IN THE MIDDLE OF MIDNIGHT

Here, you cannot sleep. What remains is the zero degree of writing, the implicit reader: generic presence, in a corner of the room, looking elsewhere. Like Clarice Lispector in A Breath of Life, the author invents another author who invents a character, Chinese boxes of solitude. I remembered when I thought being happy was the worst of all. No doubt it’s easy to be bad when you’re happy. With the dull heart of guards, you have to defend a sand fort from the plague, and the order is to shoot on sight. Happiness is fragile, it does not tolerate the existence of pain, and therefore we end up taking our eyes off the dog’s eyes looking from the side of the road. I wish this cruelty had a price, only out of a sense of justice. What do you want to be? The Shakespearean spectrum. Tomorrow in the battle think of me, and let your sword without edge fall. But I would have to die a lot of times to appear in a dream to all those who have been unjustly cruel to me, and the first death is already complicated. Since I believe in symbols, it is symbolic that V. has appeared now. I have all the respect in the world for his rough suffering, for his open hands without weapons and without gifts. V. has the pain that serves not to hurt, and reminds me that in the light of judgment I am like that too. Orphans of the future, sad farewell animals. I am grateful for all the unfulfilled promises, because each is a promise not betrayed. For once, I see the symbol of innocence inscribed on the air sheet.

MORNING SHADOWS

Shadows behind my back,
they give human thrills of presence that I took my breath away. They all crowd to get my attention
and in the meantime they swallow my words.
Greedy,
marauders,
they play as if they were killer dolls.
They look for my pulsations,
vibrations,
lively feelings to make them crowns of thorns.
I open dull books and they immediately come out as actors from a distant past.
They want to sigh again,
whisper secret things to me,
make me forget the morning sun.
You swing big through the light,
but in the dark you disappear.
Follow every movement unable to resist,
silent and dark.
If you had the opportunity, how many things would you say? Muta, do your job,
accompanying me everywhere.
You are part of me even if elusive,
I have you but I don’t possess you.
I see you but you cannot do the same,
I would like to tell you many things but your ears would not perceive the sound of my voice.
Sometimes people can become shadows too,
you know?
People are afraid of the night. He is afraid of the dark. They believe that nothing can be seen in the dark. “Dark is dangerous: you never know what it can hide,” they say. But they don’t know that the darkness actually hides nothing. In the night the masks fall, the shadows vanish and only what it really is remains. I am afraid of the day, of the light. Because it makes you believe that you are safe, but you are surrounded by shadows, by masks worn out of fear, by repressed feelings, by hidden pains. How much strength does it take to look at the truth when it is not hiding?
We need light and its emanation, without it we do not exist, the shadows, even if so dark, prolong and outline the hidden part of being. Know how to choose your sun, so that your shadow is the brightest part of you. When the sky is gray the world becomes gray and you in it too. Yet, once you pass the clouds, you find yourself in the hidden world that you did not see from the window, you find yourself in front of an infinite white and soft ocean that acts as a separé from the real world. And thinking about this, you begin to look among those few glimpses that allow you to see beyond the clouds and, imagine flying, flying and flying, going higher and higher, beyond the roofs of the houses, above the lights of the city, and beyond above the clouds, and then begin to caress that hidden sky, which until the gray ocean appeared above your head, you didn’t even realize existed.

