อา โอม ฮุง

เวลานี้ เมื่ออยู่ในบาร์โดแห่งการดำรงชีวิตอยู่

เพราะจิตไม่ตระหนักรู้จึงหมกมุ่นเพียงเรื่องราวในสังสารวัฏ

ไม่คิดถึงความตาย ความเป็นอนิจจัง

จึงถูกรัดกุมด้วยความทุกข์แห่งการเกิด แก่ เจ็บ ตาย

ฉับพลันความเจ็บป่วยมาเยือนร่างแห่งการเปลี่ยนแปลงนี้

ขอการยึดติดในตัวตนแปรเปลี่ยนเป็นความเป็นธรรมดา

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เวลานี้ เมื่ออยู่ในบาร์โดแห่งการตาย

ถึงเวลาแห่งการเดินทางไปอีกฝั่งแต่เพียงผู้เดียว

แม้จะแวดล้อมด้วยญาติมิตร

แต่เพียงเสี้ยววินาทีหนทางที่จะอยู่ด้วยกันก็หมดไป

เมื่อธาตุทั้งสี่ เครื่องจักรแห่งกาย แตกดับ

ขอการยึดติดในตัวตนแปรเปลี่ยนเป็นความเป็นธรรมดา

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อถึงเวลาที่พลังแห่งดินสลายต่อน้ำ

พละกำลังมลายไปรู้สึกดังล้มลงสู่พื้น

เกิดพายุทรายหมอกและภาพไหวในดวงจิต

เมื่อรู้สึกเห็นแสงกระพริบสีเหลือง

ขอให้ตระหนักรู้ด้วยเถิดว่านี่คือพระวรกายของพระพุทธเจ้าเซวา รังชุง

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อถึงเวลาที่พลังแห่งน้ำสลายต่อไฟ

ผิวพรรณขาดความเปล่งปลั่งคอกระหายล้ินแห้ง

รู้สึกโยกเยกราวกับน้ำพัดพาไป

เมื่อรู้สึกเห็นแสงสีฟ้าแห่งอณูของน้ำ

ขอให้ตระหนักรู้ด้วยเถิดว่านี่คือพระวรกายของพระพุทธเจ้ากาวา เทินทุบ

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อถึงเวลาที่พลังแห่งไฟสลายต่อลม

ความอบอุ่นในร่างกายสิ้นไปเส้นต่างๆหมดแรง

ปรากฏดังแสงหิ่งห้อยในดวงจิต

เมื่อรู้สึกเห็นแสงกระพริบสีแดง

ขอให้ตระหนักรู้ด้วยเถิดว่านี่คือพระวรกายของพระพุทธเจ้าเชทรัก เงอเม

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อถึงเวลาที่พลังแห่งลมสลายต่อวิญญาณ

แม้แต่ลมหายใจก็หมดไปตาเบิกค้าง

ปรากฏราวกับแสงเทียนที่ถูกลมพัด

เมื่อรู้สึกเห็นแสงกระพริบสีเขียว

ขอให้ตระหนักรู้ด้วยเถิดว่านี่คือพระวรกายของพระพุทธเจ้าเก-ลา กาชุก

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อถึงเวลาที่วิญญาณทั้งหลายสลายต่อมโนวิญญาณ

อายตนภายนอกภายในหยุดทำงาน

ปรากฏดังท้องฟ้าไร้เมฆหมอก

เมื่ออยู่ในบาร์โดแห่งแสงกระจ่าง

ขอให้ตระหนักรู้ด้วยเถิดว่านี่คือพระวรกายของพระพุทธเจ้ากุนนัง เชียบบา

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อองค์ประกอบหกอายตนะหกมาประชุมกันที่หัวใจ

