My mother was a fashion designer and always wanted to work but she lived in a country where men didn't want her to work. Men thought her fantasy was evil.
he wanted to dress black women in a country where they always wore dark colors and black. She fought to bring color to a sad country full of people who always judged her.
But she continued to create, she was always there for all those women who wanted to be not only dressed but also listened to. But men judged her badly because she put strange ideas of freedom to those women who were often treated badly by their husbands. I'm talking about a small town that wasn't as modern as it is today.
Those were bad times for women, and men expected women to all stay home and have children.
My mother had received the gift of creativity and she would design her own dress patterns in order to bring some happiness into the lives of those sad people.
But everyone made war on her and so when she met my father she was forced to leave her country because she understood that it was very difficult to destroy a tradition that had been going on for many years.
She was sad about her choice, which my father had requested, but she always went back to her country and took an interest in those women. She was a kind of fairy who wore beautiful things, who listened, who did magic with clothes and everyone loved her.
She passed on this creativity to me but I live in a country now where women only think about money, where they never smile and where they only think about buying dark and black clothes and I can't do anything because I'm judged and criticized and I feel very uncomfortable because i don't do the same things they do and i don't have any friends and i only listen to my cats.
What is the use of so much imagination if you can't give it to anyone? What is the use of creating so many things if I then have to keep them locked up in the attic?
Many parents think that being "friends with their children" is the right solution and instead they do nothing but spoil their children, give them everything, always justify them and even attack the teachers when they take them back. Parents need to be parents again!
The disaster happened from the moment parents lost their authority.
They have to say NO and not always buy things for their children, don't always give them everything, because they spoil and destroy them in this way, thinking that filling them with things is good.
Instead they destroy them by giving away items and clothes. Children have to earn their own things and learn to manage themselves too.
Mothers need to stop cleaning, washing and cooking for their children. They have to let them learn to do things and not do them for them! Mothers, start saying NO. It's the NOs that make you grow and you don't always satisfy all your children's wishes because you destroy them by giving them everything.
ildren need precise rules and not to have rooms full of things and clothes.
They will kick, they will get angry, they will yell at you that you are not good parents but let them cool off because this is the right way to educate them, that is by saying NO!
And they will learn to earn things little by little, over time, and not to have everything right away.
They will learn that in life they can and must go it alone and must know how to manage themselves, both with money and with their belongings.
Say NO and let them learn to live for real and rely on their own abilities. You are not always protecting, justifying and spoiling them. They have to take flight and the more you do all things for them the more they will feel bad in today's world.
Once upon a time there was a child who lived in the forest in a small box with his mother and father. One day the boy, whose name was Alex, asked his parents if he could go outside to play. After some time Alex heard a noise behind the bushes, went to see what that noise was and saw a wolf cub playing with a piece of grass, Alex immediately fell in love with it. He took it and took it home. When the parents saw the wolf cub, they were frightened and said: "Alex, what is that?"
Alex replied: "It's a wolf pup I met in the forest."
The parents were surprised and asked: "My love, you can't keep a wolf in the house ..." Alex replied, "Why?"
"Because his mother will come looking for him and he won't be so happy that we took his son," replied his mother.
Alex said: "But, Mom, I've always wanted to have an animal to love ..."
The mother thought about it together with the father and together they said: "Okay, you can keep it, but only for a few days, until the cub is old enough to live alone". And the child cried out for joy.
After so many days the little wolf was starting to grow, the wolf was beginning to get attached to Alex and to protect him from dangers, but one day the parents said to their son: "Alex, you can't have the wolf in the house anymore".
Alex sadly said: "OK, but at least let me keep it just one more night ..."
The parents thought about it and said it was fine. Alex had packed a backpack and some food at night, and went off into the woods with the wolf.
The next morning the parents noticed that Alex had disappeared into the woods and immediately got dressed and started shouting: "ALEX, WHERE ARE YOU!"
But Alex was already too far away and couldn't hear his parents' screams until he saw a light in a cave; Alex went to see what that light was and saw a girl of about ten or eleven who was sick.
Alex asked her: “Who are you? Where are you from? What is your name?"
The little girl replied: "My name is Laura and I come from a very distant city".
Alex said, "How did you get here?"
Laura replied: "I was out for a walk and suddenly I saw that a bear was following me, so I started running and found myself here".
Suddenly Alex and Laura heard noises, they were scared, but it was only Alex's father and mother who were very scared, and asked: "Who are you?"
Alex replied, "She is a friend of mine who got trapped."
The sorry parents said: "Alex, if you want, you can keep your wolf." But at some point the wolf family came and they started cuddling each other.
