I fought white ghosts to come and find you, Jesus,
I crossed my inner deserts and all fears,
to come and discover you, and I'm tired,
I walked too much,
I broke many shoes and lost a lot of water on the long journey.
And I didn't know where to go, I'm a homeless girl,
with a star on my forehead,
and they call me Comet,
and I don't know where to go anymore
and I follow your star because Christmas will come
but I will die in a dumpster or maybe at the sea,
maybe not you will see me among the sheep and the shepherds,
perhaps I will be elsewhere and I will finally have found the end of my pain.
Dear Jesus, here I am, I'm a girl destroyed by life,
and I'm not a beautiful presence in your crib and I won't be able
to stay there or will you welcome me anyway?
They say you were a friend of the poor
nd I have nothing to give you, and my heart is tired,
and I'm tired,
and the journey is over and still deserted inside me,
no plants, no flowers, I woke up this morning moody.
The sky is gray inside me and I have only one thought
and will that star shine for me too that night?
It will probably be the last thing I will see in this life.
You know when you run so fast that, even if you are out of breath, you don't want to stop believing that at any moment you can take flight? When unexpectedly a hand rests on your heart and the clouds are blown away? When in November the crystalline sky makes you want to dream that Christmas is coming? And can you imagine a year without your birthday? A life without love? The starless nights? Nature without flowers? Can you imagine what it would be like to live a life that doesn't belong to you? Waking up and wanting to immediately start dreaming again because what awaits you is not what you want? Can you imagine it, tell me, if all this time thinking about what is not there and perhaps can no longer be there, was wasted? Because there are loves that go and then never know how to return, forgetting the scents, the laughter, the sound of the voice. What if now is the right time to change, to realize it's not worth it, it's not worth the love, isn't it worth the wounds? Believe me you could be really happy, if all happiness ended in your smile. Tell me, can you imagine what it would be like if, turning the page, you came across a chapter that never ends?
We don’t like to admit it, but the idea of losing control is one of those that fascinates controlled people like us more than anything else. All truly civilized peoples – the ancients no less than us – have become civilized thanks to the voluntary repression of the original animal self. Are we really, in this room, very different from the Greeks or the Romans? Obsessed with duty, pietas, loyalty, sacrifice? All those things, in short, that impress moderns? And it is a temptation for any intelligent person, and especially for perfectionists like the ancients and us, to try to kill the primitive, emotional, animal ego. But it is a mistake. Because it is dangerous to ignore the existence of the irrational. The more civilized a person is, the more intelligent he is, the more he will be repressed: and the more he will need a system to channel the primitive impulses that have been so much studied to kill. Otherwise, those powerful ancient forces will accumulate and become of such intensity as to be released violently, with greater violence due to waiting, and will often have such vigor as to completely wipe out the will.
I have always thought that animals are not bought, because they are not toys or things, and therefore I am curious to know the prices, to know why some want a dog or a cat simply for the breed and instead some are just looking for an animal to love beyond. beyond species or otherwise.
I am increasingly convinced that animals should never be bought, but adopted, as the shelters are full of puppies eager for a lot of love, instead of giving birth to new animals in the farms just for business and sale. And if we think that many dogs will stay all their lives in a kennel and that they will never be adopted, suffering from lack of space and often food, how can we think of spending money to buy an animal just because it belongs to a special breed?
The difference seems minimal but it is not: the animals in the shelters are healthy and vaccinated instead, excluding serious farms, farmed animals live in cages, becoming money-making machines, i.e. breeding machines, and puppies are often forced to get away from their mother early and make long journeys to reach the country where they will then be sold in shops, often getting sick or worse dying prematurely.
So since Christmas is approaching and you should be better off, I suggest you get yourself a nice gift and adopt a dog so that you can make a friend happy and not be alone in your life anymore. On top of that, a dog improves mental health and, if adopted, even better. Why do we tell you this? Because an adopted dog will be grateful, affectionate, tender and loving, since he will feel indebted to you for teaching him that there are not only the places where he lived and was treated badly. This will make you feel important and increase your self-esteem.
Here I put links, of Italian sites, where you can find your new partner. You can add sites in other states in the comments.
