tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34702654376897189742024-03-19T04:28:59.237+00:00no limite do seguimentoTudo começa por uma interrupção. - C.M.S.A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-1678980520775315132011-07-19T19:41:00.000+01:002011-07-19T19:41:06.852+01:00Lisbon Story<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YmRHWGu0KMc" width="425"></iframe>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-68227408921218532472011-07-17T23:18:00.001+01:002011-07-17T23:20:13.963+01:00<blockquote><b>No quiero estar cansado solo,<br />
quiero que te canses conmigo.</b></blockquote><blockquote><b><br />
Quiero que te canses conmigo<br />
de todo lo que está bien hecho.<br />
De todo lo que nos envejece.<br />
De lo que tienen preparado<br />
para fatigar a los otros.<br />
Cansémonos de lo que mata<br />
y de lo que no quiere morir.</b></blockquote><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><i>Pablo Neruda </i></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-52501760175904835322011-07-01T23:42:00.002+01:002011-07-01T23:42:40.808+01:00Na Floresta do Alheamento"SEI QUE DESPERTEI e que ainda durmo. O meu corpo antigo, moído de eu viver, diz-me que é muito cedo ainda. . . Sinto-me febril de longe. Peso-me não sei por quê. .. Num torpor lúcido, pesadamente incorpóreo, estagno, entre um sono e a vigília, num sonho que é uma sombra de sonhar. Minha atenção bóia entre dois mundos e vê cegamente a profundeza de um mar e a profundeza de um céu; e estas profundezas interpenetram-me, misturam-se, e eu não sei onde estou nem o que sonho."<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><i>Fernando Pessoa</i></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-7766232146219240562011-07-01T23:12:00.001+01:002011-07-01T23:12:48.558+01:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif, sans; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;">“Sê apenas um <em style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">homem que pensa</em>; não penses <em style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">como pensador</em>, isto é, <em style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">numa faculdade arrancada à totalidade do ser humano real e para si isolada</em>; pensa como <em style="border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">ser vivo e real</em>, exposto às vagas vivificantes e refrescantes do oceano do mundo; pensa na existência, no mundo como membro do mundo, e não no vazio da abstração como uma mônada isolada, como monarca absoluto, como um deus indiferente e exterior ao mundo — podes, depois, estar certo de que os teus pensamentos são unidades de ser e de pensar.”</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif, sans; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;"><i>Ludwig Feuerbach</i></span></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-17835773873086066162011-05-16T17:49:00.000+01:002011-05-16T17:49:23.686+01:00Pina<div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Se queres entender, sente"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/oYXjk_qn3cQ" width="425"></iframe>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-15076553266436646972011-05-14T01:22:00.000+01:002011-05-14T01:22:27.658+01:00"Há muito tempo que não escrevo. Têm passado meses sem que viva, e vou durando, entre o escritório e a fisiologia, numa estagnação íntima de pensar e de sentir. Isto, infelizmente, não repousa: no apodrecimento há fermentação."<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Bernardo Soares</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</span>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-23003769764142396122011-05-14T01:11:00.000+01:002011-05-14T01:11:27.283+01:00Il Postino<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wiHchYX_T2g" width="425"></iframe>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-6627539959534126282011-05-12T01:22:00.000+01:002011-05-13T21:33:01.323+01:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">O que se abatera sobre ela não era um fardo, mas a insustentável leveza do ser.<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
