In the beginning, it wasn't the verb and it wasn't January

 

Paraphrasing Maria Clementina Diniz, a clinical psychologist (from 1967 to 2004) who had already left the Júlio de Matos Hospital and was a woman of causes, at first it was not the verb. 

In the beginning, it was the end in itself. Or the last day of the year. 

In the beginning it was the idea and she became pregnant. And it grew in wings and body. Above all, of will. In the beginning, it was hope and it is not divided, but can be understood in its etymological composition. Spes.  From Latin, to trust in something positive. The verb to wait. Wait. We only expect great causes. The small causes are additive supplements and not garden benches. 

In the beginning, it was not the verb, it was rather the etheric design of the house - body - wing - roof, the base of the ground where, despite the wings, I can touch. Jump. Walk. And when we set out on the path, we don't expect it. 

Walking means paths that open up and attitudes that are no longer expected of others. What we hope for must come from us, what we reap comes from the path. The verb is a way of showing it. Whoever walks, knows, the path opens up and shows us roundabouts and alternative paths, secondary roads, shortcuts. Once the journey has begun, only the word can stop it. Pause. Alter.

Maybe it was the gesture, the expectation, the dream, and the mistake. Yes, because there are all the conditions to think the verb, to move the path, to structure the ground, to give up the protests that our mind insists on verbalizing. Waiting is not a place, but the path is, and it only unfolds as we train the verbs, we mix adverbs in such a way that we understand that the verb both builds and destroys. It develops in the joints between the path and the harvest. In the beginning, I used the verb. The verb was returned to me, that of filling. I understood it as such, a palliative, not to say no, which is another way of saying that you got what you didn't want. Verbs allow us to anchor, but only then. Before gerunds, before participles, metaphors and expropriations. The verb insinuates itself, even without being spoken, it can come only as an insinuation. It is not an act of verbalizing, but the consequence of attitudes, thoughts, of what we edit unconsciously. Thus, the verb is secondary. Sometimes, we materialize in an unconscious way, whether we use the verb or not, because it can happen in both ways. But when I use the verb, I am using the second way, that of interfering in the alteration of reality. And that's where I distinguish the path of the clearing, the path of the rest. The presumption of achievement. And faith is born. Yes, in the beginning it may not have been the word, but it came to fertilize the way in the construction of reality. Through him, I manifest faith and she manifests reality. 

I saw you, and when I saw you I woke up. I woke up the verb. And already tired of paths and clearings, I put the verb to the language and verbalized it. And from my word will be born that which you cannot yet see. That at the right time concrete will be made and lifted me off the ground. The verb will give birth to another clock, another calendar, from which I will not cross out a single day. But I risk everything else. The rest of the creation is already verbalized. What else is there before the verb, January or a new collection of verbs? After you, neither other people's verbs, nor devil's conjugations. After you, nothing else.

And this could be a declaration of war. Or a love letter. It is these choices that we make all the time. The verb propitiates everything, although before it, everything is arranged in human chaos. This could be a written way of telling you that I don't know how to wait for you. That time overcomes my will. That would not be correct at all. Above all, with me. The verb knows how to wait. And if the verb knows how to wait, it was not, in itself, the beginning, I delay the sands in the timer, I go back to square one, I read again the instructions of being alive and I will only not repeat operations because I already know how to materialize any verb. That makes me what I want it to be. And that's also the power of visualizing and verbalizing afterwards. 

This could even be a song of revolt. Or a hug I give you or the smile you gave me back, or the unwary look that betrayed you. This could even speak of your fear of looking at me, of feeling that I am still yours. It could be an addendum to your future if you let it. The kiss you wouldn't let me steal. This can be all of that and go further and be an author's note revealing a crime committed decades ago. 

It would continue to be the verbalization of what I once lived. Never go back to the place where you were happy. You are not a place. In other words, you are not just a place or a reference. No bridge and no cruise. An immensity of things and people and meanings that do not fit in a text. You don't fit into a text.

Everyone verbalizes what they want. And this might just be a way of telling you that I still love you, or that I feel far away. That I still dream of you or that I see you build stairs for a simulated escape. Let this be no more than it is, the manifesto of my intentions. In the beginning, you were neither a verb nor a month in any calendar. It was you. You were the beginning. And I, obedient to myself, give light to the corridors of the inner text, the one that wants to be present in these days when I keep the faith under lock and key. You are the verb activated on the new level of a reality far removed from the three give. 

You are. And so, I repeat to you, over and over again, even if you count them, after nothing else. And it is necessary to know yourself well, in order to be able to affirm it, so that there are no doubts and no refutations. And we are, only and only, mirrors of each other And to tell you this, to tell you in this written, open or half-closed way, is to have the courage to touch the invisible thread of creation and crown our truth with what comes to us from within. 

 Inside me, you and only then, the verb to extrapolate the rest. And I see you from here in the shadows of the shop window, where I expose to you what I have inside and you show on your face who I am. Identification. I verbalize you in full, I stopped wanting you only halfway, crossing points and streets of my city. 

Allow me to nullify the memory loss. I lost my memory after you. Today, I left the dreams of others to them. I ceased to be the firefighter and the nurse, Mother Teresa and the appanage of the verbs to fill. I look at you, without you seeing me, but you know that I look at you from the inside.  And the one I see is similar to me. And then you find time to show what you've come for. Of your greatness of character, of your knowledge and wisdom. And you learned to look in the mirror without fear. And the verb to value yourself first had to arrive. And you were my airport and I went all the vain moments. And you, all the experiences gathered, and I the tower of the fall. The catalogues, the history of dynasties, the development of communities, men and the beacons of humanity. Science and art.

And the word became singular, the fullness of being one with oneself and of shouting in the stations and in the stops erupted, and civilizations grew. The work is never complete. The artist, the scientist, bursts into it, and the aesthete projects himself onto it. 

The word is born, but only after you. 

In the beginning, it was you, and only then was it worked on this planet.