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"Entre o ser e as coisas"
Carlos Drummond

segunda-feira, 14 de fevereiro de 2011

The Mermaid

The whole period of our lives consists on the repetitious (and always frustrated) attempts of eluding reality. The primordial illusion, origin of all the others, makes us believe that we are, somehow, immortal. From the teenager that, passenger in an eager for danger car, puts himself out the window, only to violently collide in a tunnel, to the pious that works hard to donate considerable part of his income to the basket that earns him a piece of heaven, it is difficult to resist such a comforting lie. Shattered by the incompleteness and insignificance of reality, we escape through the imaginary, full of winking and colorful lights, where we hear the uninterrupted chant of mermaids promissing the impossible.

On a certain occasion, I don’t remember exactly when, I came across one of those fascinating creatures. What initially caught my attention was her distant and lost gaze, suggesting an essential difference in relation to everything around her. I found her sitting on the cliff, her eyes vaguely directed to the silently placid and indifferent ocean, whose surface the smooth wind rocked like a new born child. I watched her for a duration that seemed infinite, her impacting image wounding my astonished eyes, giving the impression that her soul was as immense as the water’s extension, with an obscure depth filled with secret and strange beauties, in which a fleeting desire is enough to penetrate the endless labyrinth – an uncertain region where men risk losing themselves, in their thirst for the mischievous object that insists on disappearing at the very moment it is found.

Noticing my presence, she cast me an enigmatic smile, gazing fixedly at me with hypnotic intensity, making me empty of any thought, in an involuntary assault. Finding myself on this refuge that seemed to escape all temporary injunctions, I scared myself when, in an abrupt movement, she turned her face to a voice that, far away, cried out her name. Until then, I hadn’t realized that woman could have a name.

So, I contemplated the calm disappearence of the Mermaid, already brought down to her fragile humanity, silently saying goodbye, as I woke up from that sort of distraction in which the oniric seems to take over reality.

Furious waves shocked themselves against the rocks, in a patient and untiresome work, and the scene, in its microscopic totality, had over me a mysterious attraction. I got up, and, closing my eyes, threw myself to the grand dive, bare of everything, not knowing if I expected the solid roughness or the maleable fluidity.

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