Dream home

Posted in Life, Uncategorized with tags on August 26, 2009 by Silvia
Our home had tapestries of flowers from Guinea in the walls, switch baskets full of flowers, yellow courtains in the windows and bamboo furniture in the living-room. It had a big fireplace, and sunflowers candelabra. There were wooden African statues of hunters and animals everywhere – elephants, zebras, lions, gazelles and even wild boars.
Our home was full of books – there was more than one thousand. Those books went to Africa… They are probably in hands of children that need them more and love them more. I miss those books – old friends – but what good would they be doing accumulating dust in an old empty house where no-one would read them? So, they will be friends of their new readers, and give them all the riches and fantasy that they gave us. For the best.

Our home was full of memories. I’m sure it still is. It has seen our children arrive, and grow. It has seen our love story, our parents, our friends, our dogs and birds. It has seen our dreams grow and break. It has seen our efforts, our tears, our joy. A part of us remains there.
Now, we can only dream of a home – a home of children, of parents, of Love, of dogs and birds and flowers. A home where we can rebuild our dreams, our work, our family. A home where we can be… And finally find our refuge, our rest after this long storm.
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Rock the cage

Posted in Uncategorized on August 26, 2009 by Silvia

Rock the cage

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Rock the cage: The Portuguese Bard

Posted in Uncategorized on August 6, 2009 by Silvia

Rock the cage: The Portuguese Bard

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Rock the cage

Posted in Uncategorized on August 6, 2009 by Silvia

Rock the cage

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Rock the cage

Posted in Uncategorized on July 22, 2009 by Silvia

Rock the cage

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The Blue Dragon

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2009 by Silvia
“A spark of blue illuminated the darkness, as the shining scales moved towards the lonely light coming from a hole in the ceiling, somewhere. The great turquoise blue dragon lifted its black polished claws before them and its red eyes flamed in wrath.” (The Wolves’ Keeper Legend)

“Whatever the scientists may say,
if we take the supernatural out of life,
we leave only the unnatural.”
(Amelia Barr)

Quetzal entering nest, Costa RicaImage via Wikipedia

The legend of the blue dragon-snake has resemblances with Quetzalcoatl, the Mayan god, even though it wasn’t inspired in it. Quetzalcoatl was a snake with the magnificent blue feathers of the Quetzal-bird. He is also known as the god of the Star of Dawn. He is the Spirit of the Water, the god of birth and rebirth, the one who came from the skies to teach humans the wisdom of the space-travellers.

Quetzalcoatl knows the secrets of the snakes. He is “El curandero”, the one who heals, using all kinds of medicinal plants.
“The water column changed, defining thousands, millions of little water drops, in a light-blue colour, like sea-water stone scales, and the extremity transformed into an enormous reptile mouth. The water dragon undulated, as if dancing to an invisible flute.”

(The Wolves’ Keeper Legend)

Design by Robert Weber

 

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I moved to Blogger

Posted in Uncategorized on July 16, 2009 by Silvia
Tunnel_Cage
Image by Pro-Zak via Flickr

Visit Rock the Cage in Blogger

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Move to Blogger

Posted in Uncategorized on July 16, 2009 by Silvia

Visit Rock the Cage in Blogger http://rockthecage.blogspot.com

November Mist

Posted in rock the cage, Tribute with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2009 by Silvia

It was a freezing, gloomy morning, a true November sunrise. The mist was almost impenetrable, thick and heavy. In the roads, could be heard the tired, still forced, steps of who was going to work. Sometimes, a light showed up in the mist, trying to get through. It was the Militia’s car, patrolling the roads, assuring that no-one caused any problem.
 
Behind the grey buildings, with no colour or joy, all alike, in the closed corner where the back gate of an “Alimentara” (food shop), we could see a queue that seemed to have no end; a long queue of women and children, and very few men. Three people could stand side by side. Some were standing, but the most of them were sitting close to each other because of the freezing, cruel cold of the dawn. It was still dark and the mist felt like an ash cloud; there wasn’t a single light shining in the streets, not even in the windows. This was the system. Saving energy was the rule. Only the common citizen had to save, though; the direction of the Party and their relatives lived a different life, without the lack of essentials to the daily survival that was normal to everybody else.
 
In the second row of this queue, there was an old lady sitting. She had white hair, a tired face from all the suffering she had endured all her life, but her eyes were an angel’s, staring at the little boy who was still sleeping, holding her arm.
A few metres ahead, the gate moved, the heavy locks opened slightly. The crowd agitated a little, in the queue, but no-one abandoned the position where they were.
 