SURPRISE IN THE BOX

Thanks for the dreams come true and pull yourself out of a drawer thanks for all this for making me touch the sky with a finger sometimes for pushing me to never give up always try again for teaching me that I can even do it alone for clarified situations for the moonlight.
Thanks for the dreams launched into the sky hoping that they will come true for the strength that I have lost and that I have always found again to keep fighting not to give up.
Thanks for all those times I thought I didn’t know how to go on, but I did it for severe pain when the world collapsed on my shoulders thank you very much, because sometimes even that has helped me to grow thanks for the words that I have never lost because sometimes they were poems.
Thanks for the summer sunsets for the spring skies for dawns at seven in the morning for this winter too cold but not too dull because I allowed a ray of sunshine to enter and it was enough to make me reborn to make me go back to the same as always. And thanks, yes because for the first time I was my only ray and I love myself at least a little and at least a little I am not afraid of anything.
Thanks for the courage to have let go that there was to let go and thanks for the strength to keep with me who is there to keep even if far away.
Thanks life even if sometimes you really sucked but thank you for making me born again because you haven’t made me forget certain eyes because my heart hasn’t stopped beating for those I love to die for and to live and
thanks for the love too what I started feeling for myself what I have never stopped feeling for others who is tired now disappointed but always strong and combative.
Thank you for scratches for the beautiful mouths to live for the kisses that make you live for perfumes that don’t go away
And when I’m quiet doing my thing, it always occurs to you to surprise me with a kiss on the cheek, making a thousand emotions explode in me. Then I close my eyes, to savor that kiss again and to engrave it in my memory. I always think, sooner or later, I will need it. And this is a fantastic sign, it means that there is hope, that beautiful things can happen even when you don’t expect them anymore. Yes, maybe there are always beautiful things waiting for you, maybe the opportunities aren’t over, maybe even when your horizon is flat and deserted and you think there is nothing left to see, here are the surprises that pop out of nowhere and can overwhelm life. Who sends the waves to the shore because he knows that you are sitting there and looking at the horizon.

MY HAUNTED HOUSE

Have you ever heard rumors in your home? Someone calling you? Strange shadows? Strange things happen and you don’t understand why? Our house is perhaps cursed. It is a stagnation of very negative past events. In our house the partisans who tried to escape from the Nazis were hiding. Our house is full of people, even a child among them. A lady who let me find her perfumed scarves and in our attic every now and then the survivors of the world war dance.
Every time I dream I return there, in that devastated country of which only white rubble and souls without a body remain. I walk without memory through its streets, I rarely meet you. Then when I find you, you tell me how much you would like to rebuild everything, start over. Then you frown, hold back your tears out of pride, but I know you’re crying. Suddenly you pull me away, I follow you, but you push me away. Why can’t I stay? You scold me like a mother, telling me that remembering will kill me. How I would like to kiss you when you do this. I am desperate for your fragments in the soul of others, but I never find you. What looked like a shard of diamond turns out to be another shard of sharp glass that hurts me with disappointment. It destroys me not to remember your name. I would like to sleep forever, stuck in a dimension where your death doesn’t exist, but I can’t. Please come and see me again tonight.
I think I have had some signals from my spirit guides. It happened about twice: The first time happened last week while I was drawing: I heard a loud whistle, similar to that of a bell in the whole room that came from a specific point, and when I moved away from the room the sound decreased in intensity, and then increased in intensity. time returned. I asked my mom if she heard that sound too, but she said no. The second time happened last night, just before going to sleep: I was looking at the phone, and I heard that whistle again, but this time it was weaker. I ignored both of them not knowing what to do, because I don’t know how to interact, how to get in touch with the spiritual guides, but the point is that now I’m afraid they won’t contact me anymore, since I silently screwed them up. What a shit figure in front of myself, I think if the spiritual guides trample me I would apologize.
I have a little question to solve, or rather, a question that I can’t answer. I’ll explain better: There is a relative in my family that I have never met (he died in ’44 at 20), and his death was a tragedy for my grandfather’s whole family. Although I have never known him, and knowing very little about him, I burst into tears as soon as we talk about him or think about him, as if I had seen him die in front of my eyes. When I think of him an immense nostalgia rises, I miss him to death even though I have only seen him in photos, sometimes I dream of him during the night, and every now and then it happens that I feel a kind of presence around me, as if something or someone was watching on me. Also, when I think of him I feel a kind of spiritual connection with him, as if we are tied by an invisible thread that holds us together, or so I think. A month ago, by the way, I saw a spirit. Yes I know it may sound strange, but I have seen it. It didn’t have a human form, in fact, it was a kind of concentrate of white energy with slightly blue edges, but it wasn’t too bright. It was only for a few seconds, just long enough to open your eyes and light the lamp, and the spirit disappeared into thin air. A week or two later he appeared again, and he left the same way as the first time. Now, I would like to know: – Is that a spirit I saw? – Why do I feel a spiritual connection with this relative of mine? – Why do I miss him without ever having known him? – Was he the spirit? Here, these are the questions I’ve been asking for quite some time, and I sincerely need an answer. If there are any witches among those who will read the post, please answer me according to what you know, as I believe in magic and spirits.

