Thursday, October 22, 2015

· Pens Return to Town ·


Hullo, friends.

It's been more than a year since I last worked on any original material other than "Confluence: the Rivers of Sorrow", and even then it was mostly reshaping and fine-tuning pieces conceived way back. I usually fall into these obvious non-creative seasons for a variety of reasons, the main ones being that I am either recovering from the enormous energetic demands of a work released, or because I am simply cherishing a fleeting moment of peace and maybe even happiness originated by the conclusion of one of my musical exorcisms. Whatever has been happening to me ever since "Confluence: the Rivers of Sorrow" was made available kept me from indulging anything remotely linked to the creation of new work, and I enjoy these moments to explore, learn and play traditional songs.

However, as the rivers must always run, I feel that maybe the coming of Spring and Summer here where I live may soften the earth and poorly burried bones are surfacing through. As with most of my plans, I think I'll have to yet again sit my long-overdue and heavily demanded traditional-material album out to address what's stirring up. And maybe if I share a rough sketch of what is slowly coming to light I may see with more clarity what direction am I to be swept away.



· The Sacrifices Women Make

Recompose, sister, for these are the sacrifices women make. Do not allow their pain to blur their purposes to you. Bear the hurt as you must, for such is our burden; and from the vessel cracks your light shines (wonderfully) through.

We mother every injustice, our scent is of indignation. We tend for the wounds of the world, and we suffer the blows of its growth. Yet harken, sister, for we must abide to this feminine decree: we care for things that out-love us in the end.

Open yourself to what this suffering means, decipher the mystery of harshened words. Those who leave must fare for themselves. Understand that nothing may darken your will, and whatever you gave as a gesture of truth: for love is patient and wise, and it never goes to waste.

Perhaps not from where you poured it, but love will return to you. We are linked by the bonds of grief, and all our labours will turn to ruin. Yet know, my fair sister, that good will won’t go unheeded. It will find its way back, and your heart will fill once again.

Breathe, sister, even more if you loved a man, for men were born from the veins of our care, and depart with sheer disregard. Our world differs, and we cannot abide there, yet from ours they came, and return before the end.

Stronger, sister, this pain is yours to feel. The only way ahead is through it. Go, sister, and don’t let it make you falter. Our path is a saddening one, but one we must all take.

· Os Sacrifícios Que as Mulheres Fazem

Recomponha-se, irmã, pois estes são os sacrifícios que as mulheres fazem. Não permita que a dor borre o significado deles para você. Carregue as feridas como você deve, pois tal é o nosso fardo; e das rachaduras a sua luz brilha maravilhosamente.

Nós somos mães para todas as injustiças, nosso cheiro é de indignação. Nós cuidamos das feridas do mundo e sofremos os golpes de seu crescimento. Mas ouça, irmã, pois nós devemos nos submeter a este decreto feminino: nos importamos com coisas que vão deixar de nos amar no fim.

Abra-se para o significado deste sofrimento, decifre o mistério de palavras que se tornaram ásperas. Aqueles que se vão devem cuidar de si mesmos. Entenda que nada irá escurecer sua vontade, e o que você doou em gesto de honestidade: pois o amor é paciente e sábio, e jamais é desperdiçado.

Talvez não de onde você o derramou, mas o amor voltará para você. Nós somos unidas pelas correntes das lamentações, e todos os nossos trabalhos se tornarão ruínas. Mas saiba, bela irmã, que boa vontade não passará despercebida. Ela encontrará seu caminho de volta a você, e seu coração se preencherá novamente.

Respire, irmã, ainda mais se você amou um homem, pois homens nasceram das veias do nosso cuidado, e partem com completo descaso. Nossos mundos se diferem, e nós não podemos habitar o deles, mas do nosso eles vieram, e retornam antes do fim.

Forte, irmã, esta dor é sua para sentir. O único caminho para longe dela é através. Vá irmã, e não se deixe hesitar. Nossa trilha é a triste, mas uma que todas devemos tomar.






Fondly,