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	<title>Eliara Santos</title>
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		<title>Nao vale a pena / Pagu &#8211; Maria Rita</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2010/10/02/nao-vale-a-pena-maria-rita/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sat, 02 Oct 2010 07:52:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
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		<description><![CDATA[A filha da maior cantora do brasil! La figlia della più grande cantante brasiliana! The daughter of the greatest Brazilian singer! Filed under: Não categorizado<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=752&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>A filha da maior cantora do brasil!</p>
<p>La figlia della più grande cantante brasiliana!</p>
<p>The daughter of the greatest Brazilian singer!</p>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Oct 2010 23:11:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Não categorizado]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Everything was still the same. Nothing had changed. The darkness, the shouts, the sufferance, the painful wounds that never closed&#8230; it was like having a sword cutting out his body from the inside. He was still there, at the same place where he had let fall himself days, or maybe weeks, ago. Time was not [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=750&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Everything was still the same. Nothing had changed. The darkness, the shouts, the sufferance, the painful wounds that never closed&#8230; it was like having a sword cutting out his body from the inside. He was still there, at the same place where he had let fall himself days, or maybe weeks, ago. Time was not important anymore.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">He had been always one of the best warriors; who have defended at any cost the fortress created by his own fears around himself. It was a huge work, adding stone after stone on that wall around such a lonely and fearful and full of sorrow heart like his.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Exigent, perfectionist, one of those souls that never stops to fight for what he believed or wanted. He had never gave up, he could lose a battle but never the war. How come such a valorous warrior could let himself be confined in a cold, dark, and painful place like that? What had happen to his will? Why did he stopped fighting and just abandoned himself in this lost battlefield?</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">That great, good and fair warrior was also (or mainly, should I say?) a human being, even tough sometimes he tried to deceive himself about the contrary. And of course, as every human being he had also fears, and was sometimes weak, insecure about what he felt, what he was, what he have been doing all his life. He knew this very well in his soul, and every single morning he tried desperately to escape from “facing himself on the mirror”. Bit by bit, a kind of dark cloud, very dense and thick embraced and leaded him to that place where he bravely fought against legions and legions of imaginary warriors created by his own obscure side. Despite all his effort, he succumbed to the weight of his faults (supposed or real ones), of loneliness, fears and cowardice.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">But why was him still alive? It could be, because, in his case, death would not be helpful to him. It wouldn&#8217;t hurt so much on his soul like it hurt on the wounds that never heal. It would not remember him of everything he should extirpate from himself but instead, show him to open his heart to something bigger than anyone, anything; love.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">He knew he wouldn&#8217;t have gone to the Elysian Fields or to the Valhalla, he knew he was not good enough, he didn&#8217;t deserve this fate, but he was out of strength to fight for something else. He must have thought that was his end. He cowardly abandoned himself on the floor. May be for not being strong anymore or just in an attempt to kill himself trough his auto-commiseration, his weakness. Nothing else mattered: day&#8217;s colours, sun&#8217;s warmth, flowers&#8217; perfume, birds&#8217; songs, everything was inutile. He could barely see all those gifts around himself. He could only see darkness, feel cold and painful. Days, weeks, months, years, had passed, but he was still there, laid on the floor, lost among dead and twisted trees. He felt nothing else. No pain, no hungry, no thirsty, no cold, He just laid there indifferent to everything.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">One day (or should I say night, since it was all dark and cold in there) he noticed something weakly shining, floating on air. His first thought was that surely it was an insect and the only important thing was that it should just leave him alone. Very slowly, the “insect”, the little spark seemed to glow stronger, to get bigger, near him. For a moment he could not believe what was happening. The light so small and distant, was a kind of a princess, or angel, or a fairy spirit, maybe everything together! That light had approached itself to him obfuscating his eyes with such an intense golden light which came directly from it.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">How beautiful was that princess! So delicate, beautiful, sweet. He had never felt so good in life like he felt in this moment. His wounds didn&#8217;t hurt anymore, his heart was filled with joy and love! It was a wonderful sensation! It felt so right to feel this way, but that old and tired warrior was afraid of it. He was really fascinated by this creature. Without any motive or reason he just knew he could trust in that spirit and let himself be guided by it. His fears anyway had spoken higher making him retreat, avoiding the light.