KITTENS ATTACK

I love cats. They are wonderful creatures and masters of life. They are curious and love adventure, but they also appreciate convenience. They know that lounging and sleeping are basic pleasures in life. They enjoy the moment. Cats are both funny and graceful at the same time.
Cats are magical animals. They are the keepers of our home and help keep negative energies away. Their purrs massage our heart. Their discreet proximity is for us a medicine without contraindications, which can cure and even prevent diseases. Wisely, ancient humans regarded the cat as a sacred animal.
How do you do it, kitty? How is it that you know how to conquer everyone, that a minute is enough with you and you fall in love? How do you seduce everyone, from grandparents to the vet? What’s the catch, little one? And to think that you are here by chance, you know? Indeed maybe you are just alive by chance, think if that friend of ours hadn’t picked you up from that stable, ugly and thin as you were, think about what would have become of you … In fact, you know what? Don’t think about it at all. Because now you are here, with us, darling of anyone who knows you. Let’s not think about what could have been, let’s think instead about what has been and let’s enjoy the good fortune that is your being alive and we of having known you. Let’s enjoy all the love that there is and that you know how to arouse when you play as if you were still a puppy and then collapse exhausted. Let’s enjoy the show of your purr when we caress you, let’s enjoy the familiar weight on your legs when you feel like sleeping. How wonderful are you, kitty, but how do you do it? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is having you here.
Cats are somewhat mystical creatures. As they say in a film they are here and there. If you keep them indoors they perceive the subtler levels and devour toxic energies. For this reason, many people have always been in favor of the cat’s “superiority” over, for example, the peaceful nature of the dog. A cat doesn’t follow you for food, they say, it doesn’t need you, they repeat, it doesn’t purr you if it doesn’t want to, they insist. Because in the dual reality in which they find themselves they see independence and intelligence in the “power” of the cat, considering instead the playfulness, fidelity, sensitivity and cooperation of the dog, acts of weakness. In the dual world there is separation. The concept of right and wrong. Bad versus good. Surrogates made even stronger in this moment of ego-referencing. Too bad that in the temple of wisdom that was rewritten to divide men, there is no struggle between best and worst. Each is essential for the other to recognize themselves, to be opposed in teaching and to integrate. They are active and passive, not one yes and the other no. Not black or white.
Blue is the first to get up every morning, obviously she does not tolerate someone sleeping when she is already awake, so she starts crying desperately in front of the door that divides the attic in which we are staying from the rest of the house. It was a matter of time and we knew it but now she has completely settled down and her desire to explore, her dominant nature and her marked independence are felt. She wants to be free to go in and out, she expects every door to be open, there is no weekend to hold, her internal clock was calibrated to human rhythms when we were at our house, here it is different because she has different needs and being at living in a single room, even if it is large, is too simplistic for her, almost punitive. So we have to get up and distract her so that she calms down and doesn’t wake up my in-laws with her moans. She is sweet, Blue, in her own way she knows how to give a lot of affection but she is also a demanding cat, she needs a certain level of freedom and interaction, living with her is a constant search for balance that always results in the satisfaction of seeing her and knowing her happy. It is a period of mutual adaptation, this, of transition, as difficult for us as it is for them. Bruce is the usual big cat who alternates play, cuddling and sleep, she has different complexities and needs that we must somehow satisfy. The alternative is to get angry and scold her but with those big eyes she finds herself able to arouse feelings of guilt far more annoying than any morning wake up call. So you won, Blue, as usual. And in the end, that’s fine with us.

