After all by Álvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa)

After all, the best way to travel is to feel.
To feel everything in every way.
To feel everything excessively
Because all things are, in truth, excessive
And all reality is an excess, a violence,
An extremely vivid hallucination
That we all live in common with the fury of the souls,
The center to which tend the strange centrifugal forces
That are human psyches in their harmony of senses.

*(from here to the end, translate by Google and me)
The more I feel, the more I feel like many people,
The more personality I have,
The more intensely, stridently I have them,
The more simultaneously to feel with all of them,
The more unified diverse, sparsely attentive,
Are, feel, live, be,
Longer I’ll get the total existence of the universe,
More complete I’ll be by the entire space outside.
More analogous to God I will be, whoever could he be,
Because, whoever could he be, surely is Everything,
And outside Him there’s only Him, and All for him is little (less).

Every soul is a ladder to God,
Every soul is a corridor-Universe to God,
Every soul is a river running through the margins of External
For God and in God with a grim whisper.

Sursum corda![1] Lift up your souls! All Matter is Spirit,

Because Matter and Spirit are just confusing names
Data to the large shadow that soaks the Exterior into dreams
And fuze in Night and Mystery the Excessive Universe!
Sursum corda! In night I wake, the silence is great,
Things, with crossed arms on their chest, observe

With a noble sadness to my open eyes
Which sees them as vague nocturnal shapes in the black night.
Sursum corda! I wake in the night and feel different.
All the World with its visible form of custom (as usual)
Lying at the bottom of a well and makes a confused noise,

I hear it, and in my heart a great stupefaction sobs.

Sursum corda! O Earth, hanging garden, home
That soothes the scattered soul of successive humanity!
Mother green and flowered all recent years,
Every year, vernal, summer, autumn, hiemalis
Every year celebrating with handfuls the festival of Adonis
In a ritual before all the meanings,
In a large cult in turmoil over the mountains and valleys!
Great heart beating in the nude chest of volcanoes,
Great voice awakening on cataracts and seas,
Great drunken bacchante of the Movement for Change,
In the heat of vegetation and florescence breaking
Your own body of sand and rocks, your submissive body
Your own will unsettled and eternal!
Lovely and unanimous mother of the winds, seas, meadows,
Vertiginous mother of gales and cyclones,
Capricious mother who makes vegetate and dry
That disturbs the stations themselves and confuses
In a immaterial kiss the suns and the rains and the winds!

Sursum corda! Repair for you and all I is a hiymn!
Everything in me as a satellite of your dynamic intimate   Returning snaking, standing as one ring
Foggy, of reminesced sensations and vague,
Around to your internal figure, turgid and fervent.
Deals with all your strength and with all thy power hot
My open heart to you!
Like a sword piercing my being lifted and ecstatic,
Intersects with my blood, with my skin and my nerves,
Your continuous movement, contiguous to yourself always,

I’m a lot of confused forces full of infinite
Tending in all directions in all sides of space,
Life, this huge thing, is that holds everything and everything unites
And makes that all the forces that rage inside of me
Do not pass me, neither break my being, not part my body,
Do not toss me, like a bomb of Spirit that crashes
In flesh and blood and soul spiritualized to among the stars,
Beyond the suns of other systems and remote stars.

All that’s inside of me tends to be re-everything.
All that’s inside of me tends to dump me on the floor,
In the supreme vast ground that is not upon neither below
But under the stars and suns, under the souls and bodies
For an oblique possession of our intellectuals senses.

I am a flame ascending, but ascending up and down,
Ascending to all sides at the same time, I’m a globe
Of explosives flames searching of God and burning
The crust of my senses, the wall of my logic,
My limiting and cold intelligence.

I’m a huge machine driven by large belts
That I see only the part that gets on my drums,
The rest goes beyond the stars, goes through the suns,
And never seems to get to the drum that where it left …

My body is a center of a volant estupendous and infinite
Always agoing vertiginously around himself,
Crossing in all directions with other volants,
Which interpenetrate and mix, because it is not in the space
But /not knowing space / in another way – God.

Inside me are locked and tied to the ground
All the movements that make up the universe,
The thorough fury and of the atoms,
The fury of all flames, the rage of all winds,
The furious foam of all rivers, that rushes,

The rain with stones thrown from catapults
Of huge armies of dwarfs hidden in the sky.

I am a formidable dynamism obliged to the balance
To remain inside my body, to not overflow of my soul.
Roars, bursts, wins, cracks, rumbles, shakes,
Quivers, trembles, foam, blows, violates, explodes,
Lose yourself, transcend yourself, circle yourself, live yourself, disrupt and flee,
Be with my whole body all the universe and life,
Burns with all my being all lights and lamps,
Scratch with all my soul all the lightning and fires,
Survives me in my life in all directions!

[1] The Sursum Corda (Latin for “Lift up your hearts”) is the opening dialogue to the Preface of the Eucharistic Prayer or Anaphora in the liturgies of the Christian Church, dating back to the third century and the Anaphora of Hippolytus. The phrase “Sursum Corda” is generally translated as “lift up your hearts”, but the Latin literally just says “Up hearts” and the Greek version Ἄνω σχῶμεν τὰς καρδἰας means “Let us lift up our hearts.”

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