Poemas e Textos para o Curso

20/05/2016 | Por:
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Acompanhe os textos e poemas utilizados no curso de Mindfulness e Movimentos de Integração. Eles servem para aprofundar as experiências práticas de Mindfulness. Veja a seguir:

EU NÃO SOU EU

Por: Juan Ramon Jimenez (Selected poems Lorca, Jimenez).

Eu não sou eu  
Eu sou aquele
que caminha ao meu lado, sem que eu o enxergue,
que eu visito freqüentemente
e que freqüentemente eu esqueço.
Aquele que cala em silêncio quando eu falo,
que docilmente perdoa quando eu odeio,
que fica em pé, quando eu morro.

 

MEU CORPO

Por: Ferreira Gullar

Meu corpo
que deitado na cama vejo
como um objeto no espaço
que mede 1,70m
e que sou eu: essa coisa
deitada
barriga pernas pés
com cinco dedos cada (por que não seis?)
joelhos e tornozelos
para mover-se
sentar-se
levantar-se
meu corpo de 1,70m que é meu tamanho no mundo
meu corpo feito de água
e cinza…
Corpo meu corpo corpo
que tem um nariz assim uma boca
dois olhos
e um certo jeito de sorrir
de falar
que minha mãe identifica como sendo do filho
que meu filho identifica
como sendo de seu pai
corpo que se para de funcionar provoca
um grave acontecimento na família:
sem ele não há Jose de Ribamar Ferreira
não há Ferreira Gullar
e muitas pequenas coisas acontecidas no planeta
estarão esquecidas para sempre
corpo-facho   corpo-fátuo   corpo-fato

 

A ARTE DE SER FELIZ

Por: Cecília Meireles

Houve um tempo em que minha janela se abria
sobre uma cidade que parecia ser feita de giz.
Perto da janela havia um pequeno jardim quase seco.
Era uma época de estiagem, de terra esfarelada,
e o jardim parecia morto.
Mas todas as manhãs, vinha um pobre com um balde,
e, em silêncio, ia atirando com a mão umas gotas de água sobre as plantas.
Não era uma rega: era uma espécie de aspersão ritual, para que o jardim não morresse.
E eu olhava para as plantas, para o homem, para as gotas de água que caíam de seus dedos magros e meu coração ficava completamente feliz.
Às vezes abro a janela e encontro o jasmineiro em flor.
Outras vezes encontro nuvens espessas.
Avisto crianças que vão para a escola.
Pardais que pulam pelo muro.
Gatos que abrem e fecham os olhos, sonhando com pardais.
Borboletas brancas, duas a duas, como refletidas no espelho do ar.
Marimbondos que sempre me parecem personagens de Lope de Vega.
Ás vezes, um galo canta.
Às vezes, um avião passa.
Tudo está certo, no seu lugar, cumprindo o seu destino.
E eu me sinto completamente feliz.
Mas, quando falo dessas pequenas felicidades certas,
que estão diante de cada janela, uns dizem que essas coisas não existem,
outros que só existem diante das minhas janelas, e outros,
finalmente, que é preciso aprender a olhar, para poder vê-las assim.

 

 

CONFUSÃO EMOCIONAL

Por: MACHADO DE ASSIS Esaú Jacó

Ia tão atordoada com a vida dos dois rapazes, que as ideias não se enfileiravam naquela forma lógica do pensamento. A própria sensação não era nítida. Era uma mistura de opressivo e delicioso, de turvo e claro, uma felicidade truncada, uma aflição consoladora…

 

BEM NO FUNDO

Por: PAULO LEMINSKI

No fundo, no fundo,
bem lá no fundo,
a gente gostaria
de ver nossos problemas
resolvidos por decreto

a partir desta data,
aquela mágoa sem remédio
é considerada nula
e sobre ela — silêncio perpétuo

extinto por lei todo o remorso,
maldito seja quem olhar pra trás,
lá pra trás não há nada,
e nada mais

mas problemas não se resolvem,
problemas têm família grande,
e aos domingos
saem todos a passear
o problema, sua senhora
e outros pequenos probleminhas.

 

PARADA CARDÍACA

Por: PAULO LEMINSKI

Essa minha secura
essa falta de sentimento
não tem ninguém que segure,
vem de dentro.
Vem da zona escura
donde vem o que sinto.
Sinto muito,
sentir é muito lento.

 

BACK TO BEGINNNGS

Por: HUANCHU DAOREN

Dificuldades inesperadas refinam as pessoas.
Se você puder aceitá-las, tanto o corpo quanto a mente serão beneficiados.
Contudo, se não for capaz de aceitá-las, ambos serão danificados.

BACK TO BEGINNNGS

Quando a mente está agitada, o reflexo de um arco pode ser confundido com uma serpente e uma grande rocha no mato pode ser vista como um leão em tocaia; Em todo lugar só se vê energia fatal. Porém quando os pensamentos cessam, até mesmo o violento pode tornar-se suave e o comum mostrar-se elegante; em todos os lugares você enxerga o verdadeiro potencial.

