O Verão é o Carnaval da Escandinávia!

Aprendi a gostar de todas as estações e todos os climas e cores que as acompanham! Para pessoas que como eu se aborrecem muito facilmente, morar num País onde a paisagem muda constantemente e radicalmente a cada dia, é uma benção!

O Verão está para a  Escandinávia assim como o Carnaval está para o Brasil. Esperamos ansiosos por estes dias onde as roupas encolhem, em quantidade e tamanho, e as pessoas literalmente dançam em pontes e praças. As danças são improvisadas: alguém trás uma bicicleta com uma mesa de DJ acoplada, toca o PLAY e as pessoas vão se chegando.

No Brasil, Recife ou Rio, passei muito tempo me "protegendo" do Sol: um braço que procurava se esquivar dos raios fortes que penetravam pela janela do carro, um pescoço que se espichava para que o rosto entrasse em alguma zona de sombras, uma bermuda sendo puxada para tentar encobrir joelhos prestes a serem tostados... e assim vai.

Anos de Dinamarca me reaproximaram do Sol!  Acordo agora e olho para o céu e se por acaso o SOL estiver lá, abro um sorriso e planejo onde vou me sentar com meu computador, livro, pesquisando, planejando, trabalhando ao ar livre, bebendo a luz! Levei algum tempo regado a uma certa irritacão com a "obrigação" de se sair de casa caso o Sol estivesse brilhando. Você é um herege, doente e esquisito se preferir ficar dentro de casa ou ir a um cinema ou simplesmente atravessar a rua para o lado com sombras se o SOL estiver brilhando! Eu via isso tudo como uma certa Tirania Solar e decidia ficar em casa apenas como uma forma de me rebelar contra a obrigacão de sair de casa!

Hoje em dia, quanta diferença. Me tornei um "deles" e fico ansioso a cada momento que não estou lá fora aproveitando o que pode ser tão fugaz!

As pessoas aqui se telefonam para comentar sobre o "Dia Lindo" (hoje mesmo já liguei para umas 3)! As mesas do lado de fora de qualquer ambiente ficam lotadas, pessoas se deitam no chão de pedras, uma certa histeria coletiva toma conta de todos. Um sorrizinho constante fica estampado no rosto de cada pessoa que passa por você, como um reconhecimento, uma felicitação por termos juntos, todos, sobrevivido a mais um Inverno!

É a constatação primordial, intuitiva e genética, do saber-se do Sol que viria apesar dos meses longos e cinza. Nesse momento, uma empatia generalizada une todos os habitantes na certeza de que nada será tão difícil como o foi no Inverno, que daqui para frente tudo parecerá melhor!

E o Sol brilha... e brilha... mas não tão forte ainda que faça o gelo do inverno derreter por completo de dentro do meu coração... vou precisar ainda de alguns meses ou só o de Janeiro. O do Rio!

Reflections on Success

Today I told one of the students at The Commedia School, about how to start something... a scene, a text, a movie: just start!

The hardest step, the one and only which hides behind all unrealized dreams as much as all greatest achievements: The First!

It is easier, and in the long run much more painful, not to take any step. It is easier to blame the conjunction of factors that conspired against the development of an idea than to confront a possible failure. Because, yes, every concrete step carries with it the possibility of a fall.

It is easier to spend a lifetime "knowing deep within" we could, than acknowledging that in fact we could not!

There is a certain joy within the pain of failing: The Joy of knowing you still have time to re-initiate, re-write, re-invent, recycle, whatever project you had that didn't work out.

It didn't "work out" because you were not good enough or because the project was not well shaped enough or or or... whatever reason behind the failure, it tells us something that is more concrete than all encouraging words we might have heard from our mothers (in case you were lucky enough to have had a mother who actually bothered trying to make you believe that YES, YOU CAN).

The failure is a reality check! There are no doubts, no margin to interpretations... Just like a joke that doesn't bring out laughter, It simply doesn't work! Or, doomsday, you didn't make it work!

Are you capable of moving on from a failure? I mean: You can spend the rest of your life expecting time to turn back and the words out of somebodies mouth change from a No to a YES... but believe me, no matter how much Hollywood tries, it won't really happen!

But, all is not lost... if you are sure "this" is what you really want, you can develop a strong sense of perseverance, knowing that, if this is important enough for you, you will keep on trying until you get it the way you want it (this option is a bit tricky though if you are not ready to access the real reasons why you failed. In not doing so you risk committing the same mistakes over and over again, going on a loop of doings that simply reinforces the mistakes you keep on committing over and over again. Ouch! This can be so painful and truly lead one towards a lifetime of bitterness and feelings of terrible unworthiness).

On the other hand, if you believe enough in your own cause and is willing to learn from your mistakes, the only way is UP! I mean, the more you go wrong on something, as long as you are willing to learn from it, the more you will learn! Simple math! And the more you learn, the better you will become and, sooner or later you will be on the top of your game.

A great friend/mentor of mine, George Furth, once told me: You've got to have talent to be talented.

This is so wise... Throughout my trajectory in life I have met such truly talented people who never really knew how to administer their talent and ended up failing along the way, most times just by committing the sin of believing that "being talented is enough".
 On the other hand, I have met people who was not half as talented as some but "wanted it" so much that nothing would distract them from their goal.

Bob Fosse (interpreted by the talented Roy Scheider) , in a brilliant scene from "All that Jazz", brutally honest, says to one of his dancers: "I can't turn you into a great dancer... but I can help you become a better dancer".

I don't know how far this above mentioned dancer went but I would like to think she reached further than others who happened to be more talented than her.

One thing though is important, at least for me: To know what success means to you. This is also a tricky point. What which one of us needs to conquer, overcome, transform, in order to feel successful, is as personal as our own DNA.

Although there are some pretty general notions of what "success" is, such as wealth acquisition,  social positions, etc... to be successful  is also about conquering our fears, overcoming our personal phobias and becoming "a better me".

 We do see a lot of people who have reached all imaginable "successful cliché" available but  still look miserable, walking around with a sour face.

To me, this is a sign they have aimed a twisted goal, one that was not the "real issue", one that won't make them feel successful, no matter how much the world around tell them they are.

While I write, I think of Jack Donaghy, the super-successful boss interpreted by Alec Baldwin in the FUNNY series 30 ROCK, created by the  super-talented Tina Fey. There is one scene, where he brings a college student to visit a professor and, at the end of their visit, the estimated professor gives a badge to the student. It just so happens to be a badge Jack always wanted to have but never achieved and it totally throws him out of balance, making him feel unworthy and a loser (since he gave up his passion for Marine Biology studies, in order to pursue a "successful carreer" is Business Administration).

It is wonderful to achieve material success, professional recognition and acclamation. It is Priceless to achieve it as the result of your dedication to your values, dreams and true calling.

Or as a Chinese proverb says:

"those who conquer their enemies are strong,
those who conquer themselves are invincible"

CSDC - Center for Self-Development and Creativity

This is the program I offer to a reduced number of participants who are aware of the great potential they possess inside but do not know how to unleash the power!

Creativity expresses itself in whatever we do, once we allow it to! Cooking, performing, writing, cleaning the house, no matter what we do we can either do it in a creative way or in a bureaucratic/mechanical way.

Reprograming our brains, training our bodies, creating the space for a new flow of energy, of seeing ourselves and the world around is what we do together during the CSDC Workshops.

Once again, as it has become a trade mark on my Workshops, I utilize techniques from sources that vary from Theater, Dance, Physics, Yoga, Brain Gym, and combine it with videos from leading experts in the latest research on the brain, General health and Creativity.

The Workshops happens once a week and each module lasts for 4 weeks. We meet at my private space in the center of Copenhagen, 5 minutes walk away from Nyhavn and Kongens Nytorv Subway station.

If you want to know when the next module starts please contact me at: 31568611

Here goes a testimony from one of the Participants, Noreen O'Sullivan Krogsgaard, American Author living in Denmark, responsible for the successful series: "I'll tell why..."

The classes I took with you changed the way I live my life, sounds heavy but it is true. I learned so much about the way we project ourselves in this life, and how that can relate to my kids,friends and family. I am a stronger person because of you, thank you... and don't EVEN get me started on what I learned about right vs. left brain dominated personalities !!!

My work with NOVO NORDISK

One of my Workshops at Novo Nordisk

This is a little article about one of my workshops... I feel proud about these workshops I create, translating certain thoughts and concepts into living and dynamic experiences. Taking business people out of their desks, making them dance (without even noticing they are dancing), moving and REALLY throwing a bomb into their comfort zones... and... they love it! The workshops are planned in such way that dynamic exercises are metaphors for specific subjects the group is dealing with. I have been asked to create custom made workshops for teams that were having difficulties with their boss, or talk about "Engaging in projects", "Team building", etc... this specific article is about a workshop I created to help people understand the rhythm, tempo and ways of different cultures...

