Freedom in solitude.

Posted on June 6, 2014 by julietafalavina

I have encountered in my life many refugees, many of which who had been kept as hostages. I have been to enough places to know that some people speak with fear and in almost silent words in front of me. Others speak casually about it all. I have learned through the path to recognise someone in pain. Nothing special about me, it is something that some people just also feel.

Today I was sent an article to read about the life of a hostage who was kept in Iran for a long time. Nowadays , I choose carefully what I read. Yet I read it. And it moved me so much. It was a letter. I wondered how many people could actually identify with these words. I did.

I thought so much about it. I have never been kept as a hostage, nor have I ever been tortured why was it that I knew that, how was it that those words made so much sense to me?

There is something intriguing about reading it. I did not laugh like someone told me, would have been the most compassionate way to read it. I could not possibly laugh at it. I did once see an Iraqi speak in a conference ” laughter is the easiest way to cope with something that is so painful that you can’t deal with.” I was impressed that day. He was Iraqi, ironically at the time ( the time of the Iraqi war) he had studied public health in Syria. Then he became a student at Harvard. I was an undergrad at the time, but because I was always so interested in the Middle East I was introduced to him by my professor. This was NY, a couple years after 911.

As I read it today, many years after. Having met so many people who are from countries that were, or are in a war now, those images lingered in my mind. Somehow I definitely could understand a student from Harvard, a doctor writing about laughter when his country was being bombed. He was a doctor. But I can not laugh.

I read the article again and wondered why was it? And that are some thoughts there which are so powerful. Shane bauer, the hostage, and journalist, in some part of his page says he never thought prisons in the US could be worse than in Iran.

But the reason I went to his page was to see who he was. More importantly because I was very intrigued by something in that article. And that is such a non popular notion but I really understood it.

Somehow he said it that being freed was harder than to be a hostage. If you are to say that to anyone. They would invoke the “Stocholm syndrom”. Yet this is not really why I thought it was so powerful. It is something else. The return to freedom, in a world where suddenly you can realise the superficiality of it all. The invoked tones. The questions. All of this is unbearable.

This is not even knew. I guess in manufacturing consent it is quite clear. But the idea of the whole west being addicted to pleasures, chemical releases…. Addiction to Freedom, is always hard to tell people.

How many steps further you have to go to understand that a total search for “that” freedom cannot be disentangled from total abandonment of responsibility to the world where you live in. Where you actions do matter!

And so I go back to my love of Mountains, the admiration of those who do not need to conquer them for the chemical release that comes from that. They were born there.

In my mind I go back to Tibetan lamas who are capable to be in silence, self-contained, and are able to control brain chemistry through meditation.

In my mind I go back to the indigenous I have met in South America, who tell you all over to not take away a person from a hole. Let them lay there. I used to find it cruel. Yet, it is not. It comes from an awareness of discovering self resilience, strength, and the value of one’s own life.

I doubt any Tulku, or Shaman abandons anyone. They are there in silence.

So when I read Shane Bauer I can but think, that I understand he found his strength his value. And was almost convinced he was freed. Only to realise that Freedom is internal, to be externally Free in a world where most people have not found their own strength leads you to feel completely lonely. Free in a world of disconnection, oppression done under your name.

It is painful to see around you all of those addicted to something vaguely related to Freedom. It almost makes you hate freedom. It almost makes you want to be trapped so that you can at least know who your enemy is. But, in the end, we must realise that this is not freedom. Freedom is inside.

The article by Shane Bauer is here

“You’ll Need to Relearn How to Be a Person”: A Letter to Bowe Bergdahl From a Fellow Former Hostage

Tibetans Compassion and Laughter

Posted on May 25, 2014 by julietafalavina

“Whether you believe in God or not does not matter much, whether you believe in Buddha or not does not matter so much; as a Buddhist, whether you believe in reincarnation or not does not matter so much. You must lead a good life.” HH Dalai Lama

Sometimes I wonder why, I need to write. I no longer play, I no longer have the craving of the world to keep going without an end. I no longer am afraid of death. But I write, because inexplicably the people I have encountered in my journey have kept me going, have kept me living, have kept me believing and they wrote back.

