STORY OF NUVOLA FRESCA

Long before the white man arrived,
in a Cheyenne village lived a little girl whose
name was Nuvola Fresca.
One day the little girl said to her mother, Last Evening Sigh: "When night falls, a black bird often comes to feed, pecks at pieces of my body and eats me until you arrive, light as the wind and chase it away.
 But I don't understand what all this is.
With great maternal love Last Sigh Of the evening reassured the little girl by saying: "the things you see at night are called dreams and the black bird that comes is only a shadow that comes to save you" Nuvola Fresca replied:
"But I am so afraid, I would like to see only the white shadows that are good".
Then the wise mother, she knew it would be cruel to close the door to the fear of her child, invented a round canvas with which to fish the dreams of the night, then gave the object a magical power: to recognize good dreams, that is, those useful for growth. spirituality of the little one, from the bad ones, that is, false and deceptive.
Last Sigh of the Evening built many dream catchers and hung them on the cradles of the children of the village.
As the children grew, they embellished theirs with expensive objects and gradually the magical power grew, grew, grew together with them ... Each Cheyenne keeps its own dream catcher for life, as a sacred object bearer of strength and wisdom.
Even today the Cheyenne Indians build a dream catcher every time a child is born in the village and place it on his cradle. With a special wood, very ductile, they shape a circle, which represents the universe and inside it a web similar to that of a spider. The cobweb will therefore be entrusted with the task of capturing dreams. If it is a question of positive dreams, the dream catcher will entrust them to the thread of the beads (forces of nature) and make them come true. If, on the other hand, he judges them negative, he will entrust them to the feathers of a bird and have them carried away far away, scattering them in the skies.

BATES MOTEL

Halfway between horror and thriller, Anthony Cipriano scripts and produces a TV series now in its fifth season, which purports to serve as a prequel to the well-known Hitchcockian masterpiece Psycho, the story centers on Norman Bates’ childhood and adolescence. He will delve deeply into his relationship with his mother and with his violent lover until he understands how these bad relationships have influenced his being an adult, so much so that he becomes the best-known serial killer owner of motels in history.

WE REALLY SEE THE BEAUTY?

A man sat down in a subway station in Washington D.C. and began to play the violin. It was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about forty-five minutes.

During this time, as it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people would pass through the station, many of them on their way to work.

Three minutes passed and a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and paused for a few seconds, then hurried to avoid being late on schedule.

A few minutes later, the violinist received the first dollar tip: a woman threw the money into the box and continued walking without stopping.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started walking again. The one who paid the most attention was a three-year-old boy.

His mother pulled him, but the boy stopped to look at the violinist.

Finally the mother yanked him firmly and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This behavior was repeated by several other children.

All parents, without exception, forced them to move.

In the forty-five minutes that the musician played, only six people stopped and stayed a moment.

About twenty gave him some money, but they continued walking normally. He raised $ 32. When he finished playing and silence returned, no one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

Nobody knew but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world.

He played one of the most complex pieces ever written, on a violin worth $ 3.5 million.

Two days before he played on the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at Boston's Symphony Hall and seats in the stalls cost an average of $ 100.

This is a true story.

The execution of Joshua Bell in disguise in the subway station was organized by the Washington Post newspaper as part of a social experiment on people's perception, taste and priorities. The question was: in a common environment, at an inappropriate time, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context ?.

But the real question to ponder is: if we don't have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world play the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing out on?