How do we respond to globalisation

By CHWV (Charlotte Weimann Vilner)

23/06/2009

Globalisation. The term itself sounds like something very modern and academic....

But is it really? A recent LearnShop arranged by the Global Quality Identity Programme, dealt with globalisation and how we respond to it in a - to many of the participants - entirely new and unorthodox way.

The facilitator, Brazilian actor Marcello Bosschar, took the learnshoppers on a trail around the globe. Exploring cultural traits from Brazil to India, from China to Denmark. Inviting them to take a step out of their comfort zones and into a world of exploration of cultural boundaries, assumptions and group distinctiveness.

'The key challenge', said Marcello Bosschar, is using only the right side of your brains in order to explore feelings, imagination and risk taking".

"Our goal will be to understand how different we all are and how differently we perceive the world around us", continued Marcello. "The way we perceive even the most basic things around us such as colours, words and social codes can take unexpected turns depending on the context".

And so they did on this morning in the fitness gym in the basement at Nybrovej. 24 people from Global Quality took part in the LearnShop and were in for a real challenge on working only with their bodies and the right side of their brains.

And so through theatre games and exercises, the globalisation LearnShop offered a brief moment where the learnshoppers got a glimpse of how the external influences such as the use of space, language and culture can either work in our favour or against us.

No doubt, the learnshoppers left this morning session with a whole bunch of new reflections about globalisation.

The Global Quality LearnShops have been developed as part of the GQ Identity Programme as a means to share knowledge and experiences as well as to strengthen the common Global Quality Identity.

THE ART OF EXPRESSION

I developed this unique program while I worked at Sunrise International Pre-School in Copenhagen, Denmark. It is based on my years as a Theater professional, searching for a more dynamic way for teaching Drama for children. After years of improvisations with a group of 3 to 6 Year olds, I realized that I had created a method. A method that little by little prepared the children to be able to stand up and tell their own story. A story they have created themselves.

This method that I named "The art of expression" is a mix of Theater exercises with yoga/meditation and dance. After 25 Years of professional experience on these fields, I finally realized I could take it all beyond the stage and utilize it in a much broader way, helping the children to strengthen their self-steem, find joy in expressing themselves and making it crystal clear while activating mind, body and soul!

Soon this method was helping children in their literacy progress and in all department of their growing process with amazing feedback both from parents and colleagues alike.

Now I offer this program to different International Schools in Denmark and just wrote a book, in Portuguese, that exercises the multiple intelligences within the children through a fun and moving story.

A trança toda vermelha!

Bastava ela semi-cerrar os olhos quando o balanço voltava de seu vai e vêm, e a sua longa trança cobrisse por alguns segundos a sua visão, para que ela visse o mundo em vermelho.

Ela era ruivinha, ruivinha.

Era como se alguém pegasse um pincel melado do vermelho mais rubro e fizesse um risco no azul do céu.

O balanço era uma máquina de fazer vento. E de fazer frio na barriga também!

MAIS ALTO, MAIS ALTO! Esse era o seu mantra silencioso!

Por alguns segundos mais pertinho do céu.

E de novo a terra,

e logo céu novamente,

e terra.

O legal da Terra era o impulso que ela dava para o céu.

Azul.

Terra, céu, raio de fogo com frio na barriga, Terra e céu novamente e assim por diante.

Ah, e risos! Ela sentia o seu corpo sorrir. Seus braços sorriam, suas pernas e coração também.

E Poder! O movimento das pernas, o gingado do corpo fazia com que a intensidade do vôo fosse controlada.

De vez em quando ela não sentia nada e aí então sorria.

Era muito bom!

E se...

O Azul se mostrava cada vêz mais atraente. A terra começava a se fazer inoportuna.

E se...

No próximo azul, pensou ela com seu estômago repleto de borboletas, no próximo azul eu vou.

No próximo azul, eu vôo!

E assim foi.

Céu, raio de fogo com frio na barriga, terra, céu azul e... as mãos soltaram a máquina.

 Tal qual Ícaro ela vôou.

Sem consciência, em riso,  por alguns segundos chegou um pouquinho mais perto do céu.

Fugaz.

Logo a Terra a clamou. Assim como a mãe que percebe um filho que se distancia além de um limite seguro.

A terra a chamou.

Terra.

Água.

As suas lágrimas molharam a Terra.

Sangue.

Não se sabe de onde pois ele vinha de tantas partes.

Dor.

As borboletas fugiram assustadas de seu estômago no exato momento em que ela abriu a sua boca e gritou por sua mãe.

Só céu é morte. Só terra também. O encanto e a alquimia estão na mistura balanceada dos elementos. A sopa primordial, a receita da vida.

Ela cresceu, virou física e hoje leva a sua filha para o mesmo parque onde a química da vida se revelou para ela.

Pintou os cabelos de castanho e, silenciosamente agradece pelo fato de sua filha não ser ruiva.

Um curto-conto!

Um dia, uma velha numa casa.

Sem luz, sem velas, sem vida.

Com medo, com fome, confusa,

pensou em morrer.

Tudo parecia um sonho...

Na parede da casa existia um espelho.

No espelho, de vez em quando, existia a velha.

Na velha não existia nada, nunca.

Ou melhor: houve uma época em que algo havia existido.

Ou pior: houve uma época em que algo havia existido.

Que cafona!

Que triste!

Que patético.

Que nada...

Ela não conseguia decidir o quê!

E pensava em morrer.

Se ao menos conseguisse achar achar a chave.

Não da gaveta, mas da coragem.

A chave perdida da gaveta onde estava trancado o revólver era apenas uma desculpa para a falta de coragem.

E além do quê, "o qual é a música" havia voltado ao programa do Sílvio aos Domingos e isso era quase motivação o suficiente para que ela não pensasse em morrer.

Mas nada era perfeito...

O Sílvio Caldas, mesmo que voltasse a ser campeão por consecutivas 26 vezes, jamais seria o mesmo.

E o Aguinaldo Rayol?

E o Nelson Ned? Imagine... confessou num programa da TV Evangélica que era viciado em sexo! O Nelson Ned!!! E usava drogas... o Nelson Ned!!! E transava com 3 ou 4 mulheres ao mesmo tempo... O NELSON NED!!!!

Quem diria, Meu Deus, o Nelson Ned!!!

Tão... tão... baixinho... o Nelson Ned!

E o chacrinha? Por que não mostram mais o programa dele?

Era tão... tão...

Ah, é! O Chacrinha morreu!!!

Mas a Elke Maravilha não. Ela é tão... tão...

alta!

Mas e a Wilza Carla? E o Décio Pitinini e o Pedro de Lara???

Eles eram tão... tão...

tão...

E assim ela passava o dia,

Procurando adjetivos para classificar os fantasmas mortos e vivos de seu passado tão presente.

Na verdade, quando ela não achava os adjetivos era quando se sentia melhor.

Dava um vaziiiiioooooo... um vaziiiiiiooooooo

Um vazio tão gostosoooooo...

Estes eram os únicos momentos em sua vida não preenchidos pelas imagens de Pepe, o dublador e a sua companheira Virgínia, com a cara toda melecada de purpurina...

Ou da voz do chacrinha jogando o bacalhau da maria Bethania em cima do auditório,

ou a musiquinha do APRACU...

Tudo era tão...

Tão...

tão...

Marcello & Karen Blixen

Numa manhã ensolarada de Domingo, de 1994, fui visitar a casa de Karen Blixen em Rungsted, que fica a mais ou menos 30 minutos, de carro, de Copenhagen.

Eu tenho um certo fascínio por ela, desde que assisti ao filme "Out of Africa" com a Meryl Streep encarnando a Baronesa. Interessante que o meu fascínio por ela tenha se dado primeiro por sua personalidade, a sua história de vida, e isso tenha me levado a conhecer os seus livros. Geralmente esta ordem se inverte: Voce lê algo, se identifica, e então fica curioso sobre o autor da obra.

Entre os meus favoritos de Isak Dinesen (nome masculino com o qual ela assinava seus livros no início de sua carreira como escritora) está "A festa de Babete". Não apenas pelo valor literário em si, mas pela linda analogia sobre as opções que fazemos na vida, o prazer que extraímos, ou não, dela, o papel da culpa religiosa (nesse caso Protestante) na infelicidade humana e também a beleza de exercemos a nossa profissão/Dom pelo simples deleite de podermos oferecer o nosso melhor para o mundo à nossa volta, como um presente!

Não dei sorte. O Horário de visitação havia se encerrado. Como eu não queria perder a viagem fiquei ali, pelo jardim que era lindo. Não tinha ninguém em volta, a casa grande, bem cuidada, estilo tradicional Dinamarquês, uma casa de Fazenda à beira Mar... me arrisquei, chegando bem perto da casa. Olhei através de uma janela, a luz era difusa mas pude ver alguns móveis, poltronas e vendo assim, do lado de fora, como eu não via os avisos de "por favor não tocar", tudo parecia vivo e não um display de um museu. Até mesmo um arranjo de flores frescas se encontrava no meio da mesa de Jantar. Retratos, máscaras Africanas e ela, ali, dando os últimos toques no arranjo de hortênsias colhidas de seu jardim. Ela me viu e sorriu. Me convidou para entrar e tomar um chá. O dia estava tão lindo que propus outra coisa: Karen, vamos dar uma caminhada pela praia. Eu sabia que ela adorava estas caminhadas. Ela veio, envolta em uma linda e colorida manta de algodão indiano.