I even wonder why I start with HH Dalai Lama, and without a question it is because HH touches my soul. I once did not believe in anything, and even thought HH was a simple political figure that was in the middle of the west and the east. The Us X China figure.

That what, before I sat in front of HH Dalai Lama. I was taken aback by his presence. Yet I thought that that was natural. He was a political figure.

HH Dalai Lama started his speech by asking people to remain believing in what they did, He was a simple monk, a Tibetan Buddhist monk simply because he had been born in Tibet. Had he been anywhere else, he would have been raised believing in other gods.

“Keep what you believe in, it is too much work to change, keep from Buddhism what makes sense to you.”

How could one, not admire such a religious leader? That was the first time I had been in front of a lama, and it was HH Dalai Lama. After that, in my path I encountered several Tulkus and Lamas. They always spoke of compassion. That really resonated with me. Simply because I loved Alyosha, the religious son of Fyodor Karamzov. Till this day I take that book, Dostoyevski’s last book as a sacred one.

And so my path followed, I searched so much. My father used to say I was in the quest of the Holy grail. And in that quest I got sick several times without much explanation. The last one, I was taken into a coma, and I almost died. I did not remember much of anything once I woke up.

Dr. Getulio Rabello, my neurologist, told me to write. And I worked so hard to attempt to do the impossible. To translated my thoughts so trapped in my mind into words. In the beginning it was a daily battle aggravated by the fact that I understood my brain, all that was said, and that I trusted someone very much that I shouldn’t.

For a while, all I could do was play music. Listen to music. Hallucinating with songs I no longer knew the name of. It was a daily battle not knowing who I could trust or not.

HH Dalai Lama once said ““The enemy is a very good teacher”

And it took me a while to fully understand that. So first I felt pain, then hatred, till nothing really mattered anymore.

And little by little came another sentence by HH

““Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.”

And I did, I learned all rules, yet I broke them wrongly feeling inexplicably sad. The fact that I understood the rules helped me in understanding that my brain was healed. Yet there was so much pain. What can you do, when you understand, when your brain is capable but the pain does not stop existing?

Time went by and HH came to me one more time

“Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” HH Dalai Lama

I knew that. I have always known that. Yet, I could not feel it. I sincerely thought I was somehow dad inside. Without any possibility to recovering.

And I went once again to Dr. Getulio, and he was once again amazed that I was well. He insisted that I should have a project. I told him I had none, and about all that I had found out about my brain. About music. About meditation. He told me to go back to music, to study psychology. And I asked him whether I could finally climb.

He was shocked at first, but I explained how safe it would be. And he let me climb indoors. He let me drive in Sao Paulo. And I was happy beyond belief. I was almost back.

I drove under the rain listening to Choro, I saw my friends who remembered me and all that had happened to me. I explained though I had great equipment I did not remember really well how to go about it. They helped me. I climbed slowly after having done an hour of yoga just before… and having had pain in my whole body for months. And as I was going up I remembered why mountains were sacred. They are grounded and they reached to the sky. I remembered Ladak, the cold air in my face, the stupas, how happy I was then, and now how happy I was again.

I drove away under the rain. I hugged my fellow friends from climbing. I cried. I knew them. And I drove to a place where the most amazing musicians of choro meet every week to play. Not a bar, just a studio.

I came with tape in my hands, blisters in my fingers, climbing shoes hanging from my bag, and I sat right in front of the musicians, next to Dona Inah and I felt pure joy. From yoga, to climbing, to Choro. I was for a whole day in a total meditative state.

It lingered while I drove, when I fell asleep till today. It broke sometimes, when I remembered the injustices inflicted on me, and others. But I decided to listen to HH Dalai Lama, since he has been present supporting in silence my struggle against myself.

It came to my mind, the voices of people of all over the world, asking me to come back to believing in humanity.

And as I just heard him laughing, after listening to HH Karmapa. After talking to Denise I knew I had to write to share this. I don’t know what is the path that Dr. Getulio wants me to walk, but I know, I must write, I know I need music, I need yoga, I need mountains. And finally, I feel totally in peace.

“This is my simple religion. No need for temples. No need for complicated philosophy. Your own mind, your own heart is the temple. Your philosophy is simple kindness.”

― 14th Dalai Lama

Wanderings about Art.