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</span></span>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-17212262457340698432011-02-15T00:31:00.001+00:002011-02-15T00:40:49.774+00:00Moralmente doentes<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">"Já não há indignação espontânea, que é a boa, a verdadeira indignação. Existe uma doença do espírito: o mal da indiferença dos cidadãos. Estamos todos moralmente doentes."</span></blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><i>José Saramago nas Suas Palavras</i></span></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-50514730580137939552011-01-08T15:05:00.000+00:002011-01-08T15:05:05.414+00:00Do Entendimento<div style="text-align: justify;">"Quanto a mim, quando entro profundamente no que chamo de <i>eu próprio</i>, deparo sempre com uma qualquer percepção específica de calor ou frio, luz ou sombra, amor ou ódio, dor ou prazer. Nunca sou capaz de <i>me</i> encontrar sem uma percepção, e nunca sou capaz de observar nada além da percepção. Quando as minhas percepções são removidas durante algum tempo, como por exemplo durante o sono profundo, torno-me insensível quanto a <i>mim </i>e poderá dizer-se verdadeiramente que não existo. E caso todas as minhas percepções fossem removidas pela morte, e não pudesse pensar, nem sentir, nem ver, nem amar, nem odiar após a dissolução do meu corpo, eu seria completamente aniquilado, e não concebo o que mais seria necessário para me tornar uma absoluta não-entidade. Se alguém, após séria e objectiva reflexão, considerar que tem uma noção diferente de <i>ele próprio</i>, devo confessar que deixarei de poder dialogar com ele. Só poderei conceder-lhe que ele poderá ter razão, tanto quanto eu, e que somos completamente diferentes nesse ponto. Ele poderá, talvez, apreender algo simples e continuado a que chama <i>ele próprio</i>, embora eu tenha a certeza de que tal princípio não existe em mim."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Tratado sobre a Natureza Humana</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Hume</i></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-40094983005555641882011-01-02T20:19:00.000+00:002011-01-02T20:19:56.258+00:00Eterno Retorno<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>"E se um dia ou uma noite um demónio se esgueirasse em tua mais solitária solidão e te dissesse: "Esta vida, assim como tu vives agora e como a viveste, terás de vivê-la ainda uma vez e ainda inúmeras vezes: e não haverá nela nada de novo, cada dor e cada prazer e cada pensamento e suspiro e tudo o que há de indivisivelmente pequeno e de grande em tua vida há de te retornar, e tudo na mesma ordem e sequência - e do mesmo modo esta aranha e este luar entre as árvores, e do mesmo modo este instante e eu próprio. A eterna ampulheta da existência será sempre virada outra vez - e tu com ela, poeirinha da poeira!". Não te lançarias ao chão e rangerias os dentes e amaldiçoarias o demónio que te falasse assim? Ou viveste alguma vez um instante descomunal, em que lhe responderías: "Tu és um deus e nunca ouvi nada mais divino!" Se esse pensamento adquirisse poder sobre ti, assim como tu és, ele transformar-te-ia e talvez te triturasse: a pergunta diante de tudo e de cada coisa: "Quero isto ainda uma vez e inúmeras vezes?" pesaria como o mais pesado dos pesos sobre o teu agir! Ou, então, como terias de ficar de bem contigo e mesmo com a vida, para não desejar nada mais do que essa última, eterna confirmação e chancela?"</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>A Gaia Ciência</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-76397545625664005482010-12-14T03:25:00.000+00:002010-12-14T03:25:30.266+00:00Why Consciousness is Not the Brain<div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Excerpted from The Science of Premonition: <em>How Knowing the Future Can Help Us Avoid Danger, Maximize Opportunities and Create a Better Life by Larry Dossey</em>.</strong> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Physicist Freeman Dyson believes the cosmos is suffused with consciousness, from the grandest level to the most minute dimensions. If it is, why aren’t we aware of it?