Thursday, 6 December 2012

here and there #4 [she is me]

My dear dreamers,

 If they could wake up a little then they would realise they can feel enough love coming from the grass beneath their feet to last a lifetime! S. Park

Today I wrote my thoughts:

The cold shivers throughout the house. Not even a mug of hot chocolate is able to warm her. There isn't any heaters or fireplaces. The economic crisis has already attacked the bodies of the population. The soul, that one has never been free.

Between buying and throwing away, stayed the debt which will last a life to be paid. They all adorn themselves, thinking that beauty is happiness or that it wraps itself up in gold, bright paper. That one so arduous to find.

Like the ostrich, people stuck their heads inside the television. They felt so comfortable there, they can no longer leave. They were promised fame, instantaneous happiness. As instantaneous as the chocolate she was drinking. When what they mean was 'fragmented pleasure'. Brief. Priceless. But just because it has no value at all.

Sex, lies and pimba music.* Perfect bodies in putrid minds. 0% of critical thinking.

What do they know about happiness? It doesn't come in gleaming bars or frozen packages. Not even comes in books, but even if it were nobody would read them. The little they know about happiness is because they ignore the meaning of love.

Everyone is looking for adrenaline, for the flavour of the moment and sweeping sensations. But love is not the pounding heart, or butterflies in the stomach, or even the sudden sensation of heat. Love is not physicality.

To love is to understand life. It is to surrender to life. It is ceasing to be human and become nature. It is to stop being one to be everyone. To love is to learn how to die.

* Portuguese popular music


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