Posted on May 10, 2014 by julietafalavina

Art is such an intriguing thing. Sometimes it feels like it is one of the most subversive things there is. In others it feels like an example of force of those who already have it.

I just came home from watching a beautiful exposition of works by Picasso, Goya and Dali. The exposition was put out by my cousin and her colleagues. The public opening to the world is tomorrow. Today I was lucky to be invited to go to, and was accompanied by my almost 90 years old grandmother.

The topic was the Tauromaquia, in other words the bullfight. It is far from being something that I admire, though I must say I have never seen one, nor do I have the desire to see it. My grandmother, whose brother was years ago the Ambassador of Brazil in Spain took her to see it. So I watched those powerful paintings with mixed feelings. My grandmother told me she was very afraid to go to see the bullfight, but that it was one of the most impressive rituals that she had ever seen.

I heard it, still was convinced I still did not want to see it, but was wandering why three important painters would have painted it. Without a question it is part of their culture, but there was more to it. You could feel it was also a political act. Sometimes, a protest against Guernica itself. I could feel it, even before reading it.

I was brought back to England when I was taken to see an exposition of modern Art. I rarely like modern art because it is so plain obvious that one must be educated to accept that language, that I find it itself unfair and discriminating. In fact, in a sense, I find it less like art. Today, very few things had to be read, or explained for you to understand the power of these works. Had they had no names probably would make no difference to me.

But I was brought back to England to that exposition where nothing really looked like anything at all, unless you would read the titles, or hear the explanation of an “art specialist”. I was brought back to that moment when I saw this painting that looked nothing and decided to listen to the explanation. According to the that specialist that painting ( loads of nothingness with some colours) represented the pain of the victims of the conflict between Hutus and Tutsis. I simply could not believe it. I looked around to see if there was any african that would have the same feeling that I had, there wasn’t any and I asked a question.

“Who painted this? Where is this painter from? ”

“Germany.”

“Has this person ever been to Rwanda or Uganda? ”

Obviously not. The expert was without words for a second and then gave me a lecture on the importance of modern art.

I was happy there was not a single African there. They were all mainly Europeans and I felt it would have been quite offensive to anyone who had been in a war to have seen that as the representation of their pain.

I thought so much about this after. How much do we have the right to portray that which we have not experienced? Probably all, after all in a sense we are all human beings who are survivors, and inheritors of every single massacre that takes place every single day.

However the brutality of that painting is not in portraying pain that is not yours. It is to expect that the other, even the direct victim of something will need to be educated into understanding it. That is quite violent.

So, as I walked around seeing paintings I wondered how can one know a true exposition from one made to be put in the media.

And as I was left to talk with a professor from an university in Milan who works with processes of peace through art , as well as with a diplomat and they spoke about the power of Art I could think of nothing but that art that IS art needs no explanation. Art in whatever shape that it is will always be subversive.

Even art that is just simply perfect, and beautiful is subversive. And with that thought I remembered that for instance, in Palestine one of the first movements towards radicalisation was to kill art.

Art does not need to be explained, it just needs to be allowed to bloom in whatever place and shape that feels it suits.

I still do not want to see a bullfight, yet I now could feel in my body the power that comes from it. Even without any explanation.

Withering Heart

Posted on April 20, 2014 by julietafalavina

What can move one? It is simply so random and yet sometimes so poignant that it becomes like an inexplicable exercise to attempt to explain the inexplicable. Yet we do it, we attempt to understand the logic of it all, we attempt to understand the process of life, the world, the universe, the body, the mind, and some even the soul.

Yet, having, searched for so much, I am quite amazed by the fact that what brings you total joy, which is different than chemical pleasure originated by chemical release, that joy I am wondering about is of of another kind. We could attempt to map it in the brain what happens there, and yet it is almost completely futile.

For me, my brain returning to its past capacities gives me some kind of joy. Yet it is not even that. It is impossible to write about it . The fact that I took my guitar to compose something was a bigger expression of life, than any chemical exam. Those processes are so complex, and yet simple. So what brings me joy is to be in place. It is not simply to be in place, but to be understood, to feel my soul is here as well as it is my body. So rare had it been for me these moments, yet, they are back to me. The beginning of it, is here for me.