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Even with all the warrior&#8217;s reluctance the angel could approach him and touch his face with a finger, full filling his spirit with love and light. At the same time the warrior, felt himself transported in a beautiful flourished and perfumed field where birds sang and the sun shined illuminating and warming everything around, including his spirit. He could even hear angelic melodies being played somewhere not so far. For an instant, an ephemeral moment, his body and soul could felt how could be life without pain, without sufferance.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">The warrior inebriated of love could almost not speak. With a trembling voice and without facing the angel he asked what such a pure and wonderful creature did in there, in that cruel, dark, cold and painful battlefield. The spirit always pouring her light on the warrior answered him with a warm and peaceful voice. She said she had made all her way down there because of him. She needed him; his strength, his courage, his good heart, his integrity. He should protect her during a battle. He just could not believe in what he had heard, it was simply impossible! She surely had mistaken him for someone else! That was the only logical explanation. He talked to her about his thoughts, but she kept insisting he was the right person, there was no mistake. She would not accept a negative answer to her “proposal”, that mission was something that was already meant to be. She pointed him that there was no choice from him. He had been requested for this mission and could not refuse it. Although, she assured him, she would always be around, with him, he just had to think about her and she would be there by his side. She healed his wounds and gave him new armour and a new sword. “Be prepared for the battle, it will be hard but you will do it. Believe in yourself, have faith in a ‘Greater Good’ and never forget that nobody should suffer forever. Help me and I will help you. I give you my word, I will never, ever leave you alone again. I believe in you and I love you!” &#8211; Those were her last words before his “defences” were ruined.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">In that exact instant, he broke down and cried as he had never done before in his life. The teardrops seemed to come from a very deep place inside his soul. He was not able to explain how or why he felt inside himself, the only thing he was sure about was the love that spirit was giving him. He was sure that love was pure, was real, it would never hurt him like people had done before. It was inevitable to him, something he could not control. He could not fight against that love. Suddenly, he was also emanating light from his heart. He was “loving” her back! In shock and amazed with all that was happening to him, with that kind of a miracle happening right in front of his eyes and with himself, he knelt on his knees and prayed. For the first time in his life, he felt loved, alive and important to someone. He thanked the Gods for having that spirit, that angelic being loving him and giving him back his life, and promised to give his life, if needed, to protect this princess. The spirit who saved him from the worst kind of death. The dead-living death.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">After explaining the warrior how things would be, the princess just disappeared with a smile on her face and promising they would be reunited again very soon.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Everything just happened as the princess had said it would. The warrior would have found so many difficulties and obstacles along his path but he should not have fear or abandon his “mission”. The princess had told him every time he felt weak, ready to give up on everything, he should pray asking for courage, and strength. And so he did, every time he felt alone, lost; he prayed&#8230; and she was always there, pouring her love on him, full filling his soul with all the necessary for him to keep going towards the battle of his life.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Months had passed and things kept going exactly as the angel had said. One night, the spirit showed her up to the warrior telling him to prepare himself for the great battle on the next day. He would surely find pain and sorrow, but should not be afraid since they both would be together after battle. That night, she had embraced him stronger and stayed long, and before vanishing she just kissed him on the forehead whispering sweetly “Good night my warrior, tomorrow you will finally be free.”</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">After such a long day, walking miles and miles, the warrior was preparing himself for another sleep night under the stars when suddenly, he had heard a noise coming from on the forest and decided to run to see what was happening. He had not crossed completely the forest when he was called to fight, not to kill someone, but to defend himself. With his sword he had wounded and even killed other warriors, but this time, everything he did was just to defend himself, not just to kill deliberately without any reason. He kept moving, wounding and being wounded, but he did not care about, he just thought about getting to the princess&#8217; castle, she had trusted him a mission. He must kept her safe, and to do that he had to be with her.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Even though hurt and tired, he could not surrender, the princess had given him his life back, and this was the time to repay her for what she had done; and if to do this he had to die, he would do it. He would die for that spirit. Nothing else could be more important than her life. He would love that her more than any other thing in his life. He would live just for her, because of her.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Finally, at the dawn, exhausted, after have fought the biggest legion of warriors he had ever seen in his life, he could finally enter in the castle. Desperate, he looked everywhere for the princess without finding her. His heart seemed to jump off his chest, his emotions took control over him, he feared to had failed, to had lost the princess. Fortunately, that have not happened, since he found her hidden at one of the castle&#8217;s towers.</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">He ran to her and took her in his arms. He was tired, scared, but he still could feel how strong was that love. He looked inside those brown eyes while caressing her soft brown hair. The princess looked him back right into his eyes and smiled. He could barely control his emotions, when he started to say: “I will be eternally grateful for what you have done to me. You gave me my life back. You have broken down all my defences and showed me up what love is. You took me out from my prison-self of loneliness. Thank you, thank you for loving me as I am. You have taught me that is always time to love, that love always wins against anyone, anything. I have only one thing to ask you my celestial princess, tell me please, what is your name? The princess, for the first time wiping the tears in her eyes, said: “My name is Irene.”</span></span></span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"> </span></p>
