#65. The Summer Diaries: the frame/Os Diários do Verão: cantinhos

[texto em Português logo abaixo]


#1. The Puzzle

 The pieces are scattered on the table. Somewhere between then and now I decided to try putting together this 50.000-pieces one. That means I left behind my safe, mid-potential 2.000-piece puzzle to dive into an endeavor that will cost me these three months of summer. My puzzle has the picture of a snowy mountain, cows, blue sky and some huts in the background.

Those who are into puzzles are aware that the first step consists of putting together the frame of the picture, and only after that we can come up with the cows' faces, the snowy top of the mountain, the shadows of the chalets. Sky, grass, the earth tones: those are all left behind to be confronted when most of the picture already makes sense. The end is just a matter of matching a cloud with the other.


#2. A House of cards

You give me the puzzle. I find a house of cards.

It's not that I'm showing off; I'm not saying that I'm 100% sure a will finish it by summer. But fact is that I've already finished framing. Yes. I found out that I had confused a piece of the sky with the cow's paw. What is it all about - a mountain or a cloud? There's a lot to be done, but I have the everyday-of-three-months to be finished.

Of course 50.000 pieces is a lot and the whole floor before me is covered cow-sky-inside-out-upside-down, and I walk slowly, carefully not to unmake the whole thing. Me walking inside the house of cards that you granted me with.

A wrong step to the side and everything can fall on my head. I don't want to break the pieces of your eye by mistake.



3. A Domino Path

... meanwhile, I sit by the same coffee place in Andaluzia.

I arrived here a week ago and I'll stay one more month before moving somewhere else. The owners here are Sufis and know me from last year. They like my presence and spoil me: my coffee comes in a beautiful cup printed with a map of Brazil.

The music is good and ranges from Brazilian songs to flamenco, Sufi mantras and Beatles. And so do I - an oscillation myself, I walk from my blog to hotel reservations and my thesis. Many friends from the sangha are around yet I'm not so into speaking. Staring at the mountains and the river outside, that's what I love the most. Some days I can even see the sea from here.

So in this summer I decided to put together my 50.000-piece puzzle hopefully without bringing down the house of cards. By end-September, then may I be able to blow away my sand mandala, cow's-face-and-paws-cloud-grass-mountains-elephant-sky; walk on the top of these cardboard-made pieces; take a ride on a train that crosses the domino path so that I can watch it falling down, piece-by-piece, until there's nothing else left but the collapsed, kind of dead path behind.


*These are The Summer Diaries. They'll be written in real time in the various countries where I'll be living until end-September. They are the record of my journey of meditation, silence and satsangs with my (sat) guru in the next months.
So that I can throw away my puzzle. Or to say it in different words: kick the door, walk across the border, stamp my passport with the flag of ladosladosdela.


***

#1. Quebra-cabeça

Em cima da mesa está a caixa, e eu vou espalhando as peças. Algum lugar a meio-caminho daqui eu decidi fazer este enorme, de 50.000 peças. Abandonei, portanto, o potencial médio e seguro das 2.000. Vou ocupar a mesa inteira da sala e os próximos três meses da minha vida pra terminar este daqui. O meu tem a foto de uma montanha nevada, vaca pastando, céu azul e umas casinhas no fundo.

Quem gosta sabe que a gente começa a montar quebra-cabeça pelos cantinhos e pelas imagem mais discerníveis. Primeiro é encontrar as linhas retas e as esquinas, e logo a gente tem a moldura. Depois a cara da vaca, a pontinha da montanha com neve, o telhado do chalé. O céu, a grama, os tons de terra: estes a gente deixa pra depois, quando já der pra ver que a maior parte da foto faz sentido. Quando só fizer falta acertar uma nuvem com a outra.


#2. Jogo de varetas

Você me dá o quebra-cabeça, eu encontro o jogo de varetas.

Porque o projeto é ambicioso, eu não quero soar pretensiosa demais e dizer que vou conseguir terminar tudo neste verão... Mas a verdade é que eu já encontrei os cantinhos. Por enquanto acabei de descobrir que eu tinha confundido o pedaço do céu  com a pata da vaca. Ou onde foi que inventaram isso da montanha ser também nuvem? Falta muito, mas eu tenho o todo-dia-de-três-meses para terminar.

50.000 peças é bastante, e agora é o chão inteiro da sala que está assim, vaca-céu-nuvem-de-cima-pra-baixo-do-lado-avesso, e eu caminho devagar pra não desmontar nada de lugar nenhum. Eu caminhando dentro do jogo de varetas que você me deu.