So I realise that what gives me joy is to share what I find is so beautiful. It is not to work, it is not to travel, it is a true encounter with the other. Sometimes, what brings total presence is the totally unexpected message of a friend from another world with a poem. And I seat here, to share that, as it was written in his language, I value it more. Since it was translated, it makes me understand it. And I write simply because I must share that poem. It brings me back to Asia, a place where I almost died, yet a place where I love very much. It gives me joy to share this here, and imagine than other people will like me feel it to.

一棵開花的樹

席慕蓉

如何讓你遇見我

在我最美麗的時刻為這

我已在佛前求了五百年

求祂讓我們結一段塵緣

佛於是把我化作一棵樹

長在你必經的路旁

陽光下慎重地開滿了花

朵朵都是我前世的盼望

當你走近請你細聽

那顫抖的葉是我等待的熱情

而當你終於無視地走過

在你身後落了一地的

朋友啊那不是花瓣

是我凋零的心

A blooming tree Xi Murong

“How to make you meet me

at my most beautiful moment.

For this,

I had prayed to Buddha for five hundred years

for making us an earthen fate.

Thus, Buddha turned me into a tree

growing on where you would pass by everyday.

I carefully bloomed fully under the sunshine.

Each flower was the looking forward of my previous life.

When you got closer, please listen carefully,

those trembling leaves were my waiting passions.

When you passed by without noticing,

what had fallen on the full ground behind you,

my friend, those were not leaves

but my withering heart.”

I shared these poem with friends and loved ones I thought I should. And strangely people from all over the world in spite of their religion were moved as well. So I decided to write. And as I wrote, I realised once again, that just like in the brothers Karamazov I took the path of joy and not truth. Because truth is so unattainable. More importantly, this path is the path of compassion. Well, my friend comes from Taiwan so I guess it is Tao, it is simply the path…..

Of Refugees, life and Capão

Posted on March 22, 2014 by julietafalavina

Leila Alaoui is a brilliant photographer , she has been my friend since when she started to take pictures. She lived with me in NY, and I visited her house in Morocco years ago. Leila, now lives in Lebanon. She works with Syrian refugees. She was the first person that I spoke to on skype when I was still so sick. She always called me to talk to me. And I was capable to speak to her in French… when I barely spoke portuguese. She made me feel alive just like she made me write again.

Today as we spoke she told me about a film she had made. I saw it and I was so moved by it, and even told her I would write about it. Leila worked with Refugees, with survivors of wars, she lived and took beautiful pictures of them. And she asked me to film me. Me? What could I possibly be interesting for? Her video was just appallingly beautiful, with deserts, refugees, tracks, stories…. And as I watched I cried.

Then I wrote her to tell her what I will tell you here. Tell her of the things that it made me think. Not simply about the beauty of it, nor the photography, but because it took me back to the border of Africa and Europe… there where Morocco stops and Ceuta is. Ceuta is in the African continent but it is Spain now.

I still, after all these years, remember vividly my feeling, the images, the thoughts. There were so many people… I was walking back to Morocco. People sold even the paper that was free, simply because lots of people who could not know how to feel it. People carried toilet paper, clothes, begs, suitcases, dreams. People who were going back to Africa I guess carried nostalgic feelings. People going back home could come easily back to Africa. Now the people who were coming to Spain they were held for long times. I was young, and yet I knew we were all lost, in between….. that the people who were going to Europe were searching for a better life in an almost impossible future. The people who were coming back, you could almost see their face the feeling of loss, of failure, and of missing from where they came from.

My crossing was easy. I had the “Right” papers…. On the other side there were lots of cabs. I just took one in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of hundreds of cabs. I remember thinking, that most people would find that dangerous. But I felt in place. After all, most of these different people were like me… displaced.

All these images came to my head as I watched Leila’s film. And then suddenly came to my had a meeting I had a couple weeks ago. As I was about to go home, someone dropped a glass in my foot, and someone else stopped to help me.

The guy said Hi, said I was beautiful. And since he was so friendly I started to talk to him. Then suddenly he said

” Stop, talking to me. I am from Capao Redondo”.

I told him I did’t care, he had helped me. Why should I not talk to him?

” You do not even know where this is or what it means!”

“I do, I have been there. Actually twice.”