<p lang="en-GB"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Papyrus;"><span style="font-size:small;">Dedicated to my daughter Irene. For making me believe again in life and love.</span></span></span></p>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Sobre o que sinto</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/sobre-o-que-sinto/</link>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 28 May 2010 11:39:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Textos e Poesias]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amor]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Eliara Santos]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[Quando eu era pequena me sentia segura, feliz. Sabia que era uma pessoa de sorte por tê-la e por ela ter a mim. Era ela o meu “esconderijo”, era ela o meu porto seguro e o meu apoio. Tudo viria dela. Com ela eu aprendi a falar, a calar, a gritar. Eu aprendi a ser, [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=739&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;">Quando eu era pequena me sentia segura, feliz. Sabia que era uma pessoa de sorte por tê-la e por ela ter a mim. Era ela o meu “esconderijo”, era ela o meu porto seguro e o meu apoio. Tudo viria dela.</span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Com ela eu aprendi a falar, a calar, a gritar. Eu aprendi a ser, a ter, a compartilhar. Ela me ensinou tudo o que sei, me fez o que sou e me mostrou a estrada por onde seguir. Eu aprendi a aceitar as diferenças, a respeitar e ser respeitado. Eu aprendi a discutir, a ofender e ser ofendido, a contestar, mas acima de tudo eu aprendi a amar e a perdoar. Ela me ensinou a ser humilde, a ser honesto, a ser bom e caridoso.</span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Depois eu cresci, algumas coisas não eram assim como eu pensava&#8230; mas era normal, eu era diferente dela e ela de mim. Mas nada disso mudou o que sentia, eu sabia que eu podia contar com ela e ela comigo.</span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Um dia um parti para longe, sabia que a separação seria inevitável, mas sabia que a levaria em meu coração e que restaria para sempre no seu. Sabia que se tudo o mais desse errado, com ela eu poderia contar. A distancia, a solidão estavam sempre ao meu lado, dando-me as provas que eu precisava para entender que ela, apesar dos pesares, era o que de mais valioso eu tinha&#8230; Como eu era fortunada&#8230; eu não estava sozinha&#8230; não o estaria jamais.</span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Um dia porém, percebo que seu brilho diminuía. A alegria, a força quase não existiam mais. Eu senti, eu sabia que ela estava doente. Tentei evitar o pior, procurei ajuda, tirei de dentro de mim tudo o que podia o que tinha para ajuda-la. Sabia que o mal que a afligia era grande, talvez o pior de todos, mas eu não queria, não podia acreditar que assim o fosse. Não poderia acontecer justamente comigo. Não aquele mal diabólico, aquele mal que a devorava de dentro para fora e que quase nunca poderia ser curado.</span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Hoje estou triste, estou de luto. Ela se foi, agonizante e sem esperança, sem forças para reagir. Agora estou só, com lagrimas no olhos e em meu coração, me sentindo vazia, sem a parte de mim que se foi, chorando pelo meu primeiro amor, o maior de todos, o que nunca poderá ser cancelado do meu espirito. </span></strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align:justify;" lang="pt-BR"><em><strong><span style="color:#000080;"> Me sinto cansada, inútil, incapaz&#8230; tudo o que eu podia fazer eu fiz, mas de nada serviu. O momento que eu nunca quis que chegasse, chegou. Cà estou eu, em prantos por ela que não tornará jamais, chorando por ela que morreu do pior dos males&#8230; Cà estou eu chorando pela minha família, morta por falta de amor.</span></strong></em></p>
<br />Filed under: <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/category/textos-e-poesias/'>Textos e Poesias</a> Tagged: <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/amor/'>Amor</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/coracao/'>Coraçao</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/eliara-santos/'>Eliara Santos</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/familia/'>Familia</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/pensamento/'>Pensamento</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/reflexao/'>Reflexao</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/relacionamentos/'>Relacionamentos</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/sentimentos/'>Sentimentos</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/ser-humano/'>Ser humano</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/sociedade/'>Sociedade</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/vida/'>Vida</a>, <a href='http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/tag/viver/'>Viver</a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/739/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=739&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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		<slash:comments>5</slash:comments>
	
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
		</media:content>
