HOBBIES FOR WINTER DAYS

Sometimes I have felt it hard for many people to get bored, especially on rainy winter days. So why not rediscover something useful to do at home?
"Do-it-yourself" is not building a wardrobe or a table but also small jobs that even the most inexperienced person can do. 
Bricolage is something creative that can make you relax from very busy days or evenings that are too quiet.
DIY allows you to save money, to reuse materials and resources already present in the home (giving them new life!). Furthermore, a self-produced product or object must not be transported, packaged and does not generate waste.

HOMELESS IN THE WORLD

We can all think that poverty is a characteristic of certain undeveloped and economically behind countries. We can all imagine homeless people in bad places and bad weather. But instead thousands of poor people live in places where they should have assistance and help and instead have none. Why?
How do politicians eat their dinner and go to their children who live in a beautiful place if there are so many people out there without dinner? Isn't it absurd that politicians first of all think about spending money on guns instead of giving a home to all those people without a shelter?

What cities exist without these poor people who are ignored by everyone? I cry looking at these people because they seem not to exist for anyone and yet they are there and everyone can see them. Which cities are left without poverty? Is this the civilization we built? Is this progress? My grandparents are Italian and lived in a tiny village in Sicily. I have never seen anyone in that tiny village without a home. You ask me why? I don’t know but I can say that my grandparents used to say that after the war everyone tried to help each other. So is the civilization of aid over? The priests always gave food to those who didn’t have any, my grandparents told me this. Is religion over now then? What caused this inhuman humanity that helps no one? Politicians are all thieves and do not come to the government to help the people but only to demonstrate power and success. Why are we so bad? Why do we let this happen? I grew up with my generous and selfless grandparents but here where I live now there are a lot of selfish people with no love for others. What caused all this non-love for others?

Yet finding yourself like this is a moment, just being without a social network, losing your job, not being able to pay rent, not being able to find work, having had to deal with a separation, having a serious mental disorder, such as depression. People rarely become homeless by choice, at first they are thrown out, expelled from the system. Then a silent mutation takes place, we are transformed into invisible citizens, inhabitants of the interstices of the city, which becomes an improbable but only possible home. In the city, it is sometimes reduced to wandering in the throes of alcohol and hallucinations and then, exhausted, falling asleep at the mercy of the darkness of the night, of metropolitan life, of the street.

DURMIENDO PARA DESPERTAR

En Occidente no cultivamos el espíritu, nos limitamos a imitar algunas actividades orientales: yoga, mantras, respiración que, sin embargo, no forman parte de nuestra cultura. La parte espiritual no se trata y la religión ha sido un obstáculo más que una ayuda para su desarrollo. La verdad es que hacemos indigestión de materia. Con un “poco más de noche” quizás podríamos redescubrir intuiciones, posibilidades y percepciones para luego trasladarlas a la vida cotidiana. Porque es cierto, como dije hace mucho tiempo, provocando una sensación y reacciones de diversa índole, que para despertar es necesario dormir.
Según dos investigadores famosos, Stuart Hameroff y Roger Penrose, la conciencia existe no solo como un mecanismo psicológico, sino como información contenida en vibraciones dentro de ciertas partes de las neuronas, los microtúbulos. Estas vibraciones son las de los “cuantos”, la unidad básica de la física cuántica, que consta de ondas y partículas. Los estudios han demostrado que cuando los microtúbulos dejan de funcionar porque una persona muere, la información que contienen no se puede perder. Para algunos, aquí residiría lo que durante siglos se ha llamado “alma”.
Siempre hemos estado acostumbrados a temer a las criaturas o sucesos aterradores, o lo que es diferente, extraño y muchas veces sin darnos cuenta de que el miedo limita nuestra libertad, pero evita enfrentarnos a lo desconocido. En este caso, el signo no somos nosotros y nuestros potenciales, sino, como dice Osho: “La meditación no es más que un regreso a casa, simplemente descansar un poco dentro del propio ser”. Hermoso Sería encontrarse cerca de su casa, en su casa, atraído por un intento de imaginar una experiencia astral … ¡Podríamos descubrir costuras de nosotros mismos que no conocemos!
El desapego no significa frialdad o poco interés. La falta de esta cualidad, debido a que es una cualidad, puede dificultar seriamente y crear desequilibrios energéticos justo en el Chakra del corazón. El desapego es esencialmente el centro del propio Ser y para ello siempre es necesario permanecer desapegado de todos y de todo. Cuando estamos demasiado involucrados en situaciones, somos incapaces de observar objetivamente la realidad que nos rodea y ni siquiera somos capaces de equilibrar nuestras emociones y pensamientos. Un sano desapego de las cosas nos lleva a estar en armonía con nosotros mismos y con todo lo que existe y vibra a nuestro alrededor y dentro de nosotros, permitiéndonos ejercitar ese amor verdaderamente incondicional, tan difícil de sentir.

