DON’T BE OFFENSIVE!!!

I am really very sorry to receive comments in which some people tell me that I am a Nazi just because I want peace or because I am talking about Ukrainian victims.
I ask everyone to respect ideas other than yours. 

Also, I'm sick of being considered a Nazi just because I'm Italian. These prejudices do a lot of harm and it is not right that we are accused in this way in a space that is private to me, where I put my personal things and where I have to feel free to be able to post what I want and not what others expect of me. 

It is really absurd what some people do. They write offensive comments to me and this is only because I have expressed my ideas here about Ukraine. I think we must all have the freedom to be able to talk about our ideas about war. 

Instead a division is happening, again, as has already happened for the covid. So I will not post these offensive and disrespectful comments to my person because I believe there is a different way to accept other people's ideas without insulting. If any of you don't share my ideas then don't follow me.

I don't want to repeat the same things over every post, I'm sick of always having to repeat it for those who can't accept those who have different ideas. I am Italian and I am for peace. I do not accept this Italian government. I did not choose this Italian government and therefore what the Italian government decides does not reflect my will. But I don't always have to come here to write explanations about my position on the war. I'm really tired of repeating the same thing over and over about me and my ideas. I am for peace and not for war.

WE ALL HAVE FEAR OF SOMETHING

Since childhood, they feed our fear by telling us that we must not color outside the drawing, we must not go outside the lines, we must behave well otherwise we will be punished. So we are scolded, psychologically attacked, put back in line as if we must necessarily follow that path without the possibility of going further, even if we need more. 
This process occurs in all classes and for each child. Those who do not respect him are made to leave the classroom, are expelled, eliminated from school and from society. When I read posts in which it is said to abandon fear then I think about how much it has been rooted within us and how difficult it is to reprogram our mind that for years and years has only received directives to always live immersed in fear. 
So it is not easy one day to start doing things that have never been done, to start thinking that you can have a completely different life from the current one. Somehow that fear they instilled in us made us sure of ourselves, of our life, of our way of being. But where did it take us? It brought us into a house, unhappy, into a job, unhappy, into a family, unhappy, into a life that perhaps could have been different if we hadn't been brainwashed as children. Then starting to eliminate fear is difficult but not impossible. 
Doing something new is difficult but not impossible. Should we try? Certain. Follow other examples to help us understand how? Of course yes!
Sometimes we turn back to look at our past and ask ourselves: why did we make that choice? Why did we choose that person? Why didn't we do that thing? Sometimes we don't recognize ourselves. Who we were? Why did we act that way? What prompted us to make always wrong or harmful choices for ourselves? Do we now have a clearer picture of our life and of that process that educated us to be afraid of everything?

They put us in a cage of duties towards the family, of obligations towards society, a series of stakes and limits that must never be crossed, with the fear always on us of doing the wrong thing, of not being able, of not being able to do it. nothing if certain things happened. Often blaming ourselves, our heart, our mind, our way of being. Why have our teachers, professors, our schools done all this? Why did they want to make us so fearful and dissatisfied?
They locked us in a cage of fixed ideas and who gave them permission to do this? Our parents. But did our parents know what would happen to us? Maybe not. They too are not aware of what happens in schools where the fear of living is created. They too have not been able to live freely because they too have been diverted since childhood. They had to accept everything without being able to oppose it and it is now too late for them. but for us? Is it late for us too? I hope not.

You went to school, you were good, obedient, you studied a lot, you accepted everything and now? What do you feel now? Are you satisfied with what you have done? Do you feel free? Are you happy with what you have achieved? Is true well-being a home, a family, a life within the borders, within the limits drawn by other people, by educational institutions, by the government? 

SITTEN WOMAN WITH THOUGHTS

I can not talk. 
I can't argue.
I cannot neglect myself.
I can't tell my ideas.
I cannot rebel.
I can't cry.
I can't argue at night.
Because I am a woman.
I have to be quiet, good, strong, always active, always sniffing laundry detergents, living in the apocalypse of bills, baking cookies.
Be good, angelic and silent. 
To be a mummy and not a Sphinx. 
Because I am a woman.
And in the winter, light candles, set memories on fire, dust brains in jars, 
and remain a woman, 
in her place, silent, silent, 
invisible.

STORY OF UNDERWATER

At the bottom of the sea the sun never sets. The sun, which seems to go out in the waves, has no place in the ocean depths. LAYA swam fearlessly among the corals and sponges of the seabed, of a dense, blackish blue; a viscous darkness for human eyes, but not for her, who possessed it, controlled it. It wasn't like that on dry land where darkness possessed her, controlled her. It infiltrated her body more and more every day: a tarry poison that penetrated her eyes, nose, mouth and filled her head, polluting her ideas; then he went down to force her breath, to numb her limbs. Although LAYA felt that something was wrong, that it wasn't right, that she had to rebel, she never did. The darkness comforted her, cradled her, clutching her organs, her muscles, her bones that she could no longer move. And she didn't want to move. When the darkness was thicker, his heart, so impregnated, slowed down so much, stuck, that LAYA watched him concentrated, wondering how faintly he could beat before stopping.

In his world it was not like that. In his world, even darkness was his subject.