	</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pílulas de sabedoria X</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/10/12/pilulas-de-sabedoria-x/</link>
		<comments>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/10/12/pilulas-de-sabedoria-x/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Oct 2009 10:00:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pílulas de sabedoria]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Humanidade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Osho]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pensamentos]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexao]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sociedade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vida]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Viver]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://eliarasantos.com/?p=726</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;A verdadeira vida de um homem é o caminho no qual ele se desfaz das mentiras que lhe foram impostas pelos outros.&#8221; Osho Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Comportamento, Humanidade, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamentos, Reflexao, Sociedade, Vida, Viver<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=726&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em>&#8220;A verdadeira vida de um homem é o caminho no qual ele se desfaz das mentiras que lhe foram impostas pelos outros.&#8221; </em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="color:#808080;"><strong><em>Osho</em></strong></span></p>
<br />Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Comportamento, Humanidade, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamentos, Reflexao, Sociedade, Vida, Viver <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/726/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=726&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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		<slash:comments>5</slash:comments>
	
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
		</media:content>
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		<title>Sem etiqueta, sem preço</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/sem-etiqueta-sem-preco/</link>
		<comments>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/sem-etiqueta-sem-preco/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 23 Sep 2009 18:43:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Da Internet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Boston]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Espiritismo]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Etiqueta]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joshua Bell]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Metro]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Momento Espirita]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nova York]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Preço]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexoes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sem etiqueta]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sem preço]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sociedade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stradivarius]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Synmphony Hall]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Washington Post]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Valor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vida]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Viver]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Willian Hazlitt]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://eliarasantos.com/?p=722</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[A nota é internacional e diz, mais ou menos assim: Aquela poderia ser mais uma manhã como outra qualquer. Eis que o sujeito desce na estação do metrô de Nova York, vestindo jeans, camiseta e boné. Encosta-se próximo à entrada. Tira o violino da caixa e começa a tocar com entusiasmo para a multidão que [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=722&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A nota é internacional e diz, mais ou menos assim: <em>Aquela poderia ser mais uma manhã como outra qualquer.</em></span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Eis que o sujeito desce na estação do metrô de Nova York, vestindo jeans, camiseta e boné.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Encosta-se próximo à entrada. Tira o violino da caixa e começa a tocar com entusiasmo para a multidão que passa por ali, bem na hora do rush matinal.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Mesmo assim, durante os 45 minutos em que tocou, foi praticamente ignorado pelos passantes.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Ninguém sabia, mas o músico era Joshua Bell, um dos maiores violinistas do mundo, executando peças musicais consagradas, num instrumento raríssimo, um Stradivarius de 1713, estimado em mais de 3 milhões de dólares.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Alguns dias antes, Bell havia tocado no Symphony Hall de Boston, onde os melhores lugares custaram a bagatela de mil dólares.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A experiência no metrô, gravada em vídeo, mostra homens e mulheres de andar ligeiro, copo de café na mão, celular no ouvido, crachá balançando no pescoço, indiferentes ao som do violino.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A iniciativa, realizada pelo jornal The Washington Post, era a de lançar um debate sobre valor, contexto e arte.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A conclusão é de que estamos acostumados a dar valor às coisas, quando estão num contexto.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Bell, no metrô, era uma obra de arte sem moldura. Um artefato de luxo sem etiqueta de grife.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Esse é mais um exemplo daquelas tantas situações que acontecem em nossas vidas, que são únicas, singulares e a que não damos importância, porque não vêm com a etiqueta de preço.