Um passo pro lado e se eu não prestar atençar pode ser de desmoronar tudo aqui em cima de mim. Ou eu posso desmontar um pedaço do seu olho sem querer.


#3. Um caminho de dominó

... enquanto isso eu sento no mesmo café na Andaluzia.

Estou aqui há uma semana e fico mais um mês antes de me mudar pra outro país. Os donos são Sufis, me conhecem do ano passado e gostam de me ver aqui. Todos os dias tem esse mimo: eles servem meu café com leite numa xícara com desenho do mapa do Brasil.

A música vai assim, entre uma cantora brasileira cafona, um pouco de flamenco, mantras Sufis e Beatles. E eu vou assim, entre o blog, a reserva de um hotel pro meu pai e o sumário da minha tese.
Tenho muitos amigos da sangha mas muito pouca vontade de falar. Eu gosto mesmo é de ficar olhando as montanhas e o rio aqui do lado de fora. Às vezes dá até pra ver o mar.

... porque nesse verão eu decidi montar o meu quebra-cabeça de 50.000 peças sem deixar nenhuma vareta cair em cima de mim. E quando setembro chegar, então eu vou soprar a mandala de areia, cara-de-vaca-nuvem-grama-montanha-elefante-no-céu, dançar em cima dessa bobagem feita de 50.000 pedaços de papelão, subir num trenzinho e viajar neste caminho de dominó, um derrubando o seguinte, chegar no final pra ver se esse monte de peça morta faz algum sentido.

*Estes são os diários do Verão. Escritos em tempo real e entre os diferentes países onde eu viverei até outubro chegar, eles são o registro em tempo real da minha jornada de meditação, silêncio e satsangs com meu (sat) guru daqui até lá.
Para poder jogar fora o quebra-cabeça que estou tentando montar. Ou, dito de um outro jeito: chutar de vez a porta, atravessar a fronteira minúscula, carimbar meu passaporte com o selo de ládosladosdelá.

#65. Exílio

Porque na verdade não é o Tudo. O que mata são os últimos momentos.
: não a maratona, mas os cinco quilômetros pra completar os 42km. Não o mês inteiro, mas as três horas antes do prazo. Os dois quilos que faltam pro fim da dieta; a palavra que não está lá pra fechar a frase comme il faut; a vontade de fazer xixi vira insuportável na hora de não conseguir encaixar a chave na fechadura - o que faz verter do copo, a gente sabe, é a última gota d'água.

***

Eu tenho uma passagem e uma mala com as minhas coisas. Por isso é que eu fecho os olhos e tento atravessar o tempo nesses últimos dias até o 31 de maio. Prendo a respiração, e é 7:30 da manhã de um domingo deserto na fronteira quando um menino francês bêbado pobre e com ódio quebra uma garrafa de rum vagabundo em mim. E enquanto eu fecho o livro do Murakami pra ver a minha perna fodida, então ele joga café quente na minha cara, cospe e grita: ça c'est pas la Suisse! O velho suíço que está a dez passos vem mostrar solidariedade compartilhando que o meu destino é a comprovação da tese de que esses-marginais-e-esses-ciganos-se-juntam-aqui-pra-roubar-a-gente-em-Genebra.
Uma semana depois a minha bicicleta é roubada.

Tentando atravessar o tempo até o 31 de maio, então eu vou andando cheia de trabalho dos arquivos pra biblioteca, náufraga, uma certa sensação de solidão profunda.  Três anos de uma Suíça que eu acabo finalmente descobrindo que é incontornável.

***

Por isso é que nesses últimos quinze dias eu comecei a correr. Corro cinco vezes por semana, dez quilômetros de cada vez, e corro na chuva, corro no vento, e às vezes, quando vem essa sensação de amargura do tempo-que-não-passa, aí eu corro na subida, que é pra ficar mais cansada. Vou olhando os prédios quadrados que vão da minha casa até chegar no Palais des Nations, os jardins perfeitos e uma placa de probido para não-residentes do prédio.

E mesmo quando eu corro, mesmo assim - nesses dias que são de últimos dias - custa muito pra cruzar pro lado de fora desse mim que já não aguenta. E toda vez que eu piso, parece que pisa o peso de um mundo feito das regras, das linhas todas retas desse mundo daqui, do duro e do seco que chega a doer o meu joelho esquerdo. Não é a corrida do vôo. Não: essa daqui é uma corrida paquiderme, de uma respiração que não sai assim tão fácil, de um corpo que não quer mais se mexer, disso que é como se força extendida em tempo permanente para vencer aquela imobilidade inercial que não desaparece. Um arrastar de mesa pela casa, essa sou eu nos meus últimos dias de Suíça.

