Sometime, the day before yesterday, my traveller grand father, who I was to know in December, died in Rio de Janeiro. He was 80 but never ceased to wander. I am very sory for not knowing him in the flesh...
Someone, don't know who, left me some Padre António Vieira's words on my e-mail:...
My expensive friend suffered, spilled its all pranto for the loss of somebody so wanted. One would say that he felt a ficticious affection, but an affection. The look of the death (therefore it exists and is alive) was launched with suffering on its soul, and the pain that enters fearless in itself, now is rejoiced with the perplexity of the missed poet. The Atlantic only remains to it now to launch it, and to follow the path that the old “pirate” in such a way dreamed to make…

I don't know if this is well translated but it is one of the strongest and inspiring words I have ever reveived...In December I'll be in Rio to hommage the man who brought me here.
See you all in September.

Victoria is ours!
And Anahita is a Queen!
Love,
Rui.
aka ustrax.

For incredible as it may seem, the words above are ORIGINAL and not from the Father I have thought too...May the poet arise...He is missed on this sandy family desert landscapes...

Rui, my thoughts and prayers are with you. I lost my inspiration, my father, in April this year.

We can be thankful that these men inspired us and gave us the curiosity to explore. We mourn their loss but rejoice that we had the opportunity to know them and that they were part of our world.

Jonathan

Thank you for your words and receive my late condolences on your father's departure, I can't imagine what it can be like, but I'll follow your second sentence spirit even if it is hard to mourn when I had no chance to meet my grnadfather in person, but thankful, anyway, for the way he has feed my imagination.

Thank you once more.

Rui.