TO BELONG

To belong

"A friend of mine, doctor, assured me that from the cradle the child feels the environment, the child wants: in it the human being, in the same cradle, has already begun.

I am sure that in the cradle my first will was to belong. For reasons that do not matter here, I must somehow feel that it belonged to nothing and to no one. I was born for free.

If in the cradle I experienced this human hunger, it continues to accompany me through life, as if it were a destiny. To the point that my heart contracts with envy and desire when I see a nun: it belongs to God.

It is precisely because I am so hungry to give myself to something or someone that I have become quite untrustworthy: I am afraid to reveal how much I need and how poor I am. Yes I am. Very poor. I have only one body and one soul. And I need more than that.

Over time, especially the last few years, I lost the way of being people. I do not know what it is like. And a whole new kind of "solitude of not belonging" began to invade me like you were in a wall.

If my earliest desire is to belong, then why have I never been part of clubs or associations? Because that's not what I call belonging. What I wanted, and I can not, is for example that everything that came to me from within me could give to what I belong to. Even my joys, how lonely they are sometimes. And a solitary joy can become pathetic. It's like having a gift all wrapped in gift-wrapping paper in your hands - and not having anyone to say: take it, it's yours, open it! Not wanting to see me in pathetic situations and, by a kind of restraint, avoiding the tone of tragedy, I rarely wrap my feelings with gift paper.

Belonging does not just come from being weak and needing to join something or someone stronger. Often the intense will to belong comes in me from my own strength - I want to belong so that my strength is not useless and fortifies a person or a thing.

I can almost see myself in the cradle, I can almost reproduce in myself the vague and yet urgent feeling of belonging. For reasons neither my mother nor my father could control, I was born and I was just born.

However I was prepared to be given to light in such a beautiful way. My mother was already sick, and from a widely spread superstition, it was believed that having a child cured a woman of an illness. So I was deliberately created: with love and hope. Only I did not heal my mother. And I still feel this burden of guilt: they made me for a particular mission and I failed. As if they were counting on me in the trenches of a war and I had deserted. I know that my parents have forgiven me for having been born in vain and betrayed them in the great hope.

But I, I do not forgive myself. I wish it had just been a miracle: I was born and healed my mother. So, yes: I would have belonged to my father and mother. I could not even entrust someone with this kind of solitude of not belonging because, as a deserter, I had the secret of escape that shame could not be known.

Life made me from time to time belong, as if to give me the measure of what I lose not belonging. And then I knew: to belong is to live. I tried it with the thirst of those who are in the desert and drink miserly the last sips of water from a canteen. And then the thirst comes back and it's in the desert even that way."

Clarice Lispector

Clarice Lispector one of the most important Brazilian writers in the world, which I had the honor of reading every work, has a little bit of it here. The difference between her and other writers is the ARTISTIC BEING STUDIED BY HER MICROSCOPICALLY IN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SUBJECT AND OBJECT. His Work Today Is Chosen And Studied In Brazil In Doctorate Courses In ART AND PSYCHIATRY.

In Your Memory With Love ... Thank You For Teaching Me BEAUTIFUL!

Luís Horácio Carvalho,

Painter and Curator.