Sometimes we lean ourselves into reflection.
To be very deeply immersed into the night
Around us, the men sleep.
A little comedy.
An innocent illusion that they sleep...
in their homes, on solid beds
under solid ceilings...
Extended or huddled in their beds,
in their sheets under the covers...
In fact, they came together as before
As when they were in the desert.
In a wild, windy space.
An incalculable number of men.
An army.
A crowd under a cold sky.
In a cold land.
Men who were thrown to the ground in the very place where they were.
Their heads resting firmly under their arms.
Their faces against the ground.
Quietly breathing.
Wait!
What is this?
Yes, I'll go along with you.
I've seen scenes like this several times.
It's foolish, indeed...
What a pity!
They said that they saw her hurting herself with such violence.
So wildly.
I cannot do a thing.
How can you be, oh mother, so comprehensive...
with a crowd like that, so cold?
That woman lies in the most deep darkness...
However...
so weak.
She is wandering on her way on earth...
but she has within herself such force...
that could turn the world upside down
How could I make her think...
that everything depends only on her?
That everything could come from her?
And so?
That poor woman is made of stronger and older...
habits then herself.
And so...
how could we, foreign ones...
warn her of that?
Besides the fox,
who serves the inhabitants of Thrace,
when they decide to cross over the ice
of any frozen river
in effect, they throw the animal ahead of them
like we would do, at the water's edge.
The fox brings his ear close to the ice
to perceive if it will be a long or short distance
by the noise of the water's current below
and through this process
if the ice is more or less thick,
whether they should go back or forth.
Have we not reason to believe what passes through its head
are the same ideas that come to our own
and that it is a ratiocination and consequence drawn from natural sense?
Everything that makes noise, moves.
Anything that has movement is not frozen.
Anything not frozen is liquid and yields to impression.
Look! Up there, in the valley.
How angry, how noisy...
violence and disorder.
- I see also self love
and vanity.
Who forced them to fight one against another?
Fighting to the death.
- A king... - Against whom?
- Against another king's soldiers...
So they fight against themselves...
at this outward tumult.
But...why do they obey so blindly?
They obey the laws that exist...
not because they're right, but because they're laws.
The law's mystical fundament, only this...
The soldiers must fight to defend their masters...
But, before struggling until death they had already spent their lives...
producing wealth.
Creating their kings and the power that keeps them alive.
These laws are decided by fools who lack equity
but always, always by men.
Vain and irresolute authors.
Look at that exiled soldier who walks on foot,
without a spear or armor.
He has lost his horse
after, he lost his brother and his friend.
I've seen his king die too.
He's completely alone...
totally lost.
He falls and rolls in the dust in paroxysms of loss...
In sorrow. And, in the excess of his pain...
with violence, he dies.
This war ended several years ago.
Of the thousands and thousands of men who died
in a few hundred years, bearing arms,
there are not even a hundred we know.
All of them, however, are deprived of your tears.
Buried in the deepest night.
Not only the chief's memories, but himself as well...
Memories of victories and battles...
all buried here.
It will be already many...
if from here a hundred years hence...
there is a reminder that in our time...
there were wars between us,
like that one that passed down there, in this valley.
Come over, Wandering Soul...
come back from the Hills...
from the forest, the roads or fountains...
from the shadows or mists...
from the slimes or deep sea...
wherever you wander...
nothing you will lack here.
Oh Soul, come with me...
come to your Home.
Sheltered from the storms...
the winds...
and the Dark Night.
Has the Ailing's Soul returned?
- The Ailing's Soul has came home already.
Public reading of the case and sentence,
made according to the Usual Procedure...
in the presence of the victim's family members,
of the owner of the homicidal pig
and also in the presence of the Jury...
notables, bourgeois and people.
At the Town of Castelo Branco, April 2nd, 1428.
At the request of the victim's father and also the eyewitnesses...
I was personally charged as a procurator
to open an investigation into the cir- cumstances in which the crime occurred.
Thus, after the first statements of the witnesses...
I concluded that the animal was incriminated
for being caught red-handed while
devouring a newborn of about two and a half months...
who had been left in a crib at the front of their parent's house.
Thus confirmed the crime of the animal...
the executor of Justice and his officers...
seized his person and locked him up to be sentenced
after the usual process in the prison of this village where he has been enrolled
as Silvano Pig, from its owner's Name Silvano...
which is present here.
In the course of the proceedings
the witnesses were heard and confronted with the accused,
having their assumptions confirmed...
confirming again the fact that he was charged.
I then made the requisition, as a juror, for a surgeon that is present
and came from the far away town of Algozo to take a look at the victim.
