Palavras / Words

“The enemy is fear. We think it is hate but is fear.” -Gandhi




He ate and drank the precious words,

His spirit grew robust,

He knew no more that he was poor,

Nor that his frame was dust.

He danced along the dingy days,

And this bequest of wings

Was but a book. What liberty

A loosened spirit brings!

Dickinson, E. (1993). The Collected Works of Emily Dickinson. New York: Chatham River Press.

‎"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." - Margaret Mead.


BEWILDERMENT / Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

There are many guises for intelligence.

one part of you is gliding in a high


while your more ordinary notions

take little steps and peck at the


Conventional knowledge is death to

our souls,

and it is not really ours.

It is laid on. Yet we keep saying

that we find “rest” in these “beliefs.”

We must become ignorant of what we

have been taught

and instead be bewildered.

Run from what is profitable

and comfortable.

If you drink those liqueurs,

you will spill the springwater of your

real life.

Distrust anyone who praises you.

Give your investments money, and the interest

on the capital, to those who are

actually destitute.

Forget safety. Live where you fear

to live.

Destroy your reputation.

Be notorious.

I have tired prudent planning

long enough.

From now on, I'll be mad.

(translated by Coleman Barks) in Cosmo DooGood's Urban Almanac 2006, p. 168.

We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

Joseph Campbell

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Quem teve a idéia de cortar o tempo em fatias,

A que se deu o nome de ano, foi um indivíduo genial.

Industrializou a esperança, fazendo-a funcionar no limite da exaustão.

Doze meses dão para qualquer ser humano se cansar e entregar os pontos.

Aí entra o milagre da renovação e tudo começa outra vez, com outro número e outra vontade de acreditar, que daqui para diante vai ser diferente.

Who ever had the idea to cut time into slices

Was the one who gave the year a name, and was a brilliant individual.

They industrialized hope, making it function to the limit of exhaustion.

Twelve months gives any human being time to be tired and to give up.

There the miracle of renewal entered and everything started again, with another number and another will to believe, that from here forward things will be different.

Dream Big

If there were ever a time to dare,

To make a difference,

To embark on something worth doing,

It is now.

Not for any grand cause, necessarily --

But for something that tugs at your heart,

Something that’s your aspiration

Something that’s your dream.

You owe it to yourself,

to make it count

Have fun

Dig deep


So, Dream big.

Know, though, that things worth doing

Seldom come easy.

There will be good days,

And there will be bad days.

There will be times when you want to turn around,

Pack it up,

And call it quits.

Those times tell you

That you are pushing yourself,

That you are not afraid to learn by trying.


Because with an idea,


And the right tools,

You can do great things.

Let your instincts,

Your intellect,

And your heart, guide you.


Believe in the incredible power of the human mind.

Of doing something that makes a difference.

Of working hard,

Of laughing and hoping,

Of lazy afternoons,

Of lasting friends,

Of all the things that will cross your path this year.

The start of something new

Brings the hope of something great.

Anything is possible.

There is only one you,

And you will pass this way only once.

So, do it right!


En épocas remotas, hubo una vez un país donde en una ocasión se encontró que la cosecha obtenida ese año producía un efecto nefasto: aquellos que la comían, perdían la razón.

“No nos queda más remedio que comer del grano para sobrevivir,” dijo el rey, “pero entre nosotros deberán haber quienes no olviden que hemos perdido la razón.”

- Anónimo.

In ancient times there was a harvest that came in and was found to be poisonous. Those who ate of it, went insane.

“We must eat the grain to survive,” said the King, “But there must be those among us who remember that we have all gone insane.”

- Anonomous

Em tempos antigos, a época da colheita chegou e descobriu-se que a mesma encontrava-se envenenada, pois todos aqueles que dela comiam, ficavam loucos.

“Nós devemos comer as sementes dos cereais para que possamos sobreviver”, disse o Rei. “Porém, deverá haver aqueles entre nós que se lembrarão que todos nós nos tornamos loucos”.


Ere time journeys on

And years pass by

Come listen to the song

I would sing.

Incline your heart and

Lend your ears

To the message of love

That I bring.

When flowers can bloom

Without sunshine

When night time no more

Follows day

When rivers can flow

Without channels

To guide us along the rough way.

When God gives us Spring

Without sunshine –

And flowers cease to wane with the dew.

When this world can live without loves tender blossoms

Then I can live without you.

A love such as mine

Were laid in the heart

Of a rose that is faded and bare

Though summer were

Gone and flowers were dead

A new rose would

Blossom there.

Found in the Hall at Parkview Nursing Home, Portland Oregon

May 3, 1978

I Found My Sources

I found my sources

In old archives


I found them

In accursed objects

Posts and chains

I found my sources

In the East

On the sea in filthy slave ships

I found them

In sweet words


In furious drums


I found my sources

In the color of my skin

In the wounds of my soul

In me

In my dark people

In my proud heroes

I found them and at last found myself.