ปรากฏความมืดเงาดำฝนเลือดทะเลเลือดพลุ่งขึ้น

เกิดเสียงสนั่นหวั่นไหวแสงจ้า

เมื่อตระหนักว่านี่คือภาพลวงในดวงจิต

ขอให้บรรลุธรรมได้เข้าถึงริกปาและความเป็นธรรมตาในไพศาล

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตรด้วยเทอญ

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เมื่อปราศจากกายที่ห่อหุ้ม วิญญาณจากไปอย่างโดดเดี่ยว

ภายนอกเห็นยมบาลหน้าถมึงทึงน่าหวาดกลัว

เสียงแสงรังสีทั้งสามคือภาพลวงในดวงจิต

เมื่อตระหนักว่านี่คือพลังโดยธรรมชาติของตัวตน

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้หลุดพ้นจากบาร์โด

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตา

ระงับการปรากฏแห่งบาร์โด

ขอให้ศูนยตาและริกปามาบรรจบกันดุจดังมารดาได้พบบุตร

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้รู้ว่าปรากฏการณ์คือภาพลวง

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้ทวารแห่งอบายภูมิปิด

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้รู้ว่าเวลานี้คือกาลทั้งสาม

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้เข้าถึงกายทั้งสามแห่งพระพุทธองค์

ขอโปรดประทานพรให้ได้รับปัญญาห้า

ขอพระอาจารย์ผู้รู้ทุกสิ่งโปรดเมตตาด้วยเทอญ

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กฤษดาวรรณ หงศ์ลดารมภ์ แปลจากบทสวดมนต์ภาษาทิเบต “รัตนมาลัย” รจนาโดยมหาโยคีซกเช็นกูร์ชก เชมโป (Gur Zhog Chen Pos mDzad pai sMon Lam Rin Chen Preng ba bZhugs)

**ขอแนะนำให้ผู้สนใจสวดบทนี้แก่ผู้ป่วยในวาระสุดท้ายของชีวิตด้วยจิตที่เปี่ยมไปด้วยความเมตตากรุณาอย่างที่สุดและสวดก่อนนอนเป็นประจำทุกวันเพื่อเป็นการแผ่เมตตาให้ดวงจิตที่ล่องลอยในอันตรภพ (บาร์โด) การสวดบทนี้ยังเป็นการเตือนตัวเราให้นึกถึงความเป็นอนิจจังของชีวิต เป็นมรณสติ เพื่อให้ดำรงชีวิตอยู่บนความไม่ประมาท บทสวดนี้ยังเป็นคู่มือฉบับย่อให้รู้ว่าจิตจะเดินทางไปอย่างไรเมื่อความตายมาถึง หากตั้งใจสวดให้ผู้ตายคนใดคนหนึ่ง สามารถเอ่ยเรียกชื่อผู้ตายก่อนสวดได้

ได้ตระหนักถึงความเป็นอนิจจังขึ้นอีก เมื่อลูกนกตกลงมาตาย เมื่อลูกแมว 3 ตัวที่อยู่ในท้องของแม่มันไม่มีบุญได้ลืมตามาดูโลก เมื่อพี่สาวที่ป่วยมานานใกล้จะสิ้นลม…ชีวิตเป็นเช่นนี้เอง เป็นเพียงสภาวะแห่งการเปลี่ยนแปลง ขอพรจากครูโปรดเมตตา แปรเปลี่ยนความกลัวของดวงจิตที่ล่องลอยด้วยแรงกรรมให้เป็นการตระหนักรู้ในบาร์โดด้วยเทอญ

Amaury Pérez estrena “Bardo”, su disco dedicado a Silvio Rodríguez, y adelanta a Cubadebate los temas de esta producción, el audio de una de las canciones y un fragmento del documental que acompaña el CD realizado por Ángel Alderete.

“No me interesa la posteridad, el presente necesita de mí como yo de él y no espero nada más del porvenir que no sea el que los cercanos valoren que no me traicioné a mí mismo, que fui un loco valiente, lenguaraz, exótico, y extravagante, que nunca renegué de mis ideas y preceptos por más incomprendidos que estos fueran, ni de mi amistad con Fidel”, dice… leer más…

When the going gets weird and the path suddenly isn’t lined with bright lights and beacons to illuminate the future anymore, what choice do we have, but to reach into our secret stash and try to coax a little clarity out of all that sage advice we’ve been hoarding?