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Afinal, o que tem valor real para nós, independentemente de marcas, preços e grifes?</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em></em><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">É o que o mercado diz que podemos ter, sentir, vestir ou ser?</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Será que os nossos sentimentos e a nossa apreciação de beleza são manipulados pelo mercado, pela mídia e pelas instituições que detêm o poder financeiro?</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Será que estamos valorizando somente aquilo que está com etiqueta de preço?</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Uma empresa de cartões de crédito vem investindo, há algum tempo, em propaganda onde, depois de mostrar vários itens, com seus respectivos preços, apresenta uma cena de afeto, de alegria e informa: <em>Não tem preço.</em></span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">E é isso que precisamos aprender a valorizar. Aquilo que não tem preço, porque não se compra.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Não se compra a amizade, o amor, a afeição. Não se compra carinho, dedicação, abraços e beijos.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Não se compra raio de sol, nem gotas de chuva. </span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A canção do vento que passa sibilando pelo tronco oco de uma árvore é grátis.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">A criança que corre, espontânea, ao nosso encontro e se pendura em nosso pescoço, não tem preço.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">O colar que ela faz, contornando-nos o pescoço com os braços não está à venda em nenhuma joalheria. E o calor que transmite dura o quanto durar a nossa lembrança.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:center;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">*   *   *</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">O ar que respiramos, a brisa que embaraça nossos cabelos, o verde das árvores e o colorido das flores é nos dado por Deus, gratuitamente.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Pensemos nisso e aproveitemos mais tudo que está ao nosso alcance, sem preço, sem patente registrada, sem etiqueta de grife.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Usufruamos dos momentos de ternura que os amores nos ofertam, intensamente, entendendo que sempre a manifestação do afeto é única, extraordinária, especial.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:10pt;">Fiquemos mais atentos ao que nos cerca, sejamos gratos pelo que nos é ofertado e sejamos felizes, desde hoje, enquanto o dia nos sorri e o sol despeja luz em nosso coração apaixonado pela vida.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><strong><em><span style="color:#888888;"><em><span style="font-size:8pt;">Redação do Momento Espírita, a partir de comentário</span></em></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><strong><em><span style="color:#888888;"><em><span style="font-size:8pt;"> de Willian Hazlitt, que circula pela Internet.</span></em></span></em></strong></div>
<br />Publicado emDa Internet Tagged: Boston, Comportamento, Espiritismo, Etiqueta, Joshua Bell, Metro, Momento Espirita, Nova York, Preço, Reflexoes, Sem etiqueta, sem preço, Sociedade, Stradivarius, Synmphony Hall, The Washington Post, Valor, Vida, Viver, Willian Hazlitt <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/722/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=722&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Pílulas de sabedoria IX</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/21/pilulas-de-sabedoria-ix/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 21 Sep 2009 16:23:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pílulas de sabedoria]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amor romantico]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Osho]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexoes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relacionamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sociedade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Viver]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;O estado mais elevado de amor não é, de modo algum, um relacionamento: é simplesmente um estado do seu ser.&#8221; Osho Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Amor, Amor romantico, Comportamento, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Reflexoes, Relacionamento, Sociedade, Viver<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=720&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em>&#8220;O estado mais elevado de amor não é, de modo algum, um relacionamento: é simplesmente um estado do seu ser.&#8221;</em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="color:#888888;"><strong><em>Osho</em></strong></span></p>
<br />Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Amor, Amor romantico, Comportamento, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Reflexoes, Relacionamento, Sociedade, Viver <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/720/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=720&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Pílulas de sabedoria VIII</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/16/pilulas-de-sabedoria-viii/</link>
		<comments>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/16/pilulas-de-sabedoria-viii/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 16 Sep 2009 15:06:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pílulas de sabedoria]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anais Nin]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Coragem]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pensamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexao]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sociedade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vida]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Viver]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://eliarasantos.com/?p=718</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“A vida contrai-se e expande-se proporcionalmente à coragem do indivíduo.” Anais Nin Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Anais Nin, Comportamento, Coragem, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamento, Reflexao, Sociedade, Vida, Viver<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=718&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em>“A vida contrai-se e expande-se proporcionalmente à coragem do indivíduo.” </em></strong></span></p>
