Heir to the Realm of Salvation

This horizon,

after so many days watching it,

I feel more like it, less like what would bring despair unto my existence.

It's not like I understand it, and not like my thoughts traced a decisive line, between concepts and points of view, in order to achieve this conclusion that is the pleasure I feel deep down within me.

The sense of immortality through the chances we give ourselves again when we have failed,
The comforting warmth of our gazing spears that bear title against the tides of misery and obsession born from our fears and from dreams we don't believe to one day achieve after having already taken the path towards them.
The blowing wind inside our veins, that caresses our skin to our very bones day by day as we walk in our daily workings.
The loving shine from our hearts that makes this world - existing.

Great tales unfold from this reality, and unfathomable angels dance between the steps taken by me.

I'm so glad for my past. I hope everybody reaches this point in life, seriously!

I'm waiting for you all, so don't keep me on this same point forever!

Lucas Vencovsky Nogueira

To become Nothing

To be nothing is to be complete; *When doing nothing is achieved, nothing remains undone. (Tao te Ching)

To become nothing is to embrace everything.

To become nothing is to find and accept enlightment;

It is to accept and find true peace and harmony with everything and anything.

To become nothing is to let go of all of your possessions and desires;

It is to let yourself die, as all and everything that you ever came to know;

It is to let go of every suffering and every pleasure;

It is to surrender your suffering and the joy it had been paid for to each and every passing present;

It is to suffer the ultimate death, and to achieve the ultimate serenity.

It has no peace, for it is not disturbable;

It has no ending, because its beggining is unprecedented.

To become nothing is to find that which was never there, and to pulse it within your own being without sense or reason of folly and purpose as the moving and trapped world is constantly called to, answering to it just as naturally as the wind blows.

To achieve peace is to suffer eternally within a fraction of seconds; It is to die within a moment within a moment within a moment within a moment; Just as the next would come, and your past world would be just as past as the very word.

It is to achieve peace in every aspect, that which we call suffering; Its hollowness consumes us for what we are, leaving only what does not end unless the world tries to avoid within yourself and through each and every day of your life.

That which dies endlessly, we drammatically and blindedly call ourselves.

That which takes away and kills what shall die, fade and yeld, is what we live for;

It is what we live in;
It is what we fight for; It is what we can try to fight against. Our victories and defeats depend ultimately on this world and this reality.

That which remains, which is it? The vision of death as we ourselves as all we ever came to be fades away irremediably? Or is it the part of ourselves that we couldn't see with all of our past world to entretain and shackle us?

That which defies hollowness itself.

That which has no name, for it is beyond our fate.

That of us which remains after everything else has died and rottened away,

Must we strive for it? Must we live this life we have to the last drop with all the joy we can afford?

I hope these words make me feel better, and I hope they are of use to anyone who comes toward them.

Fangs and Claws by the ruins of an agonizing moonlight.

A noble beast cries out in agony and in silent whimpers.

It lays wrecked, as if it turned to stone when it tried to get up. The moon is frozen, and the sky is blowing with a rain of blood and poisoned brass.

No longer supported by it's long broken arms, the fangs and claws it beared took away the last treasure of happiness, love, and of peace, that it came upon with sparkling eyes.

Among the ruins of this now shattered monument, the noble beast whimpers and whimpers.

In a world where no belief is held, no reason is tought of, and no sense is given or made.

In a world where there is no hope, there is no love, there is no trust.

With fangs and claws that took a beast far away, skin was shredded, flesh was torn, and bones were broken and ripped away, away from that profile.

In a world where there are only bitter tears, awaiting to fall down, the beast wonders if its dead and broken will and purpose, true love and sense will all still be there when all the diamond drops finally roll down to the earth.

But it hopes for it, right there, and right now.

And maybe, it will be a being freed from its curse, once more and again.

Spontaneous Lovetalk.

"I really, fucking, love you, seriously."

"And I hope that this love gets you to cross whatever's between us, if you love me like I do love you."

"Because even if this shithole that we're in takes the best from us, we can make ourselves our best again, if we take the love we have to. If I can become myself-who'd-take-care-of-things enough for getting there, then the fear and the sadness and all the bad feelings we're having shall dissolve into the courage and kindness that is going to help us until we're finally capable of helping ourselves, in our own special way."

"I want you to get to me, because I am right here waiting for you, my dear.

And I'm right here for you, my dear, taking all of the steps to get to you, because I know that you're right there waiting for me."

"Until we're togheter, and good night, my mostly dear an lovingly desired one."

"Untill we do what we have to do, and until we rest after the final battle, my heart shall be strong if your love reaches into it."

"With love,

Lucas Vencovsky Nogueira"

quarta, 26 de outubro de 2011 (e aniversário do meu pai)

In this world where the rules make themselves ruling you.

In this place where the sun makes you deaf and makes you blind,

In the realm that we can feel ourselves lost, nowhere to go to,

In that dream no one cried, that I endlessly tried to tightly bind.

To the place where our dreams align, I wonder my steps through this twisty road,

Guessing and transgressing through a world-like fairytale.

Taught by people and never laughed at, sickening sticky like the tongue of a toad.

Never resting-never leaving, brimming with content and lives for sale.

To this place I sing my songs, and to this place I carry my bag.

Filled with the dreams I know how to take care of

To bring them to life, through time, space and care.

To this place I uncommonly shout my brags,

Inconsistently dancing through dreamwaving lines

Listening to the lousy morning wind and it's chimes,

With no denial to the pains and regrets that I keep to drag.

I shall take you there someday, too.