MUSICAL MEMORIES

I know that I often play the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little. I grew up in a family where music is worth a lot: pop, rock, rap, instrumental, house, alternative, blues and so on. In my house there has always been a sweet background music of some artist, who craved art, and we have always appreciated it. I had (like everyone) my preferences. The object in the photo is mine. An old cassette tape. My father spent hours recording various kinds of songs, mixtapes for my mother. Perfection I believe. So I know that I often do the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little, but when I do some mixtapes for someone too, I will do it with artists who crave art.
The importance you give to a song is solely derived from the person who makes you think of it while you listen to it. I’ve heard so many songs, it’s a life that I listen to songs, every day, every hour. I love that it always remains my favorite song. Among the millions of songs I have listened to, it is always her, she who is capable of making you take a sigh and say goodbye to what you were, what you are and what you will be, remaining unique, for those three minutes. Thank you so much for letting me have a favorite song!
Do you say we would be happy? Together I mean … I have my music, you have your passions. I’m not ready to risk everything, anything that makes me say “this is what I am” to another person. So I understood, the perfect fusion between the happiness I feel with you and why I am in the world became my creed, my mission for years! All this to say that “this is what I am: happy” puzzles don’t stick to one piece. The beauty of the game is to complete the work!
What sound do you prefer songs from the past that you would like to listen to again?

MYSTERIA LANE

On the second floor of my building lives a couple of elderly gentlemen. I have no idea what his name is, but I have often heard him refer to her as "Dear Rosina". I met them on the stairs and before greeting me with big smiles, I saw them come down arm in arm, slowly, patiently. I thought of Montale, how he was able to paint the same scene with all the love he felt for his partner who was no longer there. As a child, I dreamed of great achievements, distant journeys, a fire lit in a house that I could call mine. Now I just hope to be able to grow old with a man next to me who looks at me as my neighbor looked at his Rosina, step by step.
There is a gentleman on the third floor of my building. He is a very robust man on the verge of obesity. However this is hardly visible due to its height. I got to know him from the very beginning of my arrival in this building thanks to his desperate, angry screams, at mealtimes, addressed to a woman who in my fantasies I assume was the very old mother. I then got to know him physically from the peephole of my door since, throughout the quarantine, couriers arrived to deliver packages to the latter. Everyday. Every day more and more out of breath from step to step. Always the quarantine then, he introduced me to Paola, the neighbor across from my building, who asked me if I too heard the cries of this man and then informed me that a few months earlier the one who confirmed me to be his mother died. The mother of this man.
There are those people you would like to get rid of for good.
Like the guy who, no matter how many times you've told him, continues to park his car on your private parking lot; or the neighbor who every Sunday morning starts drilling the walls, which also makes you doubt that his house has now become a gruyere, who will never have to drill, no one knows. Or the classic annoying relative you see once every three months, and in that one time he is able to get you a real third degree about boyfriends / study / work, and he can't understand that in those three months things haven't changed much, and the only thing you want to tell him is to shut the damn mouth.

Or the classic friend - or friend, of your choice - of the person you're with. The nice friend who doesn't have to put in much effort to be a bitch, because she was born with this talent, and she is also very good at smashing the so-called with her presence.

