Let’s start from this white if you like. This white cloud that was refreshed by the month of May’s sun of the morning. It had the smoothness of velvet and the shine of a tear. I would like to write to you a letter with nothing but this color in it. It will be like that four folded paper that envelops the diamonds in the goldsmith’s neighborhood, and a piece of paper. White like a wedding shirt, with angelic salt beads, the fortune of a fingertip, diamonds like the tears of a newborn baby.
Our thoughts rise like smoke and darken them. I did nothing today, and I thought nothing. Heaven came and ate from my hand. Now, it’s evening. But I do not want to leave this day without giving you the most beautiful of it. You see the world, you see it like me, it’s just a battlefield. Black knights are everywhere. Swords squeak in the depths of souls, yes. But this does not matter at all.
Today I passed in front of a beggar. He was blind but he was smiling — yeah, that’s what matters. We kill all the sweetness of life and it returns to us more abundant. In war there is nothing mysterious, but this bird that I saw fleeing to the grasses of the forest, one among the compact trunks, amazed me. I’m trying to tell you something so small that I feel like I might hurt him when I say it.
Some butterflies cannot touch their wings without breaking like glass. The bird was walking among the trees like a servant slipping between the pillars of a palace, making no sound. He wears the suit of gold simply like a poet. Here I am near what I want to tell you, from that little thing that I saw today, and that opened all the gates of death: there is life that never stops. Impossible to perceive. It fled in front of us like a fleeing bird between the pillars in our heart. We are seldom at the level of life, but it is not concerned with that, not a single moment ceases to be blessed with blessings for us killers.
The beggar was enlightened under the cloud, the cloud adorned before it, and the bird with prophetic wings set fire to the forest. For a few moments I managed to be alive. I know this message might sound crazy to you. It is not like that. Our desires are rather insane. I would like to talk here simply about a “beautiful day”, about a “cloud in a sunny day.” These phrases have the connotation of a sword from the light of our new blade that opens our heart. We are submerged under thousands of stars. Sometimes we glimpse some of them and shake our heads, oh just for a moment. This is what we call “good time.”
I imagine someone entering Paradise without knowing that he is in Paradise. He has concerns and projects. He is too busy. An iron sound and a creak of swords accompanying him. War, it’s very normal. Then, there is a snowy light over a lake and a bird with golden wings shattering the walls of the world. It is an unexpected meeting. A few seconds is enough to live eternity, isn’t it?
“We think and feel that we are eternal.” This Spinoza idea has the delicacy of a baby sleeping in the back of a car seat. You and I have a mighty king sitting on his red throne in the Great Hall of Our Heart. Sometimes for a few moments, this king-man-of-joy descends his throne and takes a few steps down the street. It’s that simple.
I only like messages soaked in the cloudy sky. Who is the whiteness that has experienced death. If the beggar is smiling, it is because it is out of the dark. I have spent my life fighting against disguised grief. My smile is costing me a fortune.
The whiteness of the cloud is like a piece of gold that fell from your pocket, and when I write it I return it to you. This white of His Majesty, as if it is the inevitable end of despair, it pushes tears to faraway. Do you realize that?
— A Message From the White Sky
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