My opening gambit on this week’s chessboard, is to invoke the simple Wisdom of the Bard.  “All the World’s a Stage. And the men and women are merely players.”

It sets the tone for this moment in history. An experiential “aha” moment that brings a fuller appreciation for the proverbial old Chinese curse: “May you live in interesting times.”

And I’m  adding a little Wisdom of the Bardo to the mix as well.  Bardo refers to the Tibetan realm of the afterlife. The transitional state that lies between two different incarnations.  Not surprisingly the Wisdom of the Bardo  is exactly the same as that of the Bard:  “All the World’s a Stage.”    This place, this market, this time are all just a stage we are moving through.  Or as  George Malley put it after his flash of inspiration in the movie Phenomenon:  “Everything is on its way to somewhere.”

So we continue our lay-over between real estate lifetimes. Our intermezzo. The interesting interlude after the end of the third act.  Hopefully,  we’ll use the opportunity to assess the karmic debt we’ve accrued and make good choices about how we are going to pay it down when real estate finally gets to wherever it is going.

But in the meantime, in the slow here and now of  Bardo, I admit, I’ve been a sorry soul – much too sad and much too troubled. Even though I know in my heart of hearts that this too shall pass.  I finally figured out why I’ve been in such a deep funk lately. It is simple:  I miss the people.  I miss the players.

I miss the Appraisers who are dropping out of the business. The one’s who remember what properties sold for 10, 20, 30 years ago. The one’s who know the difference between 3 blocks to the beach and 6 blocks to the beach. The one’s who intrinsically understand why Meder Street and Cherryvale Avenue have always been greatly appreciated. The one’s who are at home in this marketplace – rather than in San Jose or Hollister.

I miss all the Title People downsized into the efficiency compartments on corporate cube farms.  Parceled out of  Santa Cruz.  Nominally, still there, but tucked under that invisible cloaking device called a voice mail system.  Available by e mail but who might just as well be sending us google earth maps from Mumbai. Software upgrades just can’t explain a set of complicated easements to a real buyer with real questions about real, real estate.

I miss the helping hands of the cadre of caring local escrow officers.  I hate to see them being co-opted on a regular basis by their distant Southern California cousins who have no business doing business here  simply because they have offices close to so many of the troubled financial institutions peddling their toxic assets in Santa Cruz.  Yes, in theory, escrow officers should all be perfectly interchangeable. One size should fit all situations. But escrow-speak in SoCal is a different business dialect than we speak here in NorCal and no one can convince me that clients are getting the same quality of service and a “neutral” fair shake from escrow personnel who don’t have any real stake in our community.

I miss a market that used to revolve around organic sellers – the euphemism that’s now used to describe real people going through real transitions with real-life concerns motivating them and informing their decisions. I miss a market that should by all rights be rife with opportunities for excited first time and move-up, organic buyers.  Instead they are getting bludgeoned into submission by the mind-numbing machinations and jackass pranks of institutions that control both the selling side and lending side of so many would-be, could-be, should-be transactions.

I miss my local Realtor colleagues who in so many cases have given way to a strange and motley cast of nameless characters who don’t seem to be able to return a phone call or muster up a hint of concern about others.  Temporal apparitions who have ridden into town on the coattails of  REO clunkers and who will soon disappear back into the outlying woodwork whenever the foreclosure inventory finally sunsets.

Yes, I miss the people.   All those warm dedicated souls biding their time in limbo right now, waiting in Bardo for rebirth.  witnessing  the last gasps of a dying market paradigm  being run into the ground by the ghosts  in the machine.

Estamos preparando lo que será el primer número de La Canción del Bardo de este cuatrimestre. Necesitamos artículos, relatos, fotos, dibujos, opiniones, lo que queráis.