Well, unfortunately, we cannot get rid of these people. Not by legal means, at least. But looking at them with a smile and sending them straight to fuck can be seriously rewarding.
Under my window I hear the neighbors' child. his name is like me and in these days of isolation he often plays in the garden, helps his mother to make the vegetable garden and plant the seeds. she has never been too patient, yet now there is a whole new cure in the gestures that are repeated, from the soil that falls into the pot to the attention with which she takes care that each plant has its right amount of sun. when time expands, more attention can be paid, more kindnesses can be granted. "I would like to know only when it will end" the little girl lets slip and this is what we are all asking ourselves a bit, between worry and the days that repeat themselves. then her mum takes her by the hand and helps her to wet the earth with the watering can, I look at them from above with the cat and I think that all we can do is just that, keep the soil ready and take care of the seeds.
But I still carry dance inside. He forged me, he taught me to measure myself with my strength, with the need for order. It is to her that I owe the discipline I work with. It was hard to have to leave, but it was my driving force and it still is. "
Dusting off old photos ... A past life between spikes, tutu, hall, shows and theaters ... Infinite sadness for letting go of the only thing that can make me really happy. 
I don't think I'm an excellent girlfriend. I have my mood swings. I have my fixes. I have my flaws. I try to restrain myself, not to seem psychopathic, not to make tragedies. I'm good at being strong. Then I burst out for a trifle, as if it were the most important in the world. And I'm a child, sometimes. Stubborn. I get angry about something and can't think of anything else for the next three days. I'm drastic, I don't know half measures. With me or without me. Right or wrong. In or out. There are no ajar doors, only locked doors and keys thrown into the void. There is no going back. I am emotional, instinctive. I let go of people I needed just out of pride. I held back people who didn't deserve me just for hope. I am romantic. I cry in front of a movie and get excited by small thoughtful gestures. I write love letters that I will never have the courage to read aloud. I pay attention to details. I'm a perfectionist, sometimes hysterical. I am far from the idea of ​​perfection. But I love so much. I love with all my strength, no ifs and buts. I love with every single part of my body. I love so much that I have stomach cramps, other than butterflies. And even if my loving so much started to wear me out, I'd let it.

