" " NOVA CASTÁLIA: Setembro 2015

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terça-feira, 29 de setembro de 2015

O SIGNIFICADO MÍSTICO DAS VELAS



E a luz brilha nas trevas, mas as trevas não a apreenderam – Evangelho de São João.

É preciso mergulhar profundamente na escuridão para assim compreender melhor o significado místico das velas. A sombra e a luminosidade rejeitam-se mutuamente, embora se complementem, ao mesmo tempo, considerando que as luzes natural e sobrenatural combatem – e sobrepõem – tanto as trevas dos ambientes quanto as trevas da ignorância e do pecado. Se o combate é necessário, sem dúvida, a existência dos opostos também se mostra necessária. Recordo-me haver observado a figura que representa a carta O Eremita, em dada circunstância, e tendo-o feito cuidadosamente, notei que ao carregar o candeeiro na mão, o personagem ali representado conjugava, num só tempo, o lume da fé ou do conhecimento e a escuridão do caminho percorrido. Ele precisa da claridade porque lhe é exigido atravessar a escuridão e, sendo assim, um elemento depende do outro. Há nisso a síntese da condição dos seres humanos que, atravessando o vale obscuro desta realidade, utilizam a luz da fé como instrumento para dissipar as sombras, e que essa síntese represente a essência do cristianismo fica também suficientemente comprovado pelas práticas piedosas das tradicionais procissões com velas.

Provavelmente muitos atribuirão a essa forma de piedade características não exatamente louváveis. Pensarão que se trata de um vestígio persistente de certo passado no qual, se julga, a Igreja esteve imersa na ignorância. Algo que se deve tolerar, sem incentivos, como hábitos de pessoas simples, desprovidas de instrução humanística e teológica. Não obstante, esse menosprezo devotado ao uso das velas parece-me presunçoso. Pois há na simbologia dos lumes bentos verdadeiramente algumas virtudes que se revelam bem úteis para a meditação.

É imprescindível saber distinguir entre o escuro que nos confunde, induzindo-nos aos enganos e ao pecado, e aquele outro que nos põe no centro de uma relação mais íntima e absoluta com o Senhor. A luz bruxuleante das velas significa, no caso primeiro, o esforço heroico de resistir às trevas circundantes. De fato, a escuridão que nos tenciona envolver cabalmente parece, inúmeras vezes, mais ampla e poderosa do que o lume da fé, e é possível que tenhamos receio de que, em algum momento, ela se sobreponha, apagando o brilho de nossa crença. Mas embora a fé vacile ocasionalmente em meio a uma realidade sombria, conquanto não crie mais do que um círculo tímido de luminosidade, é assim realmente, na pequenez da sua condição, que conseguirá vencer o contraste exterior. Porém, se na questão primária o escuro perturba e constrange, em outro nível mais profundo de relação – pouco antes mencionado – ele se transforma em um abrigo no qual o fiel se recolhe tencionando desvencilhar-se de todas as distrações mundanas. A noite escura de São João da Cruz caracteriza isso perfeitamente. Busca-se recobrir os sentidos com o véu da abstinência, não para que, com esse expediente, a escuridão confunda e desvie o indivíduo, mas para que o brilho duvidoso das coisas relativas ao mundo não se ocupe de ofuscar a chama divina que alimenta a alma daquele que acredita.

O calor emanado pela chama da candeia conserva também um significado espiritual. As angústias, os maus hábitos, os pecados, as mágoas, etc., criam dentro de nós uma espécie de crosta duríssima que pode somente ser dissolvida pelo fogo purificador de Deus. O ato de acender uma vela demonstra, em sua piedade, muitas características relativas à experiência da purgação. Na medida em que a chama vai consumindo toda a cera, o corpo da vela dissolve-se, sutilizando-se em fumaça ligeira. De forma semelhante, quando nós somos abrasados pelo fogo do Espírito Santo, tudo aquilo que se enrijeceu no coração paulatinamente se dilui, e tornamo-nos mais próximos da realidade espiritual do Senhor. Sendo assim, quando Jesus Cristo afirma a seus discípulos vós sois a luz do mundo, isto representa um convite para iluminarmos as trevas desta realidade material com nossa presença, entretanto, essa condição que tanto se assemelha ao simples gesto de acender uma vela não sucederá a menos que, livremente, sob nós permitamos a ação do Espírito abrasador de Deus. É imprescindível purificar-se para ser luz, e é preciso ser luz para dissipar as sombras da maldade. 


LEIA TAMBÉM:

terça-feira, 22 de setembro de 2015

SONETO AMOROSO À VIRGEM MARIA



E Deus criou o tempo, frágil e inconsistente
clarão da eternidade, e assim criou a terra
também e todo reino que nela encerra,
e tudo admirando, então, sorriu contente.

Mas pronta a combater os homens na sua guerra
tenebrosa, eis como se torce a serpente
ao seduzir a raça antes tão inocente
e deixá-la na dor de quem no mal se aferra.

Se não tivesse Deus imensa compaixão
e de nós escondesse a flor bela e seleta  
como crer novamente em vias de salvação?

Num ato de sutil e delicado amor
Ele nos outorgou a filha mais dileta:    
Maria, Virgem Santa, a Mãe do Salvador.


LEIA TAMBÉM:



segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2015

PREVISÕES SOBRE A GUERRA NA SÍRIA


Desde o final do mês de Agosto, me referi ao crescimento da crise Síria e à possibilidade do confronte entre nações estrangeiras naquele país. Afirmei que isso se daria em Setembro e que colocaria em confronto os Estados Unidos e o exército russo.
Como podem ver na imagem abaixo, passados pouco mais de 20 dias, isso já está em processo bem adiantado.

segunda-feira, 14 de setembro de 2015

WARNINGS IN OUR LADY APPEARANCES: WAR AGAINST BRAZIL AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH




In 2010, when I was in Portugal, I discovered the facts concerning the Marian apparitions in San Sebastian de Garabandal (Spain) that happened in the sixties. As in Fatima, Mary had chosen appears to children in a simple village: Conchita González, Mari Loli, Jacinta and Mari Cruz González. Catholicism crossed then a time out of the ordinary: John XXIII had convened the council would receive the name of Vatican II. The council issues seemed to indicate Catholics times of renewal and optimism. But in San Sebastian de Garabandal, the message of the Blessed Virgin served as a sobering counterpoint to the optimism of the theologians.

Many sacrifices must be made. Much penance must be done. We must be very good. If we do not do this, punishment awaits us. Already the cup is filling, and if we do not change we shall be punished, Mary said to the visionaries of Garabandal.

Our Lady warnings were intrinsically connected to previous appearances occurred in La Salette, Lourdes and Fatima. Humanity trailed too dangerous path, and the future seemed threatened. In the expressions of La Salette, the Mother of the Savior showed up especially concerned about the fate of the Church, and using quite accusatory terms called the priests of "cesspools of impurity". Since La Salette, a century almost passed until the Marian apparitions happen in Spain, and in spite of previous warnings, Our Lady warned Catholics again:

Many Cardinals, many Bishops and many Priests are on the road to perdition and with them they are bringing many souls. The Holy Eucharist is being given less importance (honor). We must avoid God's anger with us by our efforts at amendment. If we beg pardon with sincerity of soul, He will forgive us. I, your Mother, through the intercession of St. Michael the Archangel, want to tell you to amend your lives. You are already receiving one of the last warnings. I love you very much and do not want your condemnation. Ask sincerely and we will give to you. You should make more sacrifices. Think of the Passion of Jesus.

