Who dies? This is the title of a poem by Martha Medeiros, which says: Dies slowly who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find funny in itself.

Dies slowly who becomes a slave of habit, repeating every day the same routes. Who does not change brands; does not risk putting on a new color or does not talk to people they do not know.

Dies slowly who spends the days complaining about its bad luck or the incessant rain.

Dies slowly, who abandons a project before starting it, does not ask about a subject that is unknown or does not answer when somebody asks about something that is known.

The writer is right. Being alive requires an effort much larger than the simple fact of breathing.

Being alive means fighting every day and waking up each day with the disposition of a great sailor, who wishes to face new seas and discover new continents.

It means entering the bookstore to find new publications. It is to stop to read the synopsis of some, even if you cannot buy them at the moment.

Being alive means allowing yourself to have time to listen to a song. It is trying to understand the meaning of the verses of the song the radio plays, insistently, because it is the top heat song.

Being alive is to walk through the streets never walked before, by the simple pleasure of exploration. It is to be delighted in the discoveries. A green square, a romantic place, a natural shelter.

It is to smile to those who smile at you, without wondering: Why is he greeting me? I do not know him.

It may simply be a loner, trying to get the fortune of a smile for its journey. Or someone who wants to live a new moment, with unusual joy.

Being alive is to take the decision of, before complaining about everything bad that happens, taking a piece of paper and list all the bad things in your life in a column. In another, enumerate all the positive things and see how rich of opportunities you are.

But do not forget anything. The possibility to walk, the happiness on hugging, the wealthy of hearing, seeing, feeling. The sense of smelling that allows to become intoxicated with pleasure with the scent of the flowers, the tact that let you realize the softness of the skin of the loved ones, the taste that gives the pleasure of delight with a bean and rice, a pizza or a hot dog. The hot coffee. The cold ice cream.

Being alive is to want to know always more. Being interested. It is to never admit that you are too old to learn. It is not to let the brain to rust, by the lack of stimulation of many “to do things” and new understanding.

Being alive is to live among people, with the people, inter-relating with them. It is to talk, to answer questions, even if they seem silly.

Who has ears closed to any sound, would give anything to hear, even if they were those things which receive adjectives of annoying nonsense.

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Open yourself to life! Be happy with the sound of the voice of your wife, of your child. Delight yourself by the mess of the children. Smile at the little mishaps that happen to you. In a word: live!

Life is a wonderful daily discovery, for anyone who has not given up on it. For all those who see it as a girlfriend, who hopes to have all her virtues, beauties and charms discovered little by little by the partner who want to conquer her.

Remember that only the perseverance will make us achieve a splendid stage of happiness.

Spiritist Moment Team, with verses from the poem
Quem morre?, by Martha Medeiros, from the website
 http://pensador.uol.com.br/autor/martha_medeiros/2/
November 12.2015.