Som lo que som.

7 Aug

Avui m’he despert pensant… que estava tot pensat! He imaginat que tot el que estava passant ja estava preparat prèviament. Això m’ha agobiat. I molt. Era com si tot estigués encadenat. He conspirat contra el destí. He analitzat tot el que m’està passant. I he fet una hipòtesi. Aquesta ha consistit en explicar i justificar el que tenc i el que faig. M’he posat en la situació de que jo estava malalta. I que la gent feia les coses que fa per jo per pena. O pel poc temps que em pogués quedar. És heavy pensar això. Tenc una feina perque l’empresa té llàstima de mi. Tenc una família que me cuida extramadament perque m’estima i vol que estigui lo millor possible. Tenc amics que cada dia m’ajuden. Tenc un al.lot que s’esforça pels bé dels dos. Etc…
Doncs, m’he permès el luxe de ser egocèntrica avui. I imaginar que tot això ho fan per mi. Fins arribar al punt de que tot es mou per mi. I en certa manera és cert. Al meu voltant es mouen per mi. Però no es pot pensar tal i com ho he plantejat. Cal pensar que som afortunada. I que tenc el que tenc perquè he lluitat i he fet feina per aconseguir-ho. Així doncs, afirm que NO crec amb el destí. No crec que tot estigui escrit. Pens que els fets son conseqüències de altres fets que a vegades son coherents. Altres no. No tendria sentit que algú ens manipulés des d’allà d’alt. Ni des d’aquí baix… Som lo que feim. Som lo que deim. Som lo que pensam. Som lo que cantem. Som lo que som.

One thought on “Som lo que som.

  1. M’ha agradat molt aquesta reflexió filosòfica. Hi afegiria: “som també el projecte del que volem ser”. La vida està carregada de futur i de passat. El poema del món que més m’agrada (Quatre sonets, d’Elliot) parla d’aixó. Diu:
    Time present and time past
    Are both perhaps present in time future,
    And time future contained in time past.
    If all time is eternally present
    All time is unredeemable.
    What might have been is an abstraction
    Remaining a perpetual possibility
    Only in a world of speculation.
    What might have been and what has been
    Point to one end, which is always present.
    Footfalls echo in the memory
    Down the passage which we did not take
    Towards the door we never opened
    Into the rose-garden. My words echo
    Thus, in your mind.
    But to what purpose
    Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
    I do not know.
    Other echoes
    Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
    Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
    Round the corner. Through the first gate,
    Into our first world, shall we follow
    The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
    There they were, dignified, invisible,
    Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
    In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
    And the bird called, in response to
    The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
    And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
    Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
    There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
    So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
    Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
    To look down into the drained pool.
    Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
    And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
    And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
    The surface glittered out of heart of light,
    And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
    Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
    Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
    Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
    Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
    Cannot bear very much reality.
    Time past and time future
    What might have been and what has been
    Point to one end, which is always present.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *