BE GRATEFUL

You must be grateful in this life because:
You have a home that protects you.
You ate today.
You have clean water that you can drink.
You are good at heart.
You have a pet.
You have at least one person who cares about you.
You are capable of understanding and wanting.
You're breathing.
Sometimes we get lost in trivial things and get angry.
When instead we should be grateful for those little things that make up our life. Which we very often take for granted. 
Before you lose your temper, look around and be grateful. 

LET’S SIT TOGETHER

I don’t understand those people who when they turn one more year get demoralized because they feel older and older or who say they don’t give a damn. Instead of focusing on the fewer years they have left to live, they should be happy that they lived up to that point. Each additional year of life is a wonderful milestone to celebrate, as every day of life should be. Just for the fact of opening your eyes and having another day to live in front of you, you should smile and try to feed that smile all day. When you are young, you take everything for granted, including your health, and you don’t fully realize the extraordinary power you have right now. We often focus on a happiness that will only be achievable in the near future, but the future is only our imagination. Today it is reality. The air we are breathing, the beating of our heart and the sweat of our hands, these sensations of the present are what we take for granted as if they were eternal but they are not. Our vital senses take on their true value only when we are about to lose them. Do not allow this to happen, whatever you are doing stop for a moment and completely forget about it, breathe deeply closing your eyes, listening to your beat, touching your hands but above all enjoying being alive with a sublime smile.
I look at your graceful figure and no fantasy is needed for me to follow the return to the origins, your morning toilet is of fine oyster cloth and you are an invitation to a mud bath, your blue eye stares at me through a milky keratome, with the stiff forefinger you push aside the yellow twigs of the weeping willow and you know well that you can expect all the worst things from me. Emotional flashes and a hundred and eight gold in the finish open the way to the sewer, to the sad weekend that I am now starting to live, the dress of which I dream is woven in the rice color of Siberian cellulose, the green hands of eight hundred girls are the foundation of a sweet confession, the isoipse of the rice solidify you with a courtesy mask and the ratchets of your porcelain ears are perfectly hidden in the listening bush of your oxide macerated hair. The spheres of things and events triggered, against the course of the clock hands, run at zero time, however a single day spent with the beloved girl on a Norwegian glacier is the love bag of all worthy people.
Splinters of smashed dolls hurt my soul, the caterpillar crawling right next to my eye is bigger than the express train that passes in the distance. I don’t know which mountain farmer when he couldn’t find work years ago he started talking to a sheep. I see how my life is sucked into my mother’s life, I see how I am wound back from the umbilical cord to the womb of the progenitor Eve. I see how the stained underpants are the imprint of infinity and the intestines stirred by noble horror lead to a higher vision, I see my semen as against the current being sucked backwards to the first pollution like a mountain trout, I see how from the organ sexual intercourse of all my ancestors are sucked back into the spermatic canal of the progenitor Adam. I live tactfully the resection of the rib that I still miss today.
And in the meantime this is your little waist and this is your pleated skirt from the belt to the delicate crepe and this is your toilet of the silky ivory color and it is an empire model and this is the confirmation dress kept as a souvenir and this is your back dappled by beer coasters and these are your loose hair and staves of music flow from your head. I see how naked you are now sailing under the dark beams, I see your rhythmic hands illuminated by the violent spray of the yellow chandelier, I see how from your little beating legs gush springs, beads that rise from all the pores of your body, you are immersed in a bathroom phosphorescent and vibrating ankles whistling rapids of seltzer, sparkling wines, sparkling fins, mineral feathers, flying fish wings, the flys that the beautiful and young Greek god Mercury wears on his ankles. The full moon shines with the footprint of Armstrong’s sole, but I was most moved by the news of the evening newspaper, a 68-year-old medical herb picker dozed off on a flowering meadow and was sucked into a lawn mower and her corpse escaped from the car along with the medicinal herbs and hay beyond recognition.
Along the belt of the streets I return to the origin of going, the revealing splendor of animal experiences wishes pools full of children to thirsty cities. Your myosotide eye broken by a sliver of Modra majolica now understands my cold gaze, rightly follow how the knife of my imagination pushes back to the sources of things. The last stream is sucked into the small river with the last drop, the last river is sucked into the ocean sea with the last clear cloud evaporating in the blue skies. I see how you follow this ascending fall with me, I see that not a single phase of this striptease has escaped you. Apparently I follow the memory of your white silk dress embroidered with gold, on the wrist the sleeve was decorated with slits for my desire, two hollow folds of cream yellow cashmere, but I follow all the more quickly as the pure source and the divine Needle they go towards spring and you smile at me when you see how I take handfuls full of creative clay in my hands and smelling the earth I smell you too. Meanwhile I feel only in my brain the screeching of your sweet limbs, the skin you have adorned with tender cracks, you are transported by the coordinates of cigarette smoke, Climb high like the bubbles of seltzer, the trees and flowers describe circumferences, an apple falls from the melo, already with the apples in the seed, the last ruins of the evening slip silently into the soft dust, but in the meantime I like the excesses and extravagances of the songs with poetry in the newspapers.
Graceful comes in the wave of the evening a lonely throb of a star. Gradually a light cloud the pupil closes them smiling; and as she passes with veils and feathers, in the great blue tremulous sparks they are born in swarms, they are born in garlands, are born in a hundred, are born in a thousand: but I don’t see you anymore, my star. Liable illusion How many anxieties you neglect. I woke up. Beyond the intoxicating essence of your insidious substance Vast expanses of multicolored black poppies They linger mischievous Willing to stem severely every unwary dream. Cleverly designed they will refute the insolent lie to which you are prone Allocating your vain shy escape to an inevitable departure. We cannot evade An intimate truth. Along the way we meet as graceful souls. Sensitive fairies. You covet butterflies and you love days sitting together.

