No more repeating commitments. No more performance anxiety. We learn to get bored and enjoy the benefits of boredom. With some caveats
Boredom scares us. We perceive it as an inner malaise, a condition of discomfort, with which we find it difficult to live. Life becomes dark, in the dim light of a sense of emptiness and abandonment, and we end up in the vortex of anxiety, a compulsion to move, to do something. A real waste of energy and emotion. Boredom breaks through in the field of depression, and sometimes it represents only a daily mask, difficult to remove.
In literature, great writers (I mention one for all: Alberto Moravia) have recounted the man devoured by boredom, and I happened to meet accomplished, rich people with a good career in progress, however afflicted by the boredom virus. They are really difficult to date, they have no peace. They transmit anxiety, they always have the frenzy to change places and company. They do not enjoy the pleasure of any stable moment of the day. They can't draw a breath without turning it into a gasp of stress.
Long live boredom. Long live the rediscovery of something that we have lost in the era of haste, of performance anxiety, of wanting to do everything immediately, and of the times of super speed imposed by the technological domain. Long live boredom which relaxes, allows us to detach, helps us distance ourselves from anxiety and stress and accompanies us to a more sober and more serene lifestyle. A positive boredom, constructive and not demeaning and pessimistic. Long live boredom, for adults and children. For grandparents who experience the fatigue of aging and for children who are in a frenzy of growth. Many believe that inactivity is bad and can trigger the vicious cycle of laziness. In reality, idleness stimulates creativity. It reduces stress and tension and helps us cultivate new ideas. Does this mean we have to become idle? Absolutely not, rather let's re-evaluate the value and sense of boredom. Boredom obsesses us, it scares us, and we always feel it lurking. Sometimes we try to avoid it even by taking refuge in the virtual world, but in this case the remedy can be worse than the disease, because boredom is associated with a sense of loneliness. And we are even frightened by the risk that our children might get bored: a useless and wrong fear.
For its ability to see in the dark, to hunt effectively in the night by flying silently and for its complex verses that break the silence of the night, the owl has always been considered an animal symbol of Wisdom, Deep Knowledge, Clairvoyance and Prophecy. It is also an animal to which melancholy and poetic souls and nature lovers are very attached as it represents the secret world of night and dreams. The owl is therefore the guardian of the boundaries between night and day, civilization and wild life, between reality and illusion: a guide, a teacher.
And it's not true that owls and owls bring bad luck… on the contrary, those who wear them always feel they have an extra gear.
Dark and Light were children of mother Nature and father Universe. Two brothers, then, but they didn't look alike at all. Luce was cheerful, joyful, and always happy. Dark, on the other hand, was gloomy and sad. Light used bright colors and Dark only knew black. They were really different but they had one thing in common: they both loved children so much. Light was very loved and well-liked by them and Dark? No, he didn't, on the contrary he scared them and the more they got scared the more he suffered. His greatest desire was to be able to watch over the sleep of children, to be able to enter their rooms and be close to them all night. In fact, once he tried but it was a disaster: he went to find two children who were already in their cots. The first, as he saw him, began to scream and call his mother who chased him away by turning on a light bulb ... even that made light ... Dark then he tried with a little girl, he went into the bedroom but ... here is a deafening scream so loud that he was so frightened that he ran away. These had been the experiences of poor Dark ... it was really sad, no child wanted it. Light, one day she came up to him and asked him why he was always so sad. He told her about his misadventures, then concluded by saying:
"... If at least you could give me some of your light ..."
"Dear brother, I can't give you my light, but you don't have to be sad, do you know that you are very important?"
" For real ?"
"Of course, if I were there all day people would not be able to sleep and to recover their strength they would not be able to dream, the fireworks could not be done, the owls and the owls would not go out to eat, you would not see the fireflies ..so, you see how important you are? And if you want some light talk to the Moon, it will surely help you."
Dark felt relieved and less sad ran to the Moon and asked her if she could help him by giving him some of her light ...
"Not even I can give you my light but I can help you anyway, I will come with you, I will also tell the stars and together we will form the Night and only thanks to you everyone will be able to admire us in the sky ... with the light this will not it could have happened."
Dark's joy reached its peak when one evening he heard a child say: "Mom, I'm not afraid of the dark, he's my friend, and every night he cuddles me before going to sleep". Finally Dark knew happiness.
Awake in the dark, still with my eyes half closed. I reach out towards you, I feel your smooth skin under my fingers, it seems to me that you are stretching your leg towards me or maybe you are dreaming, hard to say.
I go up with my hand, I look for you, I kiss you. Here is the navel and then higher. I kiss you again.
You're awake now, I'm sure, you're looking for me too in the dark. We kiss gently and then more and more passionate.
Our bodies are looking for each other, I undress you. You undress me.
I feel your skin against mine, your warmth. It's cool outside but it's hot right here in this bed.
"What a nice awakening" you tell me.
"Good morning" I reply.
You guide me inside you and hold me.
It's just us, you and me. You keep me inside you.
"Don't run away" you tell me.
"I'm not going anywhere" I tell you.
Let's stay like that, a little longer.
Who knows what time it is. Ultimately, however, it doesn't really matter to know.
"You interrupted the dream I was having," you tell me.
"Is that what you dreamed of?" I ask you.
"I do not remember"
"Excuse me"
"No, don't apologize, that's okay. It doesn't matter what I was dreaming about anymore. But it's the second day in a row that I have a dream interrupted. Yesterday Tigress did it when I woke up."
