I observed this when I arrived for there. It is a place that never had seen before, that it provoked mine directions, faro arose mine. I was to think if it had listened to reference of somebody concerning that place. To walk for made me there to feel as great people of that people always heard to say in stories of estrias pra to make to sleep criancinhas. These people pass for as many things, if they cheer, they cry, they love, if they disillusion, they hate, if they despair and in the end, everything finishes well. Seno, at least good well lived.
In the end everything makes sensible. Today, when I arrived for there, in that pretty place, I perceived that I have much to write and to still count of my estria. I do not know will have somebody to read, but the gesture of the writing already frees me the soul and it leads me denovo to this place. Some counted histories for are there with happy end, others nor in such a way, but all are estrias pra if to count or if to write. The unusual one is that I gave account of that they still exist estrias to be written. E, left me to this inflated, as clear in snow. This common place can be the place where the estrias of the whole world are created.
As to look this place (it must here have a point of interrogation, but the keyboard is broken). I find that when less we wait such place appears. It is as an initiation you will have to be ready, seno does not go to recognize the track or to know as it paves it to arrive there. When you to feel smell of wet paper or to see the tree leaf color, gives much attention! Some thing will have to be being moved to its redor. The transformation is subtle, therefore eyes opened, redoubled attention, monitoring in the feelings, acuidade in what well to think. I perceived that I arrived when he reflected in the choices that I made in the life, in the choices that I lived and I felt. E, as if a veil was dislocated, I understood that the only place where everything seemed to make sensible was well there, here same, this, this common place, well here, inside of me. What I admire and I admired in the people next, friends, mothers, sisters, professors, friend, father, uncles, grandmother, mothers-in-law, people who are or had been my references and models was its singular nature and goes off its idiosyncrasies, the material of which each one of them is or was made. It admires them or seguiz them as model moved away to me from this place that now meeting again. In this place vi a beauty before not known. E, as a painter who to the look the still unfinished painting, looks the model and glimpses its interpretation I understood that the workmanship and the model are not the same thing. It was as soon as I inside gave account of that a place of much peace and beauty of each one of us exists inside, of each workmanship, product or creation human being, its proper life. E, that, cannot be found in its model that rationally we search to reach. The land where my roots are planted presents bushes to rough-hew, new specimens to catalogue, tracks to carry through, seen to admire, mountains to cover, seas to swim, beaten soil pra to lie down and to all an adventure to tread.