There is a tension that precedes moments known to be “important” that not only disturbs the mental balance, but accentuates the propensity to sudden and radical acts. It is as if this apprehension displaces discernment and puts the mind in a state of alertness that resembles that of the soldier on the battlefield, always on the verge of a violent impulse. So that besides it is just being cautious when experiencing it, more important is attention to, noticing it in other people, not being stupid enough to trigger it.
Traditions and Crisis
It has already been wisely noted that in times of crisis a nation has no choice but to cling to the past. In the despair of uncertainty thrown open by the crisis, tradition emerges as a safe haven, and thus it is overcome all the more easily the more solid a people’s past is, the more ingrained and present it is in the present stage. From this it is evident that there are more and less vulnerable nations; it is impressive, however, when we notice that the so-called less vulnerable ones, even for a short period, become the negation of what they have always been, seeming to break the historical link that defines them. We automatically think: and then, what will it be? But it is curious to note that, more often than not, due to conjunctures that perhaps escape our reasoning, the traditions—always them—appear reinvigorated, and end up as saviors of a future that seemed to be summarized in chaos.
There Is Nothing More Ridiculous Than the Importation of Cultural Garbage…
In the contemporary West, there is nothing more ridiculous than the importation of cultural garbage produced by the United States by countries that, in doing so, humiliate their own tradition. Henry Adams correctly predicted that nothing good could be expected from a rising civilization that has been denied a decent cultural-historical basis. And there it is… All the nonsense conceived in America, with the impressive speed of the digital age, is instantly exported to the rest of the West, which seems to delight in this vexing packaging of an English corrupted by the absence of British tradition. As for Brazil, it is better not to say.
A Whole Year to Weave a Handful of Verses!
A whole year to weave a handful of verses! And I still have not finished them… The sensation is of an unacceptable slowness for someone who has in his own work the raison d’être. It bothers, and bothers a lot, this tortoise-like productivity, when at the same time the ideas seem desperate, banging on the bars of a cage, clamoring for release. They want to flood the papers immediately, as I also want to, but I do not let go of the prudent recommendation of “one job at a time”. There is no way to ignore the possibility of an immediate death: should such a scenario come true, there would remain, to a much greater extent than the very few verses I have composed, a disorganized and almost incomprehensible jumble of notes.