Still living in Portugal, it occurred to me the opportunity to witness on television the Pope Benedict XVI in his official visit to England. At the time, many criticized the high spending of the British government with the reception of the Supreme Pontiff. Joseph Ratzinger, a skilled theologian, was considered too traditional by the press and also by the modernists of Catholicism. Under his responsibility was a Church rocked by pedophilia scandals caused by priests. Many people accused him to have fallen silent on the shameful cases when he held the position of cardinal responsible for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith during John Paul II's pontificate. Few people, however, recalled that during the time of his own pontificate, Benedict XVI departed almost 400 priests due to scandals, undertaking an unprecedented cleaning.

Another fact was obscured: the deplorable state of the Catholic clergy had been the subject of numerous warnings of Our Lady during the recent centuries.

In 2010 the Brazilian people witnessed the presidential election. The minister of President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva (Dilma Rousseff) competed against Jose Serra of the PSDB, in an election in which pro-abortion positions Dilma Rousseff dominated discussions between militants over the internet. The national and international news defined Brazilian democracy as a success. Taking a contrary position, the philosopher and writer Olavo de Carvalho questioned the democratic character of an election largely dominated by the ideological agenda of the left parties.

In an interview with Jornal de Brasilia (31 January 2010), Olavo de Carvalho said:

What is the problem of being conservative? It's forbidden? I do not understand why the conservatives are prohibited while at the same time democratic pluralism is defended. In all countries, there are liberals and conservatives ... Brazil does not have a conservative party for a long time. In the last presidential elections, the speeches of all candidates were similar.

The philosopher presented to the public the criminal relations between the PT and the MIR terrorists and FARC's. According to Carvalho, President Lula and numerous political allies - including Fidel Castro, dictator of Cuba - dedicated to spread socialism in Latin America under the command of an international organization known as the Sao Paulo Forum. The purpose of the Forum's members was simply to regain, in the South American continent, what socialism had lost in Europe after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union. Indeed, in record time, parties affiliated to the Forum of Sao Paulo assumed the presidency of Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, Venezuela, Bolivia, Uruguay and Ecuador. Socialism became the flag of regimes whose authoritarian characteristics were more evident every day.

Even with the exposure of his pro-abortion attitude, Dilma Rousseff was elected in 2010. The debate on the subject, however, showed a burning religious dispute in Brazil. Catholic bishops and priests in temporary communion with various evangelical pastors denounced anti-Christian agenda of PT, while supporters of Marxist theologies tried to defend the candidacy of Rousseff. Surprised by the participation of religious throughout the election, the press criticized what seemed an attack on secularity of the state, and several members of the Catholic hierarchy were persecuted. Having returned from his trip to England, and then receiving a delegation of Brazilian bishops, Pope Benedict XVI reminded Catholics that the clergy had not only the right but also the duty to politically clarify the laity in such matters. This participation of the Pope did not become a determining factor in the outcome of the Brazilian elections, however, it marked a position of the pontiff, despite the victory of Dilma Rousseff.

All these events naturally evoked the Marian apparitions. Because it was undeniable that we were watching the full accomplishment of the message that Our Lady has offered to mankind during his appearances at Fatima:

To prevent this, I shall come to ask for the consecration of Russia to my Immaculate Heart, and the Communion of reparation on the First Saturdays. If my requests are heeded, Russia will be converted, and there will be peace; if not, she will spread her errors throughout the world, causing wars and persecutions of the Church. The good will be martyred; the Holy Father will have much to suffer; various nations will be annihilated. In the end, my Immaculate Heart will triumph. The Holy Father will consecrate Russia to me, and she shall be converted, and a period of peace will be granted to the world.

One of the trips made in Portugal was the visit to the shrine dedicated to Our Lady of Fatima. In 1917, Mary had come to meet another chapter of his mission. She referred then to Russia that, months later, suffered the terrible turmoil of a communist revolution. Maria indicated the enemy to be faced: communism. However, the request of the Virgin Mary was not immediately answered, and so the communist ideology has spread, partly dominating the European continent, and having also conquered parts of Asia and even in America, perpetrated a bloody persecution of Christianity. It is estimated that, overall, the socialist regimes murdered more than 100 million individuals worldwide. Therefore, messages of Our Lady of Fatima contained the truth. In the transition of the eighties to the nineties, with the collapse of the Soviet bloc, it was believed that communism was over. Many supposed experts said the capitalist West had won, except, of course, rare lucid minds that having considered the matter carefully said something different: Communism was not dead, and certainly would return with force.

The philosopher Olavo de Carvalho was just one of those rare.

I spent whole nights in Portugal reading the memoirs of Sister Lucia (the seer of Fatima) and investigating, through the internet, the other apparitions of Mary, elsewhere in the world, as one who seeks the necessary clues to unravel the mystery. I came thus to Garabandal events, and precisely those appearances that helped me understand the historical moment I was experiencing as a Catholic and Brazilian man.
Why Our Lady had appeared to four girls in San Sebastian de Garabandal?

Undoubtedly, she had come in order to alert the world about the waywardness of mankind. In addition, the Mother of God mentioned an Alert, a Miracle and Punishment. The first event will serve to awaken humans and make them understand the seriousness of sin. The second event will lead many people to conversion. If the
good results expected will not occur, and men continue treading the path of perdition, certainly there will be a punishment. Conchita González, one of the Spanish seers, secretly preserves the precise date of the Miracle that will occur in Garabandal, and undertook to announce it eight days before. We have enough time? That is the question! When these events begin to unfold?

In an interview with Albrecht Weber, Conchita González said:

“When communism comes again everything will happen.”
“What do you mean by comes again?”
“Yes, when it newly comes again,” she replied.
“Does that mean that communism will go away before that?”
“I don't know,” she said in reply, “the Blessed Virgin simply said 'when communism comes again'.”                        

Exactly what people claimed to be impossible was witnessed at that moment: the resurgence of communism in a continental region (Latin America). A historical event that undoubtedly was anticipated by Our Lady's messages, and that would cause natural and supernatural consequences.

Three years later, in 2013, living in Brazil again, I watched how socialism intensified its power in the country, without encountering any resistance from the authorities. Under the pontificate of Benedict XVI, Catholicism suffered another scandal: the Vatileaks. Pope's official documents were stolen and published, and as a traditional mystery story, the responsibility fell on the butler. Again the Church found himself facing an embarrassing situation. On February 11 of that year, surprising everyone, Benedict XVI said in Latin that in seventeen days, he would renounce the throne of St. Peter. His motivation was to retire to a life of prayer, fruitful for an intellectual who decided to offer the last years of his life to studying and writing. Many people suspected the authenticity of that waiver, assuming that Benedict XVI had ceded to pressure from the Vatican liberal groups who wanted a less conservative cardinal directing the Roman Curia. However, lacking major supporting evidence, there was only believe the words of the Pope:

... knowing well the gravity of this act, with full liberty, I declare that I renounce the ministry of the Bishop of Rome, Successor of St. Peter...