SOFT WHISPER

Physical attraction is the key that moves the world, anyone can make us feel sensations and emotions, but the real attraction is that of souls. We will be able to supplant one caress for another, even a few kisses, but when we go further we will not be able to deceive our hearts, we will not be able to pretend to find what we have always sought, we will not be able to deceive ourselves.

When the hearts of those who are bound separate, the emptiness they leave is felt and is very deep, it drowns, it burns the soul. Two souls who have traveled together are much more connected than it might seem, their bond transcends everything.

However, the missions end, often even if two hearts have loved each other deeply and given to each other they are forced to take different paths, take other paths to learn what it is necessary for them to learn.

Two hearts do not separate as long as one lives in the other and is bizarre, but they will meet again perhaps in another life, on other occasions and that meeting will happen and it will be as if nothing had happened, it will all start again from the exact moment in which they broke up with.
Thus, on this night of rain and lightning, I rediscovered myself as my own sun. And I shine and I shine and I shine and I sing and dance and I go back to being myself before you, thinking about nights by the sea with ball music while I dance and look at the stars dreaming of love and love has arrived , it doesn't matter if he's already gone, I tried it, I felt it, it went through me and I thought I had lost pieces of my heart, again, but maybe not, maybe I found them again, maybe I reassembled the 'whole and it hurt me as much as when a missing limb reappears and the body has to get used to and heal the wounds, so, me. so I don't think about any revenge on you, my revenge is instead to find myself, get back on my feet, go back to dreaming, rediscover the desire to believe in love and in me, rediscover the desire to fall in love and to dance and sing to out loud in the rain.
I shine I feel the light pulsing inside me.

CONFORMISM

Society presents itself as a sort of “pressing” (pressure) on a person, stimulating him to always seek conformity and forcing him to always pay attention to what “people might say” and forcing him to be “what others want see ”, preventing her from being“ that who is in truth ”. Man, as a part of society, becomes dependent on the opinion of others from childhood. At first it is caused by the desire to deserve parental approval and the respect of peers and later, in adulthood – by the desire to look like a happy and righteous person in the eyes of others. I often realized that sometimes this desire was so strong that it prevented me from living my life, even if it was a little different from generalized stereotypes. In society there is a clear allocation of “successful” and “losers”, “normal” and “strange” men and so on. Even though I understood that my vocation was different from the image, imposed by society and expected by my relatives, I kept trying to conform to that. One wonders, why? Internally many of us agree that depending on some other opinion is stupid, but in practice the situation is very different. The dependence on the opinions of others manifests itself and can be characterized by the envy of the successes of others, by the resentment caused by one’s own fiasco and also by the fear of disappointing the expectations of loved ones and close relatives, because we must have everything “like the others”. If not, “what will people say?”
Is this public opinion, which affects my life, justified? Do I really want to live my life not as my heart prompts me, but as others want? Come to think of it, my life, my health, and my success don’t change based on someone’s disapproval or condemnation. So what’s the point of paying attention to what others might say or think about me? (Here, of course, I am not talking about situations in which my actions could cause some harm to someone.) Often the cause of my inner wars becomes the opposition between “I want” and “I must”. I think most young people my age have already faced this kind of conflict, but in my case the roots of the problem go back to the Russian mentality. In Russian families, children get used to the fact that duty is above all else. The word “duty” dominates the interests of the child. You have to study perfectly, you have to play sports, you have to become a doctor like your grandfather and this list may never end. Saying “I want” is considered disrespectful. I often choose between my “want” and parental “must”. It is always a difficult choice. Finding the right solution isn’t always easy. Over time, I began to listen to myself more often, but that wasn’t always the case. When I was a child, I always did what my parents told me, even if I wanted to do something else. All this caused discontent, a bad mood and insecurity.