VIAJE ASTRAL

Existe un término genérico que técnicamente se llama O.B.E. (“Experiencia fuera del cuerpo”, “Experiencia fuera del cuerpo”). Es un fenómeno complejo que muchas veces se confunde con las características naturales del sueño y el despertar inmediato, como las que se experimentan como rigidez, que, como decía en un post anterior, forma parte de la etapa normal del sueño R.E.M. (aquel en el que sueñas) en el que interviene una parálisis del cuerpo físico para impedir los movimientos que llevaría a realizar la fantasía onírica. En algunos casos, esta “parálisis” se prolonga por un corto tiempo en el despertar inmediato y el sujeto puede asustarse o pensar en algún fenómeno en particular. Por lo que no hablaría de escisión o viaje fuera del cuerpo, si el fenómeno debe referirse solo a estas sensaciones, sino que puede ser con otras modalidades y manifestaciones físicas que suelen referirse a una fuerte expansión con un desagüe muchas veces localizado a nivel de la cabeza a la que sigue la visión de nuestro cuerpo físico y una panorámica del entorno visto desde arriba. También puede tener la sensación de soñar y, por lo tanto, podría ser comparable a un “sueño lúcido” del cual es prácticamente indistinguible, a menos que pueda tener una prueba objetiva al visualizar objetos que son imposibles de observar en la posición acostada y posteriormente encontrados como ” Reconocido “. Por ejemplo, algunos papeles o un libro se abren en una determinada página colocados en un armario que no se ve desde abajo.
Siempre asociado al estado "Fase" hay una serie de fenómenos como:

- parálisis del sueño
- falso despertar
- abducción alienigena
- experiencias cercanas a la muerte (a veces)

¿Qué se puede hacer?
Hay varias posibilidades que ofrece la Fase, a saber:

-obtener información
-desarrollar curación o rehabilitación
-desarrollar nuevas ideas creativas
- entrenar actuaciones deportivas
- viajar a través del tiempo y el espacio
- conocer personas como personas fallecidas o celebridades del pasado y del presente
-satisface tus deseos con entretenimientos de todo tipo.
Por lo que entiendo, la predisposición a la duplicación se deriva de una sensibilidad particular del individuo que tiene sus propios cuerpos anímicos estructurados con mayor elasticidad que en otras personas, fragilidad emocional que momentáneamente “desequilibra” las barreras normales de estos cuerpos anímicos. El fenómeno puede no estar completamente controlado y también producir situaciones desagradables de tensión y miedo.
Consideramos que, según la tradición esotérica, el Cuerpo Etérico es el segundo en orden ascendente de los cuatro cuerpos humanos (físico, etérico, astral, mental), que son nuestra alma y constituyen los vehículos para la expresión del espíritu ‘. Etérico no es propiamente un vehículo separado de conciencia, como otros pueden ser considerados, ni tiene su propio plano de existencia separado, ya que es parte del vehículo físico y del plano físico, pero con una densidad material organizada extremadamente sutil. no en átomos, sino en partículas subatómicas (esto lo demuestran los fenómenos de ectoplasma que he presenciado y de los que puedo dar fe de la autenticidad). centros de fuerza también llamados “chacra”. Tiene dos funciones principales: en primer lugar el de absorber el “prana” o “vitalidad” y distribuirlo en todas las partes del cuerpo físico; en segundo lugar, el de servir de intermediario o puente entre el cuerpo físico y el cuerpo astral, es un desprendimiento de este cuerpo del físico, y su naturaleza, extremadamente maleable al pensamiento, puede llevarlo a lugares incluso muy distantes del izquierdo. El individuo permanece consciente y alerta en este “viaje”, que no debe confundirse con el viaje astral, como dije, porque, a diferencia de este último, permanece en el plano físico y, si su energía etérica lo permite, también puede hacerse a sí mismo. visible e interactuar con el entorno, por lo que también hablamos de “bilocación”.
Aunque se diga lo contrario, estoy convencido de que, en estos fenómenos, no hay peligro salvo, como es habitual, el derivado de nuestros miedos que se amplifican por el estado “astral” en el que nos encontramos o de nuestra fantasía de que, juntos con la sugestión tergiversa la realidad, razón por la cual el verdadero fenómeno de la duplicación es muy raro y difícil de determinar objetivamente.