Few circumstances in Christian history were as unique as the act of resignation of a Pope. Only Ponciano, Celestino and Gregory XII had abdicated before Benedict XVI. Also surprised by the decision of Joseph Ratzinger, I evoked the apparitions of Our Lady. Could this historical occurrence have been anticipated by the Mary messages? Almost automatically I remembered the interview with Conchita Gonzalez on February 7, 1974:

Question: You have said that the Miracle of Garabandal will coincide with a great event within the Church. Did Our Lady tell you what that event will be, and can you add anything to what you have already said about this matter?
Conchita: Yes, I know what the event is. It is a singular event in the Church that happens very rarely, and has never happened in my lifetime. It is not new or stupendous, only rare, like a definition of a dogma — something like that in that it will affect the entire Church. It will happen on the same day as the Miracle, but not as a consequence of the Miracle, only coincidentally.

Benedict XVI's resignation would pave the way for the realization of those events foretold by the Mother of God in Garabandal? Certainly the fact itself entailed a number of unique circumstances: the coexistence of two individuals carrying the papal title (one active and the other away from functions); the participation of both in official ceremonies the Vatican Curia; and even the possibility of a papal funeral officiated exceptionally by a Pope. Singular situations really, but not extraordinary. Only uncommon. Shortly witnessed in the history of the Catholic Church, and that undoubtedly fell into the statement given by Conchita González in an interview.
I felt that we were entering a period of turbulence. The facts developed up quickly, and at that moment I believe few people associated the Church of the crisis, the rise of communism in Latin America and the apparitions of Our Lady at Garabandal. A day after the announcement of the resignation of Ratzinger, while I was working, I had an unusual personal experience. Through the window, I saw in the sky a strange cloud formation. I like to contemplate the sky, of course, and I notice occasional formations; however, that particular looked like a human face. His expression denoted the terror, and his eyes were directed to the heights. This caught my attention. That cloud were too enigmatic. It took two or three days so I completely understand the meaning of that experience. In the same week that Pope Benedict XVI surprised the whole world with his decision to abdicate, we watched a meteor over Russia and leaving hundreds of people injured.

The protagonists of this plot natural and supernatural were raised to the surface of events.

Another detail concerning Mary messages referring to Russia. According to seers of Garabandal, certain crucial situation would mark the beginning of those events (Warning, Miracle and Punishment), and this situation consists precisely in this: the Pope would perform an official visit to Russia. After this visit, when the Pope returned to Europe, communist revolutions arise in various nations, followed by frightening violence in Europe and also a very strong persecution directed to Christianity. Indeed, when Pope Francis was elected (Argentine Cardinal Bergoglio), almost immediately people imagine a diplomatic visit to Russia in response to a possible invitation of Russian Patriarch or perhaps Vladimir Putin. But even before this long-awaited trip, the first signs of violence have become finally visible in the year 2014. In the Middle East, Islamic groups like the Muslim Brotherhood, Al Qaeda and the ISIS initiated an inexhaustible extermination of Christians in Egypt , Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, etc. As Maria announced, the Great Tribulation assumed frightening proportions, and thus threatened to spread rapidly by other continents.

There was, therefore, clear signs in heaven and on earth.

In those months, I decided to enter the monastic life. I pondered this possibility for some time and, at thirty-six years old, I understood to be the time. I decided then join an existing community in Itapecerica da Serra, and the entrance was set for September 2014. A few weeks before departure, still at home, happened to me a dream: being within the monastery, in a wing specific, I was attacked by an aggressor. He hit my head, and I immediately collapsed. While the attacker continued hitting my head violently, I began to continuously pray the prayer of Our Lady: Hail Mary, full of grace ... I felt afraid because of the dream, but did not give up my goal: I went to the monastery. Christ told us "do not be afraid," and I accepted the advice. As soon as I got to the religious community, I tried to talk to the priest responsible for vocations. I told him the dream, admitting that might be influenced by those religious persecution that took place in the Middle East. He also agreed.

Gradually, I tried to adapt myself to the monastic routine without even belong to the community. For three months, applicants lived with the monks without using habit nor commit to the votes. On 07 October, we were staying at the abbey of Benedictine monks in the neighborhood of Morumbi (Sao Paulo). At that time, there were the first stirrings of the Synod Family, convened by Pope Francis. Much has been talked about an effort by certain circle of modernist cardinals in order to introduce the debate the possibility of communion the second marriage couples and positioning something subsided about the union between people of the same sex. Of course, the newspapers treated it as an attempt to modernize the Catholic Church. A timely aggiornamento, they said. At October 07, during the morning, postulants and candidates gathered for study. We studied a text written by Pope Benedict XVI. Certainly influenced by the news of the moment, some people made an apology of the positions taken by the liberal group of cardinals. In short, it was asserted that the Church could not keep up oblivious to social phenomena of our times. If new family models became commonplace, to them it seemed appropriate that the Roman Curia seek some pastoral adaptation. I believed to be obliged to disagree. For the meaning of Christ's message was not to adapt to the contingencies of the world and time. It was not Christ who should adapt to the men, on the contrary, is that men should seek the likeness of Christ. If we accept this transgression, we would be reversing the meaning of the Gospel. The debate was heated, and it displeased me notice how the modernist rhetoric was there quite entrenched.

On the same day, going to the cell 118 (John Paul II had been staying in the next cell, during his visit to Brazil in the eighties), I had another dream. As in the previous dream, I witnessed violence against Christians, specifically an attack on the Benedictine community of Jundiaí, whose members I knew well. One of the monks was shot in the head in that dream. Earlier, in the same dream, I watched the image of a dead family, and I concluded that this was a sign that the Synod did not follow the correct path. Dreams may seem strange to many people, and the first conclusion that readers usually get is that they are natural consequences of a fertile imagination or only the memory of circumstances related to everyday life of the individual. A dream can truly have that origin. But we also have to admit the possibility of receiving secret information through them. This is absolutely biblical, and it happened even with characters that did not enjoy even the promise of God. For example, in the case of Pharaoh, whose precognitive dreams were interpreted by Joseph. Well, later that same dream, I witnessed Catholic Church characterized as a frivolous woman. On it rested a disgrace, and this event apparently left her for dead. People who had also witnessed this situation went to the Mother, insisting that this acknowledged the death of that child. But she ignored the request. As I approached, I saw the dead church, but as it happened to him a great miracle, she raised then. She walked with difficulty, really shattered, and right now, addressing me, she said: "Everything will be broken," and I questioned, "When this will happen?", And she then replied: "On 13 November."

