Dear Célio,
Thanks for your beautiful letter.
I have been living with the printed version of your letter for some days.
It’s laying on my worktable, taking the space of one unfolded sheet, and displaying a square of black traces within a bigger white square.
It was a very suitable first letter. That’s the feeling that I had while reading it. This letter is a real letter.
This blog seems a great river to me, and now, somehow, I need to find my (provisional) way to plunge into it. While I’m looking the water following its own direction, it comes visible to me the texture of time. Here I’m, mesmerized by the flow, knowing that the entry door will appear only with the decision to jump into it, but still trying to do so in an accurate way.