AMULETO DE LA SUERTE

En cierto momento, después de meses en los que tu mundo parece colapsar inexorablemente, pieza tras pieza, ¡te das cuenta de que lo has logrado! Qué maravilloso el ser humano, se acostumbra a todo … Así, hasta la situación más insoportable pasa a formar parte de la normalidad. Una mañana te despiertas y estás listo para afrontar tu nueva vida, destartalada, más agitada que antes, pero llena de amor. Porque seamos sinceros, el Amor consigue moverlo todo y hacernos afrontar cualquier cosa, cada obstáculo se convierte en un guijarro al que dar una patada.
Quizás son nuestros errores los que determinan nuestro destino. Sin ellos, ¿qué sentido tendría nuestra vida? Probablemente si nunca cambiamos nuestro camino, no podríamos enamorarnos, tener un hijo, ser quienes somos; después de que todas las estaciones cambian, y también las ciudades … la gente entra en tu vida y luego la deja, pero es reconfortante saber que tus seres queridos permanecen grabados para siempre en tu corazón.
El hombre tiene una inclinación visceral a hacer de cualquier cosa una moda. Ayer fueron pantalones acampanados, hoy son regresiones a vidas pasadas. Me duele un poco ver a estos ilusionistas del tiempo jugando con la gente, pero está claro que hay muchas formas de llegar a nosotros mismos. En cualquier caso, intente razonar. Por lo menos ve para considerar que cuando el ego deja de existir en el tiempo que ha vivido, nadie puede alcanzar o “ver” lo que se ha desvanecido totalmente. El sujeto que buscas no existe, porque su ego está ausente. Por otro lado, el ego actual que busca nunca encontrará lo que ya no existe. Todo lo que encuentras en el astral no está vinculado al ego pasado, es solo la mente la que lo hace para evitar que te vuelvas loco. A menos que sean seres de luz casi o totalmente puros, ningún ser humano por medios humanos puede recordar información de ese tipo, y sería información espiritual, no material de todos modos. La materialidad, la personalidad, el ego, la experiencia horizontal de cualquier vida anterior se disuelve con la muerte física. Solo el alma sobrevive, o más bien lo que conectaste a la fuente en la vida. Así que preocúpate por “construir” tu alma, antes de ver si eras valiente gendarme en 1800.