On 07 October, when I had the dream mentioned, the Catholic Church celebrates the feast dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary. In all his appearances around the world, the Blessed Virgin (Mother of God and Mother of the Church) has urged all people to devote ourselves to the holy prayer of the Rosary. With this form of prayer, we may fight against sin, against the advance of communism and also prevent the attacks on Christianity.

We returned to Itapecerica da Serra, and I carried with me a real anguish. It would be even appropriate to give credit to those events? If I reveal everything to the community, which is that the monks would think? If I silenced, what does God think? In the monastery garden, there is a statue of Our Lady of the Rosary. Before that
image, I used to pray, asking her to intercede constantly for my salvation. I went then to that image, and asked her to show me a sign, something that would prove if I should expose the message I received in a dream. Having gone to the room I occupied in the inn, I heard a voice intimately telling me: "She's crying." It would be a voiceover? Maybe. The truth is that I felt compelled to look again that image, and by the time I returned to the place, the sun directly focused on it. I could see in the face of the statue some brands like sweat and tears. Traces of sweat on his forehead seemed darker, and the waste of tears seemed clearer. Probably the image was already like this before, but I had not noticed because the brightness was not exactly propitious. Immediately I took photographs, and I understood it as a sign that I should give knowledge to other community members. That was my decision.

I showed the pictures to the priest responsible for the community Itapecerica da Serra, and then I referred to the 13th November: the date revealed to me in that dream. We would have new presidential elections in October, and I associated it to a revolutionary movement in Brazil. As Mary warned in Garabandal, communism would return with absolute power, and that warning was probably linked to the communist uprising. I admit that at that moment I believed that all violence would take place on November 13, though later I have stated that the most likely would be to believe that the date meant the beginning of events. Certainly many situations were condensed in dreams, and it was not really likely to happen all in one day only. Watching the pictures of that image of Our Lady of the Rosary, the leader of the local community disbelieved immediately the the miracle. He assured that the marks were only dirt, and they would paint it briefly. This disappointed me. Perhaps not even wise that priest give credit so quickly, however, the urgency with which he tried to bury it, without even investigating the case, let me a bad impression.

If I was right, I had with me information they attributed to me great responsibility. I felt I should propagate, as urgently as possible, the imminent character of events. Subsequently it succeeded yet another heated debate in study hall, and I concluded that the doctrinal differences between me and the community would arise constantly. I wanted, thus, go away for a while with the prospect of being able to return in the future to continue the vocational work. Having returned home, I put on the story at my  blog, Facebook and other communication channels, offering the public a chance to see pictures taken at the monastery. The disclosure of the facts displeased members of the monastic congregation and a few weeks later there was a request that I withdraw any mention that identify the community.

I accepted the requests, but kept the context. At that time, the text published on the blog was called: Three Dreams About Attacks on Church and Social Violence on 13 November. Dilma Rousseff was re-elected, winning Aécio Neves in a very hard election. I had left the monastery at the end of October, a few weeks before the 13th of November. I used the internet to spread the story of those experiences, claiming that that date would mean the trigger of a socialist revolution in Brazil. Few people paid attention. But on November 13, a circumstance confirmed the suspicion. In response to conservative marches took place in São Paulo at the beginning of November (after the election), The Movement of Homeless Workers convened a march precisely to the 13th of November. Hundreds of activists attended the event, and at that time was distributed the following document:

Make Brazil A Great Cuba, that is the promise of the revolutionary movement on 13 November. In the document, we read the following:

"All the reforms will only be possible with a true socialist revolution ..." and we read also: "A revolution in Brazil immediately put the huge Brazilian proletariat at the forefront of continental revolution ..."

During all these events, I felt sincerely that the devotion to Mary raged in me. However, this does not sufficiently answer another nagging question: Why did God deigned to show me (a single person devoid of means) what would be most convenient offer to another individual with the greatest virtues or possibilities of action? Again the heart is filled with grief. I was not being flippant or even proud? I would not be the victim of some diabolical deception? I plunged into a state of deep concern, and at one point even tried to censor me for giving credit to many phenomena. The Garabandal seers also came to deny the reality of what happened in a given circumstance, regaining its self-confidence later. Something similar happened to me. I lost my spiritual tranquility when put in doubt the phenomena, and only when the flame of faith has been rekindled, I had tranquility again.

Then the dreams continued. One of them showed me the dark dimension of social violence that would befall our nation. The Revolution was symbolized by a serpent of mythical dimensions. People hid in their homes for fear, and because of the despair many of them decided by the suicide. In the Catholic Church, it became more and more difficult the situation of individuals traditionalists, and some were expelled from their premises. It seemed a dip in a state of unprecedented social chaos. I took knowledge, in those days, that in the thirties, Mary did special appearances in Brazil. First on August 6, 1936, in Pernambuco, she appeared to two call girls Maria da Luz and Maria da Conceição.

Our Lady gave the warning:

My daughters, come calamitous times for Brazil! So, tell all the people that are approaching three major punishments, if you do a lot of penance and prayer.

A Catholic priest at the request of a diocesan bishop, formulated questions that should be presented to Our Lady:

Say who you are and what you wish? - "I am the Mother of Grace and I come to warn people approaching three major punishments".
What does the blood of your hands? - "Represents the blood that will be spilled in Brazil."
What is needed to divert the punishment? - "Penance and prayer."
What reliance on this appearance? - "Of Graces."
Which means the blood that flows out of your hand? - "The blood that will flood Brazil."
Comes communism to penetrate the Brazil? - "Yes".
All over the country? - "Yes".
Priests and bishops will suffer a lot? - "Yes".
It will be like in Spain? - "Almost".
What are the devotions which should practice to ward off these evils? - "At the heart of Jesus and mine."

Everything became clear. Our nation and our people unfortunately are heading towards a communist revolution, as announced by Maria in 1936 and as reaffirmed by it in Garabandal.

Another dream occurred in this period caused me concern. Near the borders of Brazil, a foreign army (US probably) watched the upsurge in violence in Brazil and hesitated between intervene directly or not. In another dream, I saw modern military aircraft flying over the Brazilian territory, and concluded, sadly, that the revolution certainly had turned into a civil war, with the need for foreign interference. So, this was a war! This would have some basis? Again, I would not be a victim of my own imagination?
From 11 to 13 June 2015, the Workers' Party organized its 5th National Congress. In recent weeks, his correlegionários Theses issued a notebook whose title more than suggestive is none other than precisely that now follows that: A Party To Time of War. Here the thesis that will be defended at this congress:

The forfeiture of Jair Bolsonaro (deputy) only have a chance of success if there is intense social pressure (p 30).

Cancellation of Privatization! Do not Pay Debt! Outside government capitalists! (158 pg)

Require publicly and fight for the impeachment of the ministers of the Supreme Court who voted for the farce of the AP 470, the immediate release and cancellation of the award of the leaders of the PT. (160 pg)

Nationalize Globo, which is public concession and open it for social movements! [...] Nationalize all networks, TVs and radios RELIGIOUS, CONFESSION OF ANY. (160 pg)

Taxing large fortunes and create a new constitution.

