Once upon a time there was a goblin who loved being near the river. He liked to catch fish, watch the ducks and observe the graceful dragonflies. Once a fish was so heavy that he carried it with him into the water and the goblin nearly died. He had drunk a lot of water but had managed to cling to a log. And he said to himself "Never again in the water, next time I'll let go."
But one day while he was fishing he heard shouting and a girl appeared carried by the current.
The elf immediately threw the fishing rod to the ground to dive but as soon as he reached the edge of the river the memory of that experience he had, in which he had almost died, made him give up and so he pretended not to have seen and went back to pick up the cane and whistled as if nothing had happened.
That day he caught many fish and took them to a party in the woods where everyone celebrated the arrival of summer. He was very happy and told his friends that he would roast the food himself. So he built a fire and threaded the fish into the thin sticks and put them on the fire and then he started playing his flute.
But while he was playing with such ardor, having also drunk some good mead, he did not notice that his foot, with pointed shoes, had ended up very close to the fire and he was getting burned without realizing it.
But a girl, who was listening to her music, and who was the same one who was in the river that day, saw what was happening and took a jug of water and immediately put out the fire. The elf jumped into the air and almost annoyed said to her :" What the hell are you doing? " Thinking it was a naughty joke. And the girl is ready. He replied: "I'll save you, even if today you would have let me drown."


A man's destiny depends on the passion that inhabits him. passion gives you a destiny and destiny gives you a road and the intimacy of the road brings relief from life's wounds.
a man's passion lives in the place and in the doing where he forgets himself. forgetting oneself means losing many rights that the image imposes on us. a wounded image will hardly let go and by not letting go it will not meet its passion.
It is a struggle between the wounds of one's story and the right of passion to dictate the path in which your destiny receives a true name.
Everyone puts a limitation on themselves, everyone has an unmentionable situation from which they flee out of fear or shame. 
In other words, each puts a reinforced concrete wall between himself and others so that others cannot approach beyond a certain distance, in order to protect himself from the fundamental trauma or wound of his psychology. 
This terrifying situation will always be avoided, even if unconsciously sought after, hindering full self-expression and therefore freedom; 
until something shocking appears capable for the first time of undermining fear from the top of the necessities, of breaking this form of self-defense which otherwise would always be re-enacted endlessly as an extreme act of survival. 
Giving up an act of survival is like dying, it's about assassinating one's old identity. From this point of view, the phrase that in order to be able to love one must be able to die many times, makes sense.
All things basic and natural get even the least reactive humans to get going. So love, eating and drinking are the three things your nature asks you to achieve.
The second two are necessary for one's livelihood, while the first is necessary for the continuation of the species.


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 ...


The perfect disappointment. Time woke up early that morning. Like every morning, he said "good morning" to Space, the only friend he had. Then, as the coffee rose, he began to observe the hourglasses, which he kept in an orderly row on the shelves of his large library. The sand descended slowly, evenly. Silent. 
They were all in order. The hourglass of transience, that of the beginning, that of the end, that of harmony, the empirical hourglass, that of abstraction, that of the cause-effect relationship, the hourglass of imperfect eternity, of relativity, of irreversibility, hourglass of predictability, of invariance, that of the duration of things, that of everything passes and nothing remains, that of the fleeting moment, that of the eternal return. Hundreds of hourglasses. 
The last one was the greatest of all. The hourglass of the illusion of the mind. He drank the coffee but it had no effect. He felt drained. Not understood. Unknown. Unloved. He felt nauseous at being wanted for just a moment. Desired as a moment. Desired as superficiality. 
But rejected as a whole. In its four-dimensional existence. Men preferred not to know. Time only narrowed his eyes- With a sharp flick, he ran his open hand over the shelves, without even changing his expression. Hourglasses fell one after another to the ground. Shattering. The sand, frightened, tried to take refuge under the bookcase. 
Then Time began to squeeze. He lifted the symmetry. He removed all references. He eliminated the divisions between past, present and future. Then compressed its size. 
It became one. And the men, having become one too, began to live their whole lives at the same time. Born, small, adolescent, adult, old. 
And they lived all their loves at the same time. They said the same words at the same time. They repeated gestures and destinies. They saw themselves as they were. Without any veil. And they felt terror. Try it yourself the perfect disappointment. Time murmured. But pity came to him. He decompressed. 
He recreated the subdivisions. He put the references back. It brought back the asymmetry. He divided the past, the present and the future. It dilated. He returned to his dimension. He picked up the hourglasses. He fixed them. He put the sand back in. Everything fell into place. Do not be afraid. Everything is fine. She said. 
Everything is fine. And the sand, reassured, began to flow again. Slow, uniform. Silent.