Nós caminhamos por um momento, ela já estava muito debilitada, nos sentamos na areia olhando para o mar... assim seria a nossa relação... não precisaríamos falar muito.

De qualquer forma a Rua estava repleta de carros estacionados à frente de sua casa, a praia muito cheia de gente e bundas Dinamarquesas, fluorescentes de tão brancas, e até mesmo latas de cerveja e refrigerante espalhadas em volta de uma lixeira já bastante cheia. Vivemos num mundo de tanto conforto, tanto avanço tecnológico e tanto isso e tanto e tanto e tanto e só não sabemos de uma coisa: Quão deliciosa deveria ter sido a vida sem isso e sem aquilo e sem aquilo outro também!

Fui para os fundos de sua casa, existe um lago lindo e, na beira do lago, um banquinho de madeira, quase escondido por entre arbustos e árvores. Me sentei ali, longe do barulho que vinha da praia, olhei para o céu azul Copenhagen, olhei para as plantas à minha volta (muitas delas exóticas) e me perguntei se ela mesma havia plantado as flores de seu jardim.

Fui sentindo uma paz gostosa... fiquei ali em silêncio e o silêncio foi entrando em mim, fazendo aquela paz gostosa que eu estava sentindo se expandir e se fundir com o silêncio, criando um daqueles mágicos momentos onde nos sentimos um com a brisa, o cheiro das plantas, a luz do Sol... o tempo foi passando suavemente, em silêncio... o Sol já até mesmo havia se afastado quando uma suave mão, branca e magra, pousou em meu ombro... Confesso que me assustei um pouco visto que acredito em vida depois da morte. Me virei abruptamente e vi uma mulher de cabelos grisalhos com um sorriso discreto de reconhecimento em seus lábios.

Ela era magra e não muito alta. Era Clara Selborn. Ela havia sido a secretária Pessoal de Karen por muitos e muitos anos e agora gerenciava tudo o que envolvia o nome Karen Blixen. Isso tudo eu vim a saber após nosso "encontro". Ela foi muito gentil e me falou sobre os horários de visitação da casa. Eu agredeci, me levantei e fui andando, ela veio junto a mim e disse num tom saudoso: "Sabe, voce estava sentado exatamente no lugar favorito da Baronesa. Ela vinha para cá, todas as tardes, nesta mesma hora, e ficava contemplando o jardim, em silêncio"...

E assim foi... minha tarde em silêncio, em companhia de Karen Blixen.

Marcello e o Japão

Tsunami... Terremoto... semana passada foi dedicada a introduzir essas palavras e o que elas significam para o meu grupo de 21 crianças, entre 4 e 6 anos. Estes dias elas provavelmente escutaram bastante essas palavras, viram imagens de um mundo destruído, passam por jornais que talvez estejam abertos na mesa do café da manhã com fotografias de mães abraçando seus filhos ou de casas flutuando entre carros e barcos... a gente as vezes esquece de que "os pequenos" precisam de tradução. Uma tradução que requer tempo e paciência.

Então dividi o grupo em 3 e com cada grupo fiz a mesma coisa. Comecei com a base, o chão. Usei feltro marrom. Aos poucos fomos construindo um mundo, casas de lego, pessoas, animais, plantas, relações foram estabelecidas entre os bonequinhos: Mãe, bebê, avô, amigo, etc... e aí então construímos o mar. Usei meu cachecol de pashmina azul turquesa, espalhado no chão, perto da cidade... barcos, peixes, pessoas que vinham para a praia brincar e voltavam para casa...

e aí então, a terra começou a tremer... primeiro em nossa sala de aula, pedi para que eles se levantassem e brincamos de sentir a terra tremer e mexer embaixo de nossos pés! Foi uma algazarra! Caímos no chão, os chamei para debaixo de uma mesa e fingi que objetos caíam sobre ela, enquanto nos olhávamos com uma mistura de fascínio e excitamento.

Ainda embaixo da mesa, expliquei que as pessoas corriam para fora das casas (não o fizemos pois estava muito frio, nevando, lá fora) pois muitas casas "quebravam". Então voltamos para a nossa cidade, construída à beira mar. Lá, a terra também tremeu. Mexi o feltro que se fazia de chão, as casas caíram, alguns edifícios quebraram e as pessoas corriam para todos os lados. As crianças nem piscavam de tão interessadas que estavam: Terremoto, vocês podem dizer essa palavra? Terremoto. E o que acontecia quando o chão tremia embaixo do mar? Perguntei. Uma onda gigante vêm e entra na cidade, uma menina falou. Num desses dias eu tive uma menininha Japonesa fazendo parte de um desses grupos. Logo no início da história ela reconheceu imediatamente a o que eu me referia: Japão! Minha avó está bem, ela disse, como se repetindo algo que escutou muitas vezes de seus pais: Minha avó está bem!

Sim, quando o chão treme e se mexe debaixo do mar, o mar fica muito agitado e forma ondas muito grandes. E dizendo isso, eu mexi a Pashmina azul turquesa que se levantou e cobriu a cidade já destruída. Aos poucos, trazendo com ela algumas pessoas, animais e casas, a "onda" voltou para seu lugar... E o bebê? Perguntou um garotinho. Ele está bem? Na vida real, a gente sabe que o bebê não estaria bem, necessariamente, mas na nossa estória, baseada em fatos reais, o bebê estava bem. Já o seu cachorrinho... foi levado pela Tsunami. Voces podem dizer essa palavra? Tsunami? Por alguma razão essa palavra foi mais difícil do que terremoto. Numami, mamami, samimu... Tsunami... TSU-NA-MI... ainda estamos trabalhando nisso, mas o que ficou foi a sensação de que, da próxima vez que eles ouvirem essas palavras elas virão acompanhadas de informações, imagens que farão sentido para essa galerinha que está tão distante desse desastre mas que ficou um pouquinho mais perto, mesmo que através da tristeza de saber que um garotinho, em algum lugar desse mundo perdeu o seu cachorrinho que ele tanto gostava.

Empatia, foi a lição dessa semana. Eu cresci escutando que existiam muitas crianças passando fome, na África (não sei porque na África visto que alí mesmo em Recife, nas ruas, já existiam crianças com fome mas talvez pelo fato da África estar tão longe que ninguém se sentiria na obrigação de fazer algo a respeito disso, enquanto que sair de casa e dar "um pulinho" alí na esquina já resolveria muita coisa ). O fato foi que agora me vejo, quando as crianças estão brincando com a comida, trazendo a atenção delas para as crianças que estão no Japão, sem casa e sem comida... E acho que este posting só existiu pois senti a necessidade de dizer algo sobre os comentários superficiais e equivocados, de pessoas que estão "julgando" a forma com que o povo japonês tem expressado sua dor. Na minha forma de ver, com uma dignidade, uma generosidade inigualáveis na história de catástrofes da humanidade. Só porque eles não saíram nas ruas gritando e puxando o cabelo de desespero não quer dizer que não há sofrimento. Quantos de nós já não experimentou o silêncio que se segue a uma notícia trágica? Quando o meu avô morreu, o que existiu entre nós (eu estava com ele no momento de sua morte) foi um silêncio indescritível. Ele sabia que iria morrer, eu segurava a sua mão, me fazendo presente... que palavras podem ser ditas em momentos assim? Vejo imagens de homens e mulheres sentados na rua, olhando para os escombros do que era seu lar, com mãos sobre suas bocas, olhos baixos...

Chorar, choro eu, ouvindo histórias de como uma esposa idosa encorajava seu esposo debilitado a subir a escada, passo a passo, enquanto a água invadia sua casa. Ela dizia: Mais um passo, vamos... a perna direita, agora a esquerda... e de repente ele não ouviu mais nada, olhou para trás e ela já não estava, levada pela água. Nunca tentou passar à frente do marido, nunca gritou com ele nem o chamou de aleijado. Ficou atrás dizendo: Mais um passo. Perna direita, agora a esquerda... chorei por ele que nesse momento, ele não conseguia mais falar, olhou para baixo e se silenciou... O que acontece com pessoas que confundem essa forma profunda de se lidar com a dor com apatia??? Será que agora achamos que todo o mundo reage como nós reagiríamos? Graças a Deus que não pois se assim fosse o caso, o Japão estaria numa situação ainda pior do que se encontra, com pessoas furtando, empurrando, comprando mantimentos para elas mesmas, ignorando pessoas atrás delas nas filas...

