Oração de fim-de-semana grande

Agradecer pela vida. Pela que temos, e recebemos diariamente, nos seus momentos bons e menos bons. Pela vida dos outros com quem nos cruzamos, com quem partilhamos mundo, cidade, escritório, casa. Pela vida de quem acabou de chegar ao mundo, e pela vida de quem já partiu. Pela vida de quem vive o bem plenamente, por quem almeja vivê-lo e por quem se encontra perdido. 

Agradecer pela família. Pela nossa, e pela dos outros. Agradecer pelos amigos, os de sempre e os que chegaram há pouco, os que já não vemos há muito, os que estão bem e os que nem tanto, os que lutam e os que preguiçam, por todos os que sentem e amam, pelo amor que temos por eles, pelo seu bem, o bem que dão ao mundo e a nós, o bem que procuram e executam, o bem que são. 

Agradecer pelo trabalho. Pelo muito que há e que nos cabe, pela responsabilidade que nos foi confiada, e pedir força para conseguir cumpri-la para lá do que nos é exigido, com todas as nossas capacidades, perante qualquer adversidade. 

Agradecer pelo amor. Pela exigência e seriedade do amor, pela sua verdade e pela sua justiça, e pelo seu sentimento. Pela sua alegria, pela sua liberdade, e pela sua naturalidade. Pelo bem que é. 

Agradecer pela confiança e pela caridade que nos é dispensada. Pedir para que nunca hesitemos em conceder as nossas confiança e caridades, livremente e sem limites, na medida do amor que recebemos por estarmos aqui, neste mundo, e sermos teus Filhos. 

Agradecer pelos dias plenos que recebemos, pelo tempo que nos é dado a viver. Pedir que tenhamos sempre ajuda para confiar nos dias, no seu começo e fim, na sua vivência contínua e cheia. 

Agradecer pelo que nos é dado e pelo que podemos retribuir, contra todas as aparentes limitações que julgamos ter. Agradecer pela paz e pedir pela paz. Pedir por fidelidade, pedir pela oração e pedir pelo descanso, que sejam todos plenos e totais.

Agradecer pelo fim de semana grande que se viveu. E pedir por esta semana que está a começar. Por todos e por tudo que tenhamos a receber e a dar, pela glória maior que somos convidados a viver. 

Boa semana para todos.

Feelgood discos, número um

O Jeff Rosenstock já tinha lançado um álbum de caraças no início do ano (Post é mesmo aquele disco para saltar na pista; não o falho da próxima vez que cá vier). Voltou agora no fim, como um dos membros da dupla Antarctigo Vespucci, e um disco chamado Love in the time of e-mail. Punk rock com guts e energia que se farta: bons saltos para inspirar o fim de semana.

How is / the feeling

I woke up; the sky was blue and pink. Seriously, the clouds, they were pink. It seemed the end of the day, the perfect cover for a sensitive indie-rock record, full of songs, not music. Two friends of mine once did a double-EP, named Te Voy a Matar / O Verão Nostálgico do Tiago Lacrau. One of the covers was a picture of a white cloud in the sky, a bit yellowish due to some nostalgic effect that was applied. One of them is a designer; he knows these things. This cloud wasn’t pink, but it was cool. Those clouds, this morning, were pink, but I wouldn’t say they were cool, they were just peaceful and serene. Soft pink, light pink. I then closed my eyes and I did ronha. Just ten minutes of it, nothing more. I had a late dinner the night before. Went to a friends’ house, ate a lot of salmon pasta, drank wine, red wine, and talked about law, literature and life. That’s three l’s, in case you’ve missed it. One of my friends showed me his writings; I was touched by this gesture. To write is nothing, but to show what you write, especially if it’s intimate, it takes something. Something crazy. I enjoyed the moment very much, and then I told him I’m always intimate in my writing. It is what it is. I wake up; the sky is blue and pink. But after ronha, when I looked again, the sky was white. Pure white, luminous. Was the last image a dream or a feeling? Is there any difference between them? I could ask that. Define dream, define feeling. How is a dream different from a feeling? I got up and went to work. Classes, two of them: one at the beginning, the other at the end. The beginning and ending of the day. I could have asked: define dream, define feeling. But I was then asked the following question, while sitting at the computer in the living room, lights out, the remains of a farinha de pau dish and a glass of wine next to me, and with the first line about waking up and seeing the sky already being written. “How is? / the feeling”. I replied “the feeling / is love”. I’m in love. It is what it is. Tomorrow is Friday and I will be in love, just like the song. Unlike the song, Thursday started, and I was in love too. As on Wednesday: my friends even asked me: “are you in love?” and I answered “yes, I’m in love”. And we smiled. It is what it is. Like the clouds, the sky. Have any of you (besides from you, of course) noticed the October sky? The amazing mixtures of clouds and orange and red variations of light and colors, smoothly colliding with blues and purples and suns and whites? It is a feeling. Something big, something beyond you. The sky, the river, the praying you make when you go to sleep, your smile, inside-out. And the sun, the moon. The moon was just ten centimeters away from the Castle of S. Jorge on Wednesday night. I swear, I saw it with my eyes (and my IPhone camera) and measured it with my heart, that most of the times works as my head. It is what I see, the golden moon in downtown Lisbon. I also see images in movies and documentaries; I watched this beautifully shot black and white story of a Polish couple in love during the cold war, in Europe. I started watching Ken Burns’ amazing documentary about the Vietnam War. I felt like going to the theater. I haven’t been to the theater lately. While traveling in a Uber, whose driver was a gentle guy that bore a scary resemblance to a close friend of mine, I missed being in one of the front rows and seeing the bodies of actores so close, feeling that tension of the performance, of the line that has to fall exactly like a character, of the movement that has to move exactly like the fiction and dream that it is. It is also, in fact, real. What is real and what is fiction, on stage? And in life? It is a feeling. A certain feeling. A feeling of living, of space, of time, of days. Of, you know. No, you know. I will wake up tomorrow, and I wonder, smiling slightly through the left corner of my mouth: how / will / the feeling / be?