Tag: chronic

The Family

December 25, 2018

At least he was this that they waited, contrary case would have serious problems. To take it a hospital already would be a problem in itself, would have that to give explanations, the family of it would go to finish knowing the truth, at last, would be complication for all. Better exactly to bet that it was enough to wait a certain time for it if to recoup. She was appositive a risky one, but if of these certain all they would be the saved one of bigger confusion After this experience, them they would have that to take care in passing drugs for it. Mariana already had smoked marijuana before, but with little frequency and without observing so intense alucingenos effect. But it is felt torpid and it finishes sleeping This happened in situations special, when it could sleep outside of house, in strolls with friends and friends.

But something was different in that afternoon, when they had decided to leave car for a stroll for city. Perhaps it smokes more than what she was accustomed, perhaps has been fast excessively, perhaps already she was half euphoric before (and not at a moment where if she prepared to sleep) The fact is that it had never had hallucinations thus before. Nor if it drugged with frequency or it presented trend for such. It only wanted to be as its friends, to combine it the group, to be glad as they were after to smoke But, now, nor its proper body it had more. It tried to come back, if to move, to speak, to cry out, but the certain height of the soil was remained in the same position, floating, seeing its together friends its inert body, attacked for the constant onslaughts of the espritos. Nothing it heard, nothing more felt. The situation was overwhelming and it nothing it understood, at least obtained to think right.

Meditations

December 6, 2012

A fine fog, followed of wind squalls, makes to raise me the gullet of japona and to more sink in the head the woollen cap. In foot, in the high one of the thick wall that serves of barrier in the entrance of the port contemplates, in the blackout of the night, the dark mass of the revolts waves of the ocean, that with boom beat soon below of me. Everything in return is desert. A little beyond, the dark and disformes countenances of great anchored ships. To far, the lights of some buoys of signalling, indicating the way for the boats. Absorbed in my thoughts, it seems as if it was in another dimension of time and space, and suddenly it comes me it the souvenir the image formed for my mind, of other seas, other distant lands and a man who at night costumava to sit down in a rock bank, in the Island of the Devil. Captain Dreyfus, victim of one of the biggest errors judicial of the history of France.

In this direction, here in this place, I feel myself completely exempts, but at the same time, I ask myself if this will not be only one illusion, perhaps therefore the true freedom is interior, according to Krishnamurti. Exterior, I believe that we are all prisoners of some thing. I am still a good motionless time there, later I follow for the little illuminated streets of the old city, in direction to the center. Soon ahead, some bars still opened. Some women of the night, with the sleepy heads on the tables thinking perhaps about its sad destinations as kept out of society of the life. Some few noctvagos passer-bys pass hasty escaping of the cold, that after some days of heat comes back now with redoubled force.