Que me salvem os olhinhos do Mooji na foto que eu olho todos os dias na parede da cozinha - e eu não sei o que eu seria sem eles no último mês. No viver abraçando a vida no momento que ela chega, do jeito como se apresenta, os últimos dias aqui vão assim enquanto, entre lá e cá, eu penso numa noite, com 13 anos, quando eu cortei o dedo com a lâmina mais afiada que tinha em casa. O fio era tão perfeito que na hora eu não senti nada, só um friozinho. O corte eu vi logo depois: era fundo e sangrava bastante.

#64. My tips on teachers and places to meditate

"But I don't want to go among mad people", Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that", said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad".
"How do you know I'm mad?", said Alice.
"You must be", said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here".
[From Alice in Wonderland]

Gratitude

It happened, then, that one year ago I took off on a bike tour whose final destination was a kingdom that lies beyond the body and the mind.
Unnameable, of course, this kingdom is Alice's Wonderland; it is an enchanted castle full of disillusions; it is a gateway into the beginning of a new journey; it is the killing of so many things I believed to be real; it is my personal dead end whose only way out is a door called L O V E.

In this post you can find the teachers who I have so far met in my way. You can also find my tips on places to meditate and videos to check - and because I'm living in Europe for almost three years now, then most of the people I mention here teach mainly in this continent. If you're faraway, then you can always learn from their videos (some I posted here, too).

This is my way of sharing the beautiful teachings I have received with all my friends who have been asking about those tips. It comes with the deepest gratitude to all of these teachers.
Namastê.

Now it's up to you: follow the white rabbit, Alice.

Meet the teachers:

These are the living teachers who are the closest to my heart. I have not met all of them in person yet, but I was lucky enough to cross their way, be it in presence or in physical distance.

Most of them are related to a spiritual tradition that is very dear to me - the so-called Advaita Vedanta tradition. But Jetsun Khandro is Buddhist. And there's also Adyashanti, who does not affiliate himself with any tradition. 

In the core, they are all very similar and teach the very same thing. They just point to different entry doors. When it comes to the mysteries of being-ness, then the path of each seeker is singular. In much the same vein, the form each realized being uses to transmit her/his realization is also singular without leaving behind the belonging of such teachings to the very Unity of everything. So if one particular teaching among these all touches you particularly deep, then you probably found your way to go.

Ah! I have also many teachers who have already left their bodies and whose teachings are very special to me, but I'll write on this maybe some other time.

 

 Mooji

All gratitude to my beloved Guru. 

Mooji stays most of the time in his very simple ashram "Monte Sahaja", located in the south of Portugal. But he also travels around the world offering retreats and intensive sessions, mainly in Europe. For his schedule, check the website. There you can also watch his videos and buy his (beautiful) books:

www.mooji.org

 

Saraswathi Ma

Ma is a former student of Sathya Sai Baba and Mooji. She is also my direct teacher and a beautiful being who definitely has the ability to take me into those remote hidden corners of mySelf whose existence I insisted on denying and that I thought I would never be able to reach.
Yes, self-knowledge is not always easy yet it is undoubtedly rewarding.
Ma also travels around the world and teaches mostly in Europe. This year she will spend one month in the south of Spain (June-July). You can check her schedule here: 
http://www.saraswathima.org

Paul Hurcomb

I have been dreaming on meeting Paul, yet our schedules have not yet coincided. A former student of Mooji, too, Paul teaches mainly in England and Spain. I think I've never listened to someone as still as him, and in times of turbulence I always remember his voice to come back to a place of inner silence. Here you can find his website:

http://www.meetingsinstillness.com/

Her Eminence Mindrolling Jetsün Khandro Rinpoche

She is based in India yet she teaches a lot in Europe and in the States:
http://www.khandrorinpoche.org/

 

Adyashanti

Once I crossed a photo with a saying written on it and I got mesmerized. The phrase never left me - and then I found it had been written by Adyashanti. His website is here:

http://www.adyashanti.org/

..and the saying is this one:

"Enlightenment is a destructive process. It has nothing to do with becoming better or being happier. Enlightenment is the crumbling away of untruth. It's seeing through the facade of pretense. It's the complete eradication of everything we imagined to be untrue".