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“We don’t know who first discovered water, but we can be sure that it wasn’t a fish,” the old saw reminds us. Continual exposure to something reduces our awareness of its presence. Over time, we become blind to the obvious. We swim in a sea of consciousness, like a fish swims in water. And like a fish that has become oblivious to his aqueous environment, we have become dulled to the ubiquity of consciousness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In science, we have largely ignored how consciousness manifests in our existence. We’ve done this by assuming that the brain produces consciousness, although how it might do so has never been explained and can hardly be imagined. The polite term for this trick is “emergence.” At a certain stage of biological complexity, evolutionary biologists claim, consciousness pops out of the brain like a rabbit from a magician’s hat. Yet this claim rests on no direct evidence whatsoever. As Rutgers University philosopher Jerry A. Fodo flatly states, “Nobody has the slightest idea how anything material could be conscious. So much for our philosophy of consciousness.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In spite of the complete absence of evidence, the belief that the brain produces consciousness endures and has ossified into dogma. Many scientists realize the limitations of this belief. One way of getting around the lack of evidence is simply to declare that what we call consciousness is the brain itself. That way, nothing is produced, and the magic of “emergence” is avoided. As astronomer Carl Sagan expressed his position, “My fundamental premise about the brain is that its workings – what we sometimes call mind – are a consequence of anatomy and physiology, and nothing more.” Nobelist Francis Crick agreed, saying “[A] person’s mental activities are entirely due to the behavior of nerve cells, glial cells, and the atoms, ions, and molecules that make up and influence them.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This “identity theory” – mind equals brain – has led legions of scientists and philosophers to regard consciousness as an unnecessary, superfluous concept. Some go out of their way to deny the existence of consciousness altogether, almost as if they bear a grudge against it. Tufts University cognitive scientist Daniel Dennett says, “We’re all zombies. Nobody is conscious.” Dennett includes himself in this extraordinary claim, and he seems proud of it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-10709571895739806442010-12-07T23:14:00.005+00:002010-12-10T19:05:19.762+00:00Excertos I<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>A nudez das bestas rastejantes não é senão um estado ilusório e estupidamente vulgar. Unicidade? Ah! Perante os alicerces de tais criaturas, negar a sua universal efermidade é uma tentativa frívola que caracteriza a inconsistência das ideias mundanas, e reconhecidamente prematuras.</em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><br />
</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Ó, bocas insaciáveis e mudas...</em></span></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-36377726824379947162010-12-02T13:48:00.000+00:002010-12-02T13:48:23.567+00:00Dry SalvagesOr the waterfall, or music heard so deeply<br />
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music<br />
While the music lasts.<br />
These are only hints and guesses,<br />
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.<br />
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><em>T.S.Eliot</em></div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>from "Four Quartets"</em></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-44790679201655092442010-11-11T21:06:00.001+00:002010-11-11T21:07:35.073+00:00What can I do?<div style="text-align: justify;">«One is always seeking endlessly, going from one book to another, from one philosophy to another, from one teacher to another. And what we are really seeking is not clarity, is not the understanding of the actual state of mind, but rather we are searching for ways and means to escape from ourselves. Religions in different forms throughout the world have offered this escape, and we are satisfied in trying to find out a convenient, pleasurable, satisfying retreat. When one observes all this - the increasing population, the utter callousness of human beings, the utter disregard for others' feelings, for others' lives, the utter neglect of the social structure - one wonders if order out of this chaos can be brought about. Not political order - politics can never bring about order; neither an economic structure nor a different ideology can bring about order. But we do need order. For, there is a great deal of disorder, both outwardly and inwardly, of which one is vaguely, speculatively, casually aware. One feels the problems are too immense. The population is exploding so fast that one asks oneself, "What can I do as a human being living in this chaotic misery, violence, stupidity? What can I do?" Surely, you must have asked this question of yourself if you are at all serious. And if one has asked oneself this very serious question, "What can one do oneself?", the invariable answer is: "I am afraid I can do very little to alter the structure of society, to bring about order, not only within but also outwardly". And generally one asks the question "what can I do?", and invariably the answer is "very little". There one stops. But the problem demands a much deeper answer.»</div><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><i>Krishnamurti<br />