All theses defended represent the advance of the revolutionary movement in Brazil, and have been put in practice in other socialist governments in Latin America. For example, in Venezuela of Chavez and Maduro. Today we witness the emergence of a firm right-wing opposition taking to the streets in greater numbers than the leftist demonstrations. On March 15, 2015, two million called for the impeachment of Dilma Rousseff, and the request has conquered political supporters as is the case of Senator Ronaldo Caiado (Dem-GO). In this scenario of growing opposition, it is permissible to assume that the Socialists choose the path of violence. For this, Lula has called the "Stedile army," and we know information about the entry of Cuban and Venezuelan military in Brazil in stealth mode. One of the ministers of Venezuela, Elias Jaua Milano, signed a cooperation and training agreement between his socialist government and the Landless Workers' Movement (MST). Then we can clearly discern the letters arranged on the table: the Our Lady warnings are close to becoming reality in Brazil.

ON THE WARNING OF GARABANDAL

It would be too reckless to guess the date of Garabandal warning. We know, however, certain information about him. First, as I said earlier, will be preceded by the visit of Pope (Francisco) to Russia and following that, there will communist revolutions in various nations, social violence in Europe and persecutions of the Church. But what the nature of the warning? We have some information?

Here's what they say about the seer Warning:

As for the warning, early references dating from January 1, 1965. On this day, Conchita was alone in the pines, when the Virgin told him to give one last message to the world, which would end the cycle of Garabandal. Then sent a particular message, which she promptly informed the priest Laffineur. It says:

"Notice that the Virgin will give us is the way of punishment for bringing the good closer to God and to warn others. What is the warning, I can not reveal. The Virgin asked me to keep secret. May God that, by this Notice, the amended and commit more sins against him. "
"It will cause deaths?" - Asked him written Laffineur.
"If we die" - was the answer, "not because of the warning itself, but by emotion we have to see it and feel it."
"Simple words, clear and very accurate" - Laffineur said. "They should suffice, as they should have been enough to Sister Lucia, Fatima, when, in 1938, wrote to his bishop:" I believe that what we call the aurora borealis is just the signal that the Virgin gave me that the prophesied events are coming. "Such events have made more than 26 million dead."
On the nature of the Notice, we still have this explanation of his aunt Conchita Maximina, which she later recorded in writing: "He told me that one day we would suffer a horrible disaster. In all parts of the world. No one will escape. Good for be closer to God, others, to make amends. It would be better to die than to endure for five minutes to go, what to expect. "
"Since its implementation will be a new source of credibility, announce it and reseat it is all the more fraternal solicitude that we can have toward the world," advises Father Laffineur.
"If I did not know the punishment that is to come" - Conchita continues, explaining to the young Angelita - "I would say that there is no punishment greater than the warning. But it will last a very short time."
"It will be horrible in its highest degree" - further explains. "Oh, if I could tell it to you all as the Virgin told me to me! It is a fruit of our sins. Can be produced from one moment to another, I hope you all day. If they knew what is, would be horrified. "
"Why not make it public to know that all who come here?" - Asks someone.
"I'm tired of saying, if nobody does."
Days later, back to the point:
"Conchita, since I made ​​these confessions, I often think in heaven."
"Me too" - answers the seer. "Especially when I go to bed. I'm afraid that happens overnight. We do not realize the extent to which offend the Lord. The Virgin told me that everyone knows of the existence of hell and heaven. But think it only out of fear rather than love of God. On account of our sins, we ourselves because of the nature of the notice. "
Other explanations found in the responses to a questionnaire of 14 September 1965:
"The Warning is something that comes directly from God. It will be visible worldwide, regardless of where someone is located. It will be like the revelation (inside each one) of our sins. Seeing it and will feel both believers and nonbelievers of all countries. " And more: "It's like a purification for the Miracle. It's like a catastrophe. It will cause us to think in the dead, that is, we prefer to be dead to suffer the Avis".
When the effects on the heart of each one, Conchita said: "The correction notice will be an awareness of the world ... The Lord will send it to purify us, so we can better appreciate the miracle by which he proved to us clearly or am his. "
One lady, after hearing the explanations of Conchita remarked:
"We know that is approaching the Earth a comet. Is not this Notice?"
"I do not know what a comet. But if it is something that depends on the will of men, no. If, however, depends on God, is possible."
"We went towards the church" - goes the lady - and Conchita took me by the arm."I said to him:"
"Conchita, pray for me, I'm afraid, very afraid."
"Yes, the warning is terrible! Thousand times worse than earthquakes."
You pales.
"What is the nature of the warning?" - Question.
"It will be like fire. Do not burn our flesh, but the feel in body and spirit. All nations and all people will feel the same way. No one will escape. And even unbelievers know the fear of God. Even if you goals at home and close the door and shutters, not escape, you'll feel and see, though. Yes, it is true that the Virgin told me the name of the phenomenon. This name appears in the dictionary. begins with A. But asked me not to reveal. "
Conchita, I'm so scared!
Smiling, she took her friend by the arm:
"Yes, but after the warning, you will love God more."
A complementary aspect of the statements is provided by Conchita Jacinta, in February 1976: "The Warning is of very short duration, a few minutes, but this soon will become tremendously long, the pain we cause ... come upon us like a fire from heaven, that will resonate deeply within each one. In this light we see very clearly the state of our consciousness, we'll see what God means to lose, feel the purifying action of a flame burning. In short, is like going through the court still in private life, the intimacy of each one. "

I confess that I also had some repeated dreams about the horrible fall of an asteroid. In these dreams, I do not see the spiritual effects reported by the Garabandal visionaries. Only what I witness is the expectation of all individuals, the route that asteroid heading toward the ocean and a specific date that is symbolically expressed in all dream experiences: December 18. On that date we celebrate Our Lady and the expectation of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are close to the Son of God Nativity! Perhaps these dreams are connected to Warning. I do not assert peremptorily in this moment. Regarding the year, I believe not be as incorrect as well assign higher probabilities to 2018.


If I am mistaken with regard to all these forecasts referred to above, may God have mercy, and Mary Immaculate continually intercede for all of us.

sexta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2015

PREVIEW: O EVANGELHO DOS LOUCOS (1º CAPÍTULO)


