This morning I had breakfast at the bar and the guy from my favorite café gave me the biggest cinnamon cake he had and a good cappuccino with a little heart of cream and all sadness went away, so I smile satisfied and sip the cappuccino. I noticed that fewer and fewer people come here in the morning and I think that having breakfast at the bar has now become a real luxury. I pay 5 euros for a cappuccino and a dessert. So I imagine that for many people, spending 5 euros a day makes a difference, since before you paid half for the same things. Even the premises are no longer as full as before. A simple beer costs 7 euros. Having an aperitif is only for a few. And if you drink a lot and a lot then you spend a whole salary. Here the pardons are very alcoholics. They drink a whole bottle of wine with dinner, not a glass. So then they start driving and make tragedies. Or they drive and hold their smartphone in hand and crash into other cars. I don't drink prosecco, I don't like white wine. I only drink water and non-alcoholic beer because my heart can't handle alcohol. I like loose leaf tea but I only drink herbal teas now. Of the loose leaf tea I liked the one with jasmine and mint. It was delicious. I often took it in the summer and drank it chilled. And I studied while sipping tea, sitting on the balcony or veranda, with several university textbooks to memorize. I watched the cars go by in the street and I also watched the pigeons flying from roof to roof. Sometimes the church bells rang very loud and I couldn't concentrate. People went to the beach and I instead was intent on studying.


For the Japanese, the garden is a space dedicated to balance, peace and harmony. Nothing, inside a Japanese garden, is left to chance and everything appears in order, without the general appearance seeming too rigid. The password is "minimal"; so away with all that is in excess, away with the frills and away with all useful objects. We only need to make room for greenery and plants, to be inserted wisely and with a low impact on the environment.
The Zen Gardens philosophy was born in the Far East and has spread over time practically all over the world. It is the basis of a very particular way of living the garden: in a space of this type, in fact, nothing is randomly in its place, and everything has a particular meaning that goes beyond the need to decorate.

The essential element of this philosophy is in fact symbolism: every object and every natural resource means something specific. Zen philosophy is very fascinating to many enthusiasts, and it is however necessary to approach it even only superficially to understand part of the meaning of the elements that make up the garden.
The appearance of the garden follows the succession of the seasons, it is a continuous evolution, just as the universe is constantly changing. Despite being designed to follow a well-established cyclical rhythm, it is a place of extreme calm and peace. There is no single Japanese garden style to define it, they are all very different from each other, and each has its own specific meaning, but the one linked to the art of traditional gardening is the Karesansui. Also referred to as a dry garden, it essentially consists of two elements: Stones and white sand.
The Karesansui is a very minimalist and essential garden but there are different ones, which have evolved starting from Zen Buddhism. The garden in Zen philosophy creates a real landscape, where each element is the expression of a concept. You don't need too large a space, but the important thing is to know the fundamental principles of Zen culture so that the garden is truly unique. The sand here is not the classic one we know but the white granite capable of illuminating even the nearby areas. The rake is a rather important tool that is used to create lines, the line must be drawn without ever stopping the rake itself, creating harmonious paths. These traced lines are certainly not meaningless but represent paths that often revolve around the boulders that symbolize the passage from the sea to reach another point of view. Contemplation is helped by these elements which, as we have seen, are full of meaning.
In a Zen garden, water is a natural element, represented in the form of waterfalls or fountains. In the case of waterfalls, particular attention is also paid to the way the water flows, there are many different ways so that the sound produced by the water which then crashes against the stones is always different. It is not a noise but a sound that certainly helps to relax. Drinking fountains or ponds represent elements that can bring economic luck but be careful because too many sources of water could cause too many tears to be shed. Negative energy must be removed from the house with trees or wooden fences.
The minimalist and rigorous appearance of the Zen garden leads to essentiality and the search for the simplest of all in us. Caring for a Zen garden is quite simple, making lines with a rake is the only thing possible in front of a dry garden. Religion and the garden find an intense association, and although their appearance may make them look like modern gardens, in reality their origins are very ancient.
To approach the Zen philosophy, it is necessary to share its principles and start a path that is able to approach in a profound way the whole reality of this world in a convinced way. Here the garden becomes a place for reflection and meditation, which is why it must be in perfect harmony with the changing seasons and must be able to convey serenity. Eastern culture teaches that only by living as you are can you have the joy to savor the experience of everyday life. Concepts that in order to be internalized one must be predisposed to wanting to approach Zen philosophy in order to know a reality other than the more rational one to which Western thought is most accustomed.


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.
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.

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