Buddhist meditation in Geneva and around it:

 

Centre Vilamakirti

Buddhist center directed by lay teachers in the center of Geneva. Very simple and beautiful. Vipassana meditation once a week; sessions last around 1 hour and are suitable for beginners. The center is located at a small street by Rue de Lyon, some 10 minutes walk from Gare Cornavin. http://www.vimalakirti.org/

 

Sapan Association

It was created by the Swiss Buddhist practitioner Anne Heriatz under the guidance of her teacher and root-guru the Venerable Kenchen Lama Sherab Gyaltsen Amipa Rinpoche.

The Association functions at Anne's house and follows the Sakya tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. Since the passing away of her teacher on the 14th of April, 2014, Anne is away in a 6-week meditation retreat and will be back on the 12th of June/2014. Meanwhile, the meditations are being conducted by me and our sangha friend Jutta every Tuesday at 6.30p.m. We practice silent Avalokiteshvara meditation focused in the personal recitation of the mantra "OM MANI PADME HUM" for 1 hour and a half. 

The center lies at Rue Citté Villars, 10.  The association is in the 2nd floor. For further information, call me on: +41(0)789042755.

 

Sakya Tsechen Ling

This center follows the Sakya tradition of Tibetan Buddhism and is located in a small city very close to Strasbourg. After the passing away of the Venerable Kenchen Lama Sherab Gyaltsen Amipa Rinpoche, the teachings in the center are now given by the Venerable Tashi Sangpo.

Rarely in my life did I feel so well-received in a place as I was here. Being there helped me discerning my spiritual path and understanding Buddha teachings deeper. So if you're interested in diving deep in the Buddhist path, I suggest you to have a look at the schedule and to make your way there:

http://sakyatsechenling.assoc.pagespro-orange.fr/

 

Avoid!!!! - Vedic Meditation Geneva

I was very frustrated when I checked this place in Geneva - I had high hopes because the name of the meditation it advertised contained the word "Vedic". I thought, then, that I had found a center somehow dedicated to the ancient source of knowledge called the "Vedas". Don't be misled by it. Although the leading person in the organization seemed to have good intentions, the vague and doubtful arguments of spiritual authority he used really impressed me - in a bad way. It also shocked me to see the way he turned meditation into a commodity in his discourse... And the ridiculous amount of money he asked for this (supposedly) ancient technique he was teaching. 

Because it is so misleading, then I felt it would be important to warn people who are not used to meditation to avoid looking for genuine spiritual knowledge here.

http://gvameditation.ch/

Meditate at home: 

 

Guided meditation by Mooji-ji:

 

Guided meditation by Saraswathi Ma:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kydknkL8hMA

 

Guided meditation with Paul Hurcomb:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_C5Jwbu3wU

 

Meet the teachers in your own home:

 

Her Eminence Mindrolling Jetsün Khandro Rinpoche

"Sometimes a bar of chocolate does better than a session of meditation!" 

Saraswathi Ma

"Intuition is the knowing that you know without knowing how".

Mooji-ji

"Then grief - let grief happen. Because grief allowed to happen is healthy".

Paul Hurcomb

"Rather than giving any core message, the invitation is to really stop and be still".

Adyashanti

Most of us wants to feel better; we don't want to see we're mis-perceiving things. But this is the core of spirituality".

#63. All synonym of all/Tudo sinônimo de tudo

[Versão em português abaixo]

I carry in my heart a 2013-2014 CV in which it is written a "3-and-a-half-months bike tour in Spain". It was not supposed to be "a spiritual journey", but looking back now
I cannot see anything more spiritual than watching the sun going up and down, the days starting and falling apart in the full integrity of a transient world which insists on keeping moving no matter how fast my legs were able to cycle to catch up with it.

In my 2013-2014 Curriculum there is also this entry saying "Found a Guru" and "Spent 1 Month in India"     yet I never told it to anyone because maybe I thought nobody would ever understand that    but the moment I saw my beloved teacher he transformed himself into an Ocean so that I could not learn from him anymore the way I thought a student should take a lesson (I discovered then from him that there was a new way of learning).
But coming to teachings, it was a crowd of so new friends in India     Brazilians Israelis Serbian Slovakian British    who taught me different ways of loving.

