There I was. I had prepared for class the night before, as I always did, and was giving it some finishing touches and final revisions in my office. It was time to go meet my new students. Despite having already had a lifetime of experience and training in my field of study, I always got a little nervous before facing a new class. Will they like me? Will they hate me? Am I looking okay? Is my accent too obvious? Every class was different. Just like with any other professor, some years my connection with students was simply fantastic, sometimes not so much. So, it was not unusual for professors to feel slightly anxious before each new cohort arrived. However, when I entered the classroom, that anxiety soon began to dissipate. This seems like a nice group. The class composition was very similar to other classes—the eager ones who sat upfront and absorbed every word, comma, and period, and copied every drawing. Then there were the more timid, quiet ones, who tended to sit toward the middle...

(Versão em português de The Universe is a Comedian) PRIMEIRA PARTE Dizem que o Universo fala com a gente. Sério? Eu creio que sim. Talvez seja o Universo que sussurre lá no fundo da nossa mente, aquela intuição no peito que diz: Hum... acho melhor eu não ir por aí. Ou então: Tem alguma coisa estranha nessa história... Sinais e mensagens subliminares que aparecem antes que alguma coisa aconteça. Muitos, erradamente, têm a tendência de ignorar esses avisos cósmicos. Eu, certamente, ignorei. Mas também descobri que o Universo tem uma outra forma — muito menos sutil — de se comunicar. Quando os sussurros não funcionam, o Universo, que nem criança mimada, grita, faz birra e começa a atirar coisas na sua direção. Talvez não literalmente... Na maioria das vezes. As coisas simplesmente começam a acontecer. Uma atrás da outra. Como se houvesse um cara lá no cosmos, um controlador de tráfego aéreo, convencido de que você está na rota errada e, então, tenta desesperadamente recalcular o seu traje...

People say the Universe talks to you. Really? Well... maybe it does. Maybe it is the Universe speaking to you through that little voice in the back of your mind—that gut feeling that whispers, Maybe I shouldn't go there. Or... Hmm... something about this doesn't smell right. Those tiny subliminal messages that show up before something happens. Many of us ignore them. I certainly did. But I have since discovered that the Universe has another, far less subtle, way of getting its point across. In fact, when whispering doesn't work, it has a tantrum and starts throwing things at you. Well, not literally—mostly. Things simply begin happening. One after another. As though a cosmic air traffic control tower has decided you're heading in the wrong direction and is desperately trying to reroute you—hoping you won't crash and burn. That was my trip to Brazil earlier this year. At first, it's just a weird detour and you may dismiss it. But then another thing happens, anoth...

 Versão em Português do texto "No Witness—Hopefully!" Há momentos na vida para os quais ninguém nos prepara. Não para a perda dos pais. Não para a aposentadoria. Não para virar avó. Não para deixar escapar um pipizinho quando a gente ri. E muito menos para cair da própria cama! Lá estava eu, estatelada no chão, sem a menor elegância, numa madrugada daquelas, olhando em volta no escuro e tentando reconstruir rapidamente a série de eventos infelizes que me levara àquele pouso tão indigno. O meu primeiro pensamento não foi: Será que me machuquei? E também não foi: Como é que eu vou me levantar daqui? Contudo, creio que esse pensamento me passou pela mente numa velocidade relâmpago. Mas não. O primeiro pensamento foi: Será que alguém viu isso? Silêncio. Foi até engraçado o alívio que senti quando minha pergunta mental foi recebida por aquele silêncio absoluto. Ainda bem que a gata não está aqui para me julgar. Na minha mente — sempre visualmente ativa — imaginei a minha gata para...

There are moments in life that no one prepares you for. Not the loss of your parents. Not retirement. Not becoming a grandmother. Not suddenly peeing a little when you laugh. And... certainly not falling off your own bed! There I was, sprawled inelegantly on the floor at some ungodly hour of the night, looking around in the dark, trying to quickly reconstruct exactly what series of unfortunate events had led to this less-than-dignified landing. The first thought wasn't, Am I hurt? It wasn't even, How do I get back up? Mind you, I think that one did flash through my brain at warp speed. But no. The first thought was... "Did anybody see that?" Silence. Such a funny sense of relief washed over me when my mental question was met with silence. "Good thing the cat isn't here to judge me." In my visually active mind, I imagined my cat standing at the door, maybe smoking a cigar and slowly shaking her head at pathetic little me thinking, “And I trust this human ...