A king went to a Zen Master to learn gardening. The Master instructed him for three years.
The king had a large and beautiful garden, in which many gardeners were employed, and whatever the Master said the king did. At the end of the three years, the garden was finished and the king invited the Master to visit it.
The king was very apprehensive, because that Master was severe, inflexible: would he have appreciated it? Would he have said, “Yes, you understood my teaching”? It was a sort of exam… every care was taken to ensure that the garden was completed, that nothing was left unfinished. And only then did the king bring the Master to come.
But immediately the Master was saddened. He looked around, went from one side of the garden to the other, and his face became more and more serious. The king was frightened: he had never seen the Master so serious: “Why was he so gloomy? Did I make such a serious mistake?”. The Master shook his head all the time and said no to himself; finally, the king could not help asking: “What is wrong, Master? Why don't you say anything? How come you frown so, and shake your head in denial? This garden is the fruit of your teachings”.
And the Master said, “This garden is too finished, it is so complete that it is a dead thing. Where are the dry leaves? I don't see a single dry leaf!" All the dry leaves had been removed, there was not a single yellow leaf on the trees, not a fallen leaf on the paths.
The king said: "I have instructed my gardeners to remove every imperfection, so that the garden would be perfect!".
“That is why it is so devoid of life,” replied the Master, “because it is absolutely artificial, it is the work of man: the things of God are never accomplished, they are always incomplete.”
Outside the garden all the dry leaves were piled up. The Master ran out, fetched a bucket of dry leaves and scattered them in the wind. The wind took them, began to play with them, the leaves rolled on the path. The Master was thrilled. He said: “Look now how alive this garden is!”. With the dry leaves a sound had entered the garden, the song, the music of the leaves blown by the wind. Now, the garden had a whisper; before, it was dead and silent as a graveyard.


Once upon a time in a distant country there was a family made up of father, mother and son. They were very poor and the father was forced to beg on the street. One day the man saw a rose different from the others, this one was of 7 colors: yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, green and white. He took it home to his wife and son who, seeing it, marveled at the beauty and strangeness of the color of the rose: it could be a magical flower so they began to make wishes hoping that the flower would grant them.

"I would like a huge table full of food, a huge house" said the wife and so it was; then the child said "I wish we were a family of nobles and that I had a room all to myself." 

And this too came true, finally it was the turn of the father who asked "I would like to live partly with a family of nobles and have many servants".

All this came true but the little family realized that only one color remained in the magic rose: purple!!!! So they put the flower in a room, the highest in the castle protected by the strongest guards to ensure that the rose was not stolen. The years went by and the relations between the neighbors became more and more intense, they spent every afternoon together. Matteo, an orphaned boy, and his aunt Anastasia lived in the neighbor's house. Matteo had lost his parents when he was born to a sorcerer who had transformed them into frogs, but his aunt had told him that they had died in the war. Matteo spent his days in the orphanage except for Sundays which he spent with his aunt in the fields he owned. Not many years went by when the father of the family, which had become rich, was on the verge of death and asked his son to bring him the rose to ask for eternal life; but the son brought it to him late as the father was already dead. So they decided, mother and son, to leave the last wish to Matteo who wanted to know who his parents were. So he asked: 

“Rosa, show me my parents!!!” 

And immediately he heard voices: 

"Son, help us, we're here!!!" 

So he understood that his parents had been turned into frogs. The rose hadn't lost its color and Matteo asked: 

"Rosa please make mum and dad return to humans" 

And Matteo's parents became human again and hugged their son. Then they went to look for the sorcerer who had turned them into frogs and realizing that he had done it because he felt lonely, they forgave him and welcomed him into their home, living happily ever after.


"Excuse me, how much does a croissant cost"?
I have breakfast at the station bar, waiting for the 6:00 train, when I hear a guy ask the bartender: 
"Excuse me, how much does a croissant cost"?
You hardly hear the price of the croissant or coffee at the bar. So I look at the boy and notice that it is as if he were doing the math. After a while he asks for a croissant. But nothing else.
He leaves the bar, I follow him, I notice that after a few meters he stops leaning against the station wall.
My train hadn't arrived yet, his regional was almost ready for departure.
I approach talking trivially about the weather, the wind ... and then ask him: 
"how was the croissant?" And he: “it wasn't bad. Why are you asking me? "
I use the utmost caution:
 “out of curiosity, I didn't like it that much. However, I haven't had coffee yet. Would you like to take it together? "
He looks at me curiously:
 “sure, thank you, he's very kind. But I only have 10 minutes. Then I absolutely have to take the train, today is my first day of work ”.
We go back into the bar and I say to him: 
"Look, don't you want a cappuccino"? 
Accept. We consume and immediately go back to the tracks. The boy stops, sad look, low voice: 
“I know he understood. And I thank you because you didn't make me weigh it. Today I start working, and it is not the job I expected. But I can no longer weigh on my family. Because my parents can't take it anymore. I always have a few coins in my pocket, but now at the end of the month I will finally be able to take something home too ''. Thanks again for the cappuccino and above all for the grace. These are not things to be taken for granted ”.
 He runs to catch his train. Mine arrives almost immediately.
I leave with a sense of sadness, imagining how many people every day cannot afford even a cappuccino at the bar. But when this happens to a boy, sadness turns to anguish. It's not right.