Roço o semblante na camada de umidade que recobre a superfície da janela. O frio áspero embaçando o vidro enregela-me. O provável é deduzir que as temperaturas hostis tenham origem no exterior, sejam a consequência das frentes costumeiras, o habitual desta estação. Eis a conclusão lógica. Mas também julgo possível – e por que não? – trazer comigo esse inverno, dispersando-o por todas as coisas, manchando com seu tom acinzentado a realidade inteira. Estou agora aprisionado – há tempos é a única certeza. Cela de uma Sibéria dostoievskiana, carecendo somente das paisagens brancas e inóspitas. Olho esta janela, as paredes do apartamento, os livros encarando-me zombeteiros, o portãozinho do jardim, e desconfio. Talvez o meu cárcere não tenha, de fato, consistência material. Talvez sejam devaneios e sentimentos me enclausurando. E por isso – precisamente por isso – a nitidez das formas e do colorido no mundo vai-se tornando mais e mais indistinguível, vai-se transformando na massa caótica e descolorida. Espreito a rua à frente do edifício e a ausência de movimentos constrange-me. Tudo me parece apático agora, como se a existência houvesse mergulhado numa espécie de lamaçal. Silêncio no corredor, e há tempos! O entregador de jornais, o pandemônio das crianças do primeiro andar, o resmungar enfadonho do senhorio, tudo calado. O senhorio costumava subir e entregar-me a correspondência pessoalmente. Sequer isso agora.
Sibilantes, revolvendo a sujeira na sarjeta, os ventos oceânicos chicoteiam e rodopiam folhas numa dança improvisada. Enroscam-se depois em árvores imensas, balançando o esqueleto desnudo, despejando o líquido armazenado. Sobre o calçamento, arrepiam-se poças d'água. O céu com nuvens chumbadas tem a mesma aparência das semanas anteriores.
Mas os tempos de criança... Os tempos de criança eram diferentes, sem dúvida. Ao menos naquela manhã dominical: fantasias coloridas e brilhantes ao som dos tambores. Coisa antiga! Circo desfilando na rua da gente, a mãe surpreendeu-se. O barulho do espetáculo inesperado arrancou-me da cama, atraindo-me ao parapeito da janela. Corpo espichado, o menino ia ao limite, só conseguindo ver arcos vermelhos e amarelos riscando o ar. Vamos à varanda, filho, de lá se assiste melhor, soerguendo-me, o pai equilibrou-me nos ombros. Os palhaços eram verdadeiras aquarelas, e montada sobre o elefante, a trapezista lançava folhetos à plateia. Vivo, o mundo palpitava com empolgação naquele instante. Calei os risos e os gritos minutos depois e, pousando a mão nos ombros paternos, segurei-os com firmeza ao ver como os raios flamejantes dos pirotecnistas rasgavam o espaço.
Hoje... Hoje só apatia.              
O maço de papéis em branco sobre a escrivaninha é o mais terrível silêncio. Se o transcorrer do tempo nos limites desse apartamento consiste apenas em esboçar círculos no assoalho, aceito-o, evitando admitir a prova definitiva do fracasso. À frente da estante, paro e observo os livros lá dispostos. Sei que o calhamaço também me observa com semelhante insistência – censura estagnada! – eternamente no canto do cômodo. Que sentido, sem o escritor? Se ele voltasse… Oito meses no exílio, alheio à literatura. Quase sempre os escritores terminam exilados – gente pouco compreendida. Gente indesejada, isto é que sim! O russo Dostoievski padecendo no cárcere da Sibéria, o húngaro Sándor Márai imergindo no anonimato de San Diego, e em Paris, Julio Cortázar fugindo da ditadura argentina. O degredo em Paris não deve ser assim tão tenebroso. Outro escritor, aquele denunciado pelo calhamaço, suponho ter-se exilado de si mesmo. Toco a lombada dos livros, simulando qualquer interesse, e disfarçando-me. A correspondência da última editora fora entregue pelo senhorio: Sua obra não se enquadra em nossa linha editorial… O texto reproduzia a justificativa tão conhecida, sempre encontrada nas mensagens anteriores. Rejeitado, o escritor abandonou-me. Que sou? Sua sombra descosturada.
Rápido, escolho o livro sem conferir o título, e depois me sento à poltrona. Sigo as letras miudinhas de modo automático, sequer me atentando ao significado. O espectro do fracasso teima, perscrutando-me. Se eu lhe aspergisse água benta, se usasse os ritos de exorcismo... Mas não sou padre. Concentro-me. Eis a história de um lobo, ou melhor, de um homem. Ambos provavelmente. Já recordo o tema, obra de suma importância sobre o homem-lobo que não consegue estar contente consigo e com sua própria vida. Saíra daquele romance, anos antes, completamente chocado. Olhos vivificados, tudo vibrava! O mundo se transformara ou seria eu a metamorfose? Quisera despertar as mesmas sensações agora. Contudo, aquelas palavras desfiam-se friamente, sentenças tumulares, bem diferentes da primeira experiência: ebulição vulcânica. O mamífero, o socialmente deslocado, metade bicho e metade humano, ressoa seu uivo nos limites exasperantes do cárcere.
O torpor. Ouço, à distância, o barulho seco do livro tombando ao assoalho, depois de escorregar-me das mãos. Sono abismal, sono dos séculos acumulado, sono entontecendo a consciência. Sequer distingo o mobiliário, já encoberto sob a escuridão crepuscular. Confundo-me, não sabendo se velo ou durmo, e culpo o cansaço. Se não me exercito no interior do apartamento, se há tempos raramente saio à cidade, se conheço somente essa hibernação sem data terminal, como explicar o cansaço? Oh, sei perfeitamente, a voz interior diz-me, repetida: o necessário é romper o casulo, tornar à vida cotidiana, aos lugares de sempre. Às vezes, ela quase chega a inspirar-me a iniciativa do movimento, libertando-me da coleira. Quem sabe agora mesmo... Mas, então, o torpor recrudesce e caio no sono.
Só desperto tendo a noite estabelecido fronteiras. Talvez seja o breu dos cômodos ou esse estado de semiconsciência, o fato é que não me reconheço ali, sentado à poltrona. Móveis ou espectros observam-me, inertes e silenciosos, sob o tecido noturno. Sem aviso, constatação repentina e até mesmo natural, ocorre-me sentir fome. Erguer-me resoluto, vestir roupas decentes, sair em busca de comida! Sim, convém. O dia evaporou-se à semelhança dos anteriores, e eu naquele apartamento, sem alimentos na dispensa. Sou agora compelido, não me sobra escolha: eis o impulso! Por ora quase me constrange. Os minutos escorrem, e respiro inerme como bicho exausto.