OPEN DOOR

I smell the stench of your darkness, your perverse looks, your bloody long tongues and your sharp claws that tear the light. You are worms that crawl to eat the soil you have beneath you. Humanity has nothing good and only a facade to get something in return. The true human soul is made up only of darkness that envelops the entire planet. I see empty people with no will to live. People who lose days of life without wondering why they die inside. Inside they have monsters that devour them and as soon as someone approaches they tear them apart to rob their soul. Life is a continuous devouring each other without even anyone noticing. We are beasts that devour everything and everyone in order to survive. A battle all in our heads that is amplified in the world.
A stain contrasts with your whiteness. It is black, black bewilderment, black disgust. Some would barely notice it, others would not consider it at all. I, on the other hand, can’t see anything else. It is there in the center of my gaze, I try to eliminate it but I cannot because it is sticky, it has stuck to you. I have dirtied you, defaced you, I scarred you. You, so beautiful, so innocent … How can I still look at you the same way? How am I not going to think about that scene turning in my mind like a restless beast? How will I still feel your hands, your body? It happened a while ago, but for me it’s like it was today. The disgust makes me tremble, the disappointment makes me close my eyes. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, it was just to try, a game, nonsense … Nothing to do, these excuses don’t work. I try to keep an open mind usually, tolerant, understanding. This time, however, after she heard you speak, she curled up on herself, like a piece of paper that burns and slowly chars. I just want to curl up and forget everything, and then open my eyes and find it was just a dream. Because this memory is so strong, because the disgust is so intense, because … I am cold inside and you are in sleep and you are still dreaming about that day.
He looks at her with the eyes of love. And she doesn’t see, she doesn’t understand that she doesn’t make sense, she doesn’t have a purpose, a dream, an aspiration, nothing. Nothing is what you hear. No past, heartbeats, breaths, monotony, do what you have to, make them happy. The look that from time to time rests on what is “normal” but which for her becomes more and more distant, unattainable, almost inconceivable. The present is no longer anything, the warmth, the beauty, the sweet scents have arrived. But nothing always remains her, so eager to resemble her childish fantasies, so hopeful and yet so dry and dumb, cold and empty. The desert doesn’t want flowers, does it? It makes them thirsty during the day, cold at night. The desert welcomes passing guests, but then lashes them with its storms and hurries to erase their footsteps. He doesn’t want anyone, the desert. Or maybe yes, but he doesn’t even know how to manage himself. Hot, then cold, storms, comatose calm. He is furious with himself, he is disillusioned. He thinks that he will not make it, when he has to spread his wings and fly, he will realize that they are made of paper, so thin as to be transparent. He will realize that the imagination is just smoke. And it will fall into the void.

BLACK SOUL

Oh abyss, how deep are you? The rain falling on the waves reminds me of the daggers trying to open your shell.

There's a ship down there and I can see it. Beautiful wreck what have they done so hostile to you to end up in this desolate dark valley?

Even the sun's rays do not give peace to your eternal rest.

In this dark and cold place
you are nothing but a mirror of my soul. 

Black, the black soul runs and slides down, among pink jellyfish,
green algae, starfish.

Slips into the white sandy bottom,
where the traces are confused.

My feathers all get wet,
I'm stuck, a bottom in which the crabs tear off their wings,
eyes, dark visions.

SPIRITUAL FLY

We can’t do it. Tomorrow is another day, and I know for sure that you will not fade from my thoughts. You hit me, like a runaway train, you made me die, and you are killing me. You took away my faith, certainty and security, to clothe me with cynicism, pragmatism and criticism. You made me love the complicated, you made me hate simple and careless things. You walked part of this path of rebirth with me, you accompanied me, and then let my hand slip from yours, promising me that you would continue to guide me from a distance. You did, sure, but now I’m too far away to hear you, your voice becomes less and less audible and your figure turns into shadow. I don’t see you behind me anymore, and I don’t even see you in front of me. I don’t hear you scream, or even whisper. I don’t feel you touch my hand, and I don’t feel you leave it. But my mind does not want to let go of the memory of you, it feeds on the hope of your return, or rather, it hopes that you can join me in this place that without you seems so dark and desolate. I need you because I have lost my way. How can your absence leave no traces?
I don’t want any crate, I want a tiger-streaked sarcophagus and a painted face as round as the moon, with wide eyes up. I want to look like I’m watching them when they come digging me through dull minerals and roots. I can already see them – pale faces, at an astral distance. Now I’m nothing, I’m not even in swaddling clothes. I think of them without fathers or mothers, like the primeval gods. They will wonder if I was important. I should like candied fruit and save my days! My mirror fogs up – a few more breaths and it will no longer mirror anything at all. Flowers and faces whiten like a sheet. I don’t trust the spiritual. It slips away like vapor in dreams, through the crevices of the mouth or eyes. I cannot stop it, nor will it ever return. But this is not the case. They remain, with that particular little sparkle, warmed by so many hands, with a buzz of pleasure. If I get cold on the soles of my feet, the blue eye of my turquoise will console me. May my copper casseroles be with me, may my earthenware pots bloom around me nocturnal, sweet-smelling flowers. They will wrap me in bandages, they will lay my heart under my feet in a nice little package. I will hardly recognize myself. It will be all dark, but the brilliance of these small objects will be sweeter than Ishtar’s face.