Olveira Silveira, Brazilian Poet, 1981

(1999). Baedeker's Brazil, 2nd Edition. World Travel Guides: London. (p. 69)

Encontrei Minhas Origens

Encontrei minhas origens

Em velhos arquivos



Em malditos objetos

Troncos e grilhetas

Encontrei minhas origens

No leste

No mar em imundos tumbeiros


Em doces palavras


Em furiosos tambores


Encontrei minhas origens

Na cor de minha pele

Nos lanhos de minha alma

Em mim

Em minha gente escura

Em meus heróis altivos


Encontrei-as enfim

Me encontrei

Oliveira Silveira - Roteiro dos Tantãs

Entrevista: Oliveira Silveira

A new civilization is emerging in our lives, and blind men everywhere are trying to suppress it. This new civilization brings with it new family styles; changing ways of working, loving, and living; a new economy; new political conflicts; and beyond all this an altered consciousness as well. Pieces of this new civilization exist today. Millions are already attuning their lives to the rhythms of tomorrow. Others, terrified of the future, are engaged in a desperate, futile flight into the past and are trying to restore the dying world that gave them birth . . . . The dawn of this civilization is the single most explosive fact of our lifetimes.

Alvin Toffler, 1990, The Third Wave.

"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world"

- J.R.R. Tolkien

"Se muitos de nós valorizassem o alimento, a diversão e a canção além do ouro acumulado, o mundo seria mais alegre"

- J.R.R. Tolkien

When I Heard at the Close of the Day


When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd

with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for

me that follow'd,

And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still

I was not happy,

But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,

refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,

When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the

morning light,

When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing bathed,

laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,

And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way

coming, O then I was happy,

O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food

nourish'd me more, and the beautiful day pass'd well,

And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came

my friend,

And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly

continually up the shores,

I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me

whispering to congratulate me,

For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in

the cool night,

In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,

And his arm lay lightly around my breast--and that night I was happy.

Courtesy of

All those histories of this country centered on the Founding Fathers and the Presidents weigh oppressively on the capacity of the ordinary citizen to act. They suggest that in times of crisis, we look to someone to save us… And that between occasional crises everything is all right, and it is sufficient for us to be restored to that normal state. They teach us that the supreme act of citizenship is to choose among saviors, by going into a voting booth every four years to choose between two white and well-off Anglo-Saxon males of inoffensive personality and orthodox opinions. The idea of saviors has been built into the entire culture, beyond politics. We have learned to look to stars, leaders, experts in every field, thus surrendering our own strength, demeaning our own ability, obliterating our own selves. But from time to time, Americans reject that idea and rebel. These rebellions, so far, have been contained. The American system is the most ingenious system of control in world history. With a country so rich in natural resources, talent, and labor power the system can afford to distribute just enough wealth to just enough people to limit discontent to a troublesome minority. It is a country so powerful, so big, so pleasing to so many of its citizens that it can afford to give freedom of dissent to the small number who are not pleased. There is no system of control with more openings, apertures, leeways, flexibilities, and rewards, for the chosen, winning tickets in lotteries. There is none that disperses its controls more complexly through the voting system, the work situation, the church, the family, the school, the mass media -- none more successful in mollifying opposition with reforms, isolating people from one another, creating patriotic loyalty.

Howard Zinn. (1980). A people's history of the United States. Harper & Row: New York. (570-571).

A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house that I lived in, or the kind of car I drove… but the world may be a different place because I was important in the life of a student.

- Anon.

Thompson, C.L. & Rudolph, L.B. (4th Edition) Counseling Children. Pacific Grove, CA: Brooks/Cole Publishing.

"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit." (Unknown)


Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rage at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"Politics is driven by power, more or less constrained by justice. Power works by pretending to be just. In thinking about human rights we should distinguish between what justice requires and what those with power demand." - Michael Freeman

"War is a cowardly escape from the problems of Peace." -Thomas Mann

I have no name (from The Song of Life)

by Jiddu Krishnamurti

I have no name,

I am as the fresh breeze of the mountains.

I have no shelter;

I am as the wandering waters.

I have no sanctuary, like the dark gods;

Nor am I in the shadow of deep temples.

I have no sacred books;

Nor am I well-seasoned in tradition.

I am not in the incense

Mounting on the high altars,

Nor in the pomp of ceremonies.

I am neither in the graven image,

Nor in the rich chant of a melodious voice.

I am not bound by theories,

Nor corrupted by beliefs.

I am not held in the bondage of religions,

Nor in the pious agony of their priests.

I am not entrapped by philosophies,

Nor held in the power of their sects.

I am neither low nor high,

I am the worshipper and the worshipped.

I am free.

My song is the song of the river

Calling for the open seas,

Wandering, wandering,

I am Life.

I have no name,

I am as the fresh breeze of the mountains.

I am a failure!

I do teach mathematics

I do solve problems

I do get correct answers

But.… I think I am a failure

I do write textbooks

I do train teachers

I do conduct seminars

But….I think I am a failure

My students do secure distinction marks

They do memorize all the facts

They are outstanding to write mathematical syntax

But….I think I am a failure

I could not find mathematics of my community

Neither I found mathematics of students’ locality

I drew cylinders with markers on the board

Never I showed Markers as Cylinders

So, I think I am a failure

I never observed my mother’s estimation on work

Never acknowledged my father’s calculation on force

I thought I am a very good mathematician

Who cares the local compendium?

