To Live in this World

This was a very intense week. I met wonderful people, and some of them I wish I could keep with me. This is the thing with loving people: they become a part of you and still, you got to let them go... Oh, well. I think that what best describes that feeling is in a poem I love and keep with me ever since I first read it : Mary Oliver´s "In Blackwater Woods" :

To live in this world
you must be able 
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones
knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go;
to let it go.

I got to live in this world. There´s no other one.

A Collective Existence

32.
Existence is infinite, not to be defined;
And, though it seem but a bit of wood in your hand, to carve as you please,
It is not to be lightly played with and laid down.
When rulers adhered to the way of life,
They were upheld by natural loyalty:
Heaven and earth were joined and made fertile,
Life was a freshness of rain,
Subject to none,
Free to all.
But men of culture came, with their grades and their distinctions;
And as soon as such differences had been devised
No one knew where to end them,
Though the one who does know the end of all such differences
Is the sound man:
Existence
Might be likened to the course
Of many rivers reaching the one sea.
(Witter Bynner´s version of Tao-Te Ching)

Is cyberspace the "one sea" where the many rivers flow? Are we drops of water that exist, but cease to have an individual existence in that sea? Is this the space where we can experience a collective existence?

The Sword God

One of the most beautiful stories I´ve heard from Yoruba ( West African) mythology is related to the deity Ogun, the fierce warrior. Those stories were brought here by the people from African nations that the Portuguese, and later the Brazilians, enslaved and shipped to Brazil to work in nothing less than building the country from the 16th to the 19th century. Besides owing Africa a lot of what we have today, we also owe it a big part of the Brazilian soul.
It goes like this: After fighting many battles and spending many years away from home, Ogun decided to go back to the city of Irê, where his son ruled. When he arrived, he addressed the people and expected to be celebrated, but no one talked to him. People looked at him, but did not seem excited. He would talk to them, but they would not answer. Ogun is not very patient and, without trying to investigate what was wrong with his son´s subjects, became enraged and started cutting off the head of whoever came in his way. That´s when his son comes and offers him his (Ogun´s) favorite food and drink. His son reminded him that it was a sacred day and people were forbidden to speak and cheer by orders of the great Ogun, himself. Ogun then remebered that, and was ashamed of what he had done . I´ve lived enough, he said. He then put the tip of his sword on the ground, and went down into earth with a thunderous sound. From that day on, he became an orixá, an owner of head.
Yoruba is also a religion ( Candomblé and Umbanda in Brazil) and I suspect that this close relationship between the stories and the worship of deities is what prevents its ancient mythology from becoming more popular.
I´m not a follower of any religion. I usually say that I am culturally Catholic, because it is the dominat religion among the groups I was raised with, but I have a great interest in all religions. More than the rituals of Catholicism or even Candomblé, I´ve always found the stories fascinating. Their symbols and metaphors contain valuable teachings about every day life that are usually missed when people are too worried about miracles or sins.
Everytime I remember Ogun´s story, I smile and think that even the most powerful ones make mistakes and learn a lesson one day. Never take yourself too seriously. It´s very dangerous.