Sgarbe for 2022; Letter six

In 2022, I had the experience of the most delicious monotony. It is as if. Precisely. The “as if” of literature. It is as if I had applied color filters, noise-reduction filters, had lowered the light, reduced the contrast. It was a deliciously normal year, which, for me, means that I learned many new skills, and I could say: if we have not seen each other in a long time, it is possible that I have changed a lot.

I busied myself primarily with politics, to which I devote two dissertations (one worse than the other). I also settled in myself what I call “serene pessimism.” I find it funny how much, human as we are, we are capable of erring through mere stupidity (less through ignorance, more through stupidity). Not even a talking cat could be funnier.

I disagreed with practically everything I read on Instagram. Taken to their ultimate consequences, that advice can destroy years of civilizing process. The world, at least in my view, needs more people talking, more people daring, more people saying yes or no without fear. It is quite the opposite of narcissistic life.

There is no culture or civilization in lives that live for themselves. They are still in the omnipotence of animal thought. Sometimes they are our coworkers, sometimes a love, a family love, what a pity for all of us. The simplification of memes almost always takes me back to gallows laughter.

In the end, what counts is a certain courage before one’s own desire. I do not know a single soul who has succeeded without confessing to themself that they can do little and know even less. There is enormous power in that conversion to ourselves. A line from a song associated with Peninha says there is no resentment, only the wish that you find yourself. I met the man who helped Peninha write that song. We sat on a wooden bench, remembering that life is also love, if it is not only love.

Before God and his angels, before Satan and his demons, before the Church and the Great Cloud of Witnesses, before the most treacherous alley of a neighborhood taken by trafficking, before the prostitutes of Visconde de Guarapuava street, before the priests of all religions, before the world without faith and the Holy See, before Our Lady and Saint Joseph, and all the apostles living or dead, before the fast-lane cars, the stones of the Passeio Público, before the Bolsonaristas in front of the barracks, before the Bolsonaristas with the sign reversed in the universities, before Patryck’s photo printed on PVC, before the worst collection of books a house can have — Tag’s (a book-subscription club) —, before me, I confess: I cannot change the world by shouting (although I am excellent at shouting).

I know in the depth and on the surface of my spirit that we can be very happy before we die. That human life can be worth it when we give the first kiss, or when we make eternal plans. The message is:

“You know what happens when greed takes control: the more you have, the less you are. Wisdom goes out into the street and shouts, and in the middle of the city, gives her speech.”

The endless help I receive has not stopped in me; abundant as it is, it has run glamorous rivers and threads of life in rotten ditches. The life that resists battery water, space travel in the vacuum and the salty, oxygenless depths of the oceans also shows up in analysis sessions. The more resources I find to destroy others’ ideas, the more I take possession of the mercy that is repeatedly offered to me.

Whoever eventually thinks I am part of a grand plot is thoroughly mistaken. Whoever eventually thinks of involving me in a grand plot is wasting time. My life is truly indifferent to human things that are not linked to the greatness of our divinity. If I died now, and the final judgment were a single question, namely “were you happy?”, my approval would come from the answer “look, although the Lord was not exactly clear most of the time, I did everything I knew.” And that’s it. You could print photos of me alongside the “Novena of Saint Sgarbe.” From the first to the last day of my Holy Novena, you will have to pray:

“I am not Bono Vox, nor Madonna, I am an essential person to the people around me. For me to achieve [put your intention here], I need to wake early and sleep early, keep an organized planner, and dodge psychological games as much as possible. Through the intercession of Saint Sgarbe, may God stop being an authoritarian, vengeful father, and become someone I make happy. Amen.”

Little can resist a certain insistence. If the door does not open at all, not with prayer, not with spells, not with all the playful special effects, our path is not there. “God’s blessing enriches and brings no pain.” If that gentleman changed his mind about keeping his own word, it is for him to review his own principles.

I know less and less of God, but this I know: he gives preference to those who surrender. It is better to say “I will not go” and go, than to be first in line and not show up for work. The other day, I told him, “and you are the most hypocritical of all.” As usual, I was wrong. But I think he got the message.