Once upon a time there was a wonderful forest where every tree was not just a plant, but a living being. The trees themselves could not move, but offered their canopy as a home for the birds that flew among them. Mushrooms and fruits of every color were born among their roots and many animals found not only refuge, but an opportunity to have fun and play with each other. The men who visited this forest not only marveled, but considered the forest as a sacred place and respected the plants and all the beings that lived in it as divine creatures.
However, a black prince also had his home in this forest. He was an envious wizard and hated all light and color. He didn't like the joy of the woods, on the contrary, it really bothered him. And above all he was jealous of the respect that was expressed by men towards the plants of the wood and not towards him. The wizard cast a spell that made all faces and colors disappear and the woods became gray and shady.
For centuries the forest remained like this, an oak was only more of an oak, an ash an ash, there was no longer any trace of the wonderful life it once was. And the men avoided stopping in the dark of the woods, only a few criminals looking for a refuge hid in its gray shadow. The forest closed in more and more and finally became an impenetrable enemy of man, considered almost a dead and evil place.
One day, by chance, a fairy arrived from afar, from the world of light, with a group of elves – seeing the black and dead forest, she had compassion and wanted to wake him up. With the strength of her love she summoned a star from the sky that descended among the trees and transformed itself on earth into a marvelous pinwheel. Dancing around the luminous pinwheel, the fairy and the elves managed to awaken the soul of the forest and thus not only the faces and the joy of the plants returned, but also the respect of men for the value of life in the forest ...
But we, after all, are all works of art. We are art when we tie the long hair that covers our faces in a ponytail or when we listen to that song that makes our wrists tremble and makes our eyes water. We are art when we dance, alone, in an empty room, following a music that runs through our veins and makes us feel free. We are art when with our tears we write poems on our cheeks, on our arms. We are art when we fall asleep over our favorite book or stay awake, late into the night, with a thousand sighs stuck in our throats and open cuts on our skin that burn, lashed by the air, relieved only by the vision of the stars, which burn, in the freezing January sky and we, enraptured by their beauty, just want to shine with them, like them, away from that cold balcony where we stare at them. For us the universe is art. The planets are art. The stars are art. Not us. We who are scribbles, intricate, twisted tangles, made on dirty and damaged sheets. Yet if only we could see each other when we talk about who or what we love. Our eyes shine with a light identical to that which the stars give off. And it is not a reflection, it is not external to us, but internal, it is hidden in our heart. Because we are nothing but simple fragments of fallen stars that have never lost the strength to shine. We are art.
In that space where the dimension of human fragility lives - which constitutes us deep inside - also resides the highest spiritual possibility of human living: the ability to be able to treat and look at the fragility that inhabits me and the other.
Evading, or not being able to deal with, this aspect that is so fundamental in a relationship - that is, that of "fragility" - is the first passport for accessing the archipelagos of loneliness and failures... Always starting from oneself, from own fragility, weakness, from our lack of love.
May all sorrows turn to dust, turn you to ashes.
Let the fire burn them and turn into dust, all your pains.
May the fire burn them, may the fire burn them and new flowers will arrive!
Heal your pain, my daughter, with the heat of the sun and the cold of the moon.
Sweeten your mornings with the aroma of lavender, rosemary, eucalyptus
And let the calm come.
YOU TALK ABOUT VICTORY
YOU TALK ABOUT NUCLEAR WEAPONS
ENOUGH!!!
ENOUGH!!!
THE TIME HAS COME TO END THIS WAR!!!
YOU ARE NO LONGER AWARE OF WHAT YOU ARE DOING.
YOU NEED TO END THIS MADNESS.
ENOUGH!!!!
YOU ARE BOTH WITHOUT A BRAIN.
THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE DEAD AND SPEAK OF VICTORY?
PUTIN AND ZELENSKY THIS IS ENOUGH ENOUGH!!!
END IT HERE!!!
THIS WAR IS STUPIDITY
THIS WAR IS IDIOCY.
THIS WAR IS DESTROYING BOTH RUSSIANS AND UKRAINIANS.
ENOUGH!!!
ZELENSKY AND PUTIN YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND VIOLENCE ANYMORE.
THIS IS ENOUGH!!!
STOP THIS WAR!!!
I was lying in the thick grass that adorned the perimeter of a stream. Something had kidnapped my young mind, starting to lead it, undisturbed, among the aching sighs of people I would never have known. I was gazing up at the clear sky and caressing the flowers, when a memory crueler than any I could ever have suspected of having descended like a bolt of lightning and struck my innocence.
The dream dirty my mind
and the mad man keeps saying to me:
"I'm the rabbit in the hat".
But I tell him that I'm not Alice.
Every pain, every pleasure. Is this what forges me and has forged me? I spent my whole short life running away, wasting my time in a bet with loneliness. I heard voices coming from the thick forest, fear paralyzed me, and yet I ran. All my will quivered in wishing that those voices and those words were even more distant than the distant echoes.
But in this moment, I am sadly lying down, and the night hurts me. Although the moon still cradles my lonely soul, I am aware that it can no longer heal the wounds, now physical, of my heart: the arrow that came from someone who was too far away to be seen is taking on the existence that I have not never lived
The wind blew, stripping the leaves from the branches of the trees, leading them in a fatal dance. Everything in that forest seemed normal, but it wasn't. A spirit dwelt from a long forgotten time.
Like the blink of an eyelid, fairy wings lead to a light life, like the wind.