After observation he concluded that the severe wounds on the victim's body
were the cause of his death.
Following his statements, the owner of the animal was heard...
Who declared the ownership of the animal who committed the crime.
This morning, day of the execution and in front of the prison...
I met with the magistrates and some people.
Being pronounced, in that same place...
between two drumbeats, the capital sentence.
Indeed, I looked into the eyes of the criminal animal
and declared: "for having devoured a helpless child
and thus caused his death
you are condemned in justice to the death penalty.
And shall be killed and hung on the gallows."
Because the pig was a brutish beast...
- The proceeding have been sent to me after
and the death sentence was upheld by the magistrate's council.
The consignment of animals to justice...
has been defended by the majority of jurists and theologians...
which, as in previous centuries...
are based on a biblical passage, the Mosaic prescription of the Exodus
Chapter 21, Verse 28...
"If an animal attacks and injures a human...
in such a way that leads to his death...
this animal shall be stoned to death and its flesh will not be consumed,
but the owner shall be declared innocent.
If a brutish beast...
commits a crime, shall it die?
I say it: yes!
According to use and tradition of this country and of this region,
having God before our eyes.
we declare the pig guilty of homicide
of a defenseless child and condemn it, the guilty one,
to the last torture: to be hanged on the gallows until dead.
There it will stay for a long time, until it rots...
To the memory of the enormity of its crime and to incite reflection
on others who might want to imitate him.
The owner will lose the right to the animal's meat
which will not be consumed.
Will pay the costs of the whole process,
including the costs of obtaining and transporting the animal.
And he must pay that sum to the executor of justice.
The execution, solemn and public, of this sentence will be entrusted
to the specially chosen executioner, called from the
distant village of Campo de Viboras
by whose hands, shall come justice.
Account of my work, expenses and salary:
16.5 pounds and a dime.
For the expenses made by Pig Leandro in prison: 18 pounds.
My coming, the executioner, from Campo de Viboras,
10 leagues distant from this village to perform the execution...
by the command of our judge and the procurator of the King
127 pounds.
Item: for the cart that carried the gallows of justice:
18 pounds.
Item: for the rope with which the animal's legs were fastened
during the transport and that was used to hang it:
6 pounds and 8 dimes.
Item: for new gloves to manipulate the criminal and avoid contact
with the brute beast, gloves that were destroyed by fire after the execution:
6 pounds.
Where do the half moons go?
Where do the moons go in union with the years?
Where do the seasons go?
Tell me your origins.
They arrived where the two virgins of different faces rush together.
Day and Night.
To arrive where the waters rush.
Why does the wind never rest?
Why does not the spirit rest?
Why do the waters never stop in search of truth?
Never...ever.
As always, like every day...
I cross these places and these hills in the heat of summer
or in the rigors of winter.
I'm the one who brings the bread...
It's me who brings, rarely it's true..
other food to the isolated poor that exist in the tens.
And there is always more and more. They pile up in the pavilion.
My lords say
they gave it to all who lost their lair, poor and hungry
who roam this vast country.
And among them there are many children.
Dozens of hungry children, with feverish eyes...
slow gestures, swollen and misshapen bellies.
But all changed.
Since the memory of Man,
there has never been such a shortage of food as now.
Such years of hunger, such misery...
Such years of hunger as now.
I went to work this morning as usual...
to receive the bread.
But it was refused to me.
All changed.
Not being able to endure the sight of these poor people any longer
My lords ordered their tent to be incinerated...
as soon as the unhappy ones were gathered there
and well closed.
That's the reason for my empty hands today.
At this time...
compassionate peasants of the region...
are removing calcined bodies of the prisoners...
which are several hundred.
They spread them out on the stubble...
In long, ugly black lines.
They still try to save some of them...
with life...but that's not possible.
Because the order was to reinforce the ceiling with lots of dry straw.
Before, finally starting...
the fire.
What is happening at this moment
in the other tents of these country?
Like here, they lack food too...
Human help...and life.
I know someday I'll die.
I feel someday I'll die.
And at this moment, I suffer.
I would like to be truly multiple.
I would like to be a mother... infinitely.
I...I'm still alive.
But...I'm a dead soul already.
I do not exist.
Fragile thoughts dance in me.
But...now that I see you...
It seems like I can see myself in your eyes.
I do not understand you anymore.
My words are like the passing wind.
Think of the dust we raise with our feet...
In the wasteland of the ways.
These are truly dead for ever and ever.
Of those there are not even faces in memory.
And our lips obstinately refuse to pronounce their forgotten names.
