The relevance of time is consistent with space in a single confluence, as infinity combines the uterine force of the feminine nature in the universe. In this conversion of the essential in the world, the light of woman's energy is reborn in dialogue with maturity, as it remakes itself in history, memory and oblivion. Oblivion really seems to be the threshold where everything converges, but the seed planted in the heat sprouts in the summer and randomly follows its moment of light. This attention is germinated inMy Life With You: Genealogical Studies, a book written by Lia Rezende Domingues, a young woman from Minas Gerais, who registers her endless subjectivities while maintaining intense communication with her grandmother Tê, at the height of her nineties. Here is a book to be celebrated in the midst of the turmoil caused by the pandemic that is plaguing our fragile foundations and which has driven many people into a pit of despair.

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But the etymologies that burst within this dazzling writer are the entanglements of what seeks to make survival a bearable process. The texts he writes on the threshold of survival are small considerations. They are small arrangements that retrace walks to strengthen the most fruitful link of subsistence, touching with poetry such intimate themes in the harvest of reminiscences when looking for their place of speech in the living places of memory.

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This enclosure is the grandmother's house adorned by the sublime comfort of life. In its pages one can capture the sparks of a family of readers who carry the marks of widowhood in the tenderness of farewells. They are recurrent memories of an avid rereading of other discoveries and it is almost always evident the impulse quixotic of an idealism laden with much lyricism, poetry and conquests.

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They are almost archaeological findings, which blend in with the lights of the sky, soaked in the profound perceptions of this site with almost inconsistent habits, where dating is lost amid so much unrest. But they remake moments and transcribe other notes to cherish the veins that link the author to her ancestry, when she makes her run like a wolf through the paths of the world in search of answers on the desolate road of chance.

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Her sentimental journey is a summary of everything that makes us predestined to one day tread, guided by the directions imposed by the cardinal points and always returning to the starting point. It is as if the return to ancestry elaborates a new form for the one that runs with wolves, seeking its escape point by taking refuge in the grandiose memories of the almost centenary grandmother and giving meaning to this place where her writing and her most sincere discoveries converge. And at this stop there are two strong women rambling so as not to forget what unites them to the expectant reality.

The diary is intimate and becomes a genealogical study in harmony with female loyalty by celebrating all the colors of fate and following the flow of late events, taking with it the inspirations of the most syncretic, affectionate and simple rituals.

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In this regard, one may ask: what reasons determine the growing increment, in the world of walkers, towards such practices? It is as if the path determines destiny and reinforces spiritual evolution in the quest for a closer relationship with the Creator. Hence, intimate dissatisfaction leaves emotional imbalances at bay, and the walker's horizon overflows with the phenomenon of initiates indialogue with the frontiers of existence expanding the imaginations of the present in the valid and perfect search for the sacred.

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Lia Rezende makes and remakes her paths towards the wonderful experience by leaving more hope to this world so full of parities, empty and unspeakable, where by practicing his reflections through existential listening he transforms his writing, in a simple way, into what the state of mind Zen indicates: transcends the intellect, summarizes everything in the words he finds, exercises silence and transforms itself into illuminating gestures in the quest for communion with the Cosmos. This is because happiness is found in the march. This image resembles the idea of a personal encounter with yoga, which is always uncertain, dense and lonely.

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We could ask ourselves again about the deep reasons for this mystical fusion between the ability to hear and walk. But what moves this wise idealist is hope, and her meditations make us think of other answers, less empty and more full of faith in human beings, already too inhuman, but infinitely lacking in so much brilliance. in the pages ofMy Life With Tê we find the professed security that penetrates the stillness and that infects us from within, because the revelation takes place in the face of doubts, without the limit that words impose on us. It is in this space of fraternal dialogue that the locutions materialize, when, through meditation, we manage to reach fullness. The great poet Khalil Gibran reveals to us, in hisThe profet, that “thought is a bird of space that, in a cage of words, can spread its wings, but cannot fly.”.

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It is in this way that I disperse from this genealogical study to sentence myself in the sense that another land without evils we must try to find, and always keep walking as if we never found the purpose, because hoping is necessary, and also imprecise are the elements reached in this pilgrimage through existence...