Abracadabra

Words have life

Yesterday, I said some things to a person that I didn’t want to say, rather, that I shouldn’t say. I usually swallow the words, but when I speak, the world ends. That’s when I realized the strength the words have. And once spoken, oh, it’s difficult. And isn’t it true that we always “don’t do the good we want, and do the evil we don’t want?”

Words have life. The poet Adelia Prado says that “whoever understands language, understands God.” The words are powerful. They can build, they can destroy, they can turn into very delicate poems, they can break relationships, they can transform a life forever, for better or for worse. They can declare wars between countries and bring peace back.

Then I remembered the word Abracadabra, the enchanted word that when said it cures fevers and inflammations. Etymologically, from Aramaic, Abracadabra would mean “I create when I speak” or “I make something bad disappear with this word.” That’s it. I already feel myself with a magical wand saying Abracadabra and my hands are full of magical dust. I throw in the dust and I say Abracadabra, I undo the wrong done and I create the good. Oh, how I wanted the power of Abracadabra, how good it would be! Not quite.

I don’t know, I really don’t know. As Rainer Maria Rilke would say: “I’m so afraid of words. They say everything with such precision.”

Well, there is another magical word, infallible, but real, coming from the heart: Forgiveness. And then, well, then we let life goes by, letting the boat go, loosening the bonds a little, lightening the burdens, lowering the sails, letting the current take us to its pleasure. It may even be that this boat ends up on an enchanted island. Who knows. After that, just a little silence. Forgive me. I have said my magical word.