MADE BY STARS AND DREAMS

It is literally bad to feel strong and weak to be happy and sad after a few seconds. Dreaming of things that you know that cannot be there and realizing that sooner or later there is an end for everyone, and you can not do anything but accept it. I would like to have no thoughts, have no emotions, be a stone, which with the arrival of the rain everything slips away. But how do you, how can you not think of something bigger than you, you can hide it from your eyes, but after a while it comes back, always there. If the sun hides the wounds, the night brings them back to the surface, and you can do nothing but let yourself be carried away. But what is the meaning of writing, what is the meaning of life, if in the end we are only memories You wonder if it makes sense to spread your own being, or to stay in your own small way, but what life is it if you don’t bring a little of yourself into the world? There is no need to escape, but if everything is rowing against you, where do you find the strength to fight? Let yourself be carried away by life, or take it in hand? It is as if I have understood all the mechanisms, all that remains of life, but then why am I here? Open the windows, let the sun in, listen to the bells ring, listen to the noises, take a breath, don’t think and live in the present
This is what people do not understand about me, I am not satisfied, I dream. Because despite having met false, slimy people, real snakes, I still believe in friendship, the real one, the one that saves you. Because despite having lived through toxic relationships, or not very serene and sometimes almost one-sided, I still believe in love, the one that shakes your heart, that reactivates you, that makes you be born a second time, in that complicit and crazy love. Because despite the falls I still believe in the strength to get up, alone, or holding someone’s hand. Because although the world sucks I still believe in the beauty that is in it, just sit and watch a sunset to find the energy of life. Because although life is hard, I still believe that it is worth living it. And maybe yes, I really dream, but I’m not satisfied either
It hurts me to think that there will be someone else who will wait with the same anxiety with which he was waiting for me. It hurts me to think that his happiness will depend on someone other than me. It hurts to think that that “exaggeration” we always talked about has gradually vanished. To think that there will be another person in your place, to think that he will be able to give her everything you gave her and maybe much more, what she is looking for, what she had always sought in the end, to think that someone will give her that dress that so much she liked it, who knows if she will know the same things she was telling me, maybe she’ll like another dress rather than the white one she fell in love with, and she’ll forget a little bit how that dress, which will come back to her only if she finds the photo she had taken of him scrolling back through the gallery. Yet I know that he will not delete that photo, he will keep it, maybe he will smile when he sees it again and maybe he will keep it a little longer than the other old photos on the screen, after all he wanted it, after all he had dreamed of it in the past. It will hurt when mine is no longer the arm she liked to lean on when she was lying on the bed, it will no longer hurt me the little voice of a child that made her seem smaller and made her so beautiful every time. And it still makes it that way, it’s beautiful yes. There will no longer be a messy bed in my house after coming to see me, there will be no smile that looked at me as if I were her only salvation, and someone else will take my place, take my chair at her kitchen table , she will leave someone else the blue chair in her office where she let no one sit, no one but me, and made me feel important, now she will make someone else feel important. All good things come to an end. But she will be happy, and this is the important thing. And this.
The dream is a defense against the regularity and monotony of life, a recreation of bound fantasy, where it throws all the images of life into the air and interrupts man’s perennial seriousness with a cheerful childish game; without the dream we will age prematurely, and therefore we can consider the dream, if not sent from above, still a pleasant task, a friendly companion on the pilgrimage to the tomb.
Dear ice eyes girl that have nothing celestial,
but however frozen they surpass the ice and they are cold albeit chocolate colored.
Dear sad eyes girl, I wanted to tell you to shine again not to lose yourself in thinking of those who do not think of you not to get lost in order to wait for those who wanted to lose you.
Dear dark eyes girl you will learn to grow to live with fear and make it your strength and your care as well.
You will learn that grownups never cry, but that tears are used to let off steam to regain strength to start over to get up stronger albeit a little stunned.
You will learn to go to fly to fall, and then get up again to turn off only to then return to shine stronger.
Dear hurricane girl that you never stop dreaming that alone you can always do it but you want someone by your side
because together we dance better and together it is better you read a lot and travel too much that music is your world
and books are your place that a beautiful sentence underline it in red with pencil a straight line unlike your life
which is always an infinite curve and also uphill that you change your mood easily according to the steps of your Love based on a smile of hers and his smile that puts a smile on your face.
that you have big eyes and the gorgeous smile that you want to hear your heart beating fast because you want to live strong because you want to live for real.
Dear girl woman, I wanted to tell you to start shining again, because you are not the disappointment of this world but the disappointment is this world which has lost its values which is a meaningless world where now only what is not needed counts – superficiality, of course.
I wanted to tell you to shine again like a shining star to shine alone without needing someone to turn you on, because the real music of this world it’s you, just you and that’s it.
Don’t be discouraged, do not stop do not change do not stop dreaming: go, run, shine take everything you deserve and shine, you always shine,
because they will teach you not to shine they will discourage you because they are envious they will extinguish you
because they are jealous of your light, but you don’t listen to them.
You shine.

NOCTURNIA

the sea falls from the eyes
the bones embrace my heart
they hold him like a fist.
I did the first harm during the day.
the night embraces me with her black hair.
light of the dark.
you are a big moon.
I am a lonely shadow in the night.
Even the moon is eclipsed as I pass.
The stars are covered with clouds.
Rain mixes with tears.
Dark thoughts thicken.
Like trees in the middle of the forest.
A deafening silence reigns around me.
the sea wall comes up against my heart.
the waves welcome my shivering from the cold.
I curl up under the sheets.
but she still peeks at me. cursed moon.
In recent years my life has changed a lot, between people found and people lost the account is always zero. After he left me I started a new life, and thanks to this I found new paths. There have been people who have deeply saved me, one more than all, I was in a terrible moment, alone, with no one to talk to. I felt like I was clinging to the edge of a precipice. He saved me. And I naively believed that nothing would divide us. I never told him, but we rarely talk now, he has his life and he looks happy. So I decided to leave it alone and leave the pieces where they were. Then I fell in love, or maybe I fell in love with the way he loves me, totally irrational, beautiful and dispassionate. Preferring to swallow my shit rather than say goodbye, he left it all for me. I don’t think I deserve it, I don’t think I deserve so much love, not anymore. My last relationship left such a deep scar on me that years later it still hurts when I think about it. My mistake was not being able to forgive myself, while he forgave him in the end, and what he couldn’t make me forgive was the idealization that I had built on him. He wasn’t perfect, and he could hurt me, and he could be wrong. And yes he was wrong with me. I work on me, day after day, minute by minute. My life is not bad, difficult at times very dark. I wish I could talk to my past to move forward, but sometimes it is not possible to do so and then it remains broken forever.

