#559 Untitled

But the work doesn't slow down; it gets livelier.

The day,
like happiness,
kept procrastinating—indefinitely,
it seemed.

They're larvae from the debris on the hillside,
shadows that ll the valley,
remnants left by destiny.

In the baskets along the pavement of the Rua da Prata,
the bananas for sale were tremendously yellow in the sunlight.

Some wrote for the major newspapers and succeeded in not existing.

Money,
children,
lunatics.

And how could a soul ever be possessed? Between one and another
soul lies the impassable chasm of the fact that they're two souls.

And we will become subtly and profoundly
indifferent towards all of life's setbacks and calamities.

Something in me is always begging for compassion,

and it weeps over itself as over a dead god whose altars were all destroyed when the white wave
of young barbarians stormed the borders and life came and demanded to know what the empire had done with happiness.

Only you,
unshining sun,
light up the caves,
for the caves are your daughters.

The garden of Estrela,
in late afternoon,
suggests to me a park from olden times,
in the centuries before the soul became disenchanted.

—Charles Robert Anon, Princípios de Metaphysica Esotérica