The Flight of the Bird Passing VIII: Poems of Fernando Pessoa

Beyond God

   1. The Abyss

 

I watch the Tagus in such a way

That my watching forgets I’m watching

And suddenly this strikes me

Against my daydreaming —

What is it, river-being flowing?

What is it, my-being-here and watching?

 

 

I feel almost nothing suddenly,

Time and place both emptied,

Everything gone hollow suddenly–

Even my being here and thinking,

Everything — myself, the world around me —

Remains more than external.

 

 

In everything the being and remaining, lost,

And vanished from my thinking,

I am powerless to link

Being, idea, soul, by name

To myself, the earth, the heavens  . . .

 

 

And suddenly face God . . .

by Fernando Pessoa 

Translated from Portuguese by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown

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The Flight of the Bird Passing VII: Poems of Fernando Pessoa

I only ask the gods to grant me

 

I only ask the gods to grant me

That I nothing of them. Happiness is a burden,

Good Fortune a yoke,

Both bespeaking to secure a state,

Not composed or discomposed, I’d calmly live

Beyond that state in which men take

To sorrows and to joys

 

 

 

My gesture that destroys

 

My gesture that destroys

The hill of ants

The ants might think’s inflicted by some godly being

But I do not take myself to be divine.

 

And so perhaps the gods,

Whether they are or not,

Simply because they’re greater than we

Are taken for our gods.

 

Where ever the truth may lie,

May we each avoid

Full faith, perhaps unfounded

In those we do believe are gods.

 

By Ricardo Reis

heteronym of Fernando Pessoa 

Translated from Portuguese by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown

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The Flight of the Bird Passing VI: Poems of Fernando Pessoa

Recalling who I was , I see somebody else

 

Recalling who I was, I see somebody else.

In memory the past becomes the present.

     Who I was is somebody I love,

     Yet only in a dream.

The longing that torments me now

Is not from me nor by the past invoked,

     But his who lives in me

     Behind my eyes.

Nothing knows me but the moment.

My own memory is nothing, and I feel

     That who I am and who I was

     Are two contrasting dreams.

(1930)

 

No one,  in the vast and virgin jungle

 

No one, in the vast and virgin jungle

Of this unreckoned world ever sees

     The God he knows.

Only what is borne upon the wind, upon the wind is

     heard.

All we ponder, ourselves, our gods,

     Pass on, because we do.

(1931)

 

To be great, be whole

 

To be great, be whole.

     Nothing,  exaggerate nothing that is you.

Be whole in everything.  Put all you are

     Into the smallest thing you do.

The whole moon gleams in every pool,

    It rides so high.

(1933)

 

By Ricardo Reis

heteronym of Fernando Pessoa 

Translated from Portuguese by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown

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The Flight of the Bird Passing V: Poems of Fernando Pessoa

One after another, hard-pressed waves

 

One after another, hard-pressed waves

Curl in their green motion

And hiss white foam into

The brownness of sea shores.

 

Leisurely clouds one after another

Break open their round motion

And sun burns the air space

Between the scanty clouds.

 

Only a vague inconsequential ache

Halts a moment at the portal of my soul

And, after staring briefly at me,

Passes on , smiling at nothing.

(1918)

 

 

I don’t want the sincere gifts

 

I don’t want the sincere gifts

You pretend to give me

As presents of your offering

Give me what I will lose,

Grieving for it lost, twice

over, for you and me.

 

Better to promise me it without

Giving it, so the loss

Will be more in hope

Than in memory.

 

I’ll take no more displeasure

Than in life’s continuing,

Seeing that as days pass, what’s

Hoped for is delayed, which is nothing.

(1923)

By Ricardo Reis

heteronym of Fernando Pessoa 

Translated from Portuguese by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown

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A Possible Solution to the Present Situation Facing Global Humanity

I propose an interdependent web of detached compassion to counter the material construction of capitalistic delusions of progress, or hell on earth for more than half of the earth’s human population. But, as always, logistics and application are difficult to bring about. Maybe, if we all just do what we can where we are, something will coalesce that we all can recognize as an improvement on the present unacceptable situation and work from there.

From Speculative Non-Buddhism 

Stranger Sutra

Preamble  

The stranger proclaims: To you, World, I refuse. 

The stranger is adept at identifying and resisting alienating representations.

The stranger proclaims: To you, World, I give.

By means of interminable negation the stranger reinvigorates being and thought in the face of the void—radical immanence; empty reality; para-zero; the axiomatic; the quasi; the apophatic; the dark night; the desert; the philofictional Real.

The stranger transfuses the symptom, exposed in the yearning embrace of the curative fantasy of ideological self-sufficiency, into a sovereign discernment for going forward.

Transfusion occurs in subjective submersion. We are speaking here of the decomposition that precedes bioremediation. We are speaking here of the inalienable poverty that begets the stranger.

Postulate 

Sunk in inalienable poverty, the stranger emerges fit for the clash with Hell.

Practice: Decomposition with Breathing 

Now, go to an isolated place. Sit down, and straighten your body. Establishing immanental awareness right where you are, breathe in, simply aware, then breathe out, simply aware. Continue:

I breathe in, knowing I am breathing in. I breathe out, knowing I am breathing out.

I breathe in, sensitive to my entire body. I breathe out, sensitive to my entire body.

I breathe in, aware of my emotional climate. I breathe out, aware of my emotional climate.

I breathe in, cognizant of mental oscillation. I breathe out, cognizant of mental oscillation.

I breathe in, observing the arising of the breath.

I breathe out, observing the dissolution of the breath.

I breathe in, experiencing deep connection.

I breathe out, letting go.

Warning

Decomposition with breathing is rich in results for the person and is of benefit to society. But only if it remains an insufficient practice. When taken as sufficient, it conspires with the New Age Apocalypse. That is the name for a pernicious Idea circulating within “spiritual” ideologies from time immemorial. It names a cataclysmic shift in this and that consciousness, a shift which augurs the dawn of an eternally utopian World. Decisive to this conceit is the fact that the new world comes into being not through collective social action or through revolutionary operations on material structures, but rather precisely through such a “shift in consciousness.” That is the first warning… Decomposition with breathing is rich in results for the person and is of benefit to society. But only if it remains on the side of the living. When applied as a pharmakon for mystical death, for the annihilation or alteration of consciousness, or even for the imaginary plenitude of calm contemplation, it conspires with the Spiritual Death Drive. In the pile-driving brutality that is our current capitalist reality, we are lulled to the shores of nirvanic quietude. This is the second warning.

Commentary

Decomposition with breathing is rich in results for the person and is of benefit to society. It places the practitioner in the teeming ruin where person and World intersect and transfuse. The soil of this ruin is brimming with the fungal mycelia that produce the electrifying flows—biological, psychological, mythological, narratological, ideological—that we call existence. We vigorously apply a fiction: What unfolds in the ruin of our practice is like the process of bioremediation, whereby, through organic decomposition, contaminants are eradicated from the soil. Be clear: remediation is not a metaphor for spiritualized purification. Think, rather, stimulation and augmentation of earth-incrusted organic matter.

That’s it.

And then, the stranger leaves the ruin.

Toward what end?

To struggle against the powers of the World.

To clash with Hell.

 

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