BACK TO BEGINNINGS

Quando você vagueia nas florestas da montanha, entre nascentes e penhascos, a mentalidade materialista gradualmente cessa. Quando você se nutre de poesia, escrita e pintura, o estado de espírito mundano progressivamente desaparece. Por isso, mesmo que pessoas iluminadas não se divirtam com objetos ao ponto de perderem a sua vontade, elas normalmente utilizam o ambiente como um meio de sintonizar a mente.

 

KEEPING QUIET

By: PABLO NERUDA

Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth, let’s not speak in any language;
stop for a second, and not move our arms too much.
It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines;
we would all be together in a sudden strangeness.
Fisherman in the cold sea would not harm the whales
and the man gathering salt would not hurt his hands.

Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors, would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about…

If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.

Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems
to be dead in winter and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go.

 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

By: PORTIA NELSON

I
I walk, down the street,
there is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in… I am helpless… It isn’t my fault…
It takes forever to find a way out.

II
I walk, down the street,
there is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend that don’t see it. I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place,
but it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III
I walk, down the street,
there is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there. I still fall. It’s a habit.
My eyes are open. I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

IV
I walk, down the street,
there is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V
I walk down another street.

 

CARL JUNG 

That I feed the hungry
forgive an insult
and love my enemy….
these are great virtues!

But what if I should discover
that the poorest of the beggars
and the most impudent of offenders
are all within me,

and that I stand in need of the alms of my
own kindness; that I myself am the
enemy who must be loved?

What then?

 

COMPASSION

By: MILLER WILLIAMS

Have compassion for everyone you meet
even if they don’t want it.

What seems conceit, bad manners, or cynicism
is always a sign of things no ears have heard,
no eyes have seen.

You do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone.

 

KINDNESS

By: NAOMI SHIRAB NYE

Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things,
Feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved.

All this must go so you know how desolate the landscape

can be between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop,
The passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where
The Indian in a white poncho lies dead on the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows
And you see the size of that cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread.

Only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
And then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.

 

MEDITATION: CALMING THE MIND

by: Bob Sharpless

Don’t meditate to fix yourself, to heal yourself, to improve yourself,
to redeem yourself;  rather, do it as an act of love,
of deep warm friendship to yourself.  In this way there is no
longer any need for the subtle aggression of self-improvement,
for the endless guilt of not doing enough.
It offers the possibility of an end to the ceaseless round of trying so hard
that wraps so many people’s lives in a knot.
Instead there is now meditation as an act of love. 
How endlessly delightful and encouraging.

 

FOR  THREE  DAYS

by: HAFIZ

Not many teachers in this world
Can give you as much enlightenment
In one year

As sitting all alone, for three days,
In your closet
Would
Do.

This means not leaving.
Better get a friend to help with
A few sandwiches
And
The chamber
Pot.

And no reading in there or writing poems,
That would be cheating;
Aim high–for a 360 degree
Detox.

This sitting alone, though, is
Not recommended

If you are normally
Sedated

Or have ever been under doctor’s
Surveillance because of your
Brain.

Dear one,
Don’t let Hafiz fool you–

A ruby is buried
Here.

 

THE SUMMER DAY

by: Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean, the one who is eating
sugar out of my hand, who is moving her
jaws back and forth instead of up and down.

Who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her
face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. But I do know how to pay
attention and how to fall into the grass. How to kneel down in
the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the
fields, which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with
your one wild and Precious life?

 

THE JOURNEY

By: Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you kept shouting their bad
advice,
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

“Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers at the very foundations,
though their melancholy was terrible.

It was already late enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
But little by little, as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into
the world, determined to do the only thing you could do,
determined to save the only life you could save.

 

WILD GEESE

By: Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your
knees for a hundred miles
through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your
body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours,
and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean
blue air, are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and
exciting – over and over announcing your
place in the family of things.

 

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

By: Wendell Berry

American Farmer, Professor, Novelist and Poet

“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound,
in fear of what my life and my children’s life may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.

I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

 

Indicação de Leituras

Viver Agora
Autor: Sarah Silverton
Apresentação: Jon Kabat-Zinn
Editora: Alaúde

Manual Prático Mindfulness
Curiosidade e aceitação
Autores: Marcelo Dermazo
Javier Garcia campayo
Editora Palas athena

Liberte-se
Autor: Russ Harris
Editora: Agir

Atenção Plena Mindfulness
Autores: Mark Willians
Denny Penman
Editora: Sextante

Viva Bem Com  a Dor e a Doença
Autor: Vidyamala Burh
Editora: Summus

Full Catastrophe Living
Autor:  Jon Kabat-Zinn

Heal Thy Self
Autor: Saki “

 

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