To somewhere in this world that we can build.

I'll make it so that we'll belong to

Like an unfaltering and ever-caring guild.

bla bla bla bla bla bla

bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla

bla bla bla bla bla bla

bla bla bla bla bla bla bla.

Terça Feira, 25 de Outubro de 2011.

Eu acordo de um sonho totalmente surpreendente, e isso porque eu realmente passei em cada detalhe pra ver se tinha algo que não me deixasse perplexamente pasmo, afinal nenhum sonho meu tinha ficado tão naturalmente na memória quando eu acordei por, no mínimo, um bom tempo. Eu passo menos tempo que o normal respirando na cama pra acordar melhor, e ainda menos tempo no já-incrívelmente-curto exercício de Chi Kung matinal.

Eu chego inesperadamente às 6h45 na cozinha para tomar café (horário madrugal em comparação aos ultimos dias desta, embora hoje seja terça, e todos os outros da semana passada) e claro, encontrar o suco de laranja que o meu pai faz pra melhorar o dia dele, e de todo mundo da casa, além é claro* do meu belo café da manhã que minha mãe tem a paciência de me fazer quase-todo-santo dia, mesmo depois de eu ter feito 20 anos.

Até aí, ótimo, quando a ilusão de que eu ia chegar cedo na faculdade ainda estava de pé, porque, mais uma vez claramente, não é porque eu acordo mais cedo, levanto mais cedo, e tomo café da manhã que o meu pai não vai ficar conversando comigo até eu falar que tenho que sair por causa do meu horário.

Mas não é só por causa disso.

Hoje eu tive uma sensação. Uma sensação de quando você, tendo tido o grande perigo de perder o que você guarda com a maior força, intenção de segurança, e determinação enraivecida e cega, beirando às ações clara e imediatamente suicidas (porque as plenamente prejudiciais já estavam ativas há um bom tempo) por tempo o suficiente, começa instintivamente a parar de se machucar e começar a sentir um pouco de liberdade, um pouco de juntas não despedaçando-se, um pouquinho de sanidade lúcida e plena, e um pouquinho de todas as toneladas que tem em você se soltando.

Hoje eu senti que eu fiquei me degladiando com um milhão de questões, e que é como se eu tivesse em um pesadelo por um bom, bom tempo. Um bom tempo em que não havia de fato nada de bom, além dos sonhos que eu continuei perseguindo, na forma de promessas de um futuro que com tantos medos e só uma recompensa me mantinha num presente absurdos atormentado, mas ainda assim, sonhador de alguma maneira.

Hoje eu senti que eu posso ser eu mesmo, e que as mil e uma oceanias e galáxias inteiras de engessamentos e compromissos irreparáveis, e irreversíveis deram uma gostosa e divina, abençoante, prazerosa, descolada. Com aquele estalido surdo e altíssimo, que te faz lembrar bem do que te acabou de acontecer.

Hoje eu senti mais uma vez, desde não-faço-a-menor-idéia-de-quanto-tempo-no-momento, que nunca, mas NUNCA, é tarde demais, e que sempre pode-se voltar atrás dentro de si mesmo, e consertar o que está quebrado dentro de si, olhar bem suas memórias e pensamentos, sentir o que você realmente sente em relação ao que quer que seja, continuar vivendo sem um emaranhado absurdo bloqueando a sua passagem de ar, comida, e circulação sanguínea intra-psíquica. (isto não é um termo técnico, a propósito)

Sério, fazia tempo que eu não me sentia bem comigo mesmo com isso. Foi um momento de iluminação bela e totalmente plena. E eu agradeço por vivenciar isto do mais profundo agradecer que meu coração consegue dizer através da minha garganta.

The Airy Brush of Fall.

The blowing wind reminds me of a brush of thorns and a hedge of iron spikes. It nestles the nectar sought for by the impulses of our flesh, and oh boy does it nestle it well.

The summer, spring, autumn and winter rushing within my cloud-filled emotions, painting themselves in my thoughts. They pull me deeper and deeper in this fiery-red and bloodstained rye wine.

Attachment. It sure is an avenging aeon filled with trimmed chains, tightened togheter as they sink in like the mindful enduring ointment they're proud to be. Although not really vengance, no, unlike the folks from around believe it to be. Like a porcupine, armed to the teeth with its spikes, as an unyelding warrior, holding the front with nothing but some old rusty carbine he got from a fallen mate, without a drop of fear in his eyes. Like a proof of love, this rushing blast of heat and cold.

Beautiful, this nature of being. I just hope my friendliness and respectfulness assist me in having a good relationship with these lovingly hugging thornweeds.

Oh autumn wind, do I want you, do I want you.

This rift got a nasty pile of challenges, I get it needs some right doing. I got this idea that I should learn to have you.

Doing all that shit alone is what's bringing me to this shade out of my mind. I hope you get my bell ringing on a good meal, and my flowers adorning your bedtime, their scent brimming with the flaky thin tasty lavender I love so much.

I'm glad you blow on me. This pile of junk in my head became much more apparent since you did. And I'm afraid of not cleaning it all up while you're still brushing these light blue and indigo fields of mine.

As if my heart's just shining on it's own accord.

Do I love you, autumn wind, do I love you.

I just hope I'm the soft and gentle earth you fall in as a dry leaf, other than the tree merging in silence without you who's gone by your own brownish wind.

This life of attachment, I already understand why people scream from it. But I wonder if they aknowledge just how much these chains bring sense to living.

Oh you autumn wind, we're already at your season on the northern hemisphere.