He was intrigued. And maybe I should add here that that place is a dangerous neighbourhood in Sao Paulo. It has in the past had more people being killed in a year that in many places that are in a war.

I insisted and told him

” You know, I trust strangers. I went to your neighbourhood. I stayed in the house of people I met on buses in Palestine, in Kashmir etc. So I have no problem to talk to you, unless you don’t want to talk to me.”

“I am impressed. Really. I ll be honest with you, you are beautiful and I wanted to kiss you, but now I can’t. I can see you are real. And you have such a sadness inside of you that makes me want to protect you. What happened to you? Why did you go to these places for, what have they done to you there?”

I told him, all that had happened to me which was in no dangerous place. And then he said something that really intrigued me. First he understood my pain of total abandonment by someone I trusted. And then he said something so intriguing that reminded me of Leila as well.

“Ju, you are much more impressive than me. I was born in that neighbourhood. I did not choose to live there. You come from the richer side of Sao Paulo and yet you chose to go there to see people in a very dangerous place. You chose to go Palestine. To Kashmir, to borders. And that is why I can’t simply kiss you like you were one more superficial girl here. You are profound. You know death, life, war, borders, poverty. You chose even without needing to go to see the world how it really is. Why? Why were you not afraid?”

I was really taken aback… and thought about it…. and realised…

“No one that you barely know, can hurt you. It is people who really knows you, who you truly trust that can kill your soul. I was never afraid of losing things, being killed,raped bc as painful as that sounds…. it is in these places that most people are afraid of that I was most taken care of. It is in truly harsh places that people have not lost the value of life. Of friends. Of shelter. Of food. Of love.”

So today, as I was speaking to my dear friend Leila I remembered that. She, just like me studied abroad, came from a great life and yet she always wanted to know the other. The borders, the refugees, the places were life is so felt.

I told her what could I possibly tell her in a film? I saw her picture, her film. It felt unfair to all those in a real war.

“Jules, you inspire me.”

And so I seat here to write this, to wonder why would that be? And suddenly it dawned to me. It simply because we have not totally lost faith in humanity. It is because we search it in extremity. It is because we know, that in these places people know the real value of life. Just like they know the non importance of death.

I write again because Leila Alaoui inspires me too. And I am fortunate enough to have her as a friend.

http://www.leilaalaoui.com/

Dona Inah and Choro.

Posted on February 21, 2014 by julietafalavina

Time has passed. I dance every week. I seat listening to a real Diva: Dona Inah. Before I dance and listen to her, I seat and talk about her life. Every week Dona Inah tells me something new…. like about when she played with Cesaria Evora, or about when she had a concert in Morocco. We both love Morocco. Sometimes she tells me about her last trip to Cuba where she recorded a CD which is about to come out. She who had played with many of the musicians of Buena Vista in other times. She who had sang with Omara Portuondo and so many other amazing artist and yet she is so kind. Dona Inah is 78, and every week she sings till 3,5 am in Sao Paulo.

I am literally flabbergasted by her. Her joy, her voice, her strength and her stories. Her life and music just flow through her. She who had started singing professionally when she was only 12 in Araras, a country side town of the state of Sao Paulo, and who had only become famous when she was in her 70’s. Dona Inah, like me, goes to listen to Choro in a small place where some musicians go every week. I go to listen to Isaias and Israel and so many other brilliant musicians who just pop there every single Friday, bringing their instruments and their brilliancy… It is free, and somehow hidden in a little studio. I feel I am very privileged to be invited to go there, so I never invite almost anyone else, who might make noise there, in respect to the musicians I go alone, or with someone who plays or deeply respect music. And so we all seat to listen to Choro.

This Friday there was a storm in Sao Paulo. It had been days that it had been incredibly hot, and strangely without rain. But this Friday there was a storm, so when we got there under the rain there was no light.

It was then that the mystery and the sacredness of music could be really felt. We could not see anyone, and yet music flew, and was played perfectly. As I stood up and walked carefully to go the toilet I heard my name. Two of my very dear friends were there. They were amazed to see me there. I had not seen them in ages. They held me and told me that all would now be alright. Just like before… and somehow I knew they were right. And so we stood there listening to music.

The following morning I woke up with my body all in place. Simply all in place. I still had to go see Dr. Getulio today. I knew I was finally ok. Even before Carnival was about to start, my soul felt it could dance again. My tears became more scarce and it feels that soon, it will be nothing but joy.

