Dying in the interval of the Eclipse

 

I can't. I know you understand me. I don't know, I can't, I don't want to and I won't. I will not forget you, I will not obey Saturn, I will not disobey my heart. He rules me. Thus I was born, thus it will be, my dear. To fight for oblivion is to resist. I'm not Manuel Alegre. But I reiterate your no to Saturn. And I leave my love in the hands of the future.

While Hades opposes the Sun, also square Neptune, while the Moon in perfect conjunction with Lilith makes a beautiful trine to Uranus, there in Taurus, and while I keep waiting for my guru, Jupiter and Saturn who went to the Douro River to fish from the bitter freshwater, I am cleaning up the past. And I said you'd be the first to die. And death does not exist. And you are eternal and will always remain in this material plane, where humans and beasts fight for a place in the Sun, lost in their daily struggles for basic necessities and kill for superficial goods, I clean the internal and external house. Today, I broke more dishes. With each broken piece, I said, in a ritual of your own, you go late, you have already had your usefulness or your uselessness, occupying spaces that are necessary for the peace of mind and organization that my stellium in Virgo affirms, I affirm for him, pimba, this was a beautiful piece, made of art, it will be transformed. Who knows, in many, many years, someone will find them and be able to talk about the history, the craftsman, his usefulness in the lives of those who perished. Things seem to survive bodies that struggle to have things. And I go back to the boxes, to the useless clothes, to the pieces of materiality that are heavy to me, but much more than that, useless. I don't think about tomorrow as far as things are concerned. I never let myself be dazzled by them. Will-o'-the-wisps that project themselves as temporal ambitions. Owls that watch me, doves, turtledoves, birds that are free, more than me, butterflies free to be and to fly. And if my thought has wings, my love that leads me to you, is all wrapped up in freedom of expression. You are my inner house. The fates came to talk to me at night, they came to tell me about the impact on some humans, my expressiveness and boldness in all languages, to tell me that many, far beyond curiosity, continue to wish me harm. Ignore them. The fates came to blow me that I will be punished for the way I am but instead of asking me for caution and chicken broth, they stressed that I should continue my walk, without looking back, to the sides. Always forward. And that in front of me, I will have a wave of envious people, the usual ones, trying to make their traps work. That I will have to stand up, to take a stand. That this is me. And may he always carry me in and out, without fears that I accumulated during the years in which, caressing demons, I licked my wounds alone. What wounds? Mine, my way of life, rebellious and opposite to the simulated varnish that snakes use to get closer to their prey. I lost fear, shame, I lost what I considered right and wrong, beliefs and the way to give in to others. Today I am the watchful oracle of myself. Today I am the solitary one, the beast that lets itself be drunk on clear nights, with the same dream to be completed, with the same force driven to it. I go where my soul asks me. I obey myself. There are no institutions or authorities that prevent me from following the paths I have avoided. When we resist, it is well known, things persist in us. And that is what I will say to Saturn, as soon as he arrives with his fish that I will not fry. I will say no to Saturn. And Saturn will not speak to me, nor demand, but will have to listen to me. I will tell you that I know what is coming, I will tell you that I have faced demons and that I have overcome them, without swords, without blood, without secret vows or curses. I reap what I have sown. I will tell you, after embracing you, that now my time of reaping has come. That I will allow myself to open the gate that I helped to close. That it will be a body with me, my own, but with me many thousand souls walk, ancestors walk and the future will be designed and built by clear observation and without subterfuge of the mistakes of the past that will not be repeated. I have a gift for Saturn, notwithstanding his for me. I dressed as a gift. Neptune is not as ugly as it seems, at first glance. Pluto, that Hades you fear, fear him then, if you have sown evil. Fear him, perhaps your fear of him will regenerate and begin to sow good seeds. Do not expect miracles if you have behaved like beasts.  The star that guides me asks me to be silent. Mercury will have to wait for the denouement. As for you, you are my mirror. Which makes me think that I am a beautiful human being, who has fulfilled what is expected, wild and irreverent, cooperative and brave. I tear up all the curses that you have done to us. I'm the same. Pure heart, soul aligned with the divine. This path that I carry in my veins was chosen up there. And the ancient manifestation refers to what is above, is below, just as it is below, it is above. This regulatory principle does not change. It is not a human law that you can defile! I abandon the fight from me to myself. Now you will only see me fighting for ideals. I do not sponsor the waste of energy. I am peace and life and love, which is the same as saying that I am death in the intervals. I invoke Zeca, Tordo, Ary dos Santos, Sérgio Godinho, Natália Correia, Zé Mário Branco, Fausto, Nuno Júdice, Alegre, Sophia, Pedro Barroso, Janita, Vitorino, Variações and all those who paid allegiance to the freedom of life and poetry. Living and dead march in favor of the justice that must be done. So let the future come, let the rubble come, let it come, then, that I am a baker of aljubarrota, that I will show myself whole, available for good and for bad, the target of your ridicule. Let April come, then, let it come in a song that tears your sleep, your corruption. That I am not one to die, I am to be reborn. May ideals, such as poetry, carnations and carnations flourish, and may the eaves where nests are made, where bells are shouted and shouted in the squares of the people, without prurience, may the cries shake your conscience, may freedom grow from the flower that will avenge the poets. And bear fruit in the love of others. Love is not fought. That it is the driving force, the flowering. And I came to be a gardener on full moon nights, I came to be a contamination of love in this desert of humanity. And if you want me to explain, I feed on the axes, on eclipses.