I don’t understand those people who when they turn one more year get demoralized because they feel older and older or who say they don’t give a damn. Instead of focusing on the fewer years they have left to live, they should be happy that they lived up to that point. Each additional year of life is a wonderful milestone to celebrate, as every day of life should be. Just for the fact of opening your eyes and having another day to live in front of you, you should smile and try to feed that smile all day. When you are young, you take everything for granted, including your health, and you don’t fully realize the extraordinary power you have right now. We often focus on a happiness that will only be achievable in the near future, but the future is only our imagination. Today it is reality. The air we are breathing, the beating of our heart and the sweat of our hands, these sensations of the present are what we take for granted as if they were eternal but they are not. Our vital senses take on their true value only when we are about to lose them. Do not allow this to happen, whatever you are doing stop for a moment and completely forget about it, breathe deeply closing your eyes, listening to your beat, touching your hands but above all enjoying being alive with a sublime smile.I look at your graceful figure and no fantasy is needed for me to follow the return to the origins, your morning toilet is of fine oyster cloth and you are an invitation to a mud bath, your blue eye stares at me through a milky keratome, with the stiff forefinger you push aside the yellow twigs of the weeping willow and you know well that you can expect all the worst things from me. Emotional flashes and a hundred and eight gold in the finish open the way to the sewer, to the sad weekend that I am now starting to live, the dress of which I dream is woven in the rice color of Siberian cellulose, the green hands of eight hundred girls are the foundation of a sweet confession, the isoipse of the rice solidify you with a courtesy mask and the ratchets of your porcelain ears are perfectly hidden in the listening bush of your oxide macerated hair. The spheres of things and events triggered, against the course of the clock hands, run at zero time, however a single day spent with the beloved girl on a Norwegian glacier is the love bag of all worthy people.Splinters of smashed dolls hurt my soul, the caterpillar crawling right next to my eye is bigger than the express train that passes in the distance. I don’t know which mountain farmer when he couldn’t find work years ago he started talking to a sheep. I see how my life is sucked into my mother’s life, I see how I am wound back from the umbilical cord to the womb of the progenitor Eve. I see how the stained underpants are the imprint of infinity and the intestines stirred by noble horror lead to a higher vision, I see my semen as against the current being sucked backwards to the first pollution like a mountain trout, I see how from the organ sexual intercourse of all my ancestors are sucked back into the spermatic canal of the progenitor Adam. I live tactfully the resection of the rib that I still miss today.And in the meantime this is your little waist and this is your pleated skirt from the belt to the delicate crepe and this is your toilet of the silky ivory color and it is an empire model and this is the confirmation dress kept as a souvenir and this is your back dappled by beer coasters and these are your loose hair and staves of music flow from your head. I see how naked you are now sailing under the dark beams, I see your rhythmic hands illuminated by the violent spray of the yellow chandelier, I see how from your little beating legs gush springs, beads that rise from all the pores of your body, you are immersed in a bathroom phosphorescent and vibrating ankles whistling rapids of seltzer, sparkling wines, sparkling fins, mineral feathers, flying fish wings, the flys that the beautiful and young Greek god Mercury wears on his ankles. The full moon shines with the footprint of Armstrong’s sole, but I was most moved by the news of the evening newspaper, a 68-year-old medical herb picker dozed off on a flowering meadow and was sucked into a lawn mower and her corpse escaped from the car along with the medicinal herbs and hay beyond recognition.Along the belt of the streets I return to the origin of going, the revealing splendor of animal experiences wishes pools full of children to thirsty cities. Your myosotide eye broken by a sliver of Modra majolica now understands my cold gaze, rightly follow how the knife of my imagination pushes back to the sources of things. The last stream is sucked into the small river with the last drop, the last river is sucked into the ocean sea with the last clear cloud evaporating in the blue skies. I see how you follow this ascending fall with me, I see that not a single phase of this striptease has escaped you. Apparently I follow the memory of your white silk dress embroidered with gold, on the wrist the sleeve was decorated with slits for my desire, two hollow folds of cream yellow cashmere, but I follow all the more quickly as the pure source and the divine Needle they go towards spring and you smile at me when you see how I take handfuls full of creative clay in my hands and smelling the earth I smell you too. Meanwhile I feel only in my brain the screeching of your sweet limbs, the skin you have adorned with tender cracks, you are transported by the coordinates of cigarette smoke, Climb high like the bubbles of seltzer, the trees and flowers describe circumferences, an apple falls from the melo, already with the apples in the seed, the last ruins of the evening slip silently into the soft dust, but in the meantime I like the excesses and extravagances of the songs with poetry in the newspapers.Graceful comes in the wave of the evening a lonely throb of a star. Gradually a light cloud the pupil closes them smiling; and as she passes with veils and feathers, in the great blue tremulous sparks they are born in swarms, they are born in garlands, are born in a hundred, are born in a thousand: but I don’t see you anymore, my star. Liable illusion How many anxieties you neglect. I woke up. Beyond the intoxicating essence of your insidious substance Vast expanses of multicolored black poppies They linger mischievous Willing to stem severely every unwary dream. Cleverly designed they will refute the insolent lie to which you are prone Allocating your vain shy escape to an inevitable departure. We cannot evade An intimate truth. Along the way we meet as graceful souls. Sensitive fairies. You covet butterflies and you love days sitting together.