FINGERS OF NATURE

It is fascinating. Nature is wonderful, she has managed to create beautiful things by herself, of perfect symmetry, all so calculated and precise. The leaves, the flowers, us, even if not perfectly. But it’s all calculated right? We were created to be imperfect and however we try to achieve perfection we will never be, neither physically nor morally. What then, who decides that something is perfect or imperfect? Which is right or wrong? What is good or bad? Who is stupid or smart? What is weird or normal? What is it that really makes it so? It’s just our idea. So theoretically symmetry does not exist and exists. Perfection does not exist and exists. All in contrast with everything. The stars are fascinating. They are very large, much larger than our planet and yet they are there, bright dots that shine in the sky, a hint of color in the dark, forming constellations, forming dreams, galaxies, galaxies of dreams. They are there in the sky, so far away, so close, that if you put yourself on your toes, it seems that you can touch them with your hand, but you cannot. The water, what the hell, is beautiful. The surface tension, its clarity, its necessity. But I don’t understand why nature hasn’t made it available to everyone. Then the matter, that everything is made up of everything.
There is no end of matter, a thing created first of all. The universe, which cannot be infinite, come on, everything has an end. Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, Life, The Earth, Stories, Kisses, Friendships, Loves, Roads, Travels, Holidays, Nights, Days, Weeks , Months, years, sheets, notebooks, the most beautiful books, everything. And the numbers? How can they be infinite? They are not. There are many combinations, Infinite, But we manage to pronounce them up to a certain point, then we start with the astronomical unit, with the light years. And then nature has given us everything, even the possibility of hurting ourselves, it is up to us to choose what to do, it has made us totally free. Have you ever thought about all this? To fate? Exists? In my opinion, yes. A story written somewhere. Two people destined to meet, two people who will fail together, but not alone, two people who together will overcome everything. A person destined to be born to change the world, a savior on this unjust and infamous planet. But who created all this? And remember that the case does not exist, it is not that one day two planets decided by CASE to collide and create the Earth, right? You see, it’s all so wonderful, fascinating, twisted. All so beautifully beautiful.

AMEN

Thanks to my father, I have learned to screw those who think that the world should rotate as their head says, or worse it should rotate around itself. Three sentences and a few attitudes are enough to identify self-reported assholes, a few more behaviors for sneaky or victimized ones. It is not presumption, they are years of parasitization and direct experience with those who do not observe themselves, and in this life they will never do it. Get it out of your head that you can support their path by absorbing their garbage. The sooner you recognize them the sooner you take back your freedom. Nobody can help them, because 95% of the time it's not a solution they are looking for. They just want to pour the non-sense of their existence onto the neighbor (and in that non-sense there can be anything).
Precisely because they turn the root of their problems to everything but themselves, they are unable to be responsible for the harm they do to them and to those around them.
Even if you tell them. It applies to all relationships, know that.

Manzoni  ( ALESSANDRO MANZONI, a famous italian writer of XIX  century) had not seen the plague, but he had studied documents after documents. And then he describes the madness, the psychosis, the absurd theories about its origin, about the remedies. It describes the scene of a foreigner (a "tourist") in Milan who touches a wall of the cathedral and is lynched by the crowd because he is accused of spreading the disease. But there is one thing that Manzoni describes well, above all, and that he takes up from Boccaccio: the moment of trial, of discrimination, between humanity and inhumanity. Boccaccio had indeed seen the plague. He had seen friends, loved ones, relatives, even his father, die. And Boccaccio explains to us that the most terrible effect of the plague was the destruction of civilized life. Because the neighbor began to hate the neighbor, the brother began to hate the brother, and even the children abandoned their parents. The plague pitted men against each other. He replied with the Decameron, the greatest hymn to life and good civilization. Manzoni responded with faith and culture, which do not avoid trouble but, he said, taught how to deal with them. In general, they both responded in a similar way: inviting us to be human, to remain human, when the world goes mad.
Health without Freedom is what is guaranteed to Farm Animals. . This is why they define you as “Herd”. FREEDOM is not a luxury, it is not an extra, an ornament that embellishes if there is, but in short, precisely if one can afford it or else something more comes first concrete.. NO! FREEDOM is your right to live, to work, to be happy, to express yourself, to be there .. what’s more concrete than your right to be there ..? Sometimes I would like to find an arrow indicating “free life”. I don’t know, maybe in the process of some woods, where the light filters through and the heat doesn’t kill you. A kind of guarantee that you are going to meet like-minded people there. People to talk to about everything but vaccines, governments and passes. Just talk to. A place you reach to express absolutely nothing, no opinion, no point of view on hundreds of points of view by now worn and tired. The only thing that sometimes matters is the need for sharing among similar people. Vibrate in the same tribe. Simply because it feels good to be together on the road. Stay in touch with those who look like you and aren’t afraid to hug. Talking without a muzzle, talking about good things, without someone having to convince the other and the other having to defend who knows what. Talk about what seeds you planted, what bullshit you did, the music you wrote or the love at first sight that got you. Thus, without having to find that prosaic sense to the questions of living, the more you think about it the more they have nothing to do with Life.
Yes it’s true, it seems to never end. It seems that humanity is condemned to an eternal struggle just to buy bread. It seems. Lately I often answer with a phrase that I said to myself when I was working, giving exams and in the meantime I had my father in hospital for cancer. Be grateful that you can fight, because you mean you are Alive. No matter how long the fight seems, it is the purpose and the mood with which you face it that make it appear to be war or peace. Choose your path and you will no longer have any doubts that that bread tastes sublime. The whole system is made in such a way that man, without even realizing it, begins as a child to enter a mentality that prevents him from thinking anything else. It turns out that there is no longer a need for dictatorship now, because the dictatorship is that of school, of television, of what they teach you. Turn off the television and gain freedom. Even the way you dress and the haircut you wear makes you realize that you really don’t choose anything. Already becoming aware of this would show the world in other terms.
Keep walking, when you realize it you will already be with your buttocks on the ground, in that uncomfortable position that the puppets hold. Immediately after, a long and obstinate reflection begins on the convenience of staying there on the ground. But the companions are already moving away and the path is far from appearing a clear path, obvious. It is not even in question the idea of ​​staying there all life, with the mud filling the soul and the backpack, so that the time comes to get up, a difficult situation and unpredictable in its results. Perhaps it is better to continue to stay on the ground and drag yourself little by little but, in addition to being not very aesthetic, this is impractical (believe me, I have tried it): there will always be a hidden root or a thorn to hold you back, and then a new reflection on the comfort of sitting in the mud, despite the mosquitoes, flies and blue flies. Already determined to get up, which is always the most difficult thing, comes the complicated operation that consists of resting with your hands and knees where it happens and trying to place the heavy hood on your back (so simple, and heavy, is to carry the house on the shoulders: just a plastic sheet and a hammock). But the backpack insists on carrying other absurd things: some poetry books, some clothes, a mismatched sock, medicine for the world, food, a damp blanket … The load as a whole weighs tons (especially after the first hours of walking) and tends to get muddy whenever he feels like it, that is, almost always. By now tortoise face on the ground, it follows the act of putting one foot and getting up on the other, with the consequent protest of the knees; the horizon then widens and will always be foreign. With the eyes on the ground, the march is undertaken again until the next fall, which will occur just a few steps ahead. And history repeats itself …

THE CRYSTAL SHIP

 

