By: Sandra Beatriz Ludena
Henry Miller in one of his texts states: “Of all the imaginary existences that we lend to plants, animals and stars, perhaps it is the weed that leads a wiser life. It is true that the grass does not produce flowers, or aircraft carriers, or Sermons on the Mount.
But in the end, the weed always has the last word. Ultimately it all comes back to the Chinese state, it is what historians usually call the darkness of the Middle Ages. There is no other way out than the grass. Grass only exists between the large uncultivated spaces. Full of voids. It ‘grows between’ and in the midst of other things. The flower is beautiful, the cabbage is useful, the poppy makes us mad. But the grass is overflowing, a whole moral lesson”.
This is a reflection like “that weed, which grows exuberantly, in the midst of things, and grows through the middle, is a flight, without roots, without stems, without a starting point, it is rather a delirium without roots, without a future.” It is like the impulse of that grass, of the little root that takes unexpected directions where the text branches, folds and multiplies from any point that grows in the middle and through the middle and clings to it and sings to it… beyond the darkness, of the powers that overflow in the limits of his own creation”.
Many times when I clear the so-called “bad grass”, I cannot help but feel some remorse, its persistence of life in the face of droughts, in the face of lack of care, that is, its absolute defenselessness and its ability to resist, brings something like a message. Miller could not have described it better, something that apparently did not make sense, it does not bear flowers, it does not bear fruit, but his persistence ends up winning.
It extends, fills the gaps, there is no limit in its nature, nor reason. Therefore, it is despised, it is found below, it is trampled on by men and animals, it receives everything, it has a certain resemblance to the fate of water, which runs no matter where it runs, the weeds grow, they simply grow. It is life that seeps through even the tightest cracks.
That resistance, that ability to fight against its circumstances that will never change, because like common grass, that does not adorn, that does not serve, condemns it, but it will continue to be born, spreading, despite the inclemencies, from detractive actions against its nature. . But the grass is quite a moral lesson or overflow.
The writer’s instruction is brilliant and unappealable, with that fundamental socio-political content, because in society there is so much that is inconsequential, however, it will continue to revive, spread, despite everything being against it. Because what to our eyes does not make sense, has an unsuspected mission.
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