<br />
Bombay 1st Public Talk 19th February 1967</i></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-6753524732109507952010-10-14T11:33:00.000+01:002010-10-14T11:33:26.199+01:00What will your verse be?<object width="550" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2uMSnP1PRYs?fs=1&hl=pt_BR"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2uMSnP1PRYs?fs=1&hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="550" height="385"></embed></object>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-42362064035929516112010-10-08T23:17:00.000+01:002010-10-08T23:17:17.983+01:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>Henry David Thoreau</em></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-80170914937865152192010-09-16T16:18:00.000+01:002010-09-16T16:18:47.817+01:00Evolução versus Egocentrismo<div style="text-align: justify;"> Pergunta: Então, a evolução consiste num declínio progressivo do egocentrismo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Ken Wilber: Sim, um <em>descentramento</em> contínuo. Howard Gardner fornece um resumo perfeito da investigação conduzida nesta área. Vou ler uma citação breve deste autor, porque, na verdade, diz tudo. Começa por notar que o desenvolvimento em geral é marcado pelo "declínio do egocentrismo". E prossegue "A criança pequena é completamente egocêntrica - não significando isto que pensa de forma egoísta acerca de si mesma, mas o contrário: é incapaz de se diferenciar a si mesma do resto do mundo; não se separou ainda dos outros ou dos objectos. Assim, acredita que todos os outros partilham a sua dor ou o seu prazer, que os seus resmungos serão inevitavelmente compreendidos, que a sua perspectiva é partilhada por todas as pessoas, que mesmo os animais e as plantas partilham a sua consciência. Ao jogar às "escondidas", ela "esconder-se-á" à vista de todos, pois o seu egocentrismo não a deixa ver que os outros estão conscientes da sua localização. Todo o curso do desenvolvimento humano pode ser visto como um <em>declínio contínuo do egocentrismo</em> [...]".</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> P: Então, o narcisismo ou egocentrismo (...) decresce progressivamente?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> KW: Exactamente. Como a diferenciação está no seu ponto mínimo, o narcisismo encontra-se no seu ponto máximo!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Esta centralidade do eu vai diminuindo à medida que a identidade da criança se desloca do fisiocêntrico para o biocêntrico (...). A criança não trata o mundo físico como uma extensão de si mesma, pois agora o eu físico e o mundo físico estão diferenciados. Mas o eu emocional e o mundo emocional não se encontram ainda diferenciados e, assim, todo o mundo emocional é uma extensão do eu: narcisismo emocional no seu ponto máximo. Ou eu biocêntrico ou ecológico (...) é, portanto, ainda profundamente egocêntrico. O que ele sente, o mundo sente.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> O narcisismo decresce, ou declina uma vez mais, com a emergência do eu conceptual. O eu é então um ego conceptual, mas esse ego não consegue ainda assumir o papel do outro e, portanto, o ego primitivo é ainda substancialmente narcisista, pré-convencional, egocêntrico.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Por isso, por vezes resumo este narcisismo decrescente como indo do fisiocêntrico para o biocêntrico e, daí, para o egocêntrico, no entendimento de que todos três são egocêntricos no sentido geral, mas em grau cada vez menor. E toda a perspectiva egocêntrica passa por mais uma deslocação radical com a emergência da capacidade de <em>assumir o papel do outro</em>. Ponto em que o <em>egocêntrico</em> se desloca para o <em>sociocêntrico</em>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div align="right"><em>Uma Breve História de Tudo (adaptado)</em></div><div align="right"><em>Ken Wilber</em></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-39504450904405649322010-09-15T23:02:00.003+01:002010-09-15T23:09:29.307+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQPR1PKataL4qGd1Yg-lY30lxRC1jwOVlxX_pher_aYN9VIhcKRs2GUmlQxZTSyjA2kN289zm0xdcP2nimolOa4E2gF8bmuKTrXS3guOAbgzfjXvAToiQp7dLMwBmhkFa_SOZV0tqN5A/s1600/Time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQPR1PKataL4qGd1Yg-lY30lxRC1jwOVlxX_pher_aYN9VIhcKRs2GUmlQxZTSyjA2kN289zm0xdcP2nimolOa4E2gF8bmuKTrXS3guOAbgzfjXvAToiQp7dLMwBmhkFa_SOZV0tqN5A/s320/Time.