MY GREEN FINGERS

After returning from vacation, I went to the garden and found the first tomatoes. Considering how much it rained this year it was a nice surprise not to find everything already destroyed. So I’m glad I had the first tomatoes and today for lunch I made a nice salad with tomatoes, onions, oregano and olive oil.
You know, in my family my mother always made fabulous minestrone. He got up early in the morning and started cutting cabbage, carrots, cabbage, onions, broccoli, potatoes and parsley. Then he cooked separately and legumes, sometimes lentils, sometimes beans or chickpeas, and then he passed them making them creamy and added them to the soup. My mother cared a lot about our diet and wanted us to always eat lots of vegetables, fresh and without pesticides. So my father had garden cultivation as a hobby. aI was not very happy to eat minestrone but I must say that until I was 22 I never had health problems. Then when I went to live away from mine and my mother’s soups, my health deteriorated greatly. So please do a great thing for your children, make them eat fresh vegetables every day.
This is the soup I made two days ago after picking, cleaning and cutting the vegetables from our garden. It’s not my mom’s version but it’ll be fine anyway. Try it too. I put zucchini, cabbage, onion, parsley, cabbage and escarole.
These are some of the vegetables cut into small pieces. It was tiring but smelling the scent of the minestrone brought me back to the past and it was nice to remember everything my mother did for us, to make us grow well.
These are two zucchini from our garden.
This is the freshly picked escarole.

MY SWEET ANGEL

My beloved,

What is all that anger that grips you?
You say you can't sleep at night and you don't know why. Won't those negative thoughts take you away from sleep? Could it be that your smile has gone out and the mirror no longer recognizes your gaze?
What killed your heart? Your dreams seem to have flown so far from you.
Is it a pride that you had to burn in the flame of necessity, or is it the disappointment of still feeling stuck in the same place that makes you suffer the most?
My beloved ... it seems so long ago that that little girl spread her wings and knew how to fly: she knew the bridges built on laughter, she set fires of joy in people's hearts, she listened with her eyes full of greed to the words that came from parallel worlds that he could hardly understand, but he was learning to know. He loved life and cried with emotion in front of a half-built project: his dream became real. She had built it, piece by piece and assembled with Love, brick by brick. Looking at her, one learned to fly with her.
And now? You have torn your wings and you don't want to fly anymore. Out of fear or out of pain?
I would like to hug you, but I feel you escape like the water of a fountain. "He" fills the bowl and drinks you to himself. You know that "he" is not a solution: he is your column, your warm summer sun, your chimney when it snows ... but it was you who saved him, when you still knew how to fly and now you know you can't make yourself save from "him". Little girls like you save themselves, courageously, with the strength of their legs to get up and with that of their wings to take flight.
Do not give up.
Even when the way seems so dark, the path is always illuminated by some stars.
I have been ordered to let you do it, to make you run in your footsteps and, if necessary, allow you to make mistakes. And I obey because I can't do otherwise. I don't have a choice. You yes.
Sweet, sweet baby! Don't listen to that voice in your head that tells you that you are weak. Do not stay to taste the bitterness in the mouth of those wings and those hopes that are broken.
It all has a meaning and a reason to exist and to happen: the time comes to understand it, as always. When it comes, our hearts explode with happiness as we understand that everything that happened was in the right place and was there for us.
When did you stop believing in all of this?
And when did you begin to think that Love should be measured from person to person?
The little girl I know was spreading it with both hands: she always had time for a distant friend. for a smile to tear from a cry, for a hug that took your breath away, for a tear of emotion that hid joy rather than pain. For a chat. Yes, two words thrown away whose value was immeasurably great. I love you, you told me.
Smile at me now. Now more than ever, because you feel like crying.
Your wings cannot dry up like autumn leaves. The angels know that it is their duty to fly: an angel who can no longer fly takes something away from the world.
A child who can no longer smile turns off the Energy of the Universe and all the suns of the galaxies would not be enough to warm the Earth, as much as her curious and serene eyes.
I remember with Love your wings, it lives on your bare back, and I think it hasn't been that long. It seems like years: when you suffer for someone, time expands.
I am happy and I would like to be able to talk to you, to help. You look at me with envy in the eyes, tired and disillusioned, and you don't know that it would be enough for everyone (absolutely everyone!) To hear you laugh once again to be reborn and to find harmony.
How long have you not laughed heartily, haven't you laughed heartily?
I don't cry and I wait: I know that the New Day will come and it will bring with it those wings, which you miss so much. He will sit royally next to you and show you how much Light and what events you have missed up to then. He will spread his arms and you will begin to notice how many little things were chained to each other, without you ever noticing.
Suddenly you will find yourself on top of the mountain of your successes, dreams and happinesses without knowing how you got there. And, at the same time, you will realize that the stillness that frustrated you was made up of small steps. You climbed that mountain with tortoiseshell steps: slow, but inexorable. This is how you got to the top. And that you have become wise.
It will all be there, in front of you.
And you will cry. You will cry for joy because you did not understand; you will be moved by the people who have been around you, even when they did not seem; you will cry sympathetically towards your great courage to get up from the ground, which you did not think you had. And closing your eyes you will feel again those wings, which you thought you had lost and which you had only stopped looking.
Finally, after so many pains, you will observe that New Day and with it you will take flight.
Have a good trip, my angel.