News, the Repetition of the Old??

Posted on January 18, 2014 by julietafalavina

Sometimes news come from where you least expect… I actually wonder what are news, are they really new? Sometimes it feels they are all a variation, some kind of repetition of the old.

Indian news coming as a gift all the way from Bahia here are news… strange and pleasant but they feel like news.

The sudden arrival of travellers that are cruising the world in my house is now already common to me. Just like it has become common suddenly the sudden appearance in my life of people who have crossed Mongolia by horse.

The reencounter with my cousin who returns from Asia having reconciled with herself is both old and new… it falls in the wonderful news.

My friend from the Phd sharing with me his frustration of friday seminars is hilarious and touching. His desire to help me recover is new and old and definitely also wonderful .

A cad driver telling me his desire to make something called youtaxi to record all the amazing stories he hears in his cab. To me it seemed incredibly new, only till I translated to my guest…”oh yes, that already exists”. Not, in Brazil is what the taxi driver tells me.

I feeling almost totally recovered and having non stop conversations about the relationship between thought and language feels like an old practice feeling so new now.

Even half asleep putting the right shoes to be able to dance the whole night. That feels old and new and also wonderful.

I guess the only new thing…. is that the bar of Cidāo will no longer open his door. The bar is demolished by now. That is new….and final. That is sad…

In my mind echoes a song “Saudosa Maloca” Peguemo todas nossa coisa e fumos pro meio da rua aprecia a demolição.

And that falls in a hard thing to translate. It is a samba song that talks of something very sad, about a house that is being demolished. The song sounds however happy..

It is time to put back the right shoes again. That is new and old. I finally feel good!

The Greatest Mystery of Time

Posted on January 7, 2014 by julietafalavina

The passing of time is just soo mysterious. Sometimes it feels wonderful, while other’s it is very painful. The greatest mystery of it is the ability to desire to go to its future but never to go to its past. Actually that is probably its hardest quality, the inability to go back. Especially since we can see the past but not the future.

Years ago, I once wrote I was coming home to Brazil because Cidao, the owner of my favourite bar in Sao Paulo was dead. At the time I received tens of messages in my Iphone while I was on my way back to Israel and Palestine. I put the thought aside then in the airport of some eastern european country, till one day I could no longer do it. I avoided the though a lot of times.. feeling a bit sick both in Israel and in Palestine. Being taken care enormously in both places.

One day I realised I was afraid of loosing my feeling of home, which was strangely connected to the bar of Cidao. I came back to Brasil soon later, and yet once again I fell severely sick again.

I never truly understood what my nomadic soul wanted so as I was recovering I wrote my book. And then I left once again back to all places I had been before. I was confronted from the feeling of many I had left. I was puzzled, never had I thought my own feeling of abandonment could be shared by the ones who had stayed.

I left once again and it was this time that I was almost dead. The near experience of death did not make me more afraid of living not of or dying. It actually it made me remember the words of many friends of mine who had celebrated the life and the suicide of one of my colleague of the Phd. At the time I did not understand that.

And life took its course. And then a few things led me to sit here to write.

Foe once I had a conversation with Chi. My friend from Taiwan. Chi who I hosted in England in 2011, and then here 2012. Chi who was in the road for all these years. Who had travelled fundamentally different than me. Chi who though distant is together with Francesco the people who most cared about my mind. Chi crossed about 50 countries making connections never profound, always with distance.

Francesco is a doctor who wanted to be a philosopher and who accompanied lots of my situation over watsapp. Francesco went all the way to Asia to look for salvation, mysteries. At the time, having already been to Asia several times I advised him to go to Africa or South America to volunteer as a doctor. There he would find profound connections and some kind of salvation in his mind. and body, in the relationships of others..

In Asia the continent I deeply adore I found good paths to loneliness. After a long path I did learn you could mediate to separate yourself to the world, but you should rather meditate to connect to all.

For those who are escaping their lives, Asia is an easier place to be. It is rather more dangerous exactly for that. Encounter the deep knowledge you must escape your fear of the other.