Sobe a escadaria do edifício fazendo ranger a madeira. Conheço perfeitamente o hábito dos moradores, o modo como sobem e descem, arrastados ou afoitos. O que agora ascende, no entanto, não consigo reconhecer. Um novo inquilino, provavelmente. Atento-me ao ritmo da passada. Sem pressa – mas não tão vagaroso assim – caminha com segurança. O som interrompe-se no corredor à frente do apartamento, e suspendo a respiração, durante todo o tempo, receoso pelo desfecho. São batidas firmes. Especificamente três, o tempo de meio segundo separando-as, e depois o silêncio da espera. Sinto-me desnorteado com a situação. As visitas foram canceladas, abolidas completamente, e eu nem sequer imagino quem, no corredor, empertiga-se diante da porta. Metido naquela poltrona, evito qualquer barulho que me denuncie ao visitante. Se for conhecido do escritor, membro do círculo social de períodos passados, confesso não me interessar. Conto, ansioso, a passagem dos minutos. Com semelhante tranquilidade, a visita noturna afasta-se, descendo a escadaria. Chego a ouvi-la distanciando-se, o barulho dos sapatos no calçamento. Só me levanto vinte minutos mais tarde, livre de qualquer receio. Trajo-me distraído, sem dar muita importância ao desleixo das vestes, à falta de elegância. Preocupa-me apenas agasalhar bem o corpo, proteger-me do inverno.
São raros os transeuntes e pouco lhes enxergo as feições, sempre escondidos sob o capuz. Mas se acaso eu os reconhecesse, talvez por tê-los visto em livrarias ou restaurantes ­– sim, é óbvio, isso antes da clausura – sei que evitaria o contato. Cruzo, acelerado, recolhendo-me com o semblante baixo, a marcha em precipitação. Tranquilizo-me somente quando, no momento seguinte, o ruído da passada evola distante. Sob as marquises, aninhada junto a fachadas, há outro tipo de gente. Sempre tiritante, cobre-se com mantas andrajosas, o corpo escondido como bicho na toca. São criaturas de outra realidade. Olho-as e, diferente do habitual, não me incomodam, não me obrigam à fuga desesperada. Se se erguessem e me encarassem com a verdade, certo que não me perturbavam. Ora, talvez só esteja dizendo isso por saber que não se levantarão. Mas se o fizessem, creio que me afeiçoava a seu estado miserável.
Os que me causam repugnância são outros, e posso reconhecê-los devido às bocarras escancaradas. Vou pelas calçadas e, no caminho, vejo-os acotovelando-se nos bares. Comprimidos na multidão de troncos, braços e pernas, o rosto afogueado por conta do álcool e da euforia, tudo insuportavelmente misturado no mesmo ambiente fumacento. Fujo. O chilrear das vozes e o retumbar da música, mesmo assim, alcançam-me, colando-se ao corpo, atravessando os poros, infectando-me intimamente. Nojo. E depois o impulso quase instintivo da fuga, o desejo de arremeter-me, encontrando refúgio em algum beco malcheiroso. Ergo o zíper do blusão, em seguida mãos nos bolsos, o dorso arqueado, blindando-me contra o vento e a sensação de repugnância.
Os passos vacilam, a cabeça começa a latejar: sintomas do organismo enfraquecido. Se o corpo padece é devido à clausura. E conquanto a melancolia obscureça os sabores, ainda que comer tenha-se tornado ato mecânico desprovido de qualquer satisfação, compreendo que o jejum corrói-me como traça silenciosa: alimentar-me é questão de sobrevivência. Do apartamento ao restaurante, quarenta minutos – a distância vencida com certo sacrifício. Carne com batatas no cardápio, preço aceitável, e o mais importante: risco mínimo de ser reconhecido. Por lá, somente trabalhadores da região, a mesma gente carrancuda de sempre, comendo de modo vagaroso, os olhos postos no televisor.          
– Sem carne com batatas? Que droga é essa? – exaspero-me.
– Pois então, o senhor veja, o pobre do cozinheiro adoeceu. Misericórdia, como sofre aquele sujeito! Úlceras, dá para acreditar? O coitadinho vive internado, semana sim, semana não – lamenta o garçom, sinceramente compungido, e supondo-me interessado pelo estado clínico do cozinheiro. – Mas é claro que, o senhor querendo, sempre se consegue requentar a sopa do almoço.
– No almoço, então, houve sopa.
– Sopa de espinafre. E também servimos feijoada, espaguete e bife à parmegiana. Foi só depois do almoço que o cozinheiro reclamou das dores – explica.
– Sei. 
– A sopa é uma delícia, pode crer.
– Você provou? – indago, com desconfiança.
– Não, mas a sopa do cozinheiro tem boa saída.
– Que seja.               
O garçom afasta-se com a indolência que lhe parece peculiar. Suspiro, desalentado. Depois concluo que contrariedades desse tipo pouco me favorecem, afinal de contas, o estado abúlico no qual chafurdo torna absolutamente indiscernível o sabor da carne ou o do espinafre.
O mau gosto da decoração é tão desagradável que não consigo acostumar-me. Como combinar o amarelo desbotado das mesas com os azulejos de tom carregado? Se ocorresse ao restaurante ser demolido, azulejos com gravuras assim antiquadas calhariam bem a algum museu. Mesmo essa dissonância de colorações não me desgosta tanto quanto as cortinas de tirinhas plásticas. Separa o salão da cozinha, e sou sempre obrigado a vê-la oscilando à passagem dos funcionários. Oh, e não me esqueço dos ícones religiosos mal traçados, ofensivos e degradantes, verdadeira afronta à estética da arte sacra – uma agressão às vistas! Mas a verdade é que, a despeito dessas contrariedades, nada me impede de atravessar dois bairros, ainda que trêmulo. Cafés mais agradáveis talvez me recebessem com decoração modernosa, com jornais e revistas estrangeiras à disposição, e com a mentira de um público culto e sofisticado. E não é esse, então, o motivo da fuga? O estabelecimento de estilo desconjuntado dá-me a chance de estar misturado à multidão de anônimos e proscritos.
Gente semelhante à mulher da bolsa de couro. Bebe seu copo de cerveja solitário, hábito noturno após o trabalho, sorriso pintado de roxo, cabelos grisalhos sobrepondo-se à cor da tintura. O gole final sempre guardado. Os tempos de espera verdadeira, de reais expectativas esgotaram-se, e sabe não ser possível ressuscitá-los. Hoje a hora passada no restaurante é somente a mesma hora passada no restaurante. Se houve anseios de vida veloz, esperança de reviravoltas repentinas, tudo se encontra sepultado. Os exércitos não mais invadirão a cidade, o cavaleiro impetuoso não irromperá à porta com olhos faiscantes. Resta-lhe só essa tensão do copo meio vazio. Sabe, no entanto, ser absolutamente necessário conservá-lo assim. Já não se dedica aos planos e, entretanto, quer conservar alguma coisa.
O casal sentado próximo à porta tem os copos cheios até a borda, mas a bebida já se encontra provavelmente morna. Semblante de expressão concentrada, o marido dedica-se a anotar numa caderneta, contabilizando talvez. Franze a testa e, às vezes, irritadiço, rasga páginas inteiras, recomeçando os cálculos em seguida. Sempre que o fato se repete, a mulher tem por hábito fixá-lo com olhos apreensivos, não porque lhe preocupe o resultado das somas e das divisões – os resultados são mensalmente os mesmos –, e sim por almejar outra espécie de linguagem menos numérica. Seu suspiro meio desistente é quase imperceptível. E se ela o interrompesse, e se gritasse, e se o mundo inteiro fosse sacudido? No entanto, automóveis riscam o asfalto à frente do restaurante, e os olhos daquela mulher optam por segui-los. Vão-se perdendo agora, longínquos, entre clarões amarelos e vermelhos.
De retorno, o garçom serve-me a refeição e bom apetite.  Sopa fumacenta aumentando a fome. Chego a supor, por apenas um instante, ser possível recobrar a satisfação das coisas pequenas. Provo e novamente só experimento o gosto asqueroso e envelhecido. Desde que ele, o escritor, safou-se desenganado, é só isso o que experimento.
