Mindfulness...: Strange dreams...

sexta-feira, 26 de dezembro de 2014

Strange dreams...

“Life itself is only a vision, a dream...

Nothing exists, all is a dream.

God-man-the world

– the sun, the moon, the wilderness of stars: a dream, all a dream, they have no existence.

Nothing exists save empty space

- and you!

And you are not you

- you have no body, no blood, no bones, you are but a thought…

Strange! That you should not have suspected, years ago, centuries, ages, aeons ago!

For you have existed, companionless, through all the eternities.

Strange, indeed, that you should not have suspected that your universe and its contents were only dreams, visions, fictions!

Strange, because they are so frankly and hysterically insane-like all dreams: a God who could make good children as easily as bad, yet preferred to make bad ones, who could have made every one of them happy, yet never made a single happy one, who made them prize their bitter life, yet stingily cut it short, who gave his angels eternal happiness unearned, yet required his other children to earn it, who gave his angels painless lives, yet cursed his other children with biting miseries and maladies of mind and body, who mouths justice, and invented hell

- mouths mercy, and invented hell

- mouths Golden Rules, and forgiveness multiplied by seventy times seven, and invented hell;

who mouths morals to other people, and has none himself;

who frowns upon crimes, yet commits them all;

who created man without invitation, then tries to shuffle the responsibility for man’s acts upon himself;

and finally, with altogether divine obtuseness, invites this poor abused slave to worship him!…

You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible, except in a dream.

You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks

- in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it.

The dream-marks are all present.

- you should have recognised them earlier…

It is true, that which I have revealed to you: there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell.

It is all a Dream, a grotesque and foolish dream.

Nothing exists but You.

And You are but a Thought.

- a vagrant Thought, a useless Thought, a homeless Thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!”

Excerpt from

Mark Twain‘s

No.44,

“The mysterious stranger”

Fui pedir um sonho ao jardim dos mortos.
Quis pedi-lo, aos vivos. Disseram-me que não.
Os mortos não sabem, lá onde é que estão,
Que neles se enfeitam os meus braços tortos.

Os mortos dormiam... Passei-lhes ao lado.
Arranquei-lhes tudo, tudo quanto pude;
Páginas intactas — um livro fechado
Em cada ataúde.

Ai as pedras raras! As pedras preciosas!
Relâmpagos verdes por baixo do mar!
A sombra, o perfume dos cravos, das rosas
Que os dedos, já hirtos, teimavam guardar!

Minha alma é um cadáver pálido, desfeito.
As suas ossadas
Quem sabe onde estão?
Trago as mãos cruzadas,
Pesam-me no peito.
Quem sabe se a lama onde hoje me deito
Dará flor aos vivos que dizem que não?

Pedro Homem de Mello

"Príncipe Perfeito"

Durmo. Se sonho, ao despertar não sei
Que coisas eu sonhei.
Durmo. Se durmo sem sonhar, desperto
Para um espaço aberto
Que não conheço, pois que despertei
Para o que inda não sei.
Melhor é nem sonhar nem não sonhar
E nunca despertar.