Above the gate, a weak light flamed and a strong, cold voice of a woman yelled. That voice had no feelings; it was like the voice of an officer in the Army, yelling at his privates.
“Attention!”
Silence.
“Today, maybe I decide to open the door and to distribute the oil and the sugar!”
The expectation raised, still everybody kept silent.
“I still don’t know if it’s enough for everybody!” she continued yelling. “I just know that, if I hear a loud voice, someone yelling, a complaint or a pushing, I close immediately and I don’t open any more this week! You can be sure that I’m not playing around! Yesterday I didn’t open because I was still nervous from the day before, when that pregnant woman bothered me.”
She waited.
“You shouldn’t have children if you can’t wait for your turn. But you want more children, to receive more ration! Here, that woman won’t come any more, because if she does I will give her nothing!”
Indifferent to the desperate people looking at her, she still said:
“That’s it! Is that understood?…”
Nobody answered.
“Now you must wait, because I’m going to drink my coffee, so that I can be in a good mood. Any questions?… Uh?”
A man’s voice sounded, from behind, hidden by the morning mist.
“With respect…”
“Say!” she yelled. “Quickly; I don’t have time!”
“The ration for each person… Is it the same?”
“Now, that” she said, exasperated. “Of course it is the same! As to me, I think it is already too much!”
The ration per person is a half litre of oil, and one kilogram of sugar per month.
“Sorry!” the man replied. “Thank you!”
The man sat down. His leg was amputated below the knee.
 
The child, who was sleeping before in his grandmother’s arms, was already awake, listening to the conversation. He was five, maybe six years old, an age at which children, nowadays, still don’t understand much, but at that time children were forced to grow up and become more mature with the problems of life and the need for survival.
 
The little boy was thinking that his granny was already there for two days. He had gone to his neighbour’s house to eat and sleep, but the old lady had stayed there all the time, to avoid losing her turn.
His granny was already old, around seventy, tired and hardened by the storms of life, but she had a heart full of love and sensibility.
The boy was also thinking “Could it be that all the world lives this way?”
He knew nothing of the world outside the walls; nor knew anybody. People just weren’t informed. Who had a T.V. or a radio could only listen to the local news.
 
The iron gate was closed and the light was turned off. In the cold of the morning, people sat down once more, hoping that finally, in that day, they would receive the monthly ration.
The child didn’t how long it elapsed. He saw the grandmother fall asleep. He stood there, awake, waiting for the moment when he would hear the iron gates opening.
The gate opened once more and the light cut through the mist.
The aggressive woman’s voice sounded again, stridently.
 
“Come on! Everybody stand up!”
“A queue of two! Not a word!… Move!”
The child stood up and pulled his grandmother.
“Let’s go, granny! It opened!”
The old lady didn’t answer and didn’t move.
“Come on, granny! You can sleep at home, afterwards!”
Nothing.
 
The little boy bended his knees to hold her, trying to wake her up. But, suddenly, he stopped. The tears filled his eyes and he screamed, with a voice that refused to come out.
 
“Granny!”
His grandmother didn’t answer… She died.
 
Another child, around the same age, two rows backwards, held tightly his grandmother’s arm, feeling his throat tied and his eyes flooding with tears. He looked at his granny, feeling the fear, in his heart, that one day, it might happen to her.
 
This second child was my husband.
  
In memory of all those who lived and died in dictatorship, around the world.
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The way to Freedom

Posted in Life with tags , , , , , , , on July 12, 2009 by Silvia
Portrait of Fernando Pessoa, oil on canvas
Image via Wikipedia

Today I reached 103 hours of Management Accounting.

This is an important psychological victory because, finally, I crossed the line of hundred. Enough? Not yet. I still need to know how to work with SAGE and still have hundreds of exercises to do. I need to be able to complete fifty exercises in two hours to do the exam. It’s this time management the worse thing that I must deal with.

But I’m full of courage and energy inside of me. “Hunger and cold put the hare on her way.”I have all the strength of despair to push me. My Freedom is glowing at the end of the tunnel. My Freedom and my family’s Freedom. The end of the nightmare that we are gowing through. It’s a very bright star, isn’t it?

I’m compiling formulas and making resumes. I’m doing exercises and schemes… I copied all the manual into a notebook, to be able to read it. Sometimes, my eyes get so tired that I can’t read those little lettres. My handwriting is much better.

The strange thing is : I still don’t know who my tutor is. I have a good one, though…

 

 Freedom     

 

“Oh, what a pleasure

Not to accomplish a duty,

To have a book to read

And not to make it! 

To read is boring,

To study is nothing. 

The Sun gilds

Without literature

The river runs, well or badly,

 Without an original edition.

 And the breeze, this,

So dawning,

As the time, does not have haste…

Books are papers painted with ink. 

To study is a thing where is indistinct

 The distinction between nothing and not a thing. 

How much is better, when there is mist,

To wait for D.Sebastião, 

Whether he wants comes or not! 

Great it is the poetry, the goodness and the dances… 

But the best of the world are the children,

Flowers, music, moonlight, and the sun, that only sins

When, instead of creating, it dries. 

More than that is Jesus Christ,  

That wise person knew nothing of finances

Nor does it consist that He had a library…”

 

(Fernando Pessoa)

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