MODERN LOVE

“No mom, I don’t have the boy, I would like to have it but I don’t. And do you know why? Because today mom different things are in fashion, long hair and short skirts, light tips and red mouth, flat stomach and protruding breasts, small physique and full lips are in fashion. Today mom uses different things, you no longer buy espadrilles for 5 euros, today you wear Dr Martens and Napapijri, which you have to lease to compare them. Today bars and milkshakes are no longer taken in bars, today they drink beer and vodka, just to help balance on vertiginous heels, the new Jeffrey Campbells. And today there is no longer even a curfew, you stay outside directly until the next morning and pretend to stop and watch the sunrise, which in reality nobody cares. So no mom, I don’t have a boyfriend, simply because I’m not all this, I’m not thin enough, and I can’t afford the miniskirts, the Dr Martens are uncomfortable for me and the sunrise I would start photographing her every day, especially at the sea. I am for the loves of the past, the guys who court you and even open the door for you, I am for the kisses given spontaneously in a place that is only ours, and not for a drunk boy, whom I will never see again, in the midst of a dance floor, just for the sake of being able to brag about it the next morning, I keep my story to myself. I don’t want a relationship today, where to know if you are together or not, just look at the status of a social network, because kisses don’t count for anything anymore. I want a relationship from yesterday, made up of letters and I love you whispered, made up of moments that remain. I don’t have a boyfriend, mom, because I haven’t found someone who wants what I want yet.
I admire boyfriends who, despite being such, do not give up on anything. Who said that two boyfriends have to give up a night at the disco? Who said they can’t go out without each other? Who said they can’t get drunk together or spend long nights with friends? Love is not rejection, it is not prison or feeling suffocated. Those kinds of love get tired and eventually come to an end. If I ever find the love of my life one day, I want it to be exactly like that. Love without laws and without fear of not being able to be together with someone you love to live as I love. If I don’t find such a love, I’m ready to be alone all my life.
“I know, I know that sometimes you still think of me. That obsessions never completely go away, and that we were a full-blown obsession. I know that every now and then, while you look at it, I come back to you. every now and then, while you sleep in it embraced, you still dream of me. Sometimes she will have asked you about us: ‘why?’ ‘didn’t you love her?’ and you will have answered her with the air of someone who gives a shit ‘no, I didn’t love her, for me you are love.’ And she will have believed it, because she doesn’t know, she can’t even imagine. that we were so much, but so much, that together we hurt each other. That’s why you are now with her and not with me. Don’t worry, anyway. It will never go away. It is the condemnation of those who find love and let it escape. “

EDUCATING MEN

Educating men. The problem is that women who bring up their children are often anaffective, natcisist, ambivalent and selfish. In recent times in many families the woman is an example of unbridled materialism, hunger for success and extreme narcissism. Many children are literally abandoned to their grandparents or uncles because the young parents are busy in their hectic life on social media. Mothers who are divided between videos on instagram and tik tok, sitting in beauty centers and running for shopping. Fathers glued to chats where they sneak up on half-naked girls, looking for the most daring encounters. So what can children receive from these individuals taken only by themselves and their selfish desires? They do not receive any affection and therefore as soon as they find someone to attach themselves to they become possessive and obsessive. Because for them that woman becomes the center of their world that has been empty. And when the woman becomes aware of such oppressive feelings, it is too late. And if by chance he tries to leave the man, he will take revenge in a negative way. So these men who grew up with absent mothers become too present and pressing. Mothers themselves create these insensitive monsters. Mothers themselves no longer know how to educate their children because they are busy advertising themselves. And the cases of femicides increase because there are so many children who grow up mistreated and rejected by narcissistic mothers. What have women become? Materialistic and obsessed with success. Unfortunately, the cause of a bad education of males is the women themselves. 😟