Already it is night.
Let's return home.
Oh...how long life can be!
How tired I feel!
I would like to be...completely alone.
You are a fatigued soul...
A soul tired of fighting...
Notice this wine... so precious
it is made by the sun and dust...
and rain.
The vines matured slowly, day by day.
And the bees came to rest on the grapes...
covered with impalpable gold dust.
It is one of your special wines?
No, no...
He doesn't hear very well. He died some years ago.
Father...
- Love you so much... - I know it very well.
I know it very well, beloved daughter.
No, Father...
Don't go away...
It is necessary...
It is necessary to leave.
Too late...
Too late, father...
No! Not this way!
A man, crossing a field, encountered a tiger.
He fled,
with the tiger always chasing him.
Coming to a cliff, he clung to a wild vine root
and swung himself down over the edge.
Above, the tiger sniffed him.
Trembling, the man looked down where
deep down, another tiger waited to devour him.
Only the vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one black
little by little, began to gnaw on the root of the vine.
The man then saw a ripe strawberry near him.
Clinging to the vine with one hand
he picked the strawberry with the other.
How sweet was the taste!
We can glimpse the beauty of these fragile bodies...
in the early twilight of history.
When mothers, unable to leave their young children,
still unable to cling to their bodies stay attached.
When the ancient mothers stood upright on their firm and new feet
and ran carrying the children in their human arms.
Sadness lifted his mask from Cervantes.
Strange was the night
when so many sighs were lost
at the intersections of the rooms.
At the time the constellations change the word
for the men of exile
decline in the sand
in search of a pure place.
Cosmos, that's all there is...
Is what it was. It is what it will be once.
The simplest contemplation of the universe moves us...
The voice fades like an ancient sigh...
Or at the imminence of a fall into the abyss.
We know that we are approaching the greatest of mysteries.
The size and age of the universe surpasses our understanding.
Our tiny planetary being is hanging at a point...
Something between immensity and eternity.
We float in the universe as a grain of dust floats in the morning air.
The surface of earth we step on is the threshold of the cosmic ocean.
And It calls us.
A part of us knows we belong there.
And that we come from it.
Earth is just a place.
But it is not even a normal place.
Because most of the cosmos is empty.
Normal is the vast and immense emptiness.
Cold and universal: the eternal night of space.
In comparison to it, stars and their planets...
look like something painfully rare and precious.
If we let ourselves go randomly into the cosmos...
the probability that we would be on a planet or in its vicinity...
would be less than a part in billions,
of billions of millions.
- You know, I think the toy is a fascinating toy!
Because it allows us to have a microscope of a transition...
We have to think clearly about evidence...
If you fix your eyes too far away...
beyond, on the far horizon...
when the morning or twilight mists arise...
at some moments, you see, even faintly and in the distance...
vague and iridescent lights...
with mineral vestiges that very quickly fade again.
The horizon returns to appear smooth and pure.
Or the darkness of the night falls.
It is the great city...
seen many, many leagues from here.
It stands out there, endless.
on all sides, covering the earth, invading the sky...
An immense extent you cannot imagine.
But it is enough that on this high mountain we can look every way.
You don't belong there.
There, would be lacking for you, heaven
air, space and silence.
This immense, circular and desert field...
which we saw up there on the mountain, is the nuclear field.
They call it so because ancient atomic experiments...
were done on this island.
In this place.
Everything was reduced to this dead, gray dust...
And the little plants that children pick are never born again.
And which I like so much.
Light grasses, bright, gold buttons...
And this whole field...
whose limits still seem so clear to us,
increases insensibly
year after year in every way
and assails the desert plateau.
And with an immense, flat well full of cold ashes...
overflows, too fully...
over this valley...
over this island.
- But, who are you?
- It would be very difficult to tell you.
We're together here, yes.
- I speak to you. - Indeed.
You talk to yourself.
Yes. I speak loudly.
I speak to myself.
We are the same person.
Perhaps, the same image.
How beautiful you are!
You are extremely fragile!
And yet...
you are already so old.
- I am contemporary of everything.
Nature is infinite.
Thick, tissue. Massive.
It is inexhaustible movement.
Tapestry always unfinished...
where, incessantly,
all forms are drawn and extinguished.
Endless networks of unexplainable stories...
confused stridency of discordant voices...
in such an annulment,
a silent explosion.
Everything happens in the dark.
It is necessary, perhaps...
to choose a thread at random.
The idea of these stories is yours
and I'm not going to interfere with them.
And yet, was there ever
anything
somewhere, in some time?
The end Subs by: MisterCarlos