The End of the Dream
Black Elk Speaks

And so it was all over.
I did not know then how much was ended. When I look back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud, and was buried in the blizzard. A people's dream died there. It was a beautiful dream.
And I, to whom so great a vision was given in my youth - you see me now a pitiful old man who has done nothing, for the nation's hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.

sim, meu caro sérgio. os sonhos muitas vezes acabam e a tristeza os substitui.

mas quando nos cansamos, por causa dos sonhos desfeitos e por causa da tristeza que sobrevêm ao desaparecimento de belos sonhos, adormecemos outra vez... e sonhamos novos sonhos.

é assim o destino dos homens e mulheres: sonhar, despertar e contemplar sonhos se desfazendo e dormir novamente, para sonhar outra vez.

a menos que não se durma no sleeping bag, como disse um poeta besta, porque, nesse caso, nem sequer se sonha.

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