Troubled Water

« Para os gregos da antiguidade clássica o universo não era interpretado como caos, mas sim como um cosmos, ou seja, um mundo ordenado. O belo é, para Aristóteles, o esplendor da ordem. A crença na ordem universal das coisas possibilitava a compreensão do mundo e proporcionava um sentido para a existência. O indivíduo encontrava, pois, o seu lugar na civilização e o reconforto para os grandes problemas nas relações com os outros e com os deuses. Contudo, apesar das aparências, Ésquilo interrogava-se sobre a vulnerabilidade e a fragilidade do Homem: "quem, a não ser os deuses, está ao abrigo do sofrimento durante toda a sua vida?". O criador da tragédia grega, questiona  a nossa consciência e pondera sobre o sofrimento humano. Ao contrário dos deuses, a condição humana está marcada pelo sofrimento e pela finitude, não podemos fugir ao nosso destino. Na contemporaneidade, tal como no passado, a humanidade permanece debilitada e instável. Apesar do progresso material ...

Levanta-se Deus não bebe o leite das galáxias mas café forte da negra noite circundante e sumo solar em planetas e laranjas com ovos estrelados céu translúcido de glória. No prato cósmico espeta o garfo de Neptuno e de Vulcano esquenta logo o banho rápido nebuloso espírito paira prévio sobre as águas depois do vinho e pão, outros deuses mesmo lume. Leva a bandeja para a cozinha fica diante da mesa de ardósia a barca o diário que regista, ouvindo as notícias da rádio: “No princípio era o Verbo”, transcreve para o livro do dia antes de tirar o sobretudo da cruzeta, sair à pressa, cria Deus o universo num verso. Deus num ápice Ouve, vagueio num espaço de luz cercado dum silêncio... é um silêncio e não o teu... vejo claramente olhando as mesas o meu perfil que se volta docemente e não és tu, em que braços te suspendes e flutuas os teus lábios rigorosos de planície quando voas?... Olha, fixa e furtivamente olha superiormente, ó Cyborg que enorme já te er...

Writing is one of the most ancient forms of prayer. To write is to believe communication is possible, that other people are good, that you can awaken their generosity and their desire to do better. The most precious gift God gave humans is reason. Its best use is the search for knowledge. To know the human environment, to know the earth and galaxies, is to know God. Knowledge (science) is the best form of prayer. Dignity is to have a dream, a strong one, which gives you a vision, a world where you have a place, where whatever it is you have to contribute makes a difference. By putting the spotlight on the female child and framing her as the ideal of beauty, he condemns the mature woman to invisibility. In fact, the modern Western man enforces Immanuel Kant's nineteenth-century theories: To be beautiful, women have to appear childish and brainless. When a woman looks mature and self-assertive, or allows her hips to expand, she is condemned ugly. Thus, the w...

I lived in the first century of world wars. Most mornings I would be more or less insane, The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories, The news would pour out of various devices Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen. I would call my friends on other devices; They would be more or less mad for similar reasons. Slowly I would get to pen and paper, Make my poems for others unseen and unborn. In the day I would be reminded of those men and women, Brave, setting up signals across vast distances, Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values. As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened, We would try to imagine them, try to find each other, To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other, Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves, To let go the means, to wake. I lived in the first century of ...

'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves Answer from their living graves This demand - tyrants would flee Like a dream's dim imagery: 'Thou art not, as impostors say, A shadow soon to pass away, A superstition, and a name Echoing from the cave of Fame. 'For the labourer thou art bread, And a comely table spread From his daily labour come In a neat and happy home. 'Thou art clothes, and fire, and food For the trampled multitude - No - in countries that are free Such starvation cannot be As in England now we see. 'To the rich thou art a check, When his foot is on the neck Of his victim, thou dost make That he treads upon a snake. 'Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold May thy righteous laws be sold As laws are in England - thou Shield'st alike the high and low. 'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never Dream that God will damn for ever All who think those things untrue Of which Priests make such ado. 'Thou art Peace...

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