Sei que esse senhorzinho que perdeu sua esposa enquanto ela o encorajava a subir as escadas da casa nunca vai esquece-la mas ele não é o único. Apesar de eu nunca saber quem ela foi, nunca conhecer o seu rosto, sua atitude de amor profundo sempre vai ressoar no meu coração. O que desejar para ele, para esse povo? Será que preces os alcançam? Então aqui vão elas, direto de um coração que se une aos seus.

Obrigado pela lição de amorosidade, de tranquilidade, generosidade e força! Após Hiroshima e Nagasaki, após tanta dor, não existiam textos nem movimentos que pudessem contar o nível da tragédia que esse povo sofreu, e assim foi criada uma forma de arte, uma dança que se chama BUTOH. Uma dança que falava sobre as deformações e perdas do povo Japonês... Isadora Duncan dançou sem parar ao saber da morte de seus 2 filhos num acidente de carro. "Foi a única forma que consegui expressar minha dor", ela disse em sua auto-biografia.

Então, só para terminar num tom transcendente e esperançoso, vou citar o poeta sufi Rumi:

"Dança, dança meu coração"!

Marcello e o perfume de TUTANCÂMON

Cheiros... Não existe nenhuma novidade no fato de que cheiros tem o poder de liberar memórias, trazer à tona as emoções exatas que sentimos num determinado momento onde determinada fragrância se fazia presente. Não só uma emoção específica, mas muitas vezes também a impressão, as cores, sons e sensações de uma época. Isto para não falar de pessoas... cheiros que serão para sempre associados a indivíduos e o que sentíamos por estes indivíduos: M. só usava Kouros, A. teve a fase de Jazz do Saint Laurent, L. poderia até mesmo trocar o seu nome para Armani, minha avó Dior, minha mãe Caron, meu pai English lavanda Aktinsons, um tio Pinho silvestre, uma tia Giorgio de Beverly Hills, a casa do Rio flores secas no saguão e maresia, a casa de Olinda cera de chão e verde do jardim, e assim sigo a vida não conseguindo ignorar o cheiro do mundo à minha volta. Este fascínio se desenvolveu numa busca por essências especiais, óleos aromatizados, perfumes históricos e, mais importante, o poder que cada uma dessas essências tem em me fazer sentir assim ou assado! Tenho o perfume que era o favorito de Maria Callas, e quando o uso (só em ocasiões muito especiais) invoco o poder da musa máxima, do talento sem concessões. Tenho também o favorito do Winston Churchill, e quando o uso é impossível não sentir a elegância de uma época de cavalheirismos onde decisões que mudariam o mundo eram tomadas em salas com sofás de couro e bibliotecas bem cuidadas. Fico imaginando que era esse o cheiro que ficava no ar quando Churchill entrava no recinto (provavelmente misturado a um insuportável cheiro de charuto) ou era o rastro que La Callas deixava ao sair do palco sendo ovacionada após mais uma impecável ária.

Tendo dito isto, voce pode imaginar como fiquei excitado ao saber que na Harrods em Londres existia uma sessão de "Alta-perfumaria". Hmmm, pensei, da próxima vez que estiver lá...

E assim foi: quando fui a Londres no Natal passado, fui correndo à Harrods para visitar tal templo. Só que eu não consegui achar. Fui na parte dos perfumes, Calvin Klein, Dior, Prada, tudo estava em promoção, parecia carnaval em Olinda, pessoas andando levadas por blocos de outras pessoas que agarravam as caixas de perfume com 50% de desconto... de alguma forma isso não parecia ser o lugar citado pela reportagem que li. Perguntei a um funcionário da loja: Dá licença, existe uma sessão de "Alta-perfumaria" aqui? O funcionário olhou para mim como se de repente eu houvesse dito um código secreto, algo tão misterioso quanto o código Da Vince. E ele não respondeu imediatamente, foi como se estivesse me estudando, querendo chegar a conclusão se me seria permitida a entrada no compartimento secreto. Baixinho, depois de alguns segundos, ele disse: Escada rolante, quinto andar, passa isso, passa aquilo, vira a esquerda, a direita, entra na cafeteria, tem uma porta que dá para os fundos, entra, vai em frente e voce chega lá! Eu sou meio desorientado e tive certeza de que nunca a encontraria, mas fui indo... e cheguei... em frente a uma porta que parecia mesmo dar nos fundos da loja, saída de lixo... não pode ser... mas não havia outra opção, eu estava completamente desapontado, esperava uma coisa assim... meio sei lá o que... mas empurrei a porta de borracha, daquelas duplas onde carrinhos carregando dejetos passam... e aí sim, percebi que era lá... o tal templo olfativo... não havia dúvidas, era lá! Tudo era cristal e espelhos, tantos potes e frascos, cada qual mais impressionante que o outro, tudo se confundia no próprio reflexo de outros frascos de cristais e mais espelhos que fiquei atordoado, era difícil encontrar o caminho por entre os reflexos e mais cristais, enquanto toda a loja explodia de gente tentando comprar os últimos presentes de Natal, em liquidação, eu era o único cliente nesse espaço silencioso e sagrado: De cima à baixo, essências em potes de ouro, cristais e alguns até mesmo decorados com pedras preciosas. Nessa hora ou voce sai correndo antes que alguém venha perguntar se voce está procurando por alguma coisa específica ou respira fundo e faz de conta que alí mesmo, dentro da sua carteira, existe um cartão de crédito capaz de pagar por qualquer um daqueles objetos do desejo... e claro, foi isso que fiz quando um atendente de sutil e discreta elegância se aproximou perguntando se eu estava em busca de algo específico. Na verdade, disse eu, estou a procura de uma essência que seja bem próxima de mim. Apesar da minha resposta um tanto vaga, ele aquiesceu e me pediu para segui-lo. Ele então trouxe algumas amostras, elas representavam diferentes famílias olfativas: umas eram mais doces, outras cítricas, outras repletas de especiarias e assim por diante. Eu descartava algumas e entre as que ficavam, ele trazia sub-divisões que seguiam a direção de meus sentidos. Fui apresentado a fragrâncias que nunca havia sequer sonhado, mas não, nada ainda havia me "atingido" como eu esperava. Confiando na minha sensibilidade olfativa eu esperava que em determinado momento eu fosse atingido por um raio que dissesse: Achei, é isso: esse cheiro traduz a minha essência. Na verdade eu estava até mesmo um pouco desapontado: se não encontrasse alí o que buscava, onde mais? E fui sincero com o atendente (na verdade, confesso que até com um certo alívio pois vai que eu encontrasse o que buscava, e aí? E se fosse algo dentro de um tesouro encrustrado de diamantes?), já estava quase indo embora quando ele disse: existe um que eu ainda não mostrei... ele me levou para um cantinho da loja, abriu uma gaveta, tirou um pequeno frasco sem nenhum rótulo e espreeou à minha volta. O tempo parou! E não estou exagerando... eu fui envolto numa suave núvem de um cheiro que eu nunca havia sentido antes. Ele possuía um frescor, uma riqueza de notas que eu não conseguia identificar mas que fizeram meus sentidos responder imediatamente, como se eu houvesse sido elevado para uma outra dimensão. É isso! Falei, é esse, achei... o que é isso???

Ele deu um sorrizinho de reconhecimento, como se não esperasse uma reação diferente da que tive: É o perfume de TUTANCÂMON! Com o perdão da expressão, tudo o que eu queria ter dito foi: CUMA??? Mas como isso não teria nenhum sentido em Inglês, eu simplesmente perguntei: como assim? E ele esclareceu: dentre os tesouros encontrados na Tumba de Tutancâmon, próximo ao seu corpo, foi encontrada a receita de um perfume. Provavelmente a mais antiga receita encontrada de um perfume. A receita foi comprada por um valor não revelado, por uma famosa casa de perfumes e patenteada, ninguém mais no mundo tem o direito de comercializar essa fragrância e blablabla... eu não estava muito presente durante essas explicações, o cheiro que emanava de mim, me embriagava e imaginei o Faraó, representação Divina na Terra, andando por corredores arejados, passando por varandas com vista para o Nilo e seus hipopótamos, tamareiras e barcos de pesca, adorando o Deus Sol...

Sim, ele na verdade vinha num frasco criado pela casa Bacarat com ouro e pedras preciosas... ao ver a minha cara de decepção ao ouvir o preço, ele deu mais umas 3 espreiadas no meu pescoço antes de eu dizer adeus, pensando em quantos anos eu teria que juntar dinheiro para poder ter aquela essência divina... entendi o que viciado em Crack não é capaz de fazer por mais uma pedra... levitei por todo o percurso de volta para casa onde minha mãe e irmã riram de minha ingenuidade em acreditar que aquilo era mesmo o que o vendedor dizia ser... elas não entendem, pensei... elas sentiram o perfume e o sorrizinho cínico logo desapareceu de seus lábios... sim, era algo especial... mas TUTANCÂMON?