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>...all of this appears to me as an impetuous path towards conformity.</strong></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-69742670748995552202010-09-15T00:16:00.001+01:002010-09-15T00:18:28.473+01:00Sha-Clack-ClackIf I could find the spot where truth echoes<br />
I would stand there and whisper memories of my children’s future<br />
I would let their future dwell in my past<br />
so that I might live a brighter now<br />
Now is the essence of my domain and it contains<br />
all that was and will be<br />
And I am as I was and will be because I am and always will be<br />
that nigga<br />
I am that nigga<br />
I am that nigga<br />
I am that timeless nigga that swings on pendulums like vines<br />
through mines of boobytrapped minds that are enslaved by time<br />
I am the life that supersedes lifetimes, I am<br />
It was me with serpentine hair and a timeless stare<br />
that with immortal glare turned mortal fear into stone time capsules<br />
They still exist as the walking dead, as I do<br />
The original sulphurhead, symbol of life and matriarchy<br />
severed head Medusa, I am<br />
I am that nigga<br />
I am that nigga!<br />
I am that nigga!!<br />
I am a negro! Yes negro, negro from necro meaning death<br />
I overcame it so they named me after it<br />
And I be spitting at death from behind<br />
and putting “Kick Me” signs on it’s back<br />
because I am not the son of Sha-Clack-Clack<br />
I am before that, I am before<br />
I am before before<br />
Before death is eternity, after death is eternity<br />
There is no death there’s only eternity<br />
And I be riding on the wings of eternity<br />
like HYAH! HYAH! HYAH! Sha-Clack-Clack<br />
but my flight doesn’t go undisturbed<br />
Because time makes dreams defer<br />
And all of my time fears are turning my days into daymares<br />
And I live daymares reliving nightmares<br />
of what taunted my past<br />
Sha-Clack-Clack, time is beatin my ass<br />
And I be havin dreams of chocolate covered watermelons<br />
Filled with fried chickens like pinatas<br />
With little pickaninny sons and daughters<br />
standing up under them with big sticks and aluminum foil<br />
Hittin em, tryin to catch pieces of fallin fried chicken wings<br />
And Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben are standing in the corners<br />
with rifles pointed at the heads of the little children<br />
“Don’t shoot the children,” I shout, “don’t shoot the children!”<br />
but they say it’s too late<br />
They’ve already been infected by time<br />
But that sh** is before my time<br />
I need more time<br />
I need more time<br />
But it’s too late<br />
They start shooting at children and killing them!<br />
One by one, two by two, three by three, four by four<br />
Five by five, six by six, but<br />
my spirit is growing seven by seven<br />
Faster than the speed of light<br />
Cause light only penetrates the darkness that’s already there<br />
and I’m already there<br />
I’m here at the end of the road<br />
which is the beginning of the road beyond time, but<br />
where my niggaz at? (Oh sh**!)<br />
<br />
Oh sh**, don’t tell me my niggaz got lost in time<br />
My niggaz are dying before their time<br />
My niggaz are serving unjust time<br />