PHILOSOPHICUS

Not safe as help, as to save you, perhaps from the very beginning I could not save you, from your mystery, your thoughts … bastards able to obscure all that was beautiful around you. I didn’t rush to understand how you didn’t rush to see how I saw you, fragile, alone, confused, but you loved and I didn’t have a message, I didn’t send a message when uncertainty prevailed. Some of the most famous, mysterious, mysterious. Secondly, I was just a fragile troop for this world, a world that is not capable, which is not in the degree of good luck, and you are why I do not love, but you love me, that it is part of this world, so tell me, how is it possible? I would like to feel you at the same time love you.
I fell into one of my pathetic periods of closure. Often, with human beings, good and bad, my senses simply detach, they get tired: I let it go. I am polite. I nod yes. I pretend to understand, because I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is the weakness that got me the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often find myself with a ribbed soul, reduced to a kind of dish of spiritual noodles. It does not matter… My brain shuts down. I listen. I answer. And they’re too dull to realize I’m not there …
Porcupines huddle together to fight the cold. Their body, however, is covered with sharp spikes, which causing them pain, forcing them to move away. This is the paradox of porcupines, their need to be close to each other while hurting themselves. Schopenhauer tells it and then Freud is also interested in it, because the same happens in human relations. The closer we get to another, the more we risk being hurt. The pains of one become the pains of the other, the quarrels hurt like quills, and force one to leave. But during the winter, the cold continues to loom, and porcupines left alone risk dying. They then decide to huddle, even though they are aware of getting hurt. The dilemma arises from the paradox: what is the right distance to keep from others? Porcupines will stop suffering when they find the correct distance, not too far away so they don’t freeze, and not too close so they don’t get stung. Even if it hurts, we need others. The closer another person is to us, the more we open up to them and let them be part of us, the more we risk colliding with pain. The more we love, the weaker and more at risk we are, but despite our wounds, love saves our lives. We need to have someone close, but without straying too far from ourselves, from what we are and what we want.
Men were born and raised in a cave, they are chained, then forced to remain imprisoned there, always in the same position. Behind them is a fire that reflects before their eyes the shadows of what is happening in the outside world. This is all they see. One of them, however, manages to free himself and comes out, he is dazzled by the sunlight and sees nothing, he wants to go back to the cave, since he believes only what he had there is true and good. This tells the myth of Plato’s cave. The cave represents the daily life in which we are all imprisoned. The man who comes out of it sees the truth of things, but does not understand it. If none of us are aware of what is in front of us, it is as if that did not even exist. It is not easy, but how many times, perhaps, we find ourselves in front of a happiness, a satisfaction, a kind gesture, a truth, and we do not realize it because it is easier to settle down in our daily life, in the thought that everything is wrong and wrong . It is easier to be sad than to struggle to be happy. It is a gesture that requires effort, violence, but it is definitely worth it. In fact, Plato continues to tell that if man were forced to stay outside and open his eyes to what he sees, over time he would be able to recognize everything, the sun would no longer blind him. And once he saw it, but never would he want to go back to the cave. Even if he did so, the other prisoners would not believe him, they would even be willing to kill him. This is because it is a choice that depends solely on us. We must learn to love what we have and which, too many times, we don’t even recognize. Happiness is a choice, we must have the strength to make it, only in this way will we find our sun.

( All artworks by Kate McDowell)

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