know what is my suffering; only with words, they will not understand. I have so many doubts, and there are no wise men who can understand me. All failed in their attempts, none remained that could be of use to me. My drama? I do not think so! Not even religion can prove anything after the disagreement, my crying everywhere, the passion in black and white for no reason.
Life is a beautiful piece of wonderful crap. Nothing makes sense, and everything, absolutely everything, is just the blah blah blah of neurotic and childish minds. Science has played and continues to play a great role in the advancement of modernity, leaving people homesick for times that are inferior to tomorrow. I am a Philosopher and I come to wish an eternal sad return for the lost. In the not-too-distant future, we will have a planet at war for fresh water across the Earth.
Sad to feel what I feel inside, this inevitably painful thing without explanation, which brings me so much confrontation and then, reason. It is difficult to understand me because I have pains such as there are in you. Therefore, also feel welcomed by my way of feeling existence. I see almost nothing funny in this theater of life, in which the interpretation is perhaps worth a place of comfort and prominence, if it is well thought out to flatter, praise the other at the expense of an eagerness.
All the Philosophy books I've read so far were enough to make me have an encounter with pure and true conscience, so that today I see so much nonsense in fights, wars and people. I am selective because I am complex, unknown, because I am many in myself, and everyone sits at the table with me. The story is cruel, sad and murderous. Slave ships: who read the whole story about it? Well then, have that experience. Nazism: who read a lot about it? Well then read. Protestant Church: who read a lot about it? Read. The cachaça revolt: who read a lot about it? Read. The Complete History of Western, Eastern and African Philosophy: Who Has Read Deeply? Religion and its true creation: who guarantees the truth in the sources from which religions are sustained over time? Politics and its complexity, forms of government and things connected with the polis: do you know deeply about politics in the world?
Everything in the theater of life will have an incredible response from brilliant minds, but not quite. Caution. You don't beat a drum for crazy. I know that life is difficult and very complex, in which, in it, we are in a whirlwind of emotions and feelings that surround us according to our inclinations and conditioning.
Dawn comes down from the mountain and I walk over the surface of the hills, thinking, silent, reflecting. I'm sad for not being where I want to be, for not hugging who I want to hug, living a little with the life that my imagination charges me before I die. When I wrote this article, knowing that it will be registered here on the Eu Sem Fronteiras portal forever, I also knew that today, in the future, I would not exist among mortals, but I really wanted everyone to have the joy of respecting each other for being resolved with themselves, and unlike me, being able to be where they want to be and next to the people they love, even knowing that the future holds so many changes that I know how difficult it is to face loneliness in a short future, where each one will live it.
My anxieties are springs that flow from my heart. This is how I build temples to virtue, in which I cry for what I didn't live and feel fulfilled by what I've become. Time passes, time passes, as the poet Carlos Augusto Souto de Alencar wrote, time passes, time passes. This life that looks like a game of hopscotch, in which heaven waits for victory over hell. Anguish that makes my heart drop, shifting to the right side, in effect not to feel the passion, love or pain that stops in it. How much time do I have left? I wanted to have fun, travel again, smile – I missed this one, because I don't even know how to smile anymore.
Hug my mother, play with my son, vibrate with my Flamengo in the stands at Maracanã, run like a child after nothing, without commitment; it hurts, it hurts to miss the scraped knees as a child. Mom, give me your lap, I want to go back to your arms and live it all over again. I love my life, crazy wonderful crap, crazy thing – make sure you read the accent on the e correctly, if not, fasten your seat belt or open the soft spot. Is it difficult to understand a Philosopher like me? No, not lost! Congratulations on your concentration, on your attention, and let's go again to the top of the mountain in the ranges. Reflecting on life without meaning is not enough. I may be many in myself, and they all sit at table with me; yet I want to reflect on my silence. Everyone stop talking, stop the clock, make this night perpetual. Stop mimimi, humanity of hallucinated masked people, stop on your continents to read the following reflection with me: “It's your life, ruin it as you wish. After the fun at the Theater of the Gods, die.”
Every metaphor, enigma, my whole philosophical poetic spirit, is for your bel-reflection. No good thing makes its possessor happy unless his mind is habituated to the possibility of loss. Stop charging yourself, just live to die. Nothing makes sense. What is life? I do not deny it, after being here it is my right, however the interstices of ignorance have diminished in such a way that all jurisprudence has created a scope such as it proposes a reflection that problematizes, questions and directs to other dimensions of realities not previously considered in the profane world of limitations intellectuals.
I don't waste time with politicians, I broke up with them, I'm no longer vice president, candidate, maybe a voter. I don't waste time with religion, I respect them all, but I don't feel convinced by any of them, even though I'm a Christian and a member of the UCKG. I don't vibrate with almost anything in life, only in epic moments in my favela, Complexo do Alemão, or in Maracanã, maybe also being next to the people I love. I read many books on philosophy and literature, I lost my childish beliefs; Today I eat solid food, of course, the Holy Bible will always be the majority in my belief in believing in the Lord Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior of my soul (Revelation 11).
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Anyway, I have labor pains in my mind in the sense of the feelings that visit me, each day being a different type of feeling. Recalling Nietzsche, German Philosopher, I am tormented in the positive sense, in which knowledge makes me not accept the conditions of a corrupt society, intellectually weak. Therefore, I don't want to be part of this little game of eternal return in the allegories of the cave, in voluntary servitude, in which the animals in revolution accept the pigs as masters of the game of power, in the case of all the systems of power existing up to now and known to this day.
“I don't want to feel these things, I didn't choose to feel this. Perhaps it is God's gift for being a poet, a Philosopher, having artistic sensibility in my soul; the fact is that this whirlwind of confused and beautiful feelings hurts, ugly too, in which I get lost in myself and I know that you too, dear reader, feel lost. But if you don't know where you want to go or which way to go, any road will do for you.”
