Common Treasures: março 2015

The swallows arrived early this year, around the middle of February. I heard them for the first time one night around 4 a.m., when I was preparing to sleep not to rise. I think they really arrived during the night. And even through the dark night they found their way to their nest, the same that has been there since some years ago, just above the gate of my garage. What’s really amazing is that they seem so happy even here in the middle of the city, ignoring the cars and the people walking constantly along the street. And I never noticed any other swallows nest in my street or in any of the streets where I usually walk. Why did they choose precisely my street, my gate? A beautiful mystery that I prefer not to solve…

But there’s a coincidence in this story that is impossible to ignore. You know what I’m talking about, my brother, don’t you? In our home up there, there was a swallows’ nest in the varanda. And every year the swallows would return there in Spring and would stay until the end of September or middle of October, depending on the weather conditions. When the first cold winds of Autumn began to blow they would go away. It was never a definite goodbye because we knew they would return next Spring. And they never missed a single time.

Mother adored those swallows. When we weren’t living there anymore, mother would phone to announce their arrival: «They arrived today! It’s good to hear them singing again.»

Their nest was exactly above the window of her bedroom. They were the first to say good morning to her. In the afternoon she would sit on the varanda waiting for their return to the nest and only then she would get inside again. They made her days more complete. They were more life within life, remembering that life has many shapes, voices and souls. The swallows always coexisted peacefully with the many other birds that lived in the trees around. There was sky and space for everyone.

Many times we talked at home about the possibility of closing that varanda with a marquise. During the warm seasons it was a wonderful cozy corner, but not in Winter; when the East or North cold wind was blowing it was freezing there. Father considered the marquise wasn’t necessary… mainly because it would be expensive… after all it is a big varanda, around 10 meters long. You and I could imagine it closed and being there in Winter catching the sun but not the cold wind. But mother always opposed to the idea, not because of the money or the temperature, but because the swallows had their nest there. And no one could touch that nest. I ended to agree with her, prepared to stand the cold in Winter just to have the privilege of having the swallows there. So that varanda stood opened for many years, the home of the swallows.

After all of you were gone and I had to make all the decisions alone, I finally decided to close the varanda with a marquise, but I waited one year. I asked the men who were working there that the nest should remain there and gave orders to maintain the large windows always opened since the beginning of March. If the swallows returned they could enter and live in their nest as usual. All my worries and cares were in vain. When I returned there, some months later, the work was concluded… but they had removed the nest, alleging it was impossible to install the wood ceiling I asked, and the windows were all closed. I felt sad and angry for some time; then I saw swallows flying around the house and felt happy again. And they always returned in the following years until now.

I’m anxious to go there in the beginning of April to see them again. I still didn’t find the place of their new nest but it must be near the house, perhaps in one of the old “pigeon houses” that exist in the fields around. Those “pigeon houses” look like windmills… I thought they were windmills when I was a child and used to ask “Where are the sails of the windmills?” Later I thought to myself that they didn’t need any sails because there were so many wings inside and around. They are still painted in white with red tile roofs. They fit perfectly in the landscape. They were already there before I was born, so to me they are really a part of the natural landscape.

The popular adage says that “A swallow doesn’t make Spring”, but to me Spring always begins when the first swallow arrives. When I go out of home every day and I see them flying swiftly or hovering above my head I feel that Spring is here, even if it’s fresh or cloudy.

Welcome the swallows, my brother. They come just from another continent but I see the reflection of your constellations in their eyes.

WITHIN LIFE

The soft warm breeze from the South
Is bringing a new energy
New wings, new flights, renewed landscapes
The hopeful colours in the horizon
Are bringing back the eternal warmth of life
The soft fresh rain is washing the sky
Until the deep infinite blue returns
A seed among seeds
A plant among plants
A tree among trees.
I behold and flow freely
New leaf in the tree, new page in the book,
Air and water, sand and sunlight.
The little bird born to be eternal
All dreams, the book of dreams
Opened to the paths of Time

Look within is looking deep around
I’m alive and within the whole
And the whole inhabits me
In its infinite shapes and realities.
I slowly become aware of what I am
Earth, grain of sand, tree, leaf, flower and fruit
The little bird, the cloud, the sky, the ocean
Inside and outside mingled in one
What I see, hear, taste, smell, touch
It’s what I am
Thankful I am
For being no one
Everything
Free to be
Just life within life
Tiny atom in the universe of creation

The first swallow arrives at dawn
To your distant constellation
To wake you up to a new Spring.
Now we are the same
You are no one now
You are everything
Air and water, earth and starlight
You are the seed, the tree, the dream
All dreams, the book of dreams
Opened to the paths of Time
Now what you are and what you dream are one
Now body and soul are the same
Now you are real, you exist
Now you are eternal flame
Life within life
Tiny atom in the universe of creation

Each day we leave our open home in the wild
Our doors and windows are our inner senses
Our treasures have no owner
They belong to the whole
Around and beyond we collect flowers, fruits
Dew, rainbows, atoms of dreams alive
Our days are as long as our needs and wishes
No hurries, no worries, no shadows
Only the night is dark and beautiful.
And when the sun goes down we climb to the highest tree
Just to be closer to the stars
And the immense dark sky smiles to us
Because we are no one
Together in our nothingness
Just happy to be here
A dream in the open book of dreams…

São Ludovino, 4/3/2015 – 2:43 a.m.