I dedicate this post of mine to all my blog followers. Once in a while it’s time you thanked people for being, simply for being. I may sound a bit hyperbolic or rather romantic. I’m all that, yes, among other things. But being thankful has nothing to do with romanticism or exaggerating feelings.
I’ve learnt from my Mum to be thankful: to God and to those who do us some good and help us to live better and to feel happier in this path of life. I do not usually thank God, I must confess. And I kind of ‘envy’ Mum for that. A little faith in something ‘above all’ would certainly help me a lot throughout hard times and GOOD ones- God wouldn’t certainly like to be handled as “blackmail”, nor would like to be remembered of only in the darkest of days, being called for as if he was 911 / 112 over here), but I simply can’t do it.
It’s part of me to tell people, close people around, what they mean to me and how much I love them. Furthermore I’ve learnt to do it whenever I feel like doing it, spontaneously, also to others who are not that close, but who(m) I value, too. One never knows when tomorrow is (not) too late for that.
And you people, in a way anonymous, in a way virtual, have shown to be a lot more PEOPLE than tons of others I do know ‘in flesh’ and to whom I have been talking to for ages! You come by, read my posts, comment on them when you have time or wish to do so, leave a positive thinking a message, a simple wink and…help me living. Better. Happier. You UNDERSTAND me and through your honest critics I get to know me a lot more. This is a way of self-improvement, too.
You people, dear fe(o)llow bloggers, have been helping me to love you. In a way, you’re already part of me. In a way you’re family or even beyond blood family boundaries, not always necessarily the best ones, nor the ones we’ve dreamt of. You belong to the family we choose for ourselves.
I’m familiar with Ion Vincent Danu‘s art, writing, inner conflicts, love and dis-love for van Gogh, his ‘hero’ of almost a life(…), with Barb‘s ideas, writing and apparently serious personality (…), with Jessica Accardi‘s posts and sensitivity (…), with ‘thebrightoldoak”s poetry, rather foreign language good knowledge (…), with Daniel Kons young art, heart and soul, but rather mature and critical world view (…), with Hélio do Couto´s young spirit at 74, a non-educated, kind and tender Brazilian man trying so hard to get into touch with the outside world (‘Internet betrays me all the rime’, he says, kidding, once he writes as he speaks, and it’s hard on him to be fast enough) trying so hard to find relatives back in the grandpa’s homeland (Portugal, my home country)!), and (forgive me those who I do not mention personally, but who I’m getting to know as time goes by)… all this simply, entirely and gratefully fills and fulfils a great part of my life. The sharing part, the sharing of writing, of ideas, feelings, emotions, opinions (…), of being read, of having feedbacks.
I can not say but thanks. I wrote for years in my mother tongue and only in it. And my dear Portuguese attracted no one. Were (are) all Portuguese bloggers asleep?! (…) In a country that calls itself “the land of poets”, it occurs to me ‘we’ are only lovers of the dead ones. And once dead even the ‘poorest’ of poets become the best. For a while. Then we get back again to the “old references”, or we “worship” those who come out of nowhere in the middle of a storm as a revolution, but even those are politically and carefully picked up and remain untouchable icons, are taught at school with the wind of change, or with the wind of unchange and… who dares who propose others?
Probably ’cause I posted mostly poetry, my soul’s mirror, no one noticed my blog. Maybe it was my fault: I’m far too demanding out of … I’d better not conclude my thought! well, no one really has to like my writing nor my mental diarrhea.
Till the day Ion Vincent Danu ‘discovered me’. Out of nowhere, there he was, with an astonishing, lovely comment, a Canadian painter of Romanian roots who found out on “wordpress” something written in a language similar to his mother tongue. And he got the gist of it! How come?, I thought. And so it seems to be: both languages have lots of similarities. ‘Cousins, they are’, says Danu.
I thank the English language as well! The one I’m in love with since the very “green years” of my childhood when it came to me through music and through the lyrics I repeated, or gave a try, inventing a lot… Oh gosh! The words I made up… so many words for my “by-that-time-English language-dictionary”! Apparently It seems to have worked.
Leave you all this message, together with music to warm, feed and cheer up your souls. I couldn’t find a more appropriate one “to close my post with a golden key.”