There are those days when you no longer understand anything, what up to a second before gave you happiness, makes you nervous, that thing that gave you suffering, becomes pathetic. In a few moments, everything loses sense and you feel like in a bubble, enclosed with your apathy, while the world around you goes on. Maybe some individual expresses perplexity, almost anger towards you, wondering and wondering, the why of all this … But you can’t answer yourself, let alone them and then you stay inside, waiting for the arrival of something or someone who instead of continuing to soap you, it will be able to burst your barrier and make you feel alive, again. During these two years of imprisonment I have clung to words and promises that very often people make based on the circumstances, the moments of darkness. When this life returns to “normal” these words will have vanished, forgotten, because supported by a general illusion of being able to be better than what we really are. We are human. We need comfort and a foothold in our worst days. As soon as we get better we will behave exactly as we have always behaved. There is a pre-pandemic and a post-pandemic. The present we are experiencing is just a parenthesis that contains everything we would like to be but that our pride and our selfishness will extinguish as soon as possible.
The fundamental problem of humanity for 2000 years has remained the same .. love each other. Only now it has become more urgent, much more urgent, and when we hear again today that we must love each other, we know we don’t have much time left now. We always love too little and too late. Let us hurry to love. Because at the sunset of life we ​​will be judged on love. Because there is no wasted love, and because there is no greater emotion than feeling when we are in love that our life totally depends on another person, that we are not enough for ourselves. And because all things, but also inanimate ones, such as mountains, seas, roads, but more, more, the sky, the wind, more, the stars, more, the cities, the rivers, the stones, buildings, all these things which in themselves are empty, indifferent. Suddenly when we look at them they are charged with human meaning and fascinate us, move us, why? .. Because they contain a presentiment of love, even inanimate things, because the planking of all creation is love and because love matches the meaning of all things. Happiness, yes, happiness, speaking of happiness, look for it, every day, continuously, indeed anyone who listens to me now is looking for happiness now, in this moment because it is there, you have it, we have it , because they gave it to all of us. They gave it to us as a gift when we were little, they gave it to us as a dowry, and it was such a beautiful gift that we hid it, like dogs with bones do when they hide it, and many of us do. they hid it so well they don’t know where they put it, but we have it. You have it, look in all the closets, the shelves, the compartments of your soul, throw everything away, the drawers and the bedside tables that you have inside and see that it comes out, there is happiness, try to turn around suddenly you might catch her by surprise but she is there, we must always think about happiness, and even if she sometimes forgets us, we must never forget her. Until the last day of our life, and we must not be afraid even of death, look that it is more risky to be born than to die eh .. we must not be afraid of dying, but never begin to really live, jump into existence now, here.
How can anarchy be controlled? The primordial flow where the reason is lost. Where many fall few have really tried. It is not science, nor speculation, it is from the heart that everyone can be right. It is never too late to say otherwise, it is the fruit of the past, it is just a sunk cost. So don’t wait for disaster, question yourself, find out who you are and then that’s the direction. Do not look in the dark, it hides nothing, the means and resources are in the open, just find them. And let’s stop with the pity, it’s never too late to “start over”. We need to remove the heavy burdens and embark on the journey, the road is long so it is inevitable not to lose sight of the goal. Let’s forget about the ego, it is a mirror that alters perception, a crazy mechanism that makes us go wrong. The true Self is within us, we leave the healing power to ourselves, we are powerful tools of will and persuasion. And if it is true that Thought always dominates, it is really time to teach it and start dreaming, laughing and playing. At a certain point, changing your lifestyle is a choice, an obligation and a duty. Revolutionize to believe, conquer your orbit and start spinning. Harmony belongs to the Universe and there is no real center, the trick is in balance, we are potentially all in the winner’s chariot. The true Rebel defeats the old Self, only to be reborn and blossom like a flower.