Six years ago a friend of mine gave me his bicycle as a gift and he is gone forever. For three years the bike has always served me: I loaded it like a mule to do the shopping, we went a couple of times away and then around this green area, for months she and I, her bike. For months and miles, it was my car. I remember that she was waiting for me on the last sidewalk of the station when he left. When I left for London it was brought with great difficulty to Padua and when I returned from London I went to pick it up from Padua. It was raining heavily that day, rivers of water lined the streets and the Paduans found a girl in the rain who splashed water everywhere and sang the Christmas song “Jingle bells” in the middle of summer. I was very happy to be able to ride a bike. When I arrived at the station, the track for the bike was the last one, outside the station shelter and so I had to forcefully fit the bike onto the wagon and then pull it up, in the midst of a thousand curses on that last wagon before the locomotive. Unlike the one I have at home, this one was called “Little Mermaid” because during the winter rains of a cold and merciless reverse, I always emerged from the waters on her saddle and stayed afloat. I walked around in sub-zero temperatures and warm socks under my pants. Then one day I went to the library, serene as always, and when I go out I haven’t found her. You took away not only a bike of questionable economic value, and of fundamental practical value, but you also took away a dear memory and a piece of my life. The Little Mermaid was the only memory I had of my friend. Thieves assholes!
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.
Dear Santa Claus,
I know I'm pretty early to ask you for a gift already, but if I start now maybe you can organize yourself better.
What I want this year for Christmas are not the usual things: an end to war, hunger and poverty. Those are ailments treatable by man, with a little good will.
No, what I am asking of you is much simpler: make every landline or mobile phone, computer and television suddenly stop working on Christmas day.
I'm not talking about the mobile phones of people who are far away and need to hear each other because they can't see each other, touch each other.
I am talking about those who are close and have stopped looking at each other to stay attached to an electronic device, without feelings. I'm talking about those people who do not look at the sky because they no longer leave their room, too busy with the keys
of a PC or the engaging sound of TV.
I'm talking about those who when they are together with friends, girlfriend, husband, relatives, children cannot detach themselves from that damned phone and lose the best moments of life: those that last a second and then pass.
Because life is an eternal Present and whoever wastes it on a small or large screen loses the infinitesimal joys, the little lights that make a soul brighter: a laugh from the heart, a look in love, the sunset that falls on the water. or among the burnished leaves of a tree in autumn, a caress, a kiss, the breath of the wind, the voice of silence.
It can happen to everyone to read a message on the mobile phone, when you are with someone else, but dear Santa Claus there are people who do not detach from that mobile phone for a second: you can forget your car keys, house keys, your wallet, the scarf, the umbrella. Head too! But the cell phone, no. That is never forgotten.
It is like an additional limb that keeps us connected with the world and on the world.
Except where we are at that moment. And with the people we are with.
See dear Santa, how much can electronics do? This is why I ask you to make sure that this year, at Christmas, people find themselves in front of a cell phone, a PC, a TV completely dead.
Maybe so they will begin to look up at the people next to them and notice how many beautiful little things had escaped from their eyes because "they never noticed", because they hadn't paid attention.
Maybe this way people will leave the house and start chatting with each other, rather than with a cold screen.
If you do this dear Santa Claus, maybe this year we will live one less day of electronics and one more day of Light.
Thank you.
Margoth Escobar was at a friend’s birthday party in the town of Puyo in the Ecuadorian Amazon last September when a neighbour called to say her house was on fire. The blaze destroyed her home and more than $50,000 worth of artisanry that she and other women planned to sell over Christmas. The local fire department said it was an act of arson against Escobar, who belongs to Mujeres Amazonicas, a collective of mostly indigenous women who have banded together to defend their land and the environment against oil extraction and mining. It was one of several alarming attacks against members of the collective in Ecuador last year, amid a broader trend of threats, smear campaigns and physical violence against women human rights defenders across South America. Putting aside her distrust of Ecuador’s police and justice system, Escobar filed a criminal complaint at the regional Attorney General’s Office in October. She has not been granted protective measures, despite the risk her activism brings and the attack already suffered.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 