My niggaz are dying because of.. time<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ojDKI8JxfLs?fs=1&hl=pt_BR"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ojDKI8JxfLs?fs=1&hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-7679513636974675832010-09-14T22:14:00.001+01:002010-09-14T22:17:09.785+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHAhhL_HX8-vWxQsHzYMGt3C_c1B-gZx9QM7CngTw1kD4XN85x4Hhc8VPPnjWxe4C4mGV-bVh8_wElOliZvkkUCsA6bQt8jecY_sSzen7lZ2GVbMzwFbVXIJAv17HVR7pxwem8qYr3AQ/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHAhhL_HX8-vWxQsHzYMGt3C_c1B-gZx9QM7CngTw1kD4XN85x4Hhc8VPPnjWxe4C4mGV-bVh8_wElOliZvkkUCsA6bQt8jecY_sSzen7lZ2GVbMzwFbVXIJAv17HVR7pxwem8qYr3AQ/s320/untitled.bmp" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Não importa o que digam os relógios ou as atitudes e os labores dos homens. De manhã é quando estou desperto e há uma alvorada em mim. A reforma moral é o esforço de se desenvencilhar do sono. Por que razão dão os homens um balanço tão pobre do seu dia, senão pelo facto de que estiveram atordoados pelo sono? Eles não são assim tão mal calculadores. Se não estivessem tomados pela sonolência, teriam realizado algo. Milhões estão suficientemente despertos para o trabalho físico; mas somente um em um milhão está suficientemente esperto para um trabalho intlectual efectivo, e só um em cem milhões para uma vida poética ou divina. Estar desperto é estar vivo. Nunca até hoje encontrei um homem suficientemente desperto. Como poderia eu olhá-lo de frente? [...] Afectar a qualidade do dia, eis a mais elevada das artes. Todo o homem recebe a tarefa de tornar a sua vida, até mesmo nos seus detalhes, digna de contemplação da sua hora mais crítica e elevada.</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Henry Thoreau (1854)</span></em></div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-24845679069678681192010-09-11T22:28:00.002+01:002010-09-14T22:16:10.805+01:00<div style="text-align: justify;">Este humor líquido, que em tempos esteve entorpecido, revela-se agora sob o esboço de um sorriso. É, indubitavelmente, a antecipação de uma possibilidade, de uma ideia, e o conhecimento fragmentário de uma paixão. É um inefável fascínio - de ir... e de ser.</div>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-18010044821038651132010-09-11T16:42:00.000+01:002010-09-11T16:42:22.870+01:00Empty<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aCCEajRBb6w?fs=1&hl=pt_BR"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aCCEajRBb6w?fs=1&hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-57913723856340008152010-09-11T16:18:00.001+01:002010-09-11T16:20:25.940+01:00I'm beginning to know myself. I don't exist.<br />
I'm the gap between what I'd like to be and what others have made me,<br />
Or half of this gap, since there's also life...<br />
That's me. Period.<br />
Turn off the light, shut the door, and quit that slipper noise in the hallway.<br />
Leave me alone in my room with the vast peace of myself.<br />
It's a shoddy universe.<br />
<br />
<i>Álvaro de Campos</i>A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470265437689718974.post-61598802892178605762010-08-20T01:33:00.004+01:002010-09-14T22:18:03.553+01:00Dreams - what men are made of.<div style="text-align: justify;"><b>'I accept as truth that everything has its own time. This is the right moment for me to make this decision (...) This is a moment to make a pure choice and reject conformity. It’s a moment to fight against the anaesthetizing of the soul and to let myself be passionate about life.'</b> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I wrote this personal letter I was so hopeful, expectant about the future and aware of the hardships a new life brings on. I was not without fear and yet, I didn't allow the menace of my misgiving stop me from trying. I did try. However, what I had planned didn't turn out the way I expected... That fact devastated me and made me second guess myself because I used to think that if I didn't do it at that moment (when I had the will, the courage) I would probably miss my chance. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We have to realize that when we take the plunge, we always endanger something. I understand that by raising my expectations I took the risk of being dashed... Despite all the frustration and disappointment my decision brought on, I still believe it couldn't have been in any other way. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I believe we have to innovate ourselves and rediscover passion towards life, even if it means not to play safe. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><br />
<blockquote>"When a dream takes hold of you, what can you do? You can run with it, let it run your life, or let it go and think for the rest of your life about what might have been." - Patch Adams, M.D.</blockquote><br />
About that dream I fought for in the letter... maybe it just wasn't the right moment. Nevertheless, it will come.A.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08537171173834622938noreply@blogger.com0