And back in Geneva I  started writing my thesis so I put my hands on Paulo Freire's book for my 1st chapter. And I read him saying that when the oppressed rebel to transcend oppression without desiring to becoming oppressors    then they are acting with love towards the oppressors, liberating not only themselves but the oppressors too - and that's the only possible kind of true liberation.
And that reminded me of the Buddhist concept of compassion and liberation of all beings.
And also of the Beatles' song which is written in the abandoned ashram in Rishikesh and which says that in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Or the documents for my thesis in which people in the 60s argue that the true gospel of Christ means acting with selfless kindness into everyday life towards everyone.
Which in turn echoes my present assumption that my ashram is the world if I am able to see it as such.

Love is wherever with you.  All just a synonym to the very same word.

* * *

[Versão em português]




Eu levo no meu coração um currículo 2013-2014 no qual lê-se "3 meses e meio andando de bicicleta na Espanha".
Não era para ser uma viagem espiritual ou algo que o valha, mas olhando para trás agora eu entendo que:
não existe nada mais espiritual que assistir os dias que começam e se despedaçam, íntegros na roda de um mundo impermanente que insiste em continuar mudando não interessa o quão rápido pedalem essas minhas pernas para tentar alcançá-lo.

E em outro lugar do meu currículo, agora em 2014, há uma seção que menciona "Mariana Carpanezzi encontrou seu guru" e também o de que "Mariana Carpanezzi passou 1 mês meditando na Índia".
Mas pra dizer bem a verdade, o fato é que eu não contei direito pra ninguém, talvez porque achei que ninguém ia entender (nem eu mesma), mas no exato momento que eu o vi, o meu querido guru se transformou num Oceano, e a partir daí eu não pude mais aprender dele do jeito que eu achava (antes) que um aluno tinha que aprender a lição          Além do Mooji, então na Índia outros professores vieram, amigos    brasileiros israelenses sérvio eslovaco inglês    que me ensinaram a amar de um jeito diferente.

E então eu voltei pra Genebra, e para escrever o primeiro capítulo da minha tese eu tive que ler este livro do Paulo Freire. E ele diz que o oprimido tem que se rebelar, mas que para transcender a opressão ele precisa ir além, sem querer transformar-se em opressor. Fazendo isto, ele age com amor, liberando a todos - a si próprio e aos opressores. Esta seria a única forma de liberação.
O que me lembrou do conceito budista de compaixão e de liberação de todos os seres.
E também da música dos Beatles que está pixada no ashram abandonado de Rishikesh e que diz que in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Ou dos documentos para a minha tese, nos quais as pessoas dos anos 1960 defendiam que o verdadeiro Evangelho de Cristo só poderia existir na ação concreta, todos os dias.
E que, por sua vez, ecoa minha convicção, hoje em dia, de que o meu ashram é o mundo, e que o mais importante é ser capaz de vê-lo assim.


Love is wherever with you.  Tudo sinônimo da única e mesma palavra.

#62. On Meditation

*Such a lifelong seriousness, you know?
Taking life too seriously, taking myself too seriously, taking others too seriously, and giving all of us a trouble big time - hey, why did you show up late? why did I say that? why did you break my heart when I loved you such much? I'm so so so sorry... (and keeps going)     not to mention the moral hangovers, self-consciousnesses, shame of going to the library with my wonderful pajama-like blue pants.

*There's also this thing of all-that-you're-supposed-to-do at a certain moment of Time.
So it felt so painful back then this silly thing that I was the last one to kiss a boy at school when I was 13, and the last one to have my period    and at 29 I got so afraid of turning 30, because when I'm 30, well, I have to be all wise and I'm so fucking faraway from wise with these insecurities and fears, including this big one for a woman at that age: that at the moment I had no such supposedly-natural feeling of becoming a mother. [and the clock felt to be always ticking]

*Not only time but also Space.
When everybody settles, and friends become Families with apartments, or even when I listen to those who have their favorite city in the world    I watch from the inside my inability to find a place in all 5 continents where I would like to stay for more than 2 years     or, to go a little further: not able to even decide if I prefer a house or an apartment, if I am urban or if I like the countryside
Or this uncomfortable one of not feeling particularly Brazilian although not having any other identity to replace it: Exiled from nowhere with no asylum country.

*And there's also the Being a Proper Good Person.
So I read Dostoievski when I was 15, got good grades in hateful biology and chemistry, studied Law at a very good university, refrained from dancing Macarena in public, wore dreadful high heels, exercised regularly and so on (thanks God I've been a smoker for 20 years now).