– Sobremesa? – quer saber o garçom, enquanto os pratos do jantar são retirados.
– Não, obrigado.             
– Trago já o cafezinho.
– Sem café por hoje. Só a conta. 
– Mas o cafezinho foi pago por aquele senhor.
– Do que você está falando?
– Falo daquele senhor… O de terno elegante. Pensei que os dois se conhecessem – o garçom parece confuso, observando com insistência certo biombo disposto nos fundos do restaurante. – Foi ele que me chamou. Ele me disse que ia te pagar o café.
É a primeira vez que vejo aquele biombo no restaurante.    Nas visitas anteriores, o mesmo espaço estivera vazio. Observo-o, admirando seu aspecto refinado, os desenhos em estilo oriental realçando-se sobre o fundo branco. Difícil não perceber o quanto sua sofisticação destoa de um ambiente tão prosaico. À meia luz, o biombo é o recanto da distinção.
Vejo somente parte do corpo e a silhueta projetada sobre a armação do tabique. Por ter escolhido especificamente aquele local, suponho que lhe agrade ser reservado. Como os demais clientes do salão, também acomodado à mesa. Só lhe consigo observar as pernas cruzadas, e a mão direita que ocasionalmente repousa sobre o joelho. É fumante, de fato. Percebo isso acompanhando a brasa do cigarro a ziguezaguear. No mais, apenas especulação. O garçom retorna, trazendo o cafezinho. Hesito. Se a sombra atrás do biombo pertencer a algum conhecido será surpreendente e constrangedor. Vou ao restaurante porque ali imagino esconder-me dos velhos companheiros do escritor, a gente que costumava cumprimentá-lo outrora. Contudo, se mesmo no subúrbio tropeçamos uns nos outros… Talvez o conveniente seja ir até sua mesa interpelá-lo, confrontar-lhe as intenções. Mas receio. O café à minha frente exala um aroma cativante e, talvez querendo encorajar-me, a sombra atrás do biombo parece também sorver de uma chávena.
O sabor é forte e agradável ao paladar. Causa-me, além da satisfação física – bastante rara ultimamente –, a sensação de aquecer-me as entranhas. Considerando as semanas anteriores, supunha o mesmo gosto insosso colando-se à saliva, a mesma decepção, a certeza de estar aquém da realidade, de não tê-la como coisa tangível. A grata surpresa deste café me desperta, vivificando-me durante alguns momentos.
Ele se levanta por trás do biombo. Mãos vasculhando os bolsos, o dinheiro lançado ao pires displicentemente. Em seguida, dois passos para o lado. Enfim consigo vê-lo. Confere com atenção o asseio das vestimentas: paletó branco, perfeita combinação com os cabelos da mesma tonalidade. Sinto-me, de algum modo, aliviado por não conhecê-lo. Certamente não o vira frequentando o velho círculo de amizades do escritor, nem tampouco é figura corriqueira deste subúrbio. O que me parece, a bem da verdade, é ter fugido de algum longa-metragem das antigas, década de trinta ou quarenta provavelmente. O típico cidadão europeu daquele período, portando chapéu e bengala, o fumo constantemente à mão. Concedo-lhe, a princípio, cinquenta anos, mas é possível que a distância torne o cálculo enganoso. Com bastante naturalidade, o sujeito atravessa o restaurante, dando a qualquer expectador atento a impressão de contraste: não combina com a vulgaridade do ambiente. À saída, só então é que me encara, bosquejando um aceno amistoso.
Mas que tipo original! Convém ao cinema ou até mesmo à literatura; porém, demasiadamente anacrônico para os tempos modernos. Inclusive nesta metrópole acostumada às diferenças, às tribos urbanas, aquele indivíduo ultrapassa os limites da excentricidade. Saio do café em seguida, avistando-o à distância de alguns quarteirões. Curioso o modo como trafega através das calçadas do subúrbio. Ruas e avenidas de aspecto deprimente, como é habitual, com fuligem borrando fachadas, com imundícies acumulando-se nas sarjetas. Tudo se mantém à margem, porque aquele sujeito segue impecável, sem se interromper.
A cadência da passada é harmônica, repetindo-se de maneira quase matemática, ecoando noite adentro. Por cautela, conservo a distância de cinquenta metros. Que espécie de atração ou curiosidade é a que me instiga a segui-lo, isso eu não compreendo. Talvez o café oferecido no restaurante, a satisfação do sabor assim readquirido, ou mesmo a simpatia comum despertada por aquilo que é novo e diferente. Certo é que o cicerone segue desbravando à frente, sem hesitação, conhecedor exímio do caminho. Os bairros que cruzamos, os viadutos que ascendemos e descemos, as vias ignoradas por onde adentramos, sobre tudo desaba a neblina característica das horas noturnas. Ela se aconchega entre as habitações como invólucro ou cortina de algum teatro enigmático, chegando sempre nos primórdios da madrugada. Interpõe-se entre olhos e fachadas, entre aquilo que sou e a realidade palpável.
Mal lhe consigo divisar a silhueta. Vejo somente sua figura trêmula, a definição das formas perdendo-se na brancura da neblina, como se flutuasse. Mesmo ignorando nosso paradeiro, sigo naquela mesma direção. Escuto seus passos ainda por alguns minutos, e, instantes depois, o silêncio. Interrompo também a caminhada. O sujeito decerto percebeu estar sendo seguido, concluo, e talvez me ataque violentamente agora, rasgando-me com a lâmina do seu punhal. Grande azar – ou imprudência – ser atraído àquela zona por um homicida lunático. Os jornais de amanhã estamparão meu retrato nas manchetes, rotulando-me como a nova vítima do maníaco da madrugada – tal ideia faz com que me sinta profundamente envergonhado.
Úmido e compacto, o nevoeiro engolfa-nos completamente, tornando impossível ver, a partir deste momento, até mesmo a cor dos sapatos. Se o tal sujeito encontra-se parado logo à frente, se é um assassino, se outra coisa qualquer, a resposta permanece para além da neblina. Conheço desta cidade inclusive os lugares afastados e, não obstante, o esforço para localizar-me na região resulta inútil. O que há é somente a capa esbranquiçada, anônima, e o mistério por trás da serração. Este silêncio terrível, claro, resta-me também. Sutilmente sopra sobre mim o ar morno de uma viração – como brisa campestre, julgo –, diversa dos ventos da madrugada. Que é isso? Não, talvez esteja enlouquecendo! O fenômeno repete-se, e tenho novamente aquela impressão: diz o meu nome. São letras emboladas num murmúrio; porém, perceptíveis o suficiente. Sinto-me atraído ao interior da neblina; em contrapartida, controlo os membros rebeldes, decretando a imprudência radical do ato. É o medo. Medo e atração confabulam, discordantes. Seguir em frente... Recuar... Adensando-se, o nevoeiro já se torna quase um cárcere palpável. Uns passos apenas, e o mistério à espera! No entanto, percorre-me um arrepio de alto a baixo, e, meia volta, acabo tateando o caminho de regresso.


Gabriel Santamaria é autor de O Evangelho dos Loucos (romance), No Tempo dos Segredos (romance), Assim Morre a Inocência (contos), Destino Navegante (Poemas), Para Ler no Caminho (Mensagens e Crônicas).