If I imagine I hold something in my hands

If you tell me to imagine I'm holding something in my hands. And if you tell me to write about this imaginary object. This thing I imagine will unavoidably be a soap bubble. I have come to terms with my obsession for soap bubbles. It does not mean I understand where it comes from. This understanding is probably part of my mission on Earth, our blue little planet floating away in the universe like one little bubble itself.

There is, perhaps, right there an explanation in the fact that the world we live may be seen as a soap bubble from afar. Perhaps, that is a small part of the whole explanation, the impermanence of life in its large and small concerns, the frailty and beauty of our human dreams. Our imperfect connexions, our frustrated attempts to be truly seen and contemplated, our impossibility of floating towards the other without creating some kind of damage, even if unintentionally. Our flaws, our protective covers scretching against the skin of the ones we love, like the hair of a recent unshaved beard.

This soap bubble obsession may as well be the search for that one real human connexion, a touch so tender and delicate that would hold a bubble in its hands without bursting it, but caressing its transparency with tender affection. A transparency that would cross worlds and link hearts, intertwining veins as if they belong to the same organism. A lightness that would carry lovers into space and a perfect roundness that would make everything make sense.

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The kind of person who lights candles

I am the kind of person who lights candles. This is now, not then. it is a recently acquired habit, one that has done me well. I light up candles every day. In the beginning of each class I set up an intention, I focus and I light the candle. I ask myself to be the light, to be the container, not the conduit. I am now the kind of person Who walks barefoot on the grass of my backyard and lets herself shower in the improbable rain of Brasilia in May. The four elements rest now on my desk making my therapist smile when told about them, making her proud of myself and my journey. I am the kind of person that feels the connection with the elements, and nature and the universe, so new. I am again a newborn being. And it is not the first time, I have once died and it’s no secret. This time, however, I did not have to die. I had only to shed the old skin, the one who served me no more. I am still the kind of person who looks in the mirror and who wonders who this new being is. This new self

No espelho

Olhei hoje para o espelho e me vi mais serena, me enxerguei com mais leveza. Não que esteja de fato mais leve, eu acho. Ou será que estou? Tenho ainda infinitas incertezas e dúvidas aos milhares, mas a imagem que me olhou de volta do espelho, não me olha com tristeza, dor pânico. A imagem que vejo nesse espelho é de calma, no olhar certa paz, talvez de se entender humana, imperfeita e aceitar essa condição. Aqui, deste lado que estou, me observando no espelho, sinto ainda o coração encolher como se uma mão o quisesse esmagar. Encolhe-se para sobreviver e expande-se em seguida. Ao encolher-se, a respiração dá uma pausa e uma bolha de cristal sobe em refluxo, pausando ali no meio da goela. Assim que pode, o coração retorna a seu pulsar, seu ir e vir. Permanecem ali as dúvidas, as exigências, as demandas, mas também os desejos de só ser, irresponsavelmente ser e atender a cada quimera. Porque a vida é curta! A vida é sopro! E o outro? Os outros? Todos os outros? É precis

Sobre os artistas - Para Bruno Sandes

Créditos da imagem: Jacobs School of Music Marketing and Publicity

Inner Babel / Babel Interior

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