Eu não tinha dúvidas, o cheiro em si me fazia sentir imortal, como se tudo fosse possível e o mundo brilhasse como uma jóia rara preciosa.

Não comprei o tal... mas dedicado e determinado que sou, pesquisando as notas do Perfume, blogs de especialistas e comentários de apaixonados por perfumes, encontrei um outro que chegava perto... era o que diziam, só era difícil de achar, me garantiram. Entrei na primeira loja de perfumes que vi, perguntei pelo nome, eles tinham. Comprei. Não é a mesma coisa, mas me lembra bastante a experiência que tive. Todo o dia o uso, pessoas comentam: o que é isso? E eu digo, é um genérico do TUTANCÂMON! E como dizia o Pirandello: Assim é, se lhe parece!

My days at the Brazilian army...

In Brazil, when you turn 18 you have to show up and enroll into the military service! That is unless you come from an influential family that can, over a phone call, dismiss the inconvenience. I had so many more interesting things to worry about when I was 17 than the proximity of this date... it was so distant from me and I knew, for sure, in my heart, that a phone call would be made and I would be excused from serving! After all, none of my friends did, nobody I knew did, this was something that belonged to a very blurred and distant world...

So, I had just being accepted in the Journalism University I wanted to attend in Rio, living by myself, having a dream of a life surrounded by great friends and beautiful places when I received a phone call from my mother saying I have received a letter from the army saying I had a week to show up and since I had already missed the official enrollment day that guaranteed a higher position within the army's rank, I had to enroll as the lowest type of soldier. I guess I still remember how it felt... me, standing there in the corridor, phone in one hand, probably gazing at the mirror that stood above the telephone's desk, looking at my own face and saying: I see... but we will do something about it, right? Like a phone call or something, right?

No. She said. No, your father thinks it is going to be very good for you, to go through it. It will turn you into a "real man".

That's when I realized that my father finally would have his revenge. Revenge from me having chosen the paths I chose that hardly resembled anything he had dreamt for "my life" seen through his perspective.

So there was nothing I could do. I had to go back to Recife, show up at the designated place and spend a year learning how to be a "real man", according to my father's idea of what a real man is... I can describe the mirror on top of the telephone's desk, the apartment in Rio, meters away from Ipanema's Beach, my delight in being by myself, leaving my own life, but I can't describe how I felt having to go back to my home town in the Northeast of Brazil to join the army!!! It was a black hole, a horrible joke from the Gods above blablabla...

The 34th battalion of the motorized cavalry was my posting. It is worth mentioning that I tried everything not to be accepted. During medical exams I insisted that I had plank feet, asthma, everything I could slightly suffered of was mentioned to Smiley -knowing- it- all- too- well Doctors who kept on passing me exam after exam...

As I mentioned before, because I had missed the deadline for applications, I lost the right I had to be in a higher rank, a rank that boys who have had a certain degree of studies would immediately be sent to. That meant that, as my grandmother brilliantly put it: If there was a war I would be sent first row, attacking the enemies and receiving the first bullets on my chest!

You would have to be Brazilian to fully understand the social and economical profile of my new best friends who looked at me as shocked and confused as I looked at them. Listen, can we talk? Let's be honest, this is my blog and I don't want to pretend this or that. We were simply from different Universes. The way we spoke, the way we dressed, the way we behaved, I was in a total state of shock. We usually had 4 minutes to eat our lunch that consisted on a type of scrambled eggs served in a tin plate and water also graced with scrambled eggs floating in it to drink.

I will give you a car, my father said in a, maybe, rampant of compassion and empathy, seeing me arriving home after 3 hours and 4 buses everyday, late for dinner. I could not look into his eyes, I knew that with a phone call he made, all would be over. I thought of my University in Rio, my plans for my life, all in jeopardy because of my father's revenge!

I did the best I could while in there but had the obsessive thought: I have to get out of here!! I have to get out of here. I also knew that sooner then later, the social differences, the unfairness of a system that allows some to have education, culture and possessions while keeping others way below the basic principles of decency would show it's face. Me representing one side and most of people around me representing the other. I could clearly see it coming. There were days spent with a tiny scissor having to remove the grass that was growing in between the cracks of a football field made out of concrete, under the noon's sun, sweat dripping on my forehead, drenching my shirt while another boy could not stop crying and saying: this is hell, sob, sob,sob, this is hell...

Yes, it was hell. A hell of a cliche from a war movie, something like platoon or any other where officers would look at your face and shout: Push ups! I remember doing push ups and thinking: Is it for real? Aren't these people aware that this is a bad movie?

Never mind my literary ambitions... by then I had already had some of my writings published on some newspapers and magazines... I thought all was lost, I was probably going to end this experience, a year later, so bruised and beaten that I would never be able to write anything again.

That was until I heard one of the sergeants informing us: We have too many people in this battalion. There is space for one person to leave, raise your hand if you do not want to be part of it.

WHAT? Did I hear it right? Raise your hand? Are you kidding???? I was already having deserter's thoughts and now, raise your hand??? I thought there was going to be a sea of hands being raised but no. Only mine. People looked at me and than down to the floor. I know this will sound a bit ridiculous but after weeks of being together I must confess there was a slight feeling of a bond starting to happen between myself and some of the other "interns". But now it was too late. Maybe it was becoming a metaphorical fight between myself and my father. I had to prove that I did not depend on him to shape up my future. I stood there with my hand raised.

Fairly well then! Only one... but there is something else. You, there. And he pointed to a very skinny boy, half my height, looking like a scared little mouse. You, we think you are not strong enough to be part of this experience... Oh no, I thought! Oh no!!!!!! Of course the little boy will seize the opportunity and run out of this hell as fast as possible.

Please, he said with tears in his eyes, please, don't do that to me. I want to develop a career here within the army, I am the older brother of a big family, my mother can't give us food, please don't send me home...

Silence once again, my heart beating so strong I was afraid they could all hear it. The Sergeant talked privately with another officer, they left us alone and 10 minutes later came back with the following decision:

We will have to go to court. You, he said pointing at me, you will have to defend your case, tell us why we should let you go and you, pointing to the small guy, will have to show us how much you really want to stay. You will have one week until the trial.

I did not say any of this at home. I started collecting articles and writings that I had written in School and the few that had being published.

The day of the trial came and I was confident! We were brought to a room where 7 or more officers were seated looking at the 2 of us. The boy hardly reached my shoulders in height and I knew it was not looking too good. I looked as if I had being fed by milk and steaks while him... oh gosh, I thought, I am doomed!!!

We both had our time, facing the "jury", trying to convince them. Me, why I had to go and him, why he had to stay. After the talk they brought us rifles. Very heavy machines. I simply picked mine up and have to confess, allowed a quick thought of killing all the men sitting in front of me with their colorless uniforms and lack of smiles. I bet they had no ammunition though. When I looked at the boy standing beside me I had to look again cause he was almost out of sight, crumbling down under the weight of the weapon. Oh, no!!! There was no doubts after that. Even I would have let him go myself were I part of the jury. But he begged and pleaded: I have no food at home, I want to grow here in the army, please give me a chance. And I? I told them: I feel I can be of better use to Brazil if I become a Journalist. I can serve my country through my writings! I have just started the University and had to stop it to be here.

They asked us both to, with the gun in our hands, go out in the sun and run 10 laps around the football field. I saw the small boy opening up a huge smile and I only understood why when, after the 2nd lap, while I was collapsing having a heart attack, my face as red as a tomato, he continued and continued and continued. It was as if he got his strength from the sun itself. Although I was practically being carried back to the hall where our Jury sat, I was so content with my defeat!!! I almost could not stand, out of breath and shaking while he stood up, like a victorious war hero's statue, holding his machine gun!

I was let go on that day. Not without a last attempt of guilt from a member of the jury: How will you feel when you are in Ipanema beach, looking at nice bottoms of the girls, knowing that this boy will be here in your place working hard under the sun? I had an impulse to answer that girl's bottoms would not be what I would really be interested in at Ipanema's beach but thought was wiser to say: Well, Sir, he wants to stay and I want to go so I guess it is a win/win situation, Sir!

I said goodbye to my battalion. I saw a couple of truly sad faces and one of the soldiers even said: What a shame... I thought we were going to be good friends. It is strange to write about it now cause a big part of me wanted so much to go out of there but there was a small piece that murmured: And what if... it was an unknown universe that still lingers inside of me in a space of possibilities that never really unfolded... I closed a door behind me but the curiosity about what would had been behind this door never ceased to exist.

I went back home this evening, changed into my bathing suit and headed straight to the beach, I jumped into the sea and thanked the Universe for giving me the power to shape my destiny. I also prayed for discrimination to choose wisely in the future. You never know in which packages the greatest gifts in life will be delivered at our door.

PS

The picture on this post is from my Dutch grandfather Henry, during the Second World War. He fought in the Pacific Islands against the Japanese occupation.

Maria... my daughter...

