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| Yume Japanese Gardens of Tucson, photo: Bernadete Piassa |
I used to be addicted to words, always
searching for the perfect one, the most beautiful one to convey my feelings.
But some years ago, the words failed me. In a moment of unbearable agony, they
became weak, insufficient, lacking power. I wanted to shout my pain, rage at my
impotence, scream at the unfairness of life and at a world that I couldn’t and
wouldn’t accept. There were no words strong enough to express that.
And when the words weren't there for me anymore and I had no one to turn to, I retreated into myself, finding refuge in nature, in the sounds of bamboos brushing against each other, birds singing, leaves falling in an eternal dance, happy with the end or the new beginning of their lives.
Like a child discovering the world, I turned to images. I started taking pictures of gardens, animals, rivers. Elderly cactus, proud mountains, and exquisite stones revealed themselves. Deer, coyotes, bunnies, snakes, grasshoppers, all came to greet me. They had always been there, but lost in an intellectual fog, engulfed by conflicts that I found so overwhelming, I was blind to everything else around me. I needed nature and a lot of meditation to remind me of my true self.
With their help, I was able to feel, to hear, to be content, to see clearly again. There was no need to scream anymore, just an enormous desire to be thankful, to accept all and everything, to live a different life where changes were always a possibility and where my problems were like colorful fish sliding gracefully down a stream. Then, slowly, very slowly, the words came back. Like old friends, they enveloped me in their arms, seducing me. I was delighted to be with them, but not all the time. I had become another person. I had realized that I would always love the words, but I should also make time for the silence. With the silence I could learn, find comfort and strength, nourish myself, and listen to my voice from inside. Within the silence I found peace.
And when the words weren't there for me anymore and I had no one to turn to, I retreated into myself, finding refuge in nature, in the sounds of bamboos brushing against each other, birds singing, leaves falling in an eternal dance, happy with the end or the new beginning of their lives.
Like a child discovering the world, I turned to images. I started taking pictures of gardens, animals, rivers. Elderly cactus, proud mountains, and exquisite stones revealed themselves. Deer, coyotes, bunnies, snakes, grasshoppers, all came to greet me. They had always been there, but lost in an intellectual fog, engulfed by conflicts that I found so overwhelming, I was blind to everything else around me. I needed nature and a lot of meditation to remind me of my true self.
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| Yume Japanese Gardens of Tucson, photo: Bernadete Piassa |
With their help, I was able to feel, to hear, to be content, to see clearly again. There was no need to scream anymore, just an enormous desire to be thankful, to accept all and everything, to live a different life where changes were always a possibility and where my problems were like colorful fish sliding gracefully down a stream. Then, slowly, very slowly, the words came back. Like old friends, they enveloped me in their arms, seducing me. I was delighted to be with them, but not all the time. I had become another person. I had realized that I would always love the words, but I should also make time for the silence. With the silence I could learn, find comfort and strength, nourish myself, and listen to my voice from inside. Within the silence I found peace.
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| Yume Japanese Gardens of Tucson, photo: Bernadete Piassa |
AS PALAVRAS E O SILÊNCIO
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| Yume Japanese Gardens of Tucson, photo: Bernadete Piassa |
Eu
costumava ser viciada em palavras, sempre procurando a perfeita, a mais bonita
para transmitir meus sentimentos. Mas há alguns anos, as palavras me falharam.
Em um momento de agonia insuportável, elas se tornaram fracas, insuficientes,
sem poder. Eu queria gritar minha dor, explodir com minha impotência, esbravejar
contra a injustiça da vida e de um mundo que eu não podia e não ia aceitar. Não
existiam palavras fortes o suficiente para expressar esses sentimentos.
E
quando as palavras não estavam mais disponíveis para mim e eu não tinha ninguém
a quem recorrer, escondi-me, encontrando refúgio na natureza, com os sons de
bambus roçando um contra o outro, pássaros cantando, folhas caindo numa dança
eterna, felizes com o fim ou o começo de suas vidas.
Como
uma criança descobrindo o mundo, me voltei para as imagens. Comecei a tirar
fotos de jardins, animais, rios. Cactos idosos, montanhas orgulhosas e pedras magníficas
se revelaram para mim. Cervos, coiotes, coelhos, cobras, gafanhotos… todos
vieram me cumprimentar. Eles sempre haviam estado lá. Mas perdida em uma neblina intelectual, envolta
por conflitos opressivos, eu estava cega para tudo o mais à minha volta. Precisava
da natureza e de muita meditação para me lembrar de meu verdadeiro eu.
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| Yume Japanese Gardens of Tucson, photo: Bernadete Piassa |
Com
sua ajuda, pude voltar a sentir, ouvir, rir, ver claramente de novo. Não havia
mais necessidade de gritar, apenas um enorme desejo de agradecer, aceitar todos
e tudo, viver uma vida diferente onde as mudanças eram possíveis e onde meus
problemas eram como peixes coloridos deslizando graciosamente num regato.
Então, devagar, muito devagar, as palavras voltaram. Como velhas amigas, elas
me envolveram em seus braços, me seduzindo. Me encantei por estar com elas
novamente, mas não as desejava mais o tempo todo. Eu havia me tornado outra
pessoa. Dei-me conta de que sempre amaria as palavras, mas também deveria abrir
um espaço para o silêncio. Com o silêncio, eu podia aprender, encontrar
conforto e força, nutrir-me e ouvir minha voz interior. No silêncio, encontrei
a paz.
