Archive for July, 2009

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
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

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.
“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!”
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.
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…




“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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The man who found the Ark.

Posted in History with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2009 by Silvia
Ark of the Covenant
Image by Cryptonaut via Flickr

Hancock, Graham, The Sign and the Seal, 1992.

Somewhere in the mountains of Ethiopia, the Author talks to a blind old man who is the Guardian of the Ark of the Covenant… And this is the start of one of the most extraordinary adventures of Archaeological discovery that I’ve ever read.

The blind unarmed man is the only privileged one who has the possibility of contacting with one of the most treasured myths of the History of Mankind… Except during the ceremony known as the Timkat, in the month of January, when the Ark comes out in the streets, in a sacred procession, duly covered to prevent its destructive effects over the ones who look at it… That’s why the old man is blind.

It’s a lifetime job, a responsibility that the blind man carries with his heart, and defends with his life. And he is so happy, closer to the Lord. Before he dies, he must choose a successor. The “skills and qualifications” required are ” love to God, purity of the heart, mind and body”.  It’s absolutely fascinating.

The problem, or the “miracle” is that in the country of a thousand churches, there is one thousand arks, each one hidden and protected in the Holy heart of the church, a place where no-one ever is allowed to enter. Which one is the real? Someone said that the most hidden thing is the one that lies carelessly ahead of our eyes. There is no doubt that the Ethiopians are very wise and I’m glad the Ark didn’t end in some military deposit  as it happens in the genial Indiana Jones’ s film (The raiders of the lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981).

It is amazing to think that effectively, there still is an Ark of the Covenant. To believe that it’s there, in Ethiopia, one of the poorest countries in the world, devastated by war and hunger, it’s astonishing. But after reading this book, the path of this lonely researcher, his fight against all the bureaucratic difficulties and all the political obstacles, his way through the countries where the Templar knights left their mark, there’s a secret growing faith inside of me that it’s the truth.

But how did the Author get to this amazing conclusion? He started by reading the Holy Bible. The Bible is a depository of wonderful mysteries and historical secrets, sometimes coded, sometimes so obvious that we almost can’t believe what our eyes see. The Bible explains the origins and even the construction of the Ark of the Covenant – its every detail – but there is a point when it simply disappears. Such an important Holy and historical object is left without any reference to follow.  a strange fact or coincidence because, as the Author says, this Ark is part of the very foundation of the Jewish faith (please forgive me if I’m wrong, but everything points that way). Now, the disappearance of the Ark might not be such an outstanding mystery, but the absence of posterior references to it in the Holy Bible certainly is.

Then, he visited the Cathedral of Chartres, a stone book. There, he perceived the unusual presence, among the prophets and the saints, of the Queen of Sheba. What would she be doing there? She had, in the legend, a relationship with king Solomon, as the Author refers from the reading of the Kebra Nagast, and there is a remote possibility of her conversion to the Jewish religion, but in some other documents its said that she left king Solomon’s court and this conversion never happened. The possibility is that, with the conflicts that threatened and still threaten Jerusalem in our days, king Solomon thought that the Ark would be safer in a (by then) stable and peaceful country like Ethiopia. And by strange or not coincidence, the Portuguese, in the time of the Descobrimentos, knew the Ethiopia as the only christian country in the African continent.

This is just a taste of this fantastic book. I won’t say any more, because I don’t want to spoil your pleasure of reading it.

To finish, I just want to pay my honour to the Ethiopian people and to the country, which I knew, before i read this book, as a tragically dry and suffering one, and now I know it a country of outstanding beauty, of “miracles” and mysteries, the country where the glorious Blue Nile starts. Peace be with you.

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