The heart is nothing more than a row of rooms, smaller and smaller, one leads into another through a closed door and stairs that descend. There are seven rooms in all. The heart of the heart is the seventh, the most difficult to reach, but the brightest because the walls are made of crystal. Every system evolves towards disorder. Everything is provisional, order cannot be sought where it cannot be found, the birth of a life is an ordered system, just as the birth of a project, the creation of something is a defeat for the universe and for entropy, because it represents what puts order in a disorderly context, the universe is always expanding towards disorder and will do everything to create more and more. Entropy always wins, each of us is destined to die, every material good to break and every emotional bond is destined to dissolve. The concept to quickly understand what this fascinating word means is this: Everything flows into disorder, every living being dies, every object breaks, is forgotten .. And we can’t do anything about it, life is disorder and despite the fact that we always try to put some order in our thoughts, in the our home, among our objects, it is not possible to avoid creating more disorder. But we will start over and continue to try to get out of the chaos.
The universe is part of this one cry in this mysterious land, where everyone is born to die. Every tree and leaf, every star shows that the universe is part of this one cry that all life is known and welcomed and all that is loved will not be lost. Let it be. Let it be. Let things happen. Do not fill yourself with paranoid problems. Or worse still of fears. Sing. Dance. Dedicate songs. Dream. Dream a lot. And go out of your way to accomplish your goal. Rebel. Don’t get submissive. Don’t worry about the future. Don’t be afraid to get involved, to dare, prove yourself for who you are. Let yourself go, let yourself be carried away by life and emotions. There will be no second chance to relive certain moments. Go out. Go dance and come home at six in the morning. Or don’t go back at all. But don’t stay indoors. Don’t be proud. It is useless. Or rather, it only serves to keep people away. Everyone has had bad experiences. Everyone has had their disappointments. Don’t think you are the only one. But you don’t have to close in on yourself for this. Write those messages you don’t have the courage to send. Don’t be left with the doubt of how it could have gone. Don’t regret it. And don’t judge yourself. You are who you are. Don’t waste time with envy. There is no reason to have a plan B, because it distracts from plan A. Relax. Lie on the lawn and look at the sky. Go to the beach. Listen to the sound of the waves. Don’t pay attention to what people say. Yes solar, even pissed off. Don’t be afraid to laugh out loud. Read the instructions, even if you do your own thing. It is never too late to change. Or not to change to fact. Look at things from different points of view. Don’t be stubborn. Yes curious. Travel. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Not too lightly. People come and go. Like the seasons. Only promise if you are sure you will keep. Surprise yourself with the little things. Amaze with small gestures. Watch a lot of movies. Believe in many things. Especially in yourself. Laugh. Yes happy. I am wasting happiness. Because smile brings smile. Yes humble. Love so much, love everything, always love. Let things happen. Let it be as it should be. Let it be.

A LITTLE LIGHT, A LITTLE PLACE

You did not notice it immediately, you were carried away by events. And when you realized how much the current had turned your way, it was late. Maybe too much. Perhaps. Was it the desire to change? To see life from another perspective, to lose certainties and build new ones? By your choice you have taken this path alone, provoked by a force that you have not tested, if not theoretically. And now only a shell remains of you, of your feelings, of what you wanted to say and that you have kept inside. This time it went like this. Again. In the darkness in which you find yourself, thinking about your mistakes and your flaws, there is a fixed point. A light that has always been there: sometimes strong, sometimes intermittent, sometimes dazzling, strong enough to illuminate the darkest nights and guide you through them. You were foolish to take her for granted when she never abandoned you and has always been there. And you love her, more than anything else, so much so that her horizons are expanding beyond yours, where you won’t be able to follow her. Where you cannot be there. She will never take flight, not of her own free will. Have you been blessed by some higher entity stirring in the chaos of the universe, or have you been tested by fate? How can you find out? Going forward. Always with that Light, inside.
I insist on not detaching myself from roots and shoots, I fight to remain attached to what I am, to what generated me. But the wind pulls, time goes by and I am more and more fragile, devoured by an immense curiosity to see the world. Slowly I detach myself, the tree cradles me for a moment in his slender arms, gently, and then throw me upwards, higher and higher, until my ears are plugged with violence, and the pressure becomes feel. Flight and flight, towards the unknown, towards the fog, towards No Man’s Land. I fly on the crest of the air, as if the sea were pushing me, and doubts and paranoia take root, the fog scares me, the sea is stormy, the future still dark. I fly and get scared, I’m afraid. Home Nostalgia also decides to join the party, and a series of mixed feelings try to slow my journey. I’m about to give in, stop flying, start falling. Until all the dreams, the hopes, the projects come to mind. All this takes me by the shoulders, and takes me back to fly, as if I had big wings to carry me. I fly and fly, and I never stop. The future is bright, the fog almost dissolved. I smile at what awaits me, meanwhile I fly.
We never stick to the present tense. We anticipate the future as too slow to come, as if to hasten its course; or we remember the past to stop it as too fast; so imprudent that we err in times that are not ours, and we do not think at all about the only one that belongs to us, and so vain, that we reflect on those who are no longer nothing, and flee without reflecting that alone that exists. The fact is that the present usually hurts us. We hide it from our sight because it afflicts us; if, on the other hand, it is pleasant for us, we regret seeing him flee. We try to support it by means of the future, and we are concerned with disposing of the things that are not in our power, for a time which we are not at all sure of arriving at.
I’ve learned that people are more important than anything else. Which is not the beautiful place, but it is the people who make it so. That you are never really alone if you carry someone in your heart. I learned that distance breaks what cannot stand and unites even more what wants to hold hands. I understand that you can go anywhere, but the most beautiful journey is what you do inside yourself.

