And maybe a silent night reads you better than a conversation that lasts hours. You carry silence inside you like someone who is afraid of talking too much because from an early age you have been told that people are jealous and that you must not rejoice too much in your fortunes otherwise others are unhappy. And allow the silence to come in because maybe you hope that he will give you the right words. In the silent night the silence speaks and you listen. Sometimes it screams, sometimes it makes your eardrums pop, sometimes it makes you cry, sometimes it chokes you because it gets too close. You carry silence with you as if you had a weight on your heart, as if you could not scream to chase it away. I see you walking with silence tangled around you, with each breath it tightens around your mouth. I see you panting for fresh air, for new words. And sometimes you find them, and the silence goes away, then you start breathing again, talking, saying you’re happy, but people are jealous, they are unhappy with you, and they scream, and they talk to you. You wonder how it is possible that silence has no effect on them. You wonder why you didn’t follow the advice they gave you since childhood. Ask yourself, ask the void and the sky, you think a lot and too much. And, in that moment, silence attacks you again.
If you see something negative in the other, it means that you have something negative in you.
If one looks at others and sees twisted threads then it means that he often chokes himself.
The pride of the projection lies in the joy of seeing on the other what one believes not to see in oneself.
But calm down, no distractions because Anna Freud is still elaborating the game that the adult child plays in this society.
There is no restriction for those who look elsewhere.
There is no limitation for those who do not look at themselves at all.
Only one special saying remains in the arc of an arrow:
your grass is rotten because you don't water it.
But saying and not saying the things that are truthful is a sharp piece of whoever removed the score
from the piano to let the player invent it himself.
And maybe the musician is sitting hidden at the end of the hall enjoying the spectacle of the sound void.
Those who are used to following the notes do not know how to cook breaks.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 