La colaboración es abierta y gratuita.

Tienes hasta el 5 de noviembre para hacernos llegar tus documentos en formato word a nnumenor@gmail.com

Unete a nosotros!!

I often wonder how well I’ll do the next time I enter the bardo, and go through the Tibetan Rebirth process.  I figure, if I’m alive and living in this world now, I’ve failed thus far to recognize the Clear Light of Reality in various forms, and probably got hung up in the Desire and Aversion bardo.  So, in my waking life, I’ve been working on this and I feel I’ve done pretty well.  I desire things, but it doesn’t ruin my day if I don’t get what I desire.  I don’t get angry and I’m rarely frightened by anything.  But my dreams are another story.  In my dreams I’m constantly chasing after my desires, or more often being chased, myself, by wrathful deities, demons, or just ornery people giving me a hard time.  Now, dreams are simply mental projections, just like the hallucinations you will experience in the bardo.  I feel to be successful in the bardo, I’m going to have to learn to be ‘neither attracted nor repulsed’ in my dreams as well, and this is something I can practice.

The first step is that you need to remember your dreams more; to become more aware of your dreams, and in your dreams.  You can do this by simply intending to.  Tell yourself, before going to bed, that you want to remember your dreams, and keep a pad and pen on your night stand.  If you wake up in the middle of the night and remember even just a few bits of a dream write them down.  Soon, you will begin to remember your dreams in vivid detail.  Once you remember your dreams, you’ll start to see patterns in your dream behaviors.  I noticed that whenever I felt intimidated by a dream character, my reaction was fear, and I would try to run away, which was often accompanied by that dream feeling of running in slow motion.

Fear is a very difficult reaction to unlearn.  The only effective means I’ve found to combat fear on this level is anger.  Now, I would normally never recommend anger for anything, but in this particular circumstance, it is very effective.  When I wake up from a dream where I’ve been frightened or intimidated, I get angry, not so much at myself, but at my reactions, and so I intend very strongly that the next time I encounter this in a dream, I’m going to push back hard, and maybe kick some serious butt.  If you intend hard enough, this is exactly what you will do.  That guy comes around in your dream, trying to shoot you in the head, you just start punching him in the face as hard as you can.  You’ll wake up a little upset from the anger, and because you would hope you would never do such a thing in real life, but you will also feel much much stronger.  You might have to practice this butt kicking in your dreams for a few years to really get the hang of it.

Once you’ve mastered that, now, you have to unlearn the anger.  In the dream, someone is giving you a hard time again, and you feel the anger start to rise, then you restrain it.  You think to yourself that you could easily just wail on this guy, but you won’t.  But you won’t fear him either.  You’ll be firm and unmoved.  Then, you make a decision to change the setting of the dream.  You’ll be surprised that you can just make that whole scenario disappear, just by changing your mind.  Just say to yourself, ‘nope, I’m not going to do this’, and switch scenes to walking on a beach during a sunset (or wherever your happy place is).  You’d be amazed at how much control you can actually exert over your dreams.

The key to learning any of these techniques is to think about them when you are awake.  Vow to yourself that you will act in a certain way, this will form your intent.  Don’t get discouraged if you don’t get the results you want right away, or if occasionally, you relapse.  Just keep practicing, and you’ll be ready for the bardo!

Had another dream in which everything looked like it was a game for the original Nintendo Entertainment System.

My alarm went off, telling me to get up and go to work. I looked at the time, and decided I would go back to sleep until my 3rd alarm went off.

I returned to the same 8bit dream, this time lucidly. I turned on the Aka Dua energy, which came out three dimensionally, in complete contrast to my two dimensional dream. It burned very strong and fast like butane, extending in all directions.

The sensations must have been too much for my attention to maintain, because I began to lose my lucidity, and fully awaken. My 8bit body and the world it was in vanished; I passed through the darkness between dreams, and into my waking dream body (the one who is typing this).

The Aka Dua was on the whole time.

There was no moment from the transtion of dream to void to dream that the Aka Dua and my attention was lost. Even with the lack of a body through the void, the Aka Dua itself became a vehicle of sorts, carrying me through.

This further strengthened a few suspicions I have of the Aka Dua:

1) Aka Dua is real beyond just the horizontal and vertical dreams, and can therefore be used to dissolve illusion within me, and strengthen that in me which is real.

2) Aka Dua can create, or in itself become, a vessel for voyaging to and from higher and lower dimensions, and can therefore be used for angelic invocation and inner-demon mastery.

Thank you Koyote The Blind for bringing the Aka Dua to the exoteric circle of life, and thank you to The Tequihua Foundation and all its members for supporting his work in doing so.

Transmissions and Distance-Transmissions of the Aka Dua available, if anyone would like to take their work on self to a higher octave. Please comment here or call The Tequihua Foundation at (951) 686-3471 to schedule an Aka Dua Transmission (or even an Attunement, if you’ve already received a Transmission and wish to work more closely with the Aka Dua).

Aka Dua

Se voce quer ser um bardo coloque bastante dex, bastante vit nao tanto quando dex e agi tente comprar equipes que dao agi ou ponha um pouquinho, mais ou menos no 46 e não esqueça de ter um bom instrumento musical.

Te espero. Te sinto. Te acho.
Por entre versos
O teu retrato eu faço
Eu vejo beijos
Eu antevejo teus abraços
Que não existem
E já são todos simples traços
Sinto que queres
E sentir também eu quero
Mas evasivos nos falamos
Tu te vais. Eu te espero.
Não são sei bebo o licor que há neste jarro
Pois “o beijo, amigo,
É a véspera do escarro”.

22/04/01

PS – O último verso é um “empréstimo” de um verso do poema “Versos Íntimos”, de Augusto dos Anjos.

HOJE É ANIVERSÁRIO DO GRANDE AMOR DA MINHA VIDA, A MULHER MAIS BONITA DO MUNDO INTEIRO….. LUANA, MINHA AMADA NOIVA, FAZ HOJE SEU ÚLTIMO ANIVERSÁRIO SOLTEIRA!!!!!

PARABÉNS MEU AMOR!!!! TE AMO PARA SEMPRE!!!!

ABAIXO UMA FOTINHA DELA (NÃO, NÃO É A ANA PAULA, É A LUANA MESMO!!! NO SEU ANIVERSÁRIO DE 7 ANINHOS)

Com o headphone a postos, ouço Arno, o bardo enquanto escrevo este post.

Raramente eu coloco o headphone durante o trabalho no JC. Não que me desconcentre muito. Preciso também estar de ouvidos atentos para o que ocorre na redação, para prestar atenção no que falam comigo. Óbvio ululante, diria o velho Nelson.

Arno faz parte da mesma patota de um Serge Gaisbourg, Tom Waits, Leonard Coen, Roy Orbinson, Adamo, com um pouco de Nick Cave e Jacques Brel. Boas companhias, não?

O bardo belga de voz rascante

Como uma coisa leva a outra, me pego de calças curtas. Eu baixei músicas de Arno há uns dois anos, porém nunca tive a curiosidade de buscar informações sobre a sua vida. Uma falha para qualquer jornalista, uma das espécies mais bisbilhoteiras do planeta.

E essa me ignorância me levou a achar que ele era francês. Tal como Serge Gainsbourg. Ledo engano.

Estava tão por fora que a Wikipedia me levou a um tal de Arno Hintjens, depois de eu ter tentado achar o bardo do Ardo. Burramente achei que não era o cantor de voz rascante, curtida a uísque, café e cigarro.

E não é que Arno não é francês. É belga. E realmente se chama Arno Hintjens. Nasceu há 60 anos (em 21 de maio de 1949), em Ostend.

Arno está na estrada desde a década de 60. Participou do grupo TC Matic até 1986, quando se lançou em carreira solo e por vezes usou o heterônimo Charles (criou a banda Charles et les Lulus e Charles and the White Trash Blues) e criou a persona Arno Charles Ernest.