THE DANCE OF LIFE

Life is like dance. Life is a dance, but you cannot choose to stop from it. Dance like life will inevitably give you pain and fatigue, it will involve sacrifices, sacrifices and difficulties. It will disappoint you at times, when you won’t be able to take a step properly, or when you don’t get that place within the choreography you expected, just as life will disappoint you, at times, when things don’t go as you hoped, when even though he has put his whole heart into something, it will not come true.
So in dance as in life you need a little luck, you need physical qualities such as instep, elasticity, dynamics, coordination, and some dancers are more fortunate than others to have them, but the desire to do comes where talent cannot go. Those who commit themselves, those who have willpower, passion, dedication and perseverance, go much further than those who have great natural gifts but lack these qualities.
And so in life there will always be someone luckier, better, but to achieve real results is only those who do not give up and always work with the heart.
In dance as in life, you must also learn to let yourself go, if you focus too much on your steps, if you only think not to make mistakes, you lose the music, you waste time. You have to abandon yourself to the sound and let yourself be guided by it, and so in life, sometimes, it is necessary to stop thinking, stop your head and let your heart free, let yourself go and let yourself live.
Each dance hall is full of mirrors, certainly not to exalt the vanity of the dancers, but because in dance as in life it is necessary to learn to know each other, to look at each other, to accept each other in everything that characterizes us, trying every day to become better. others, but of ourselves. Because when you get on that stage and your song starts you forget all the pains, all the sacrifices, all the disappointments, all the hours spent trying to improve the detail, and you just think about being happy. And so in life every wound, every suffering and every renunciation, the moment you finally manage to see realized what you have fought so much for, vanishes into thin air.
Try dancing, on stage, in front of an audience, in a crowd, or on the street, at the supermarket when your favorite song passes by, or even alone in your room with headphones, but try to dance, learn to dance, it will seem to have learned a little more to live. –

 

SIMPLIFY YOUR LIFE

When facing the Simplification Challenge, a good starting point is the decluttering of your home in which, over time, a lot of superfluous things accumulate that clutter not only the external spaces but also the internal ones.

In fact, it is now widely recognized, as shown by various studies on this topic, that the level of order of our home enormously influences our psychophysical well-being. In the long run, clutter creates stress for you because:

 It exposes your mind to overstimulation (visual, tactile, olfactory) which inevitably forces the senses to continuously process unnecessary stimuli

It distracts from the things you need to focus your attention on

It reduces your ability to relax

Constantly signal to your mind that there is still work to be done (remember that objects continually make you silent 
requests: dust me, wash me, iron me, fix me, read me, move me ...)

Increase your anxiety level because you never know how long it will take you to fix everything

Makes you feel guilty and sometimes even embarrassed (for example if you get an unexpected visit)

It invades the free spaces necessary to reflect and find solutions, thus inhibiting creativity and productivity

It wastes your time because it makes it harder to find the things you need quickly

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: