From the horizon of the one you loved, you return to fully inhabit the visual field. It happens like this. On an ordinary day. Without notice.
It has a strange effect when you realize that you are holding the massive armored door of your heart open with one foot and that you keep holding it open. It is you who allow the blazing light of emotions to filter inside, beyond the blurry shadow of the dark alleys where you were hiding. You don't quite understand why you do it. You just know that you feel an excitement doing it. It doesn't cost you any effort. You don't even wonder why you don't close it. In fact, you don't run away. You feel only the new and urgent need to show yourself openly. - It can't be true - you tell yourself.
A breath of fresh air bursts into your life and sniffs you out from behind the scenes. You rediscover yourself hungry for emotions. Understand that the inner world can be lived and not just described. You even let go of the worry about the ending. It matters little. What matters is to live it. In a continuous shock.
You no longer feel love as a threat but as a real possibility of encountering the world of the other, without macroscopic distinctions: you find the courage to approach it. You no longer worry about protecting your borders from the onslaught of a concrete presence: you agree to investigate the tortuosity of your life, sharing them.
You climb over barriers. You abandon yourself to the enchantment of the moment. You reach out with a smile beyond the line of memories. Pushed by an irrational unleashing of your impulses, you pour yourself completely away from your asphyxiated family habitat. Push your limits a little further. A step beyond the tangle of feelings that have remained entangled in the memory in a more or less latent form. Beyond the lacerations, doubts and insecurities. Beyond the forest of question marks that had kept you company behind the windows from which you continued undeterred to observe the world. Beyond the contradictions, ambivalences and despair inherent in a difficult and troubled love. Beyond that melancholy mood that had been the background to the ever-changing flow of days. Beyond the painful and resigned awareness, the chilling fear and the bewilderment of loss. Far from the discomfort that miraculously ceases to be such.
You pass from the ground of alienation directly to the stage. You abandon the guise of an impassive observer and those of an unfinished character. You return to the scene. You do it as a protagonist this time.
You pass from the closed door of the heart to the open door of the soul. Without running away from something, from someone. Without running away from yourself anymore.
I always saw myself as a safety net for all the people I knew. I have always tried to cushion everyone’s fall, even those who do not know how they ended up on the net. Then one day I realized that I can’t spend my whole life cushioning the falls of others, because the one who gets hurt in the end is always me, tense and waiting. Becoming aware of your limits is perhaps one of the most powerful and at the same time debilitating things that can exist. You understand that you are not Atlas, that you do not have the world on your shoulders, and with the relief comes the feeling of loss, bewilderment. You feel small, all the potential strength you had dissolved in an instant. It remains only you with your limits and the awareness that Atlas the world on his shoulders in the end had it as a punishment, otherwise with the cock that he chose to carry the globe on his back. Every now and then the lump in the throat returns, the breath stops in small moments of panic in which you just try to get a little air into the lungs. I feel suffocated by the weight of all the things I haven’t done.
All adults continue to carry their inner child inside. The body changes, needs change, experiences change thoughts and habits. But the wounds suffered remain and always remain open inside our little child. They come knocking again almost desperate, through the memory. They do not heal and scratch on the times when our baby inside did not feel appreciated enough, did not have the strength to be seduced by his individuality and subsequently never felt so safe as to abandon his initial innocence on the street. Within every family there are secrets, past anecdotes often steeped in shame. Within every family there is someone who feels guilty even for what he did not commit and at the same time dumps on others what he is solely responsible for. Although everyone feels so unique and different from everyone, every family interaction has a common denominator that repeats itself, like the script of the same film, translated into all languages throughout the history of the world. In every family there is a well-defined decalogue: This should not be said; this is not to be done; this is not good … Yet to grow it is necessary to accept one’s own subversive universe. To grow, it is necessary to give up innocence. Giving up innocence means accepting what we reject about ourselves, even when it goes against the grain of what we have been taught. Giving up innocence does not make us guilty. It teaches us to understand that it is what we hide that destroys us while what we accept makes us peaceful and changes us for the better. Conflicts are spider webs, either you break them or they weaken you more and more until you are imprisoned, to the point of stifling forever even the last breath of courage you have inside. The paradox of any improvement is that in order to improve you must first accept your limits and love yourself as you are. To be able to do this it is necessary to recognize yourself and then break, break everything that you have built in your life to defend yourself, the shield around your heart.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 