STORY OF A DEATH

Let's embark on water !!! " I leave the command of the ship, we might as well, we are in the middle of the storm, the men are shouting, and in the confusion I have simply understood that we are taking on water.
The sky is rancid slime, disgusting fishmen climb onto our ship, the rain brings the salty smell mixed with the rotting disgust of the beasts, I spit for the umpteenth time, and I remember the taste of oranges that would now be relief from this nausea that it made me completely lose control of everything. I think about dinners, I think about what I left on dry land, while the vision is now a real similarity, between knife and sword, one cuts the flesh, the other cuts one of these abominations, they speak to me, voices, do you hear them? They call me, or maybe they are the screams of the monsters and my men dying, soft sounds drowned out by the dense storm. I had brought with me a young man who wanted to take up my job, now he is mutilated chewed by his jaws, I see the thousands of mutilated men in the name of a philosophy of life like mine. The war, the murders, a voice tells me not to worry, forgiveness awaits me, the love I left somewhere, however, I don't know if it still awaits me.
Like a shiver the voices are more and more intense, and more and more complex, I can no longer decipher, but before I could, the ship is penetrated from the center by mammoth tentacles, putrid and black, while in the eye of the maelstorm the abominable colossus is shown , looks at me, as destruction surrounds me, the sky aligns and speaks to me, I can see the reflection of his eyes and see the whole cosmos, every microscopic part of me bubbling, I can feel the inside of the inside of the inside of a tiny pin in my body, I don't know how to describe it.
A blade sinks into my back while now all the thin air just before becomes thick, the breath of my murderer produces in me a retching that ends in a lake of blood, I fall to my knees, I still look at the cosmos reflected in the waste of myself, the blade is pulled out, finally the call, the voices, it has all a if ... Awake, I'm on the coast, dawn, I'm at my house, I'm alive, while my hand mixes with the wet sand that I crush and touch , numb fingers wake up pampered by grains.
I don't hear the voices anymore, it's just you and me.

THE CALL OF THE WILD

Before, I was out for a walk, trying to capture a sunset, inside this dark sky. I love walking, my nerves relax and my thoughts take oxygen. Walking and observing what surrounds me enriches me, fills me with emotions and, at the same time, empties me of all the anxieties that I have accumulated. A bit like when you take a nice shower to get rid of all the dirt! In short, while I was walking, this verb resounded strongly in my head: “to welcome”. And I thought it almost cured me to welcome my tachycardia, this absurd way of perceiving the world without protection, without shields. It almost cured me to be able to admit that maybe I’m not that bad, even if my soul often trembles and I never feel completely at ease. It almost healed me to start seeing my over-sensitivity as a superpower and not as a condemnation. The real condemnation is not being able to feel, not being able to love. After all, perhaps the anxious have only the most cumbersome feelings and hopes. But is it a mortal sin to have hearts everywhere?
Before, I was out for a walk, trying to capture a sunset, inside this dark sky. I love walking, my nerves relax and my thoughts take oxygen. Walking and observing what surrounds me enriches me, fills me with emotions and, at the same time, empties me of all the anxieties that I have accumulated. A bit like when you take a nice shower to get rid of all the dirt! In short, while I was walking, this verb resounded strongly in my head: “to welcome”. And I thought it almost cured me to welcome my tachycardia, this absurd way of perceiving the world without protection, without shields. It almost cured me to be able to admit that maybe I’m not that bad, even if my soul often trembles and I never feel completely at ease. It almost healed me to start seeing my over-sensitivity as a superpower and not as a condemnation. The real condemnation is not being able to feel, not being able to love. After all, perhaps the anxious have only the most cumbersome feelings and hopes. But is it a mortal sin to have hearts everywhere?
Cloaked in the night
I mirror myself in the moon
I slide without form to the rhythm of my soul
Fast glide over your dream worlds
Nobody can see me or hear me
I am pure and infinity quilted
I sneak into your golden clouds
Each is different, unlimited shades of personal beauty
Let me peck until I'm full
I glide over luminous forests, dive into lakes of sighs
Give your best unconscious
The walk, however, comes to an end
I allow myself one last dance
After all, his is always the most full-bodied: we are beasts that rock each other following an innate melody
I would like to hold back but the veil is breaking
Wait for me and I will come back to you when all is quiet and the world does not exist

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