I eventually went back to Asia, to the border of Thailand and Laos. I once again could have the pleasure to see daily beauty of each sunset in the Mekong. My soul had always craved to go to Burma, before going there I was at Mut Mee, seing the Mekong. There is my home in Asia. And from there I heard my grandmother was in hospital. So as I took the train to go to Bangkok to go to Burma, then I collapsed and in my following days I almost died.

For the period that I was in a Coma I had a complete sense that I could choose to never wake up. Yet, I decided I wanted to come back. Why was it so? It was clear I wanted to go back to people, and especially to see my grandmother who was at that time in hospital.

As some of you might know it has been since september that I fell sick. I am back home in Sao Paulo. And now I find time is even more mysterious. The melancholy that I feel for all these people I have met over the world bring me tears in my eyes as I write.

I was just told by the widow of Cidao that the bar will close this sunday. For those of you who read me for a while you might know, how much that place is important to me. And how it is related to me constructing a life here in Sao Paulo. I will definitely be there that sunday to celebrate it. Time is mysterious but in our symbolic existence we must make celebrations.

As I wrote to a friend these days, I no longer believe committing suicide is necessarily bad.That it is not to mean that I plan to commit suicide. It is simply to overflow my feelings over time.

Time flows forward, while lots of our existence flows back. Buddhist are right in insisting we should be present. The greatest mystery of life, the greatest act of courage is to fully encounter the other. I have lived a life of full encounters so as I recover I can nothing but thank, and hope to have some reencounters again… not all… that would be asking too much.

The greatest mystery of life is to encounter the other, and for that I guess we have to get that the greatest mystery of time is to be present.

Happy New Year, and I wish you all a happy, truthful life.

Recovery of my list, And Happy New Year!

Posted on December 26, 2013 by julietafalavina

Dear friends,

I have finally been able to recover a large part of my old email list. I believe most of you might know I was gone for so long because I was severely sick the past few months.

For those who did not know that… in brief..while in Asia I was forced into a coma after having a non stop epileptic crisis.

I was about to go to Burma but then I had a major fit just in front of the Burmese Embassy, where there was luckily a Hospital.

I was accompanied by Edu and was kept in an Hospital in Thailand for a while till my parents came to rescue me.

Since my fits never stopped it was decided I should be induced into a coma since the non continuation of seizers could harm my brain. I naturally do not remember not of that.

I was in a total different world while this was taking place. I lived real battles, where death was strangely not a disaster, nor a sweet thing but a simple option. It still took a while for us to return to Brazil my parents and Edu and I. It took that long because we needed the permission of the hospital to be allowed in an airplane

I was truly in another planet. And it is taking a lot of me to fully recover. Luckily now I recognise all the people, and able to write full sentences and not need anymore someone to take care of me.

I have been working really hard on recovering. Now it is becoming more natural again. I have been maintaining my two blogs. In english

https://translatingthoughts.wordpress.com/

And in Portuguese

http://descolonizandoamente.wordpress.com/

I do not write exactly the same things in both.. As it would be incredibly boring to do that… even when I was healthy that was the case.

But I started writing as anexercise to observe my own brain. It was Getulio Dare Rabello who had suggested.

Thank god, the scientists and the enormous amount of love I have received my brain is doing much much much much better.

Soon I will be free of most of my medications. Soon I hope I will eat less and go back to my usual life.

Thank you to all of you who wrote me, who came here, and if I have not replied… believe me… it is only now that I actually am being able to see how much love for so many places in the world I have received… and how much I should write back! Happy New Year!

Lots of love and a Happy New Yearfrom Brazil,

Julieta

ps: if you want to be added in my english list let me know..just as if you s know to receive emails as well

Wanderings of a full moon Night…

Posted on December 17, 2013 by julietafalavina

I ride on a bus. It is usually faster to go some places in place by buses than by car. No traffic in the lanes destined to buses and taxis. In any case I could not drive anyway. I actually take joy to walk places. Sao Paulo was never a place I walked before. I usually drove.

Cre, my childhood nanny is next to me. The moon is almost full in the sky. I look around delighted looking at the sky. I have just been to Aquiles, my psychologist and it was a great section. I had the chance to have my childhood nanny who took care of me since I was a baby till I was 6 talk to talk to Aquiles. Cre could tell my psychologist how was the beginning of my life. I listened it all, sometimes with tears in my eyes. I must say I do not remember almost anything of my childhood. But as she spoke I did. It did really feel like like a gift.