I didn’t think the bottom of hell was that bad. It is filled with fear, tears, despair, anger, resignation and time does not flow here. It slips through your fingers but every day is the same as the others; filled with suffering. Sometimes you get out of breath it hurts so much trying to survive. It is called hell for a reason and as much as you want to make it, you are helpless. Crushed and reduced to a small and insignificant voice in an unprecedented din. We might as well adapt anyway, I’ll stay here for quite a while …I’m fine, but sometimes I break down and don’t notice. I’m fine, but sometimes my walls collapse and I realize I’m fragile. I’m fine, but sometimes I cry in front of a movie for too much love that I want and don’t have. I’m fine, but sometimes I don’t understand myself. I’m fine, but sometimes it still happens that I always hope too much and more than I should. I’m always fine, but sometimes I’m tired and my eyes shine less.
I look out the window. What a dark night. Just below the house some street lamps illuminate the street, and the lines of the windows are clearer; then your gaze flies a few blocks away, and you don't understand where, in that black, the houses rise and end. The night is scarier, because you look around you and it's cold, and you don't quite understand what's happening, because it's all so dark and confused. But then there they are, the lights. A thousand lights that dampen the gloomy and dark air of the night. Whether they are far or near, they illuminate and kill the black with color strokes. And never as during the night, colors win over black. Date: every fucking day. I lie down on the bed. It's night? Yes, it's always night inside me. Also because night rhymes with blows, routes, fights, blows, blows. Inside me everything is so messed up that even day rhymes with night. Inside me it makes everything scarier. Because I am always cold, acidic, impregnated with memories, cut by pain. Because I never understand what I do; right? Wrong? They are formalities. People judge me anyway, they trample me. But then there they are, the bright and cheerful memories, those few but good friends, the passions and the family. What I love to do, what I want to become. The stories people tell me. The experiences and the lessons, the memories, the memories. They are what carries me forward, that helps me fight that black inside me. They are my colors. And never as in people's lives, colors win against black.
I did the costume fitting. Naked, I looked in the mirror, it had been a long time since I did.
Holy shit, I'm more beautiful now than twenty years ago, had it happened in the past I would have spared myself so much sadness.
Okay, I said to myself, better now than ever, take care of yourself and think about your health.
I have to say, I'm doubly proud of myself. First of all because perhaps I have never had such a splendid b-side, then because I am enjoying many beautiful days in good company by the sea and this is very good for me.
It was not easy to carve out some days for a vacation but you always have to find the time.
Girls, trust nature and yourself, don't care what society demands of you, wrongly. You are always worth it. Dress up and be proud of yourself and your body, whatever shape it is.
My hair got more wavy. Every time I get out of the water they are all stuck and tangled but then after the shower, when I dry them they become waves of sun. They say it is the salt of this sea water. I don't know but it looks like I'm going blonde.
Life has always taught us ever since we met, that even the most unlikely person would leave us alone, that even the one who has always wanted to face all the battles with you can decide to fight his alone. Who knows, maybe one day we will part too, with the knowledge that we will meet again. All this repetition of abandonment on our journey has made us so detached from people, that they often wonder if we are the evil in this world. If you say that you do so much for someone, in truth you are not doing anything, sincerity is silent, therefore a sincere affection is never a “I have done everything for you and you nothing for me.” It’s sad to know that people think they have to be reciprocated and if you don’t, they make you look guilty and take on the role of the bad guy. So my friend, we are the villains of this generation, so superficial that we blame ourselves for the absence we give them when they start demanding what is not theirs. Perhaps this is the price to pay to prevent this evil from being spread. Nothing is due, everything must be deserved, if someone demands, it makes us repress all kinds of feelings. You and I got in tune to escape this monotony, but maybe in the end, it’s not people’s fault. Maybe it’s just us who are wrong, but brother, when we leave too, remember me, someone who cares about you and who you really love, we who have stained our own wings with black as a sign of our friendship.
Maybe music doesn’t change us up to that point and neither does great art. Rather, it reminds us of who we have always known we are and who we are destined to remain, despite our claims and denials. It reminds us of the milestones that we have buried and hidden and then lost, it reminds us of the people and things that mattered despite our lies, despite the years. Music is nothing more than the sound of our regrets translated into a cadence that stimulates the illusion of pleasure and hope. It is the thing that reminds us most clearly that we are here for a very short period of time and that we have neglected or deceived our lives, or worse still, we have not lived them.The night is made for memories. It is made of memories. It is made for dreams, for dreams. Of people who are missing, whom you would like to embrace, but you cannot. The night is made to fill with thoughts everything you want, but don’t have. It is made for hidden tears. Of songs. The night is made for romantics. The night is made of shapes that threshold you.The baby arrived home in tears. Grandpa ran up to him and took him in his arms. The baby continues to sob. Grandpa stroked him, trying to calm him down. “What have you done?” said the grandfather, worried. The child sniffed, then said: «We were playing hide and seek, and I was hiding really well. I was there waiting, but time was passing … At a certain point I went out and … I got upset that they had finished playing and had all gone home and no one had come looking for me ». The singlets shook his small chest. “Do you understand? Nobody came looking for me.”
I wandered through a fantasy forest. Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds. My one second dream. Those who keep their hats even at night. The thieves of gods. Tears without taste. Drinking. I don’t protect myself with the sacred. My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know. Human journeys first were made by dogs. Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path. I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers. Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest. I died once where I haven’t walked yet. I was taken without my permission. Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about. It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over. Maybe my being a doll brought him closer. Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 