“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her heart.“
“Don’t be sad” I used to tell my mother when I was a kid and saw her crying. now I know that all of my attempts to cheer her, only drove her deeper into her pain. My mother. His fury. Her rages. Her disappointments. His infatuations. Their sorrows. Emma: Do not be sad, Mom. And then she looked at me, broken smile… fake happiness… telling me I was not part of the arguments… He broke her to pieces, but she got up, wiped her tears and moved along…
Quietly and diligently preparing an oat gruel. To me it smells like milk sadness, brown sugar to oatmeal. And we overcame the bitter time: full stomach, crying subsided, she tried to act as if her heart was happy, but her eyes were not. I had to have grown to understand that sadness has given me some of the most beautiful scenes of my life. How much sadness beneath the tip of the iceberg that is the frantic smiling face of humanity? How much suppressed sadness lies under seven billion human hearts galloping in the world? Why do we try to avoid?- Avoid. Evading. Maul. Sever. Murdering sadness. Why? If there is a certain magic to it. Some alchemy. I think sadness has a transforming power but you have to let it out. you have to know it and you have to be able to recognize the sadness, otherwise you will be lying and could never rise above it. My mom rose above it, got a divorce and now her eyes are looking beautiful again, and if I can see that, I’m happy.
When the innovative function on a digital camera that detects smiles appeared, I almost cried. since when only the happy faces are inhabited by beauty? If life brings some pain, I may want to say that we did something good, we had the option to say yes or no. Not paralyze us by traveling this immense and unexpected thing called life. I resisted my own sadness for years and thus gained a crisis of anxiety brutal. Fearful. Because anxiety is the ugly face of sadness, I think. Mourn is liberating. It is a liberating break. I’m sad to say. Make room for the soul to talk to us. And no, no monothematic souls.
Losing the man who swore eternal love to you and then disappeared blurring in text messages on your phone screen without ever pressing “call”, without walking the steps to your front door. To then lose everything, everything in thick hazy memory… the great liar. That great genocidal. It takes riding a pegasus to understand it… yes, and to make a heroic journey to take losses on its real scope: forever.
That which does not kill you makes you stronger. They say. I do not want that strength, I say. What does not kill you is because you did not let it kill. And you missed the chance to be reborn. Do not be sad, I said. Do not cry.
When someone says “you’re not happy”? A complicated postmodern us weeping and sorrow in between the complicated.
Is it that we are lifetime friends of anxiolytics and antidepressants in its various formats? NO. I claim to sadness. I take away the stigma of disease, sin, defeatism, politically incorrect. And I should clarify that, as Pessoa said: I’m not pessimistic, I’m sad. That is not the same nor equal. Sadness in prose or poetry or even silence, is good. Grief is not a disease. It is a state of the soul that lives within us every so often. A requiem for all that I lost. For all those faces I no longer look. For those who are not me. I’m sad today. But I have the rain. Once again I take another look into my eyes… I’ll be able to rise above sadness, I can be happy… and I will be.