Entre os principais sucessos de Arno estão Elle adore le noir, Putain Putain, Qu’est-ce que c’est?, Tango de la peau, Le Yeaux de ma mere, Le bon dieu (versão de música de Jacques Brel), Dance till you drop, Ratata. Entre seus discos mais importantes estão Charlatan, Ratata, French Bazaar e Jus de box.

Não fosse pouco, o bardo Arno também é ator. Já fez peças teatrais e vários filmes. Uma figura.

Did some Google research and found references to something called Sleep Paralysis, which is I guess was happened to me in my last post.  Most people who described experiences with it reported feelings that they were pinned by something sitting on their chests. But a few mentioned feeling pressure on their foreheads.

Sleep paralysis happens when stages of sleep get mixed up and start happening at the same time. The reason you can’t move is that your body releases chemical inhibitors to keep you from flailing about in your dreams and possibly hurting yourself.  The sense of terror comes about because the brain’s fear machine, the amygdala, is being put through its paces at that time. Sometimes people in sleep paralysis still dream even though their eyes are open and they’re awake, and those are the people who report being abducted by aliens, according to another article.

People who experience sleep paralysis tend to suffer from sleep deprivation or other disturbances like narcolepsy. In my case I’ve been quite the insomniac here lately.

However, my research also indicated that some people use sleep paralysis to shoehorn themselves into lucid dreams. It looks like it may be a step in the process of being lucid dream proficient. Here I have to admit that over the past several weeks, all of my meditative routines, including those of lucid dreaming, have gone to shit. The only thing I still do on a regular basis is pray to Salgye Du Dalma to help me lucid dream. So maybe I got what I was asking for, though it scared the shit out of me.

Coincidentally, I’ve been reading a book about the history of Central Asian shamanistic practices and thier influence upon Bon Buddhism. This book, Bo And Bon, talks about how in the shamanistic worldview there’s a spirit realm that, while it’s not strictly a part of our world, it has effects in this one. For example, according to the Bo it’s a bad idea to build your house on a spirit road. All that otherdimensional traffic and coming and going will disprupt life in the house on a very subtle level and it can make people sick, and one source reports having an experience similar to sleep paralysis shortly after his parents moved the family house onto a spirit road. People might see or dream of dwarves and such if their home is on a spirit road, and they’ll have to relocate the house. So maybe yesterday’s dwarves and goblins and today’s ETs are the same thing or at least similar.

If you can learn to manage sleep paralysis without feeling terror, that’s probably good preparation for how not to panic in the Bardo.

The Tibetan Book Of The Dead believes that in moments of great transition, there is a spiritual moment of potential.

A combination of death and re-birth. It’s called Bardo, a state of apparently suspended reality in which those transforming, can recognise the true nature of reality.

I like the sound of this Bardo, it sounds similar to shape-shifting, and what the werewolf must experience when it comes to, from within my body. In a sense, My human side dies and the werewolf is born.

Werewolves have been called many things, like Loup-Garou, Varcolac’s, Wulvurs, Berserker, ulfhendar, lycan, but mostly we are called monsters, because people fear a lot easier than they trust. First reaction is normally to fear unknown.

There’s so many myths around werewolves its hard to know what’s right and what’s just fiction. Romanians believe werewolves can swallow the moon and sun and are responsible for eclipses.

I can tell you right now, that despite having no memory of my time as a werewolf, I’m fairly certain, that my werewolf can’t either A) leap that high in the sky /space, or b) dislocate her jaw that wide.

And if she can, then damn!

We’re primal animals from a long line of heritage. But essentially it’s all baser evolution re-evolving with the times.

But I’m getting off track here.

What my point to this post was about was about recognition of reality, seeing things for what they are. No matter who you are. I can be me and see people for who they are, and I can be a werewolf and know people and animals for what they are.

Insight into these relationships, is a bonus. Trust in any relationship is essential.