* * *
Then it came this one day when I realized that it was maybe too much, huh?
Following others' advices, I tried to imagine I was my best friend and that I was hugging myself and so on. But some things are too deep-rooted to be taken care of this way.

And it was then, sitting in the cushion, that I understood that there was no way to fix myself because there was none to be fixed but the stories I had created about this me.
So I dropped everything and quickly came to this understanding:

:Life's a balloon ride


* * *

#61.Os Diários da Índia: Om Namah Shivay/The India Diaries: Om Namah Shivay

[English version below]

É fim da manhã e eu estou numa praia na beira do Ganges. Não tem ninguém: hoje somos só eu e o sadhu que seca um pedaço de pano no dia sem sol.  Lento, assim, ou ainda mais precisamente: para além do tempo     é esta praia vazia, o rio hoje que passa devagar, o nublado que me resiste calor, sombra e vontade de tomar o banho sagrado no último dia de Rishikesh.

E porque não existe mais nada pra fazer, então eu sento em Silêncio. E me vejo perguntando se eu existo quando não tem ninguém pra escutar o que eu digo         que nem agora.    Ou o que é que existe quando não tem ninguém para escutar. Ou se na verdade alguma vez houve alguma coisa que eu falei que realmente precisou ser dita.

Entre dormindo e acordada, aqui neste lugar vazio de algum jeito que não é na cabeça eu entendo que todas as palavras são inúteis. Que viver de palavras é do reino do Absurdo.        :O Essencial é do reino do indizível

E eu vejo como uma bola de futebol o nonsense dispensável que é o Pão Nosso de Cada Dia: os gestos, as tentativas, os erros e os acertos; todos os momentos de planejar, todos os planos e sonhos, a memória das pessoas que eu amo, meus pais sentados no banco do quintal lá em Curitiba, meu irmão acordando com a cara amassada. A solidão da Suíça, os amigos que sempre estão lá longe, minha viagem de bicicleta, o futuro pós-doutorado, a casa que eu já deveria ter comprado, o companheiro que eu deveria ter encontrado, o filho que eu já poderia ter tido. Tudo que eu deixei, tudo que eu ainda não consegui deixar, tudo que eu tenho medo de perder. A morte – a minha e a dos que eu amo, e mesmo meu desejo de Verdade.

Tudo aquilo que É Evidente desaparece no momento em que não existe nada, em que não há ninguém para me testemunhar a não ser eu mesma, sem disfarces       sem sol        num lugar desconhecido.  Tudo que sobra é Nada, e esse nada é o que eu sou.

Tão pura, ela me vem assim: para além do gostar ou não gostar, a Índia é uma forma de morte.

***

[English version]

Late morning and I'm sitting by myself facing the Ganga. Quiet around: today it's me and the sadhu who dries his piece of cloth under the cloudy sky.  Slowly or even better     :timeless        this place is empty, the river flows lazy today and the gray sky asks me not to run for the supposedly holy bath in my last day in Rishikesh.

And because there's nothing else to do       then I do sit in Silence.  I'm soon asking myself if indeed I do exist when there's none to listen to what I say, like now        Or      What is it that exist when there's none to listen to what I say         Or        Is there actually something worth saying beyond Silence itself?

Half awake-half asleep        here in this empty place I understand somehow that every and each word is useless.  Living from words is to dive into the Absurd         :the Essential knows no word.

Just as if it were a soccer ball       then I watch the nonsense that I am used to play with everyday: my gestures and words, trials, mistakes, failures and successes; every planned and planning moment, every future plan, the memory of those ones who I love, my parents sitting in the backyard side by side under the orange tree and my beautiful brother waking up late in a Sunday. The Swiss solitude, my friends scattered all over the world, my bike tour, my future after the PhD, the house I should have bought at this point, the man I should have met at this point, the child I should already have had at this point.  Everything that I have left behind, that which I could not yet abandon, all I'm afraid of losing. Death - mine and my beloved ones'. My clumsy Truth-seeking journey.

And all of this which has always been so evident disappears in this moment when there's nothing and none to watch but a Bare Me       no need to pretend        in this me alone   by the river    no sun    in Rishikesh.  NOTHING is that which is left; that's only that which I am       no lies allowed here

So pure, she gives me its vertiginous gift: beyond loving it or not, India is a sort of death.

#60. Os Diários da Índia: Repouso/The India Diaries: Still

[English version below]


Quieto. Tudo que existe dança o Silêncio.

***

So quiet. All that which Is now dance to the sound of Stillness.