These days a lesbian friend of mine, after inviting me over for dinner, called me the next day to ask: Do you want to donate your sperm just so that me and my girlfriend can have a baby?

Gasp...

You see, she continued, we prefer to have it from somebody we know (sperm with a face) than having it from a stranger...

Well, not your usually phone call request, right? What would you say? That is, n case you were a sperm producing entity?

 I said I was honoured with the thought and then, not wanting to say yes or no in an impulse, said that I needed some time to reflect on it...

Truly, I swear to God, I never wanted to have children of my own. You know, it never crossed my mind and I never had the strong urge to "perpetuate" my genes... I just don't! If I ever had to have a child I would adopt, just to offer a human being a chance of having a life that would have the basic needs covered like food, education and hopefully love too... plus, from my then marriage, I had gained the unpredictable and marvellous gift of  2 children, from my then husband's former straight marriage. 

Then I realized that IF I said yes I would never be able to be JUST a sperm giver (not that I am very stingy with it at all) but I would never be able to sleep in peace again for the rest of my life knowing that, somewhere out there there would be a "mini me"... not to mention stealing from my family the chance of having another grandchild, nephew/niece, cousin... my life would be hell and the Lesbian couple's lives would also be hell because I would be a VERY present father!!! And I don't think that's what they were really going for.

I must say, though, that the sudden possibility rang some dormant bells that tickled my heart in a very funny way... I was certain I would say NO but I let the thought linger a bit longer within my soul just to feel this sensation of the possibility... it is such a beautiful possibility... and I kept discussing with myself, even using Biblical images to play the best role of a real Devil's advocate: C'mon, Marcello, i told myself, think of the sperm that is produced, induced, utilized for non pregnancy purposes on a very regular basis... would it really be so bad to say: OK, take it... good luck...?

but I could not, I know I could not know that "My baby" would be away from me!!!!

Maria. That would be her name... a week before I was asked, I had this dream: Myself and Christian, my then husband, adopting a baby and me saying that Maria would be her name...

I told it to the lesbian couple... they told me if they had a girl they would name her Maria! I did not say no as in N-O. but I said it, pretty much NO by expressing my thoughts on the matter... now I am a tiny bit tormented with the daughter I never had and the daughter I never thought I wanted to have...

Maria... my beautiful Maria... I hope you will come to this world, anyway, through sperm, heart, whatever... through 2 moms, 2 dads, whatever... in Spiritism they say that we all, as souls, choose where and from whom we want to be born... if it is true, than I hope Maria will be born close to me and I will be able to protect her as a God father, an uncle, whatever...I just hope, if this little soul that might have knocked at my subconscious mind's door gets to be born, we will be able to connect, somehow... Jung used to say: we are constantly meeting souls that have had past connections with us...

Anyway, sometimes life just happens like "this", its a blink, its a bump, and all metaphysical questions are just it: Metaphysical questions!

And just in case life is really pure mathematics and all this spiritism talk is just Mambo Jambo, I named my new digital camera MARIA LEIKA!

From the series: VIPEOPLE in my life...

Her name is Edna. Aunt Edna, since she is my grandmother's sister. She lost her daughter Ada 3 years ago. It was a very strenuous and sad battle against cancer.

The pain of loss was in no way diminished after this time, specially because Ada left behind 2 parrots who kept on screaming from the top of their lungs, day and night, for the past 3 years: ADA! ADA! ADA!!!!

The family decided the parrots had to go... hope Aunt Edna will recover from yet another loss...

My Birthday...

In the picture: Lublin, Myself and Fabs Maravilha in Sao Luiz do Maranhao, Brazil circa 2001

Do you know what a hologram is? Well, remember in star wars when Luke Skywalker sees princess lea for the first time? That was a holographic image... Ancient tantric yoga teaches us how to create holograms of the future as we want it to be shaped. The more detailed, the higher is the chance of it actually happening in your life. Didi Ananda Mitra (Susan Andrews), once, walking around the gardens at Parque Visao Futura told me: "Do you see these flowers, the trees, the color of the walls? Everything has being envisioned by me, every single detail long before I was able to start building the park"... When there was no money or support to build up the park ( that is now one of the most fascinating and transcending projects going on in Brazil) she worked from within, bringing it all closer to reality through the power of her visualization...

This is a fascinating subject and I am only talking about it because I received a beautiful Hologram from a friend. She projected how we would celebrate my birthday if she were here with me... while reading her words, so detailed about what we would do, how we would dance and laugh and cry, I lived almost as intensely as if it had really happened!

Thank you, Lubinha... and here I publish her hologram... in portuguese...

Marrrrrsssss!

40 anos!

Estou achando essa data tão boa!

Estou seguindo o caminho dos 40 BEM mais feliz do que quando estava no caminho dos 30... Tanta coisa pra fazer, a realização mais verdadeira começa agora.

Tô achando isso, tô sentindo isso.

Estarei com vc na festa. Vou chegar antes e ajudar com os preparativos. Levarei queijo coalho, tapioca e manteiga de garrafa. Vou colocar uma roupa incrível e vou dançar a noite toda. Vou tomar uma balinha com vc e vou ficar muito louca. Vou te abraçar, te beijar e dizer muitas vezes que eu te amo.

Vou te agradecer por tudo que nós já passamos juntos e por tudo que ainda passaremos juntos. Pelas noites insones em hoteis, pelas ressacas mal curadas, pelas lágrimas que já choramos juntos, pelas fofocas compartilhadas, pelos medos compartilhados, pela solidão compartilhada, pelos segredos de estado, pelas gargalhadas, pela cumplicidade, pelas bad trips, pelas good trips, pelos desentendimentos, pelas cenas bem interpretadas, pelas cenas mal interpretadas, pelo sim, pelo não, pelas mesmas piadas de sempre, pelo amor, pela amizade, pela irmandade.

Tudo isso eu vou te dizer já meio bêbada e vc vai me olhar e vai me abraçar e dizer: lublin!!!! E vou dormir exausta num sofá da sua casa. E vou acordar no meio da manhã com frio. E vou voltar a dormir com um cobertor. E vamos acordar a tarde e tomar uma chá bem quente. E depois sairemos pra brincar na neve. E voltaremos pra casa e prepararemos um curry vegetariano. E vc me contará sobre sua vida e eu lhe contarei sobre a minha. E falaremos mais besteiras e daremos mais risadas juntos. E nos despediremos no aeroporto. E vc dirá até logo, te encontro no Rio pra tomar uma água de coco, num fim de tarde em Ipanema. E continuaremos a conversar sob um sol de 40 graus.

Com muito amor, LUBLIN.

Now is agora!

Ruminar is to ruminate in Portuguese... presente is present, just a little letter added... passado is past... futuro is future... agora is now! How not to ruminate the past, how to write about Now and not about the future? Como nao ruminar o passado, escrever sobre o agora e nao sobre o futuro?

How do we say that in Japanese? Oh no, already catapulted my self not only to a place that is distant from where I am now, I also started to talk to you, the one who is reading... oh no!!! This was not supposed to be a dialogue at all, it was supposed to be a monologue. But now it is too late: I am explaining, seeing a number of faces that change features just like this Michael Jackson Video where one face morphs in to another... Who are they, these faces I see reading these words? There is a bald one... who are you? I don't mean in the present, who are you in my life, what do you represent and why do I project an image of you when i think of who might be reading these words?

I am just trying to tap on the essence of what I am... and not into the essence of this chameleon that reacts towards experiences that were part of my past, projections of my future, all staining the broad possibility of my Present... can't I become a baby that is constantly being born and experiencing things as for the first time? How would it feel If I were capable of, with only a deep breath, start to live in the plenitude of the present?

What would I feel now if I could shut a part of my heart that has been previously hurt and experienced love again just like I did when I was still so unaware of how much pain it could cause? Where did it go, that thing? That light, fresh thing I once tasted? Why is there such a scared cat occupying the space of a being that still wants to... explode with light? hahahaha... so fascinating... just because i did not have a very strong image to explain whatever depth I wanted to fake, I used the expression: Exploding in light. Yeah, Rule number one for pseudo writers of illusionary blogs that will never become anything else than a little scrapbook where 1 or 2 friends will, every 4 months, put some thumbs up, signifying that they did not even read it but are staying in touch through a little graphic icon on facebook:

"how to be very vague and disguise your lack of Vocabulary with esoteric terminologies".

I write and erase, or better saying: delete, right? Cause I can... it does feel like cheating a bit thou, can you imagine if we could just delete right away whatever we just said and wished we hadn't? Gosh, how about that for a Super-hero power? Yes, I want to start to create heroes that could be a little bit more useful to our modern, contemporary needs... Do you remember (Oh, here I go again, talking about the past... It is so fucking freaking comfortable to stay there in where things already happened and we know the end than to be in this terrifying PRESENT where only God knows what will happen next... earthquake anyone? A screw from a satellite, falling on your head, that exploded right above? A heart attack? ) anyway... I was saying: do you remember when somebody would ask which powers you would most like to have in case you were a super hero? You would always be stuck between 3 main powers: Flying, becoming invisible and... probably flying again...

