Brazilian writer and Multimedia Artist dancing on words as she travels the´three´corners of the world in a shakinspiring way, orbiting exorbitantly around her daily dearly deals in no hurry no worry through ordered ordeals. She also enjoys writing in third person.
I don't support SOPA, I don't support PIPA. I can't stand the smoke signs and soup I only care in the winter. Would Mickey Mouse and Tom & Jerry survive that long if it wasn't that easy to hold a mouse and copycat?? Copyright is one thing, censoring our freedom of expression converting digital sharing in crime indiscriminately and undistinguishably should be forever banished. Just my two pennies over the issue.
Virgin Mary at San Cristobal Mount seen this sunny Sunday in Santiago, Chile
History, as in life, seems to always be presented by a young role model for the next generation. Such were the cases of many female figures, some of whom became saints, as Joan of Ark. But others were heroines in their own way. Yesterday I saw for the first time "Sophie Scholl-The Final Days" a movie directed by Marc Rothemund and released on late February of 2005 about the last nine days of terror that this twenty-one-year-old German student of Theosophy and philosophy (It helps when we know that her name means "Wisdom's School") had to endure for having a conscience and fighting to keep being sane in a world who many had already lost their minds and heads. She was caught spreading the leaflets of the White Rose, a manifesto about tyrannous acts and crimes against humanity, written by her older brother. To leave in such an early age like a flower which had just blossomed. A leaf left to die... "Die Sonne scheint noch." The Sun still shines. "God, you are my refuge into eternity" were her last words.
And what was the price for her to become an icon for the peace and freedom of speech? She was beheaded and so were her brother and her dearest friends. Such a huge price to pay with your life. Did she care enough about her life? If she didn't she wouldn't be willing to sacrifice her own head to give liberty and try to share the truth she knew with others of her own age. And did it work? If it didn't I wouldn't be writing about it here and now. She died on a cold day of late February of 1943; two years later, Margot died also on late February and followed a few days by her immortal sister Anne Frank. Why do I write immortal? Because they actually never died for those who believe in their right to partake truth, justice and faith as an everlasting flame chanting in their hearts. We are all on the same boat. We will all die eventually. But our conscience, that we can never escape (or erase). For those with a sane mind the light will forever remain. And I write these words earlier rather than late. To keep my life in chain. It makes no sense, but that's free will: to be able to pursue our convictions and yet be attained by our own truth. To jump inside our own hearts and find out that we still have some hope left... a leaf left like a joke(r) to poke(r). Oh, sweet yoke... YUNOHANA, YU meaning "hot water" NO "of" HANA "flower", here in a Japanese Garden with water lilies or Lotus flowers (The lotus is born under the mud, growing through the water towards the light. This green/growing desired elevation reminds of our own:)
Moi j'ai un jardin rempli de fleurs Un monde d'amour tout en couleur Que je fais vivre en mon cœur Elle s'appelait Anna rappelle-toi La plume courait entre ses doigts Elle écrivait des mots d'amour et de foi Car elle avait 13 ans Anna Elle se cachait dans un grenier Anna Si chaud l'été, l'hiver si froid A l'horizon de quatre murs et d'un toit Elle écrivait pourtant Anna Ces mots là{Refrain} Elle avait souvent si peur, Anna En écoutant des bruits de pas Et quand, ils s'approchaient trop près Quelques fois, auprès de son grenier, Anna Chante-moi C'est par un beau matin d'été je crois Qu'ils sont venus chercher, Anna Ils ont laissé juste un cahier, les soldats Un journal dont les mots, Anna Sont pour moi.... (Musique de Francis Lopez)
"Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn." Sophie Scholl