<p><strong><em> <span style="color:#808080;">Anais Nin</span></em></strong></p>
<br />Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Anais Nin, Comportamento, Coragem, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamento, Reflexao, Sociedade, Vida, Viver <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/718/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=718&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Pílulas de sabedoria VII</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/15/pilulas-de-sabedoria-vii/</link>
		<comments>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/15/pilulas-de-sabedoria-vii/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 15 Sep 2009 10:35:27 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pílulas de sabedoria]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Inicio]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Osho]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pensamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Recomeçar]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexao]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sentimento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vida]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://eliarasantos.com/?p=716</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Onde quer que você esteja, é sempre o início. Osho. Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Comportamento, Inicio, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamento, Recomeçar, Reflexao, Sentimento, Vida<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=716&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em>Onde quer que você esteja, é sempre o início. </em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="color:#888888;"><strong><em>Osho.</em></strong></span></p>
<br />Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Comportamento, Inicio, Osho, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pensamento, Recomeçar, Reflexao, Sentimento, Vida <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/716/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=716&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Quanta dor foi preciso</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/quanta-dor-foi-preciso/</link>
		<comments>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/quanta-dor-foi-preciso/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 14 Sep 2009 14:16:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Da Internet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comportamento]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflexao]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sociedade]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ser humano]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Bertolt Brecht]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Quanta dor foi preciso Um pequeno poema de Bertolt Brecht diz: A minha mãe. Quando ela acabou, foi colocada na terra Flores nascem, borboletas voejam por cima&#8230; Ela, leve, não fez pressão sobre a terra Quanta dor foi preciso para que ficasse tão leve! A dor nos faz mais leves, quando extraímos dela o sumo [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=709&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div style="text-align:center;text-indent:1cm;"><em><strong><span style="font-size:10pt;">Quanta dor foi preciso</span></strong></em></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Um pequeno poema de Bertolt Brecht diz:</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A minha mãe.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Quando ela acabou, foi colocada na terra</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Flores nascem, borboletas voejam por cima&#8230;</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Ela, leve, não fez pressão sobre a terra</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Quanta dor foi preciso para que ficasse tão leve!</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;"><br />
</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A dor nos faz mais leves, quando extraímos dela o sumo da sabedoria.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">De nada adianta sofrer e continuar o mesmo, com a mesma maneira de pensar, com os mesmos vícios&#8230;</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A dor sempre ensina. A dor sempre esculpe. Cabe ao aluno deixar-se ser formado/moldado por ela.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A dor vai retirando, a golpes de cinzel, o que, no bloco de mármore da vida, não é beleza, não é escultura.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Num primeiro momento, e numa visão acanhada, os golpes são cruéis, ferem, sangram.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Mais tarde, porém, apenas mais tarde, pode-se ver o bloco, antigamente disforme, agora tomando formas definidas e certas.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Assim é o sofrimento. Quase sempre é compreendido apenas com o passar do tempo e quando a visão madura de nós mesmos sobrepõe o imediatismo persistente na alma.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Saímos mais leves da vida, certamente, quando aprendemos com o sofrer; quando não repetimos mais os mesmos erros e eles não mais nos escravizam.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Saímos mais leves daqui, quando arrancamos de nós os pesados vícios – essas cargas perversas que insistimos em carregar pelos dias.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Saímos mais leves, sim, ao entender que somos os maiores prejudicados quando guardamos mágoa, quando permitimos que um sentimento negativo fique ressentindo em nosso peito por tanto tempo.