If i could choose... hmmmm...

How useful would it be for me to eject spider webs out of my wrists and swing between the 4 stores high buildings of Copenhagen?

To fly? Too scared of heights, need to be inside of a machine, with my feet touching any type of ground just so I can pretend I am traveling by train just in case I panic, challenging my knowledge in Physics, trying to understand how can such heavy shit fly.

No, invisible is not really interesting either, I have access to where I want to go already and most of the time, in these modern days, being visible is the ultimate challenge anyway. No... but the power to delete what I have just said in case I am not happy with the outcome of what I have said? Oh Gosh... SUPERASE would be my name and housewives, lovers, partners, family members would scream out of their lungs, whenever they said something they regreted; SUPERAAAAAAAAASSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLP!!!!!!!!! And I would come, as fast as the trains in Copenhagen during the winter would allow me...

And just to prove that I am brave, that I am not writing just to prove anything to anyone i will not delete this silly posting.. Yeah, I am a Hero for that!

AYURVEDA FOR DUMMIES

By now, I guess almost everyone has at least heard this word: Ayurveda... It is Sanskrit. Ayus means life, Veda means science (as in knowledge). One of my works here in Copenhagen is to receive foreigners or new comers into our Sunrise School. This is a School that follows the Ayurvedic approach to eating. Believe me, if I had to explain about it some good 15 years ago, it would have been so much more difficult than now. Now, almost 80% of the people I talk about Ayurveda have an idea of what this is all about. Some even comment: Oh, I saw something about it in Larry King the other day...

Yes, it is all so simple. And complex! So, it is not enough to become a vegetarian only. There are many distinct groups within the classification of vegetarianism. There are the Vegetarians who eat dairy products and the ones who also include eggs in their diets. There are the ones who are very radical and do not consume anything that comes from an animal source (the vegans) and there are always the very flexible ones who "only eat white meat", or "real meat", just once in a while...

And... there is the Ayurvedic group!!! And what is the difference? Well, a person who follows a strict Ayurvedic Diet will have some difficulties in eating in Vegetarian places for 3 reasons, and I will name them: Onions, garlic and mushrooms... and you thought that cutting meat was the hardest thing...

The science of life, Ayurveda. There is so much beauty in reading any of the many ancient, and modern, books about this science and wisdom. My Grandmother always said: Bananas are gold in the morning, silver in the afternoon and stones in the evening. In a nutshell? Ayurveda! That's all there is to it. Some ages ago people were so in tune with their bodies and how it reacted whenever they ate something. It is said, and pardon me for not having an official source, that when sugar first made it's way into European Courts, it was almost a drug. Their bodies were so not used to "that thing" that the nobles would eat some of it and go into a type of stupor, tripping on the sweet stuff! And now??? How many spoons do we need to even taste it? My Grandmother died and with her some of the "old knowledge" died too, things that were never taught in Schools will also perish, or flourish, depending on which super star of the moment will adopt this or that religion and so on and so forth, bless their hearts for keeping it all alive and popular!

So, some food is good for you, some is bad and some, depending on the time of the day (like bananas and cucumbers) will be either beneficial or not.

The Ayurvedic system created names for each of these categories and that is when, if you are introduced to these strange names before getting acquainted with the notion behind it, you give up! They don't sound familiar at all, yes, Sanskrit, babe! Actually, officially, a dead language that has not being spoken for the past thousands of years but still is very much used to describe certain very refined concepts about life and Death.

So, now some hard core, old school, teaching, are you ready?

Tamasic: BAD BAD BAD!!! Food or substances that will have nothing positive to be said about!

Rajasic: IT DEPENDS (on where you are in the globe, which season of the year we are talking about and what time of the day it is).

And finally, the star of the show, the wonderful, one and only, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, I Proudly announce to you...

SATVIC!!!! You can't go wrong here. Whatever you eat, that falls into the Satvic category, will not only benefit your body but your mind and, for those who believe, your souls too!!! Some examples of things (or shall I say elements) that are considered Satvic? Ok... WATER AND AIR! Yes! You can have it as much as you want, suuuureeeee!!!

Yes, water and air are satvic but there are many other things too: Certain grains, fruits, fruits, grains (not all of them) and some more vegetables and vegetables and fruits and grains!!! BUT; ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION!!! NO mushrooms... If there is one vilain in the ayurvedic world (natural world that is, cause you could place number one in the list of TAMASIC stuff: Drugs and alcohol) this would be it: Mushrooms... they grow in the shades, no photosynthesis involved in the process, a fungus that will bring strange thoughts, create weird gases that will make you uneasy and thinking of unthinkable thoughts... yes, Lord Voldermort himself could be represented by an inauspicious mushroom!!! yes, we know, some of them have amazing nutritious values but Ayurveda is not only interested in your body. No, it also worries about your mind and, for the believers at the back row, your soul!

So, this was the easy part of the Philosophy. I mean, common sense, right? Most of it at least. We don't need no Ayurvedic Doctor telling us that a life of Drinking, smoking and tripping around will not lead anyone to a place in the sun. And before I continue, I have to say that this is my favorite aspect of it. It is not that some people will want to stop eating this or that right away but actually to go a deep further into the investigation of what will be my body and mind responses to certain foods? I have the obligation to know. I might want some onions in my tofu tonight but I will know that meditation will not be smooth next morning. And I will know why: Onion heats up the body so extremely that, according to Ayurveda, you should only eat if you find yourself trapped in a snow storm. Do we really need all this heat walking around in the office on a day to day bases? And how will this heat affect my mood on a continuous mode? Garlic? The best natural medicine we can have? The strongest antibiotics in the world? But what will be the point of it if I take it everyday in my life? Will it be effective? Of course not, try any antibiotic for more than a couple of months and it will be as good as nothing (plus, the inconvenient truth that it is banned from any pilot's diet before long flights since studies have shown that it slows down vital responses, brain wise!)

So... I like to know these things. I might not follow them 100% all the time but I like to be in control of my body and aware of what I put inside of it and Ayurveda has such a complete catalogue of different types of food and why and what and when that I am a huge fan of it!

Yeah, and we haven't even started to talk about the different types of people, according to Ayurveda... People that are categorized as having more AIR, EARTH OR FIRE and all possible combinations between those 3 elements and all the specific diet that each combination proposes (If you are a fiery person you do not want to ingest fuel all the time, right? You will probably benefit from cooling down a bit with certain herbs, etc). But it does take a good and serious Ayurvedic Doctor to really study your body, your habits and your whole life to come up with a customized diet that will only serve you and no one else but you! And this is another thing I love about it. There is not one body that will need exactly the same thing as another. We are such complex beings, and Ayruvedic medicine acknowledges that. Or do you think an Ayurvedic Doctor will tell an Eskimo not to eat a seal?

Well, just to end this piece (of what is totally up to the readers) I have to quote 2 very interesting people (interesting, to say the least) First was this fellow, you probably heard of him, a very smart, kind of wise guy called Einstein. Is he a genius? Did he change the way we see the world? Well, he said: I do not eat meat because I do not want my body to become a cemetery, holding within the carcasses of dead animals. But let's ignore it, right? Let's focus on more important things this man said such as the theory of relativity and other more complex stuff... Maybe he was not smart in every aspects of his life, right? Maybe he was actually pretty stupid when it came to his eating habits who knows?

The other one I want to quote was also a very controversial guy called Jesus, aka the saviour. I guess somebody said in the Bible that one day Jesus said: It is not what comes in your mouth that matters but what comes out of it!!! And I love it cause having said it all I must add that no matter how little onion you eat in your life, if you open your mouth and only unpleasant, negative and destructive stuff comes out of it, well... I will be happy to show you the way to the next garlic bar, oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why...

Miracles...

Yes, more than 20 years ago when I started my journey through meditation, vegetarianism, alternative life styles, India and Yoga, it was a drag to try to explain to anyone what it all meant. There was little written, little interested and Gym studios did not offer Yoga and health food shops were not trendy. Madonna hadn't discovered the joys of Yoga and the US was not in love with Deepak Chopra. I did have a HARD time with my family, looking at me as if I had just turned schizophrenic cause I started eating soy meat (that was pig's food in Brazil). One day my grandmother opened my bedroom door and caught me in my lungotas (type of Indian underwear for men) on a full "candle position". I did not blink, after all I had to hold this posture for 3 minutes but she carefully closed my door and quietly called my mother to say that she was very worried, that something was going on with myself and blablabla...