We take the bus home I look around and the whole country seems to be decorating for Christmas. Though the country is secular, most people are christians here. Actually most people are believers, of all kinds of beliefs mixed together. I live in In a neighbourhood where there is a large Jewish community.

Though Brazilians like to praise our miscegenation, most people in this neighbourhood are Europeansor or Sirian-Lebanese descendants. The African descendant people you ever see are usually workers , such as drivers, nannies, cooks, and waiters in the nice restaurants around here. I of course do agree there are more mixed people here than in other places of South America.

In a brief and poor explanation of Brasil. Brazil was colonised by Portugal at a time when Spain and Portugal dominated the world. Aside from Brasil, the two Guyanas and Suriname, all other countries in South America speak Spanish. That is why it is very difficult and funny to be asked to answer which “race” we are from in American forms. I always put homus sapiens or human. Since in Brazil we are never really asked these questions.. and In America there was no option where I felt i could be in. Being usually told to say I was Hispanic, I often explained we spoke portuguese and not Spanish. In any case, Brazilians, did always feel that form was just stupid.

Maybe it is because we put so little attention to our origins that we feel that there is little prejudice here. That is somehow a complex topic, and to talk about it I would need a lot of time.

Slavery was finished in several steps being finally abolished in 1888. I am no specialist in this, but I learned in schools and through reading and talks that when slavery was abolished ( officially though we all know there is still slavery around in the world) there was a shortness of workers which led to an opening of Brazil for immigration.

Since farmers had never been able to slave indigenous peoples before, they called the new immigrants. Promising a d new world, delivering hard labour. There is evidence that it was a true holocaust of indigenous peoples in the continent. I believe the first immigration after the Portuguese were the Italians who came searching fora new life in the new world.

Later on came the Japanese, and in the end of the first war Sirian-Lebanese people who came still using their Ottoman passports. Ironically in Brazil, they sometimes call themselves Turcos…. Though they precisely know they are Arabs… Here in Brazil, I think most people do not really think about that. Then in the second war came loads of Jews, and Germans.

Paulistanos, people who are born in the city of Sao Paulo ( Sao Paulo is a state and city) like to call Sao Paulo a Cosmopolitan city. When I saw my friend my Caue who just came from Beijing we had a long conversation about what it ” what made us go.?”

I feel that while we are away we are so entertained with the other that when it reaches you it is time to move.. so us people of the world once we cross so many borders, it is just so difficult to stay. And so as we talk I wonder. About these courageous immigrants who came from their old world in this ships to a new one, having no idea of the trip, of the place, and definitely of a return.

So as I sat yesterday with these friends who have lived or traveled many places I did and we could talk about the profoundness of life, the difficulty to come back to a world that in your mind seems too mysterious, where you are not even able to eat in the same way, or where you just don’t care for the small details of those who went out for too little or not at all. So when we met it was all still that world were we floated from shamanism, politics, countries and philosophy for hours. Floated in the world were people who live the real world never usually go.

Than as I sat in the bus last night and as I looked the moon I thought of the cities I lived in Sao Paulo, London and New York and realised they are not cosmopolitan in the same way at all. I guess if we define what we even mean by cosmopolitan.. and I guess if we take a very loose explanation such as “a city where there are many people who were not born there living and who are still preserving some of their original culture” then we could put so many others. And yet those cities we always will feel not containing the world.

I like being in Sao Paulo because I feel protected by it, by my friends and my family and definitely by my Dr Getulio, Aquiles and Dona Euthimia.

But when I sat with Gustavo and Caue who are people who lived in many places and now live very different lives I am intrigued. While one is married with a child and though is still reading and engaging with the outside world is now settled .The other cant just stay, he arrived arrived last month and now cant wait to go back to Asia.

And as I open my email and sea Mark is going back to London to finish the PhD, while I know Maria now quit it and has a baby and will be married in Greece soon, and Chi and Aidan are in the road, while I see how much my friend Leila in Morocco and Lebanon has writer and prayed for me… I feel my heart overflow with love. The moon will be full tonight.. whatever I ll do, I know it will be good.

Love, from Sao Paulo