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Saímos aliviados da existência, quando a doença nos consumiu a vida do corpo, mas renovou a vitalidade da alma, que agora nasce de novo, deixando na enfermidade transata os débitos com a Lei maior.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">É certo que a dor é educadora enérgica e implacável, mas é professora indispensável de nossas existências inseguras e irresponsáveis.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">É de entendimento geral que, quanto mais responsável e maduro o educando, mais flexível e ameno pode ser o educador.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Vivemos ainda a época dos educandos rebeldes, aparentemente incorrigíveis, por isso a mestra dor precisa atuar com tanta veemência e rigidez.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:center;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">*   *   *</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">O pântano e as águas estagnadas experimentam rigorosa drenagem, a fim de se transformarem em jardim e pomar.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">O deserto sente a modificação da sua estrutura, mediante elementos químicos, de modo a reverdecer e coroar-se de flores.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A semente sofre o esmagamento e arrebenta-se em vida exuberante.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Nos animais, o parto é violência orgânica dolorosa, que liberta a vida que conduzia encarcerada.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Compreensível, desse modo, que o desabrochar da perfeição comece pelo despedaçar do grotesco em predominância no ser humano.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">Erros que geraram calamitosos efeitos a reparar, desafios que promovem à conquista de mais elevados patamares se apresentam com frequência.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">São inevitáveis as ocorrências depuradoras, os sofrimentos de sublimação.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:justify;text-indent:1cm;"><strong><em><span style="color:#0000ff;"><span style="font-size:10pt;">A dor é mensagem da vida cantando o hino de exaltação e glória à evolução. Recebê-la com tranquilidade constitui admirável realização íntima da lucidez intelecto-moral do ser humano.</span></span></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><span style="color:#808080;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:8pt;">Redação do Momento Espírita com citação do capítulo </span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><span style="color:#808080;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:8pt;">A dor e suas bênçãos, do livro Fonte de luz, pelo </span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><span style="color:#808080;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:8pt;">Espírito Joanna de Ângelis, psicografia de </span></em></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align:right;margin:0 0 0 150pt;"><span style="color:#808080;"><strong><em><span style="font-size:8pt;">Divaldo Pereira Franco, ed. Leal.</span></em></strong></span></div>
<br />Publicado emDa Internet Tagged: Bertolt Brecht, Comportamento, Divaldo Pereira Franco, Dor, Espiritismo, Espiritulidade, Evolução, Fonte de luz, Joana de Angelis, Momento Espirita, Pensamentos, Reflexao, Ser humano, Sociedade, Sublimação, Vida <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godelicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/delicious/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gofacebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/facebook/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gotwitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/twitter/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gostumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/stumble/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/godigg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/digg/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/goreddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/reddit/isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/709/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=709&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></content:encoded>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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		<title>Pílulas de sabedoria VI</title>
		<link>http://isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/pilulas-de-sabedoria-vi/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 14 Sep 2009 08:13:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Eliara Santos</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pílulas de sabedoria]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Coisas]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fernando Pessoa]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Momentos]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pessoas]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tempo]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Valor]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[O valor das coisas não esta no tempo que elas duram, mas na intensidade com que acontecem. Por isso há momentos inesquecíveis, coisas inexplicáveis e pessoas incomparáveis. Fernando Pessoa. Publicado emPílulas de sabedoria Tagged: Coisas, Fernando Pessoa, Momentos, Pílulas de sabedoria, Pessoas, Tempo, Valor<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=isabeaudanjouladyhawke.wordpress.com&amp;blog=4145694&amp;post=705&amp;subd=isabeaudanjouladyhawke&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><span style="color:#0000ff;"><strong><em>O valor das coisas não esta no tempo que elas duram, mas na intensidade com que acontecem. Por isso há momentos inesquecíveis, coisas inexplicáveis e pessoas incomparáveis.</em></strong></span></p>
<p><strong><em><span style="color:#808080;">Fernando Pessoa.</span></em></strong></p>
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			<media:title type="html">Eliara Santos</media:title>
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