I do

There was I on the road, again. I guess you’re thinking that I really love that. Well yeah, I do. Not because it brings me huge happiness – sometimes being on the road brings lots of pain. But because it makes me feel free of some things that seem to be indestructible when I’m on my birthplace.

I’ve met a girl. She was incredibly pretty, with her brown hair and eyes, and expressive smile. She used to sing to me while we wait. When you’re on the road you get to wait a lot: for rides, for food, for a good weather to go on. At first I saw that as a childish act, singing that way. Later I comprehended that it was the sagest thing to do. She carried lots of life on that smile. And she irradiated it to me. I was blessed.

Once, we were on the road to nowhere, trying to achieve no place, just walking and walking and walking, and hoping for a pleasant surprise when we get there. Maybe fine food, lovely people, a warm society that escapes of all this global shit. Unfortunately we got into a big city. Well, that was great to; music in the night, lots of young crazy dreamers, breakingheart love stories. People are always fine, they have so many dreams and fears in their hearts, and so many beautiful little life stories to tell, doesn’t matter how simple their way of living is. But there is always so much fear, fear, fear. And then people hurt each other, and I don’t quite understand why, if they should be doing the exact opposite.

My girl got mad at me. She said I was too innocent in believing that love helps and fixes all. And that my hippie way would not bring me food and comfort, and that maybe I was doomed to die on the road, with no family no companion no job no future.

She could be really hard on me.

Sometimes dying on the road seems to me the greatest death. A truly noble death. Because traveling is the most transcendental way of knowing ourselves and the world.

Then, she was worried with her future. I believed in her, you know, she didn’t needed me to get food, job, future. I could provide her a family, and love, and always support and company. But that didn’t seemed to be enough. So she left me for a handsome engineer. Man, he looked like heaven, and was pretty kind. I just couldn’t wish someone better for her.

It was a dreadfully sad time. I loved her. But, as well as I thought that she was right, and planned to get stable someday, it was not time, not yet. Then I left that city and drowned on the road again.

Man, there are lots of amazing people transiting in this world. Lots of nice and bad person. I got lucky to find really nice people in my way, that helped me to heal the wounds. That brown eyes slowly turn into the big mountains that surrounded me. Her voice dissolved in the wind. The world started to sing for me.

One day I got into a tiny village – if it is possible to call village a place with 7 houses and families. There are some people that really achieve to have a place on their own, with their believes and faraway of political, social and cultural insanities. It was inspiring, to discover that the world is not an established place with established routes of living.

There was this guy, Ivan, that received me on his place, without hesitating- hey, you’re hunger, and need a shower, and resting; for God sake, sit down and eat, and stop excusing yourself. He had a beautiful wife and 3 happy kids. They had a little garden on their backyard, with lots of nice plants and vegetables. They and their neighbors exchanged their harvest, and once in a month went to the nearest city to buy what was missing and sell their vegetables and art.

It is not like if it was an easy way of living. They had to work and work the whole day, taking care of everything that they loved, the education of the kids, the artisanal work. But they were so happy, so sincerely and serenely happy… oh, gee.

By the end of the day we used to take a guitar and play Bob Dylan and country songs till the stars ask for some silence for their glittered sleep. And then we respected that, and entered to our nice and warm beds. I felt like family.

I was confused. As much as I wanted to still there till the end of time, it was not my final nest, I knew it. Then I settled my things on my backpack and headed to the south.

Here I am on the road, again. I guess you’re thinking that I really love that. Well yeah, I do.

A dona aranha

Fia a aranha calmamente sua teia. Tem uma sabedoria ímpar, uma paciência milenar, um coração que parece nem pulsar.

Uma mosca está ali, a sua espera. Já nem se debate mais, aceitou sua entrega. Não importa quantas vezes fuja, vai cair naquela rede de novo, e de novo, até que a pequena aranha por fim acabe com sua vida.

Dona aranha, malandra que é, nem se move. Nem olha a pobre mosca, com um desdém comovente.

Primeiro a mosca se debatia numa tentativa de fugir para bem longe daquele fim horrendo. E se libertou inúmeras vezes. A fiandeira não fazia nenhum esforço para manter a prisioneira, simplesmente mudava estrategicamente sua teia de lugar.

A mosca, num dado momento, percebeu isso. Tentando entender a dinâmica desse universo peculiar, arriscou-se e se depositou na teia calmamente, como que numa pesquisa antropológica de alto risco. E nada, nenhuma atenção. Estava livre. A aranha se distraia com outra refeição duramente capturada.

O mundo inteiro virou aquele pequeno lençol pegajoso, que já não era mais itinerante. Todo o mistério da vida estava ali, para a pobre mosca. Não entendia o porquê da desatenção que sofria. Será que era muito magra, muito feia, muito chata, muito estranha? Nessas indas e vindas frenéticas, buscando soluções e conseguindo cada vez mais perguntas, chegou a questionar sua própria existência.

Estava decidida: ela não existia. Parecia muito estranho, mas era a única resposta cabível. Todo o peso das dúvidas desvaneceu. Todas as dores sanaram. Leve e despreocupada, se recostou docemente sobre a teia, balançando com calma. Já não havia mais o que temer: se não existia, não haveria morte.

Aquele minuto de olhos fechados, ao vento, pareceu uma vida inteira. Uma transcendência sem igual. Até uma terrível sensação de ausência. Sentia falta da aranha. Seria amor? Abre os olhos confusa. Sem muito tempo para absorver informações, percebe seu premeditado e desconstruído destino se assomar numa velocidade inimaginável. Dor lancinante, falta de ar, silêncio, mesmo com tanta coisa a falar. E no segundo seguinte, torna-se um adorável bolinho proteico numa pança estufada e satisfeita.