WE ARE SEEDS

Is it the blood that makes us the same?
Does the blood relate to us? Do mother cells bind us or separate us?
The ways out of a parasitic heart.
The windows of the soul become opaque and without curtains.
What does our existence prove if the value is given by fake smiles?
The dark side of our biology.
The pain of collapse.
The taste of the night.
The noise of an affection built from the unknown past.
It was dawn when my heart stopped beating.
nd a defibrillator did not and did not serve life.
I was sorry to leave this planet. But I had become different.
I had become a lonely man.
Plants and birds kept me company.
But I no longer had my mother Earth.
no longer saw a grain of sand in my shoes.
I was not honest with anyone.
They asked me how I was and I always nodded.
We who are love.
We who are hate .
We who are all things together ,
The worst and the best.
We who are on the razor’s edge that does not cut.
Which remains suspended above the sun.
We who are good people. We are screwed by ourselves.
We are not different and finite in infinite worlds.
We are weird things stuck.
We are the good and the bad.
We are forgotten fibers. We ended up being divided.
Seeds fall into the ground and do not grow.
Seeds fall into rocks and grow.
We are rocks that receive water and do not serode.
We must always be alert to defend the world.
nd spread our wings without anyone seeing them.
We are Alpha and Omega without eyes.
( FAIRY QUEEN)

MY MOTHER WAS A STYLIST

Growing up with an always sad mother. With a woman who sacrificed her job to raise two daughters. How many women sacrifice their careers because husbands don’t want them to neglect their children? Growing up with a mother who little by little no longer laughs, no longer sings, does not want to go out, becomes antisocial, changes character. A father who commands with money, with greed, with control over everything from clothes to food. And he has the power to say yes or no. A mother who is stripped of her worth, humiliated because she stays at home and was forced to choose to be close to her daughters. A woman finished, emptied, become unhappy. This was my mother. Destroyed by a man who wanted her only for himself and always at home. Instead she was a very good stylist, she had a lot of creativity and imagination, she taught me so many things. But then it got bad because of my dad. A woman should never be hindered by a husband or life partner or boyfriend.

A WRONG EDUCATION

images (7).jpeg

since childhood a child is educated
 so that she becomes a young lady 
and that she can have a husband and
 have children. a child is educated 
to endure so many unpleasant feelings. 
she is also educated to cook, clean,
 and do everything a man expects from her.
 no account is taken of what a child has 
inside her. but his childhood is violated 
with expectations that are necessarily 
linked to a life submissive to a man.
 this is accentuated if the child is abused. 
then it will become passive, submissive, 
docile and dead.
a child's upbringing focuses on the inner
 death of her being so that she cannot rebel
 against any man.
when I was a child my grandmothers 
wanted me to think already of a 
boyfriend, marriage and my future 
as a mother. they gave me dolls 
that looked like babies.
and they wanted me to learn to 
feed and dress them and treat them 
like real babies.
and for me all this was very strange. 
I wanted to play with children, 
I liked their Lego cars. 
but my mother scolded me.
forced me to wear clothes with 
little flowers. he wanted me to always 
have long hair. he wanted me to be good 
and kind. because this was the kind 
of woman men wanted.
but I didn't understand anything 
about couple relationships. 
I loved helicopters and planes.
but the tradition had to be inculcated 
in my head. and I rebelled and argued 
with my mother. as a girl I didn't want 
to wear makeup. my favorite colors were
 those for painting. but she was always 
angry with me and made me feel wrong.




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