Remembering Pessoa, It is not an easy task to inhabit the contemporary world. Without further recommendations, we live in a time when we know that there is a heaven, that there is a universe, but we no longer look up. We know there is a truth, but we are not interested in searching for it. We are no longer fascinated with the world beyond immediate perception. We don't even want deep and lasting joy, because we desperately seek immediate, superficial, replaceable satisfaction. In our food, our clothing, our relationships, our desires, our entertainment, our culture, our judgments. Even the reflection has to be quick, urgent, light.
There is no longer time to think, to locate ourselves. Ethics, values, morals (which by nature require deep, slow and critical reflection on what I do), become a simple label. In a currency of exchange. In an oscillating mask that is used for vanity, for interest, for utility. Replaceable according to my needs, my desires, my inclinations, my passions, my situation. Changing according to the “moment”.
Clouds… From the place where the sky should be they circulate encompassing everything. They mix on top of each other, overlap, cover each other, slide quickly, disappear, replace each other. Their creators are quick to replace them. It doesn't matter who its producers are. What is interesting is that there is more. Immediately, urgently, the world of perception is saturated with new images, with new experiences, fast, superficial, without reflection, full of hasty judgments. Meanwhile, we can't remember what heaven was like, nor do we care. We are too busy.
The perception of peace, tranquility, of stopping to contemplate with my feet planted on the ground, of feeling the deep satisfaction of breathing deeply and being there, letting the sky and the ground absorb me, is devalued. No longer exists. Even what there is is sold as a luxury. The economy, politics, relationships, food, culture, entertainment, relationships and love live the madness of replacement. Desperate, anxious, we want the immediate change, the substitute. There is no time to repair, to enjoy, to be, to be. They say that life is one and you have to live it. Even though we have no idea what it means to live. There is no time to think about it, nor is there a need to do so when the network gives me multiple options.
The clouds… They tell me that the means I use are not relevant, no matter what I do, this is your life and you deserve a life full of luxuries, of unique experiences that money and power give us. The end justifies the means. Any means is justified, as long as you achieve it. And crime, betrayal, selfishness, ingratitude, dishonesty, injustice and double standards are romanticized, as long as they have achieved power, money, wealth. The ill-gotten fortune that cleanses sins and makes criminals masters. Criminals with money to whom justice does not reach. Dark and gloomy clouds that rush intermittently until they cover us all.
The clouds… They permeate us. Work, study, perseverance, discipline, ethics and morality are devalued, since they take up too much time for reflection in an immediate world. Those who play with the rules, with the law, with values are despised. The good, being good, is devalued, lowered. The cynical, the fickle, the indecent, the immoral, are assigned the character of respectable, as long as he has obtained the money, the wealth, the power, regardless of how he had obtained it. As long as he can sustain the life of luxury, without economic deprivation he is fine. The trail of blood, violence, and crimes that he used to obtain it or to keep it does not matter. With black clouds, they wash away their sins, making them appear insignificant, in the absence of light.
The clouds… They continue to cross space, covering everything. Some are small, but others are huge, dark. Some appear white and show incredible, spectacular figures. They all end up deforming, mixing. Some want to take over the entire sky, replace it. Others we do not know what size they are, because they are accompanied by others. For some, the wind drags them, seeking to free the sky, to give us some light. As soon as one is removed, another appears. The worst thing is, we are afraid of the wind, we prefer it not to touch our clouds. Sometimes, they are tender cotton, other times, black, dark, torn clouds; while heaven, light and truth remain despised. Asphyxiating clouds that replace the chaos of nature with artificial order.
The wind terrifies us. We are afraid that our clouds will move, that the sun will rise, that the brilliance of the sky and the truth will be seen. The force of the wind scares us, its liberating power, its dragging capacity. Don't let it move us. We are fine like this. What life is it that we live? The sky, the clouds, me. In a world where clouds are my only connection between a sky that does not exist, that is not seen, that remains hidden; My soil, my land, remains hungry, starving, vehemently consuming everything they are given.
The clouds… Says the endearing Fernando Pessoa“they continue passing, they always continue forward, they will always continue passing, in a discontinuous tangle of colorless skeins, in a diffuse stretch of the unmade false sky.”
Rebellious, I stop to look enthralled at the beautiful sunsets of my town, I walk slowly, breathe deeply and seek tranquility, peace. I enjoy the wind, the smells of the earth and savor the guavas and mangoes in the shade (under the tree where I cut them), without rushing.
#clouds #restlessness
