Arquivo de philosophy | Page 114 of 116

Nature…

I am not a nature enthusiast. (Stones!) I know that for many — all? — the word nature inspires a silent, pure landscape like a fresh fountain lying down in the quiet rustle of trees under the gentle movement of the waters. Not to me. When I think of nature, my mind associates — and does not ask me for permission! — first, to the image of a closed forest; then, to the sensation of my lungs being inflated with fresh air and, abruptly, I hear an unbearable buzz of mosquitoes, which turns into the aggressive hiss of a rattlesnake. Scared, I feel a shiver. Yes, yes: my house is pollution and ash.

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The Wisdom of the Ecclesiastes

I could say a lot of things about the Ecclesiastes; today, I say this: by gathering the good humor to what this biblical book teaches, one finds lightness in life, or, in other words, maturity is reached.

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About Self-Help Books

There are some things I find impossible, for example, Donald Trump dressed as Buddha at a carnival party. Another: an author of self-help with a Dostoevsky book in his hands. And not only Dostoevsky but Shakespeare too: writing self-help to someone who read Shakespeare is an absolute impossibility. I could continue extending the list of authors, but summary: the classics; no self-help author read the classics. And why is it so obvious? Because there is a total incompatibility between what is in the classics and what is found in self-help books. I reflect: there is an intellectual heritage transmitted through the centuries that must be respected and absorbed by someone who intends to teach lessons to others. If we still talk about Shakespeare, it is because there is something valuable, perennial, common to all mankind in Shakespeare. And I would even say that for someone who wants to know the human being at all or be minimally cultured, the classics are indispensable. I repeat, therefore, in my obsession: ten works, no more; I doubt that any self-help author has read ten works either between Shakespeare and Dostoevsky. Could the author understand nothing? I do not think so. Could the author see easy money in self-help? Maybe… But I feel free to be bold and generalize: a self-help book is not intellectually relevant — I am sorry, but it is not.

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The Substance of These Lines

I throw these notes like I am smoking, and my pleasure is nothing but seeing them get lost in the air. To me, the grace to write seems to know the uselessness of words, knowing that they dissolve and fly. There is in art, however, something noble: the renunciation of life. Hitting the keyboard I abstain myself from the boredom of living, in genuine and utter disinterest. Life can not offer me nothing, and I hope nothing from it. I joke about the phrases, alternating the placement of words, thinking about images and laughing when talking to the computer. Beyond the window, the world proceeds as usual. But the world does not instill me but revulsion. I therefore take refuge here as in a cave, a retreat, where I find grace saying in silence, to no one, far from the unbearable rumor of life. I know I am building sand castles, but there is the substance that permeates these lines: disinterest.

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