It’s a foundation to hand yourself over to someone else. So it’s no different with Conall and me. If the trust isn’t there, then neither are we as a couple. Kind of reminds me of the Brooklyn motto “Een Draght Maakt Maght” translated means, “In Unity there is strength.” which is kind of like the Breukelen pack motto
“Ältijd Breukelen” – Always Breukelen. It a sense of who you are. Of having something. Because there’s strength there, in knowing who you are.
Without knowledge of self, what are you but lost?
The same thing is true of a couple in a relationship.

Things have been weird lately, so strained is a word I’ve come to understand a lot of lately. Insecurity with Conall suprisingly, is not something I’ve had to deal with before. It’s the one thing, he doesn’t make me feel. Well, hand’t, until now.

But then I saw what I needed to see, the other day. That gave me the truth of my paranoid thoughts and shut down any fears I may have been developing.

I saw it in Conall’s face, I understood it with the slow exploration of fingers and lips, read it through his body language reacting to mine, as we moved together. I heard it in his words.

You know you’re being played when you loose site of what you do know. I know that now. Conall knows that now. We’re both aware of the situation.

Working a head trip, that’s got you in a spin, at a vulnerable time. You become vulnerable to negativity and believing what you would not otherwise consider. It’s how manipulation gets done. Set up two people, tell them each something different, stand back and let the show begin!

When you get separated from what is truth, from what holds your beliefs together, when you can literally no longer see it. When the game playing involves using people as a project for personal purpose.

But then Conall came for me, and reminded me, through words and touch, that It’s all about trust with us.
It always has been.
It’s what we’ve always had between us.

As he said to me last night, like the first time we got together so many years ago, his words dancing across my lips, before we kissed.

“Above all else there is us.”

O Bardo

Sentado numa pedra, à beira do mar, estava o Bardo. Não era um bardo único e diferente dos outros, mas sim daqueles bem comuns; do tipo das roupas surradas das inacabáveis viagens inacabadas, do cabelo comprido e castanho, que esvoaçava e embaraçava pela maresia e dos olhos escuros e receptivos. Ele não era tão belo assim, mas não era feio; tinha um rosto bem normal, apesar de bastante carismático; e certamente ficaria mais apresentável se resolvesse cuidar mais de sua própria aparência. Seu sorriso, porém, era carinhoso e acalentador, tal qual o brilho de seus olhos.

A perícia musical do Bardo não era excepcional, embora suficientemente notável para espantar mesmo aqueles cujos ouvidos e conhecimentos sobre música fossem até um pouco avançados. Contava-se que o Bardo não tinha a música como profissão em verdade, mas sim como passatempo; ele era, na realidade, um artífice das palavras, um contador de estórias e escritor; dizia-se que escolheu isso por duvidar de sua própria capacidade como músico. Entretanto, demonstrava um amor pela sua música visto em cada vez menos indivíduos de sua própria classe; e sem dúvida era talentoso. Aos desentendidos, porém, ele era um artista, daqueles dignos da visão e audição dos grandes. O Bardo sabia que suas habilidades não condiziam sempre com o que os outros criam, mas ele não se preocupava em ficar desmentindo tudo aquilo. Afinal, um elogio retumba forte, mesmo no mais humilde dos corações dos homens. E o Bardo gostava disso, de sentir isso, ainda que fosse um tanto quanto falso. Fútil? Um pouco, talvez, mas provavelmente sejamo-lo todos, ao final das contas. O Bardo nunca produzira nada muito soberbo, nunca tocara para os grandes reis do mundo e seu nome nem era lembrado, mas muitas vezes gostava de se enganar a pensar que sim. Sonhar é uma habilidade para poucos; que esses poucos tirem proveito dela, pois.