We pixies are a peaceful people who simply want to lead a peaceful life. Why do we have to meddle in the affairs of human beings?
Everything in our houses fell, trees swayed, animals fled. The earth shook. Ninth was the earthquake, it was two hundred feet of Giants.
In the heart of the north beyond a snow-capped mountain range is the realm of giants. They can be very tall, and strong. Often human beings, not knowing them, are convinced that they are a primitive people who live in caves, covered in skins. But they are very wrong. The Giants have amazing marble cities and forge weapons and armor. Writing paper and clothes.
Not everyone was born to fight, some need to be saved. Princesses, life is hard… It’s time to take off the crown and put on the armour. Elves will never understand humans, for for them there is life but no death.We had banded together to fight off the invading hordes, in a place we thought was defensible. We were hundreds of wood elves, divided into small armed contingents. More than I’ve ever seen all together.
Humans are often convinced that fauns and goblins are both regressive races. But is not so. Goblins can be said to be a step forward as a civilization, but not as knowledge. In fact, fauns practice ancient magical arts, which very few other than themselves know.
Among the many populations that live underground -orcs, Goblins, Black Elves- the Demons are those who live on the ground floor (if the earth underground were a palace we could say it like this) that is, those who live at the bottom of all. Unlike the others, they do not go as high as to dig entrances in such a way that those who dwell above the ground can get there, and for this many will never see them. But if by chance someone were to end up in some Orc place and then fall into a crevasse they could certainly meet them.
Dark Elves, or as I call them, Dark Elves, unlike their White Elf kin, are decidedly meaner. They don't live in elegant forests in graceful houses. They live underground, like orcs, but in more advanced and civilized cities. For them there is no night and day, and they light up their lives in other ways.
I'm afraid there isn't an Italian term to define these creatures. Goblins are similar to orcs, but smaller, thinner-boned, and often have stooped backs, and misshapen legs. Orcs can get up to two meters tall if they want. Goblins do not exceed 1.40. That's why they love to collide with creatures within their reach, such as dwarves, or goblins. They live underground, preferably under the roots of trees, or in the depths of the Mountains, where they very easily risk finding themselves with the roof collapsing on their heads when the dwarves start digging.
According to the ancient legend, a young man named Cisso, who performed in the festivals in honor of Bacchus with reckless jumps and acrobatics, had a serious accident one day.
The divine Bacchus, who had become attached to the young man, to prevent me from dying, was then transformed into a plant, ivy, capable of tearing apart any surface.
From the ancient legend was born the artistic habit of portraying Bacchus with an ivy crown on his head and with the chalice wrapped in ivy branches.
Since, therefore, the planta is sacred to Bacchus, among the Greeks and then among the Latins, the convention spread that surrounding the forehead with a crown of ivy prevented the effects due to intoxication from excess wine. The belief was so rooted that even the ancient writers documented that, to appease a hangover, it was enough to boil some ivy leaves in wine and drink it all.
The ancients also believed that the plant could separate the water from the wine with its leaves, in reality nowadays it is known that the fibers of the ivy leaves do not separate the water from the wine but absorb the molecules pigmented by wine and other liquids.
Even today, in the taverns of small urban centres, it is a village tradition to hang a sprig of ivy outside the door to signal the production of wine.
In Celtic mythology, ivy was once connected to the cult of the snake and dragon, which represent the symbols of the afterlife.
Finally, in recent decades it has been discovered that helix ivy has the ability to remove harmful substances from the air, especially in closed environments, in particular formaldehyde which is automatically produced by electrical objects commonly used in homes. Recent studies carried out by NASA, the American aerospace agency, have scientifically demonstrated that ivy has proved to be a very efficient plant for purifying the air, therefore, in summary, it can be said that it is the best houseplant one can have.
In the language of flowers and plants, ivy symbolizes continuity and fidelity. It is the most suitable plant to be given on Valentine's Day because of its heart-shaped leaves that cling inextricably to everything around them. Even in ancient Greece it symbolized union and fidelity, crowns of ivy leaves were, in fact, used to crown the heads of the spouses on their wedding day. When you give a seedling as a gift, it means being attached to the person to whom you give it.
When I rescue a bug by trying to get it back to the wild by getting it out of my apartment, I often make major mistakes that are vital to the bug.
I just try to save his life or at least help him be part of nature and set him free. Even if I have, I believe and hope, a positive thought towards the insect, if I don't find its collaboration or the right way to do it, I could really hurt it or even deprive it of life.
Then I wonder what conception the insect might have of me. How do you perceive me? What am I to him? Surely it does not ask itself these questions but simply, the insect perhaps feels a danger or at least something strange that is placed between it and its world, its knowledge, its instincts, its receptors.
In my small way, for him I am an anomaly that while trying to help him in reality, if I don't have his collaboration, I could harm him a lot.
If I don't have your cooperation. This is the most important reflection I want to arrive at.
In the same way, what I tried to do to that insect, could something do to us too, to me?
Is it if I weren't collaborative by my nature and my limits, could this thing harm me instead of helping me despite the good intentions that I haven't been able to perceive?
When I hear that someone has made a mistake because he didn't follow his destiny, could it be comparable to the situation of that insect that didn't cooperate with me and frustrated my help towards him?
It could be silly reasoning or perhaps a reasoning in which to find a philosophy that I ignore, but I often wonder if some situations actually indicate a way
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 