When i came back from my trip to India I found this same grandmother in a very difficult state, in a hospital bed, with tubes sticking out of her nose and she could hardly utter a word, she had had a stroke. I felt pity for her but I have to confess I had a shaky relationship with her during my teens so, after spending the official time for a visit, I got up to leave. That's when she reached out a hand... my mother and other people were in the same room, we were all surprised by the sudden and rather strong gesture. But even more so when she tried to say something... she was clearly trying to communicate... we all came closer to her bed, she was looking very intensely to me... I came even closer, held her hand and again she tried and this time we could understand: PRAY FOR ME... the voice was week, trembling but we all understood. I could not leave the room anymore... I stayed and in this same night she was taken to the Center for Intensive care, she had another stroke that would paralyze her, almost completely, for the next 8 to 9 years. I could not get over it: PRAY FOR ME. Why me??? The one who had terribly fights with her, the one who even once said, and I do not feel proud of it at all, that I would not shed one tear the day she died...

I asked the Doctors permission to go with her, to stay inside of the isolated area with her for a while... they had to discuss it since there were other people in different cubicles and the scene was not pleasant at all. But since I insisted and one of the Doctors was part of our family, they allowed me to. It was a horrible place, dark, many beds separated by screens with mechanical devices making sounds that added up to a bizarre symphony of mourns and heavy breathing from the other patients around. I was barely 18 but, recently arrived form India, must have given an exotic impression to the nurses and Doctors around me. I had a full grown beard, long hair and only wore Indian clothes, a lot of white long and light cotton shirts with big and white and light pants... I did not know what I was doing but I sat down, close to my grandmother, reached out for her hands. She had an amazingly tense look on her face, as if in pain. She is in a coma, the Doctors told me. She can't listen to anything you say. So... I just stayed there holding her hand and because the sound of suffering around us was so disturbing, I started to talk to her. Not really talk... I started to narrate... in a very detailed way, I started talking about a green field covered with sunflowers, a blue sky and butterflies of diverse colours flying around her... in this setting we were walking and she could feel the breeze on her face and the smell of the green grass underneath her feet...

I know... in a traditional tale of a self-help book this is when something amazing and unexpected happens, right? This would be the moment she would press my hand or open her eyes and smile... well... something did happen... that was not less strong nor life changing than any of the above mentioned scenarios...

There I was, holding her hand... the hand that held mine so many times crossing the streets in Rio de Janeiro when I was a kid... the hands that helped drying my hair, brought delicious food to me when I was sick... this hand was now inside of mine. I was the one holding it for a change... I must remind you that at one point in my life I thought I hated her. Or I did indeed... but, there and then, I remembered the love I once had for my grandmother... it was a profound love that for some years was totally blurred by feelings of rejection from my part, thinking she did not love me at all. I started crying, I tried to make it as soft as I could but I was sobbing, allowing my feelings of love for her to come up. I told her I loved her and it felt as if a heavy stone was all of a sudden lifted off my chest...

Now, the following sentence will raise some cynical and tough eyebrows just because it will sound as if I am saving a punch line for the end but, sorry, this is a 100% narration of what happened this day at the Hospital. It was her expression... it wasn't tense as it was before. When I first arrived there was a thick division on her forehead, as when we have a headache and we frown. Now, it was gone... she looked very peaceful and relaxed. I continued coming back there cause no one on earth could convince me that she was not listening to some of the things I was talking to her. I had to go away again, I was not living in my home town anymore, I had to go... she came out of the coma and was transferred home, where she lived, totally depending on machines and nurses for the next 9 years. Whenever I visited home I would sit beside her bed (she had her eyes open, could move her neck and one of her arms but could not walk, speak nor eat - she received a special fluid through her arm), I would get a mini electronic organ we had at home and would simply sing mantras for hours... from time to time I would ask her... do you want me to stop? And she would softly shake her head negatively. We had many quality times there together. And now, looking back , I simply realize that maybe these were the most beautiful and loving times we ever spent together... When she passed away I was not home... I am glad she died at home, in her bedroom, surrounded by familiar faces... and when I heard she had passed away... I cried. And I still do, from time to time, when I think of that day in the Hospital when my heart opened up again for her...

Oprah

OPRAH WINFREY

Yaw, Oprah... just watched her... she is fascinating, she is larger than life, no doubts about it and I am a true admirer of her strength and talents and got tears rolling down my cheeks when I saw a special program on her life trajectory. But then again... the other day, here in Copenhagen (during the selection of the next Olympic Game's city), watching on TV the Danish Queen coming out of her Palace to receive World leaders, seeing other Queens and Kings stepping out of their cars, rushing up the stairs and shaking Queen Margrete's hands... right after Juan Carlos and Sofia (King and Queen of Spain) ran up the palace's stairs, another car stopped, the door opened and... Oprah Winfrey comes out of it. The Queen is there, waiting, outside in the cold, to shake Opra's hand and escort her into the Palace. EXCUSE ME??? I know she is great and all and has helped some people but what on earth was she doing in a dinner with world leaders received by the Danish Queen??? So, i thought to my self, she is indeed that Powerful... there are so many skits and spoofs making fun of her and watching her today I totally understood why. She can seem so empathizing with the suffering of people around her (even when she has to cut some body's speech, like she did to this woman who lost her breasts due to a wrong diagnosis, to call for commercials). But it can all also be so outrageously disrespectful toward millions of people who do not share her tremendous wealth when she says that her dream person is someone who will talk about buying an Island, or how she gleefully says that the other day she opened her front door and one of her friends had left a white convertible Bentley right there as a friendship gift or when she spends precious Television time talking about a puppy she has adopted and showing pictures of her puppies...

all this is such a spit on the face of millions of people facing difficulties in life. Not that I am against the entertainment industry, not at all, laughing is super Important and bringing lightness to people's lives is also necessary but all of a sudden the beatification or the opening of the World's most powerful doors to someone that, bless her heart, can be that shallow and empty is a bit disturbing. Again, she is a great entertainer but this fascination about her also possesses some distorted and weird components of a relationship that is abusive and the abused part is the one on the other side of TV, thinking she is a saint while, again, bless her heart, she is flying on John Travolta's airplane, pampering her beloved dogs (don't get me wrong, I also love dogs and believe they should be well treated as much as thousands of homeless children should also be well treated) or posing for the cover of her own Magazine. Yes, nobody is perfect, Charlie Brown, and maybe she is just like me: either amazingly deep or terribly superficial... at the same time!!!

And having said it all I must add that she is Supper dupper and I want to be her best friend to discuss death and diseases over champagne and cheeses !

The temptation...

Once again I fall into the vanity abyss... that was not the reason why I decided to write a blog, it was not to create the best impression, to change the world, to change an ant even... and all of a sudden here I am, only wanting to write if it will be beautiful and if somebody will identify and if I will be recognized. Fuck shit hell! That is not what I want. What I want is to let it FLOW, FLOW FLOW... to pop the cork out, to blow the lid off, to let the words pour out and cascade into this empty space... I was missing the words and this flow of expressions that downloads thoughts and feelings and, why not, bring me closer to friends that I don't see for a very long time... these are the talks I would have had with them, with Alexandra, with Ludmila on cold or hot evenings in Rio, Sao Paulo, we would be all together in bed and than we would talk and talk and talk about everything and than at the end of our talks something would start making more sense, we would alternate being totally focused on each others stories or just selfishly waiting till the other shut up and we could tell our own stories... and that was fine... that is how we understand things, when we get it out of our heads and hearts and realize that they are either too ridiculous or simply too genius and we need to do something about it! Yes, I created this blog to reproduce all this talks that I don't have so often here in Denmark... but then there is this trap: Recognition... validation... noooooo, please, I want to write everyday without expecting anyone to read, and then when they do, like Alexandra wrote the other day: "I was missing you so I went to your blog to feel closer to you"... yes, they then know where to find me... and they will see me, and they will know... they will know that today is a holiday here in Copenhagen, they will know that I am fighting, trying to motivate myself to go to the gym instead of staying home specially cause the sun is shining and believe me this is not anything to be taken for granted here in this part of the world.... They will know that I am thinking more of the swimming pool and the sauna at the gym and the shopping center around the gym than the exercises itself... they will know so much! They will know that tomorrow I am going to Sweden with Christian and a couple of friends of ours... they will know that the house in Sweden is the cutest thing. Totally pure, minimalistic wooden house, by a huge and beautiful lake surrounded by a dense Swedish forest where we pick mushrooms while reading in our mushroom book identifying the types... what else will they know? Oh so much... they will know I have been super-busy with multi projects dancing around my head, my hands and my heart. Artistic projects (I am giving a private Theater class that has been sooooo inspiring! I teach in my house, emptied a living room and created a space I call: L'Atelier where I am teaching very refined techniques of contemporary acting). They will know that I am super excited for going to watch the Berliner Ensemble directed by Bob Wilson on Shakespeare Sonnets! Wow! Try to see the images in the Internet! They should know that I am going to Brazil on December and that I am bringing my 2 children and Christian along. This will be so great, it will be the children's first time in South America and I do not want want to miss a second of their experience...

And now... off I go, and promising that I will try not to want to win the Pulitzer while writing for this blog, I promise I will try to keep it plain, direct, honest and wonderful! oh oh... I am impossible!!!!!