So, I think I am a failure

Pant, Binod (2015)

I can do nothing! I can do everything!

Government determines Objectives

Experts assemble Curriculum

Trainers prescribe Teaching Methods

I go to the classroom

I try to teach mathematics

But, I can do nothing!

I give meanings to the objectives

I can develop my own curriculum

I have choices to apply many methods

I can see mathematics around us

I help students to learn mathematics

So, I can do everything!

Pant, Binod (2015)

The Fable of the Roasted Pig

from: Schools for a New Century: A Conservative Approach to Radical

School Reform by Dwight W. Allen

Once upon a time, a forest where some pigs lived, caught on fire and

all the pigs were roasted. People, who at that time were in the habit

of eating raw meat only, tasted the roasted pigs and found them

delicious. From that time on, whenever men wanted roasted pork they

set a forest on fire.

Due to the many bad points of "the system," complaints grew at an

increasing rate, as the system expanded to involve more and more

people. It was obvious that "the system" should be drastically

changed. Thus every year there were any number of conventions, and

congresses, and a considerable amount of time and effort was spent on

research to find a solution. But apparently no way of improving the

system was ever found, for the next year and the year after and the

year after that there were once more conventions and congresses and

conferences. And this went on and on and on...

Those who were experts on the subject put down the failure of the

system to a lack of discipline on the part of the pigs, who would not

stay where they should in the forests; or to the inconstant nature of

fire, which was hard to control; or to the trees, which were too

green to burn well; or the dampness of the earth; or the official

method of setting the woods on fire or....or....

There were men who worked at setting the woods on fire (firemen).

Some were specialists in setting fires by night, others by day. There

were also the wind specialists, the anemotechnicians. There were huge

compounds to keep the pigs in, before the fire broke out in the

forest, and new methods were being tested on how to let the pigs out

at just the right moment. There were technicians in pig feeding,

experts in building pig pens, professors in charge of training

experts in pig pen construction, universities that prepared

professors to be in charge of training experts in pig pen

construction, research specialists who bequeathed their discoveries

to the universities that prepared professors to be in charge of

training experts in pig pen construction, and...

One day a fireman named John Commonsense said that the problem was

really very simple and easily solved. Only four steps need to be

followed: (1) the chosen pig had to be killed, (2) cleaned, (3)

placed in the proper utensil, and (4) placed over the fire so that it

would be cooked by the effect of the heat and not by the effect of

the flames.

The director general of roasting himself came to hear of this

Commonsense proposal, and sent for John Commonsense. He asked what

Commonsense had to say about the problem, and after hearing the four

point idea he said:

"What you say is absolutely right--in theory, but it won't work in

practice. It's wasteful. What would we do with our technicians, for


"I don't know," answered John.

"Or the specialists in seeds, in timber? And the builders of

seven-story pig pens, now equipped with new cleaning machines and

automatic scenters?"

"I don't know."

"Can't you see that yours is not the solution we need? Don't you know

that if everything was as simple as all that, then the problem would

have been solved long ago by our specialists? Tell me, where are the

authorities who support your suggestion? Who are the authors who say

what you say? Do you think i can tell the engineers in the fire

division that it is only a question of using embers without a flame?

And what shall be done with the forests that are ready to be burned -

forests of the right kind of trees needed to produce the right kind

of fire, trees that have neither fruit, nor leaves enough for shade,

so that they are good only for burning? What shall be done with them?

Tell me!"

"I don't know."

What you must bring, are realistic solutions, methods to train better

wind technicians; to make pig sties eight stories high or more,

instead of the seven stories we now have. We have to improve what we

have; we cannot ignore history. So bring me a plan, for example, that

will show me how to design the crucial experiment which will yield a

solution to the problem of roast reform. That is what we need. You

are lacking in good judgement, Commonsense! Tell me, if your plan is

adopted, what would I do with such experts as the president of the

committee to study the integral use of the remnants of the


"I'm really perplexed," said John.

"Well, now, since you know what the problem is, don't go around

telling everybody you can fix everything. You must realize the

problem is serious and complicated; it is not so simple as you had

supposed it to be. An outsider says, "I can fix everything."

But you have to be inside to know the problems and the difficulties.

Now, just between you and me, I advise you not mention your idea to

anyone, for your own good, because I understand your plan. But, you

know, you may come across another boss not so capable of

understanding as I am. You know what that's like, don't you, Eh?"

Poor John Commonsense didn't utter a word. Without so much as saying

goodbye, stupefied with fright and puzzled by the barriers put in

front of him, he went away and was never seen again.

It was never known where he went. That is why it is often said that

when it comes to reforming the system, Commonsense is missing.

- Anonymous

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty

and frightened. Don't open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

Don't go back to sleep.

I would love to kiss you.

The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,

What a bargain, let's buy it.

Daylight, full of small dancing particles

and the one great turning, our souls

are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.

Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?

All day and night, music,

a quiet, bright

reedsong. If it

fades, we fade.


Copyright 2011 by Daniel C. Orey
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