O Bardo tinha uma bondade inerente superior à enorme maioria dos indivíduos; o problema é que não poucos sempre se aproveitaram disso. Era de se supor que, por sua natureza, o Bardo daria a vida por muita gente; mas poucos sabiam disso. Pena que poucos, também e decerto, dariam a vida por ele.  Não, não tinha muitos amigos, e os grandes amores que teve foram falsos ou perdidos. Mas não guardava rancor ou arrependimento. Ele era simples. Somente um bardo; não o melhor, não o pior. Apenas um bardo; tolo e sonhador.

Enfim, lá estava o Bardo, sentado numa pedra, à beira do mar, com o crepúsculo já se assomando. Atrás dele subia íngreme um alto desfiladeiro pedregoso, de onde, lá de cima, podia ter-se uma visão lindíssima da costa. Não poucas vezes o Bardo subira até lá para vislumbrar aquela visão e esquecer um pouco a sua própria mediocridade. Lá, permitia-se sonhar e ser grandioso em seus próprios devaneios. Dedilhava emocionalmente uma melodia suave em seu velho alaúde, que apesar de não ser da melhor qualidade, era bastante razoável; o que lhe era permitido conseguir com a renda que tinha. De olhos fechados cantarolava e tocava algo que lembrava um réquiem, embora de maneira rapsódica. Um improviso mórbido e melancólico por um coração morto, talvez.

A música do Bardo povoava os ventos do mar; gaivotas que rodeavam a praia deserta, em busca de alimento, eram atraídas pela melodia. Apesar de tudo, o Bardo parecia capaz de encantar alguém, ainda. Aquela música, em conjunção com o ritmo das ondas tranqüilas, parecia dar àquele lugar uma aura mágica; mesmo os pássaros pareciam grasnar mais baixo em respeito ao Bardo e à sua música, e a maresia soprava calma e reconfortante.

E foi então que, de repente, uma pedra de um punho de tamanho caiu da direção do alto do desfiladeiro, bem na cabeça do Bardo; o peso da pedra e o impacto o zonzearam, e ele caiu na água rasa e desmaiou; a música parou de repente e o barulho da queda assustou as gaivotas, e aí tudo se silenciou. O alaúde lascou quando atingiu uma pedra ao lado; ele, desmaiado, caiu de rosto para baixo na água, e ali mesmo morreu afogado, solitário e gentil. À noite a maré subiu, levando o corpo do Bardo para longe dali.

Seu alaúde não foi levado, já que ficou preso sobre uma das pedras ali na beira. Sua música foi silenciada e seu sorriso se apagou; seu nome não é lembrado, a não ser por aqueles de sua família e pelos seus antigos amigos, e os filhos deles. Naqueles que o conheceram, porém, permaneceu a sombra de uma lembrança, inatingível na consciência, bela em quietude, bondosa no silêncio. Como uma ilusão, um sonho. Deste tipo de pessoa, todavia, nós nunca lembramos, pois os homens relevam as coisas ruins, e só delas se lembram. E é assim com os heróis do nosso mundo; os heróis de verdade: não estão destinados à glória e à honra, mas sim ao fracasso e ao esquecimento. São mártires heróicos, mas não querem sê-lo. Por sua própria natureza, sempre terminam as grandes estórias de suas vidas mortos e sozinhos, para que aqueles que merecem o amor e a vida menos do que eles possam, assim, tê-los. Poético, tolo e injusto, mas necessário.

Dias depois, um Menino que passava por ali encontrou o alaúde; consertou-o com inesperada perícia, e passou a dedilhar melodias suaves, dando continuidade ao legado do Bardo.

Marcus Vinicius Pilleggi

Não esqueça de ver a primeira parte do conto Realidade Onírica – Parte 1 – O Guerreiro

Tom Waits ao vivo

Quem quiser conhecer um pouco mais de Tom Waits, eis aí uma boa chance.

Clique na foto ou vá para o link abaixo e acesse o bottom “Hear the concert”:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=92916923

Esquisofrênico? Ele ou eu? Você? Então tá bom!

70. Les bandeaux du bardot [Nikon Fe2 182 diapositives nantaises 2001-2004]