He swam to the surface; hidden among the rocks she looked at the city where she had no place she could call her own, where all affection was a stranger. He watched the sunset color the horizon pink and lilac. He watched the sea sparkle with gold and wondered what could be so precious there, in the dry, for which it was worth facing so many humiliations, so many failures, so many losses. He watched his tail flicker under the surface of the water which gradually became an increasingly intense crimson: the princess, the symbol of a proud people, the leader of a valiant army, swam in those red, violent waters. There she was not placid, meek or compliant, there she was not herself, there she was free from herself.

She plunged back into the inflamed waters, swimming energetically towards the bottom, where she was alive and light and strong, where she didn't need or want to hide. He spotted a scorpionfish camouflaged among the rocks: he pounced on it and scrubbed it unceremoniously with his sharp teeth. The flesh tearing deliciously, the brittle bone shattering under her jaws gave her a thrill of satisfaction. She felt no pity for that fish, as she was sure no one felt for her.

VENICE DREAMING

Estoy escribiendo nuevas paginas
Nuevas palabras Historias con otro sabor
Otro olor Tengo miedo de tocarlos a veces
No arruinarlos Eres como el cristal
Brillas con el arcoíris incluso cuando caes en tu oscuridad
Cuando te aíslas y buscas la llama en el espejo que te encendí
Que sepas que no estas solo alguien lejano te ha extendido su manita y te acaricia .

He encontrado mi lugar en el mundo: un grupo de mujeres son "donantes de abrazos" para bebés necesitados en el hospital. También quiero dar mimos a esos maravillosos pequeños.
Últimamente se han estado produciendo una serie de hechos y situaciones impactantes, por decir lo mínimo, que todavía no puedo entender.

En solo dos días, me encontré catapultado a un mundo del que siempre he huido durante años; una realidad formada por focos y roles que deben mantenerse claramente visibles, con el fin de lograr objetivos predefinidos. Tengo muchas ideas, pero no me gusta estar ahí para que todos las vean, soy alguien que prefiere pasar el rato detrás de escena, en lugar de mantener a los demás en lo alto de un escenario.

Sin embargo, a pesar de mi timidez crónica, hoy me encuentro asumiendo el cargo de Consejero en el Patronato de un Onlus, trabajando para hacer realidad un futuro mejor, ya que sé muy bien que si no te arremangas, acabas ser aplastado por el peso del egocentrismo de los demás.

Aquí, quizás esta sea la motivación que me empuja a continuar: dar mi aporte a quienes están pasando por las mismas dificultades que yo, pero que no tienen los mismos medios que los míos.

STORY OF A PINK BUNNY

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.

I WAS FULL OF IDEAS

Me too I would have liked to have few ideas, but fixed; instead of ideas I have many, but there is no glue that keeps them attached to me. Then those go far away, take flights that are not so controlled, they collide against some walls at times, at other times they get stuck in the trees and remain hanging somewhere that in any case I can no longer reach. Instead what I like, and what I like is what I do not stop wanting. I don't know if the nature of desires is to change and disappear: I only know that mine is to keep them close to me, close enough to let my heart and body, thoughts and all the pains related to thoughts shape me; I let them make me somatize, host the pain even on the skin and under the skin, in all the organs corroded by what I want and cannot have. I know it never changes what I like, but it was more important to find out what it is that I like. There was a time that seems very distant to me when I needed the wishes of others to discover mine, and I swear that I also tried to adapt, to file my edges to please me what everyone liked. Then I learned to choose, to choose for me and to choose me, which in the end I only recognize myself in what I like. And so I choose to prefer my pale skin to tanned shoulders, and black eyes to my almost transparent ones; I choose to prefer the leaves of the trees that are moved by the wind in the spring, and to let myself be bothered without shame by the smell of the sea in the summer; I choose to prefer D'Annunzio to Pirandello, and also to fight to defend this position if needed and for nothing else; I choose to shop together rather than watch a movie, kiss you with your eyes open to see that you laugh a little; I choose to prefer to offer you a dinner and then ask you if you will buy me a flower: it is a slightly more beautiful gesture of love; and I prefer to wake up early in the morning, sunset on the marble of the cathedral to the one on the sea, tea with coffee, being touched, lilies with roses. And then I know that I prefer to remember these things, to write them so as not to forget them, because it is always better to know where to return: in fact I choose to prefer to write to everything else, because it reminds me how to do it.

I WAS AN ABUSED CHILD

I have been abused since I was only 4 years old and I still don’t know if it was someone from my family (uncle, cousin, grandfather, or friend of the family) and therefore my happiness was taken away from me so quickly that all theories and ideas of world are not enough to bring my soul back to life. I also went through years of therapy, but you will understand that undergoing such bad things as a child destroyed my inner world. I saved myself, thanks to my imagination and creativity. I have never had help from anyone and even if I always do good in return I always receive evil. I don’t believe in happiness. It is a harmful and illusory world. 

TWIN SOUL

Each story begins and ends. This idea of ​​a soul mate that lasts with us forever is an illusion that often leads us to look for something special in the other that we actually have ourselves. I have been with my husband for 16 years and fate or not a relationship is built over time and patience. I believe in karma and I attended the Hare Krishnas in London and the peace of their temple which gave me so much serenity and helped me in times of solitude. But then we have to trace the road step by step until we free ourselves from many ideas that condition our life. So as to become more independent and happy.




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