So far away from us, in Antarctica, lived a colony of seals and one of penguins.
They lived close together, but they had no relations with each other: the young penguins all played together, and so did the seals, but never mingling with each other.
One day the seals decided to go for a swim, and shortly afterwards the penguins also dived into the water with a thousand splashes, from their iceberg.
At one point a shadow appeared from the deep sea, threatening and fast.
It got closer and closer, and the terrified animals fled in all directions.
Only a small seal could not escape, wedged somewhere in the thick seaweed.
The fochina asked for help, but no one heard it in that general stampede.
The sea monster was getting closer and closer, and everyone had already fled.
Only a little penguin, hearing the cry of the seal, stopped to help her.
He tried to pluck the algae with his beak, and one after the other he had torn off most of them.
But it wasn't over, and the sea monster was a stone's throw from them: a hungry whale, greedy for seals and penguins.
The whale had smelled the scent of those two cubs in the sea, and his mouth was already watering.
Finally even the last seaweed was uprooted, and the seal was free.
The whale had already opened its jaws when the seal yelled at the penguin to latch onto its tail.
He obeyed, and the seal launched into a mad and very fast race, escaping by a breath to the teeth of the hungry whale.
Seal and penguin darted away very quickly, chased by the increasingly angry monster, and slipped left and right, now high and now deep, while the orca closed its teeth in very dangerous jerks, always missing them.
Finally the two reached the iceberg from which they had started, and in an instant they climbed onto the ice floe.
The whale was left with a dry mouth!
The friends of the two animals were waiting for them very worried, and when they saw them they made a big round of applause: Onk! Onk! seals did, flapping their fins. My! My! My! the happy penguins shouted instead.
The little seal and the penguin embraced each other full of joy.
"Thanks for saving my life!" said the seal.
"Thanks to you: I would never have managed to escape from the orca at that speed" and from that moment they became inseparable.
Even today in that area of ​​Antarctica penguins and seals live together, and their cubs all play together, because they have understood that by joining their forces there is no enemy that can win them.


Once upon a time there was a child who lived in the forest in a small box with his mother and father. One day the boy, whose name was Alex, asked his parents if he could go outside to play. After some time Alex heard a noise behind the bushes, went to see what that noise was and saw a wolf cub playing with a piece of grass, Alex immediately fell in love with it. He took it and took it home. When the parents saw the wolf cub, they were frightened and said: "Alex, what is that?"
Alex replied: "It's a wolf pup I met in the forest."
The parents were surprised and asked: "My love, you can't keep a wolf in the house ..." Alex replied, "Why?"
"Because his mother will come looking for him and he won't be so happy that we took his son," replied his mother.
Alex said: "But, Mom, I've always wanted to have an animal to love ..."
The mother thought about it together with the father and together they said: "Okay, you can keep it, but only for a few days, until the cub is old enough to live alone". And the child cried out for joy.
After so many days the little wolf was starting to grow, the wolf was beginning to get attached to Alex and to protect him from dangers, but one day the parents said to their son: "Alex, you can't have the wolf in the house anymore".
Alex sadly said: "OK, but at least let me keep it just one more night ..."
The parents thought about it and said it was fine. Alex had packed a backpack and some food at night, and went off into the woods with the wolf.
The next morning the parents noticed that Alex had disappeared into the woods and immediately got dressed and started shouting: "ALEX, WHERE ARE YOU!"
But Alex was already too far away and couldn't hear his parents' screams until he saw a light in a cave; Alex went to see what that light was and saw a girl of about ten or eleven who was sick.
Alex asked her: “Who are you? Where are you from? What is your name?"
The little girl replied: "My name is Laura and I come from a very distant city".
Alex said, "How did you get here?"
Laura replied: "I was out for a walk and suddenly I saw that a bear was following me, so I started running and found myself here".
Suddenly Alex and Laura heard noises, they were scared, but it was only Alex's father and mother who were very scared, and asked: "Who are you?"
Alex replied, "She is a friend of mine who got trapped."
The sorry parents said: "Alex, if you want, you can keep your wolf." But at some point the wolf family came and they started cuddling each other.
Alex said, "Mom, I've made my decision: I want to leave my wolf with his family so they can live happily ever after." And then the wolf left with his family. The child returned home with his mother and father, Laura returned to her village and the wolf with his pack.


It is seven in the evening and, on the fifth floor, Mrs. Kapoor is ready to devote herself to preparing dinner. Like every night. At that time, you will be able to see her busy in the kitchen. The first thing you'll notice through the open curtains is the flamboyant color of her Sari. Looking closely, you will notice the graceful decorative effect created by the folds, similar to the petals of a flower. In many years, I have never seen her dressed differently. It holds true to its traditions, despite having moved here to Venice for some time now. He does it with clothes and food. Every day, at seven in the evening, you will always find her there, struggling with the preparation of Roti. You will see her carefully knead all the ingredients, expertly dose the spices for the accompanying curry, divide the dough into many small balls of equal size, heat the usual old plate until it becomes hot, place each cooked disc in a cloth after having brushed it with oil and close the flaps with extreme delicacy. His are habitual gestures. Simple. Family members. Actions repeated almost mechanically every evening. Year after year. Mrs Kapoor, every evening, without knowing it, makes me feel at home.
Mrs. Kapoor is a certainty in a world full of uncertainties.

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