The Real Folly

Zélia is a woman in her sixties. She walks around the tables outside cafes and asks for cigarettes. Or money (yes, in English too) or a kiss. Some people laugh, some are disgusted by her ragged looks and not so accurate hygiene, some give her money, cigarettes, a nearly empty bottle of wine remaining after lunch... No kisses. Me included.

Another man with a loyal plastic bag in his hand insists, all through the days, in asking people to lend him money for a soup.

There is one who likes to ride the bus. And every once in a while he will stand up and insult every passenger, driver, police officer, cleaning lady, government, etc.

There's the prostitute, who also asks for cigarettes and coffees and curses all the pretty young women wearing fashion clothing. Me included again.

There is also the woman who likes to clean the cars with fallen leaves, very tranquilly, thoroughly...

I know of another who likes to spend his nights in the middle of this huge busy avenue in Lisbon, smiling and waving to the passing cars. I wave him back. He exhales a wide happy smile. I smile him back. I like him. I like his world. Though I do not understand it...

Do we understand anyone's world? Do we understand the world at all? I guess there is no answer to this. Reality doesn't exist. And what we perceive as such is a product of our education, experiences and rules. The majority sets what it is to be true and real. Which majority? There is no such thing! We are all lonely individuals continuously seeking for the so called happiness, a reality that does not exist. Because no reality does. Life is cycle, is passage, is time. Happiness too.

Nothing is absolute. And though we keep establishing imperative values and concepts to guide us (prejudices?) we seem to be constantly questioning them or being questioned by them. We too are time and cycles. And what is true and real one day maybe destroyed forever the next. We understand ourselves as much as we understand life...

Life (death) is the ultimate question. Which makes you sad and ease and happy and confused and angry for being relieved when you should be sad and not happy but confused and so on.

So reality and truth is a choice. Permeable to the endless influences, from a literature masterpiece to a rapid eye contact. And each and every volatile choice is equally valuable and respectable, from the tyrant to the generous. Volatile choices keep the balance of the world. Volatile choices are real. As volatile they don't exist. There is no balance. There is no world...

Do you understand? Do I?

Oh, I am fool! We are all but fools!!!