Some time ago, at the entrance of a gym, you could see a sign with a photo of a girl with a spectacular physique where it was written "This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?" It is said that a woman, whose physical appearance is unknown, answered the following question: "Dear Sirs, whales are always surrounded by friends (Dolphins, seals, curious humans), have a very active sex life and breed their children with a lot of tenderness. They have fun like crazy with the dolphins and eat shrimp until they drink. They swim all day and travel to fantastic places like Patagonia, the sea of ​​barens or the coral reefs of Polynesia. They sing incredibly well and sometimes you go so far as to make a cd. They are impressive and much loved animals, which everyone defends and admires. Mermaids do not exist. But if they did exist, would they queue up to consult a psychologist because of a double personality problem, woman or fish? They wouldn't have a sex life and couldn't have children. They would be beautiful, sure, but lonely and sad. Besides, who would want a girl who smells of fish by his side? Without a doubt, I prefer to be a whale. "
I’ve always been honest. Here is my problem. I don’t pretend. If I can’t stand you I’ll tell you, if you don’t respect me I don’t respect you, if I don’t want you near I will push you away. I’m not pretending, print it on your head. I don’t pretend a love that doesn’t exist, I don’t pretend to smile if I don’t like seeing you, I don’t pretend to have esteem for you if you make me sick as a person, you could even be 100 years old, nothing would change. Because I behave as I want to behave, as I feel I have to behave and not as “the rules” impose. This is my problem: I’m different from you and you just can’t stand this. My sincerity scared you, scared you that I’m real. Who I am will always screw me up and I am aware of it, yet you have to know one thing: better a hundred years of solitude than a single day in your company. When I saw that you were not sincere, that your play was only to exploit me, to draw on my resources, then I could no longer tolerate what you did to me. You are no longer a fixed thought as before, but sometimes my attention falls on you, for various reasons, but in any case I categorically avoid getting close to you, I no longer miss you as I once did, I’m fine without you, I no longer hurt myself, I have learned to be enough for a while now, I have learned to turn around and not find you, I have gradually got used to your absence, until it has become almost irrelevant, almost no longer felt, only in some fragments of time, I happen to feel your absence on my skin, but even this time it is no longer the same, I think about you, I think about you, about what we could have been but then, my attention turns away from it and I think that those who want you keep you, that those who love you stay, those who repent come back, that if only you had wanted with the same intensity with which I wanted, we could have been so damn happy, but it didn’t happen, and it goes well. I feel lighter now without you, I feel myself, I feel I don’t have to deprive myself of my life, and it’s fabulous, but above all I feel that I am in harmony with myself, I have developed self-love. don’t come back, don’t, not yet, not again. do not destroy everything I have created. go away. get out of me and my life for good. I’m sorry I don’t care, but I learned from you.
It often happens to complain because it seems that God does not intervene in moments of greatest need or suffering. It seems, in cases like these, that God is distant and uninterested in the problems of the world. But the reality is very different. The apparent absence of God in everyday life is motivated by the fact that we do not pray to Him with sincerity and humility. Thus we read the story of Nineveh, a city so immersed in sin that God intends to destroy it. But the inhabitants of the city decide to listen to the prophet Jonah and what do they do? Are they helpless waiting for their fate? Do they get angry with God, accusing him of being bad and unfair? Are they angry (as almost always happens) with the prophet who tries to warn them? No. None of this. The inhabitants of Nineveh begin to do penance and fasting, to pray to God out of remorse and repentance. God saw their works. Concrete works of sacrifice. He did not see their words in the wind or their trivial promises. He saw the concrete desire to change, to convert. And then God changed His mind and didn’t send the punishment He had in store upon them. One wonders, what if the inhabitants of Nineveh had not repented? Sodom and Gomorrah are the answer. When we demand something from God, do we ever wonder if our conduct is fueled by these good intentions, by contrition for sins, by a willingness to improve, or if we are hoping for a cheap miracle, promising things we will not do?
How do you learn to walk? How do you learn to be reborn? It starts from a shell, the armor that welcomes the soul, a fire that becomes embers continues to feed a force, it is expanding energy, it is a reaction that causes a flame, it brings back life. It is a crust that breaks, the shell that lets in a crack; it is the moment in which what is inside presses, takes possession of its space, the lung that absorbs oxygen and swells with each breath, it is the sleepy eyes that wake up slowly, morning dew, breeze that carries perfumes, silent communications of nature, everything slowly returns to be heard. It’s having patience, being born and screaming, and crying, and giving voice to emotions, being afraid, too afraid, and not having the courage, and being afraid. Smell life and be afraid of it. How I suffer while I am reborn! I suffer from love and repressed feelings, I suffer from tired anger, I suffer from memories left in the past, they tear the last flaps before granting me relief. I bless and I curse, I curse and I bless. I laugh with pain, I cry with joy. And I’m afraid. I keep my eyes closed in the light that makes its way between the thin eyelids, the clearness of the skin reveals the green, purple veins, a new blood flows strong: rich, healthy, uncontaminated, vaccine, vial of life, antibiotic that burns and melts what rotten stagnates. everything returns to bloom. I begin to live again.
Right from the start, the strong, decisive fact of Fossey comes to light, right from the first meeting with Professor Leakey, wanted and conquered by fighting, almost, with the photographers and admirers - real or presumed - who surround him at the end of a conference. His request to carry out research in Africa is more than a question or a plea. It is a passionate request, an assumption of responsibility. It expresses a question of vital importance and it is already, basically, a gesture of challenge through which she comes to ask herself, even before being a capable researcher, as a highly motivated person, of one who, beyond the comparison of a scientific curriculum or his value, he snatches the consent to his stay in Africa with determination. This will soon become the peculiar aspect of the character through which the events drawn from his life in the Virunga mountains will be filtered and take consistency.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 