Everybody dies. We are born, we live, we age, and eventually we die. I don’t know exactly why I am writing this. Perhaps it is a need to rinse my soul—to push the images and feelings out of my mind and onto the page, to loosen the knot that has been tightening in my throat. I cannot quite believe what I endured this week, or how I managed to endure it at all. Sobbing convulsively became a repeated event—many times a day, for several days in a row. The heat, to which I have a severe hypersensitivity, caused me to collapse three times. I became dehydrated, my kidneys took a beating, my eyes swelled, and my legs ballooned until they looked like tree trunks. Everybody dies. My mother died. I say the words, but they still do not feel real. Just last week I was telling a friend how strong she was—healthy, energetic, dynamic. Then, the next day, everything changed. She had an accident, fell, fractured her femur, and was taken to the hospital. I called the emergency department from Canada and ...

It is a strange kind of grief that arises when an abusive mother dies. I call it naked grief— Raw, uncensored.  It is not a simple grief. It is not only sadness. It is a difficult mixture to explain — sadness, anger, sorrow… and also sorrow for the mother you never had. When a mother who manipulated the dynamics of an entire family dies, what one feels often does not resemble the traditional grief people expect to see. Sometimes sadness is not even the main emotion. What is mourned, many times, is not the woman who truly existed, but the loving and caring mother you deserved to have — and never did. Death also closes forever any possibility of change. It closes the door to an apology that never came. To a reconciliation that never happened. To the hope — however small — that one day the truth might be acknowledged. And when that door closes for good, pain and anger can return with unexpected force. There are also contradictory emotions. There can be relief — relief in knowing that ...

I am going to get something off my chest here. I have been having a very hard time since I returned from Brazil. I didn't want to admit this to anyone, so I just smile and pretend everything is okay. Yes, because no one wants "negative" energy—we just have to glow, poop stars, and vomit sparkles of joy. My mother's death hits me even harder now that I am back in Canada. More than ever, I realize how truly alone I am. Yet, I remain stoic. However, the truth is that, despite whatever happened, or whatever she did, she was my mom, and I loved her. I loved having a mom—of being somebody's daughter. I used to call her every week. I worried about her. I complained about her. We argued. But she was still my mom. While in Brazil, I had my friends to take my mind off things. It helped. But now that I am back, I feel a vacuum. I have lost interest in many things—my writing group, the novel I was writing, the new drawing I had started. The birds distract me a bit, but those ...

I am so relieved to soon be leaving this place. Rio de Janeiro has decayed very quickly, and that saddens me. I spent my childhood, my adolescence, and my early twenties in this city. Now there is mafia, shootings — the feeling of being unsafe is very real here. It is striking how people grow accustomed to it. Accessibility seems to have bypassed Rio altogether. It does not matter if you are walking with a cane, if your difficulty is obvious. People push and shove to get what they want. Yet, if you enter a store and say “Hi” with a smile, you are seen as rude because you did not say “good morning” instead. Some cab drivers will even ask you to get out of their cars if you request help opening the door or getting in — especially if you express surprise at their behavior. You are expected to accept it. To stay quiet. The streets are suffocated with cars, buses, and motorcycles. The noise and the stench of burned oil and gas fill the air. Black smoke pouring from buses stains the blue sky...

Odayá! I look around and find myself asking what happened to the world around me. I reevaluate my life — not with regret, nor with the ache of nostalgia, but with the quiet lucidity of reflection. I think about the choices I made, the warnings I overlooked, the directions I chose. Not to dwell, but to understand. I am taking inventory. An exercise of introspection that requires discipline, focus, intention, and care. Spiritists know this is an essential practice — one that supports inner reform and self-improvement. It requires that we examine ourselves with honesty, acknowledging the missteps that might have been avoided. It is not self-judgment. It is responsibility. It is growth. Through this, we learn. We evolve. And hopefully, we become better human beings. Learning to listen to my intuition, to recognize those subtle moments when the Orixas whisper in my ear and urge me to pay attention, is a lifelong process — one that demands presence, humility, and patience. I believe I am evo...

It is January 1st, 2026. Wow! Everything has passed so fast. I look at the life I have lived here, in Canada, for the past 35 years, and it rushes in front of my eyes as if I were watching a video on fast-forward. Then, I look farther back, at the 25 or 26 years I lived in Brazil before coming here. Those memories pass in front of me a little more slowly. The friendships forged over many years, as we grew and matured together, are still alive—just the same as always. I question myself, question the decisions I made over the years, and the important decisions yet to be made. What a ride! Art by Orádia NC Porciúncula - Deviant Art And then, I look at now. The whole world starts this new year of 2026 in pretty much the same way: with drones putting on light shows in the sky, AI creating holiday cards, human-like robots being made faster than I ever imagined possible, and Canada in a “tug-of-war” with the USA. However, not all is the same in the world when it comes to New Year’s Eve ce...