English is Cool

quarta-feira, fevereiro 25

Carlos Santana's

no images or words
however, gorgeous music


domingo, fevereiro 22

Rubem Alves'

Cartas de amor são escritas não para dar notícias,
não para contar nada, mas para que mãos separadas
se toquem ao tocarem a mesma folha de papel.


Love letters are not written to bring forth any news,
nor to tell anything new, they are written so that far

away hands can touch by touching its paper in turn.

sexta-feira, fevereiro 20

Focus

Think about what you want, not what you don't want. Guard your thoughts carefully, because they create your experiences. Sometimes it seems that our thoughts choose us, but this is never the case. We always choose our thoughts, every moment. Our thoughts always have an effect, and there are no neutral thoughts. One-half second before you hold a thought, you decide to hold it. So, with practice, you can learn to monitor and alter your thoughts. This is the equivalent of putting your hands on the steering wheel of your life. You may believe that your concentration abilities are impaired, yet the infallible mind of God is within your own mind. You can experience remarkable feats of concentration by affirming: "I am now able to focus my mind at will. I hold only loving thoughts, and my angels act as my gatekeepers in establishing a steady stream of thoughts of love."

Card picked from Healing with the Angels.

quarta-feira, fevereiro 18

Chico Buarque's

domingo, fevereiro 15

Sweet Sunday

sábado, fevereiro 14

going on now

when the moon is in the seventh house
and Jupiter aligns with Mars then peace
will guide our planet and love will steer
the stars


sábado, fevereiro 7

Fernando Pessoa's village creek

poucos sabem qual é o rio
da minha aldeia
e para onde vai
e de onde ele vem
e por isso, porque pertence
a menos gente, é
mais livre e maior
o rio da minha aldeia
the creek of my village
is known to few
and where it goes to
and where it comes from, too
therefore, because
fewer ones own it
the creek of my village is
freer and bigger


domingo, fevereiro 1

the windmills of your mind




round
like a circle in a spiral
like a wheel within a wheel
never ending nor beginning
on an ever-spinning wheel
like a snowball down a mountain
or a carnival balloon
like a carousel that's turning
running rings around the moon
like a clock whose hands are sweeping
past the minutes of its face
and the world is like an apple
whirling silently in space
like the circles that you find
in the windmills of your mind
like a tunnel that you follow
to a tunnel of its own
down a hollow to a cavern
where the sun has never shone
like a door that keeps revolving
and a half-forgotten dream
or the ripples from the pebble
someone tosses in a stream
like a clock whose hands are sweeping
past the minutes of its face
and the world is like an apple
whirling silently in space
like the circles that you find
in the windmills of your mind
keys that jingle in your pocket
words that jangle in your head
why did summer go so quickly
was it something that you said
lovers walk along the shore
leaving footprints in the sand
is the sound of distant drumming
just the fingers of your hand
pictures hanging in a hallway
and the fragment of a song
half-remembered names and faces
but to whom do they belong?
when you knew that it was over
you were suddenly aware
that the autumn leaves were turning
to the colour of his hair
like a circle in a spiral
like a wheel within a wheel
never ending nor beginning
on an ever-spinning wheel
as the images unwind
like the circles that you find
in the windmills of your mind