Alex said, "Mom, I've made my decision: I want to leave my wolf with his family so they can live happily ever after." And then the wolf left with his family. The child returned home with his mother and father, Laura returned to her village and the wolf with his pack.
Mum mum do you know what?
She suddenly exclaimed.
" Oh Honey, tell me, tell me! "
" You know, today I was in the park with my grandparents and while I was on the swing I saw Martina arrive, you know not? That little girl I like so much. She was really beautiful, she wore a floral dress and had her hair pulled back in a simple bun. As soon as I saw her I ran to her and asked her if she would like to come with me under the big chestnut tree, the one in the center of the playground. At first she blushed but then she accepted and I felt so happy. And do you know why I asked her to go there with me? "
" Let's see ... you know I don't know Darling, you tell me, I'm curious! "- Mom followed."
I asked her because I wanted to tell her something ... well it's been a long time since I've been whirling around in my head but I've never found the courage to let him know and face to face ... I'm ashamed ahaha. I wanted to ask her if she wanted to be my sweetheart. But ... not really like children, I want her to be My girlfriend and I want to treat her as dad does with you and grandfather does with grandmother.
I want to take her for a walk around the country hand in hand, I want to buy her a big big puppet so at night she can hold it and remember me, I want to tell her every day how beautiful she is, I want to protect her like grown-ups do, like dad does, I want to do everything like he! He is my hero! ".
" But love, but it's a fantastic idea, I'm so proud of you! But ... may I know what she replied? "
The mother asked anxiously.
" Well ... she told me she would let me know the answer tomorrow, when we would meet again at the little park. So at the moment I don't know if that's a yes or a no. Obviously I hope in the first one, I would be really happy! ".
" Honey, look, you can go sure it will be a good yes, you know we women are like that, a little ...
how to say we always make you on your toes, but in the end always worth it. Trust mom. It will go great! But now go to brush your teeth and then go to bed that we have to resume the routine that soon starts school and then tomorrow will be a great day, hahaha. Come on, go to bed ".
" Okay mom, but tomorrow morning I wake up early that I have to make myself beautiful, I have to put on the gel, dress well, put on perfume ... "
" Honey, she will look at this: your little heart. And if he beats hard then he'll tell you yes, she certainly won't care how you are outside, but how you are inside! Up to bed! "
"What a hurry to go to bed tonight!"
Thought the child.
"It never happened ...".
The lights in the house go out, you can only hear the crickets and cicadas out there in the fields and a few people for the town who are already waiting for the party next weekend. Summer atmosphere. Peace and quiet around. "Oh right, tomorrow morning I must also remember to take her a rose from the garden, a beautiful fragrant and beautiful red. I can't wait!"
The child thought again in bed, now on the way to sleep. 3.38 marks the alarm. The house is shaking.
"What's going on?"
He wonders.
"I've never felt the house move so much ... oh maybe it's Superman who came to town! Ahaha, he's so powerful he makes everything move. I even drew it on the locker at school. Or maybe it will be the disonaurs. that return, Batman, the superheroes ... but dad will think about saving me whatever happens, he is my Hero! This is how the life of that splendid child ended ... with his mind immersed in the world of fantasy, competing with those who had arrived in the village. No superheroes, no dinosaurs, no superpowers ... all the power of Nature had made itself felt in the village. And he, now under the rubble, I'm sure he was smiling while waiting for his favorite hero to come and save him. He left this world smiling I am sure, dreaming yes but with constant thought about the next day. Who knows if Martina would have said yes, who knows if she would have liked the rose, who knows how many moments they still had to live together. It all ended there. That yes never came, that playground is no longer there and that child is no longer there either. But I'm sure he left us with a smile. But I'm less sure if her dad and mom did the same. Perhaps they understood that no superhero had arrived in the city, but Nature. And I think maybe there was no smile on their faces ... but only tears, tears of those who would soon leave this world. "
My mother cut my hair and made me wear pants because I always got sick and couldn’t wear skirts, I just had to sit on the floor and play to get a fever of 40. I was a tomboy, who listened to music from the 50s and 60s and wrote a lot of strange stories… I was not used to fairy tales and it was better that way, growing up I realized that I would never be a fairy. I’m not good at making myself loved, I’m not lovable, I’m better at unleashing a grudge. I wanted to be a fairy, but I was born a witch, strange and without sequins. I’m not looking for someone who loves me, someone to show all my bizarre ideas, the ones I cultivate in the evening on the terrace of my house, while I enjoy a sunset and caress my cats. I made space many times in my habits to welcome someone, but I realized that I was never welcome in their habits. I wished I could have been a fairy and do spells for myself too… I worked on my edges while taking care of the bruises they left on me. I too fell silent in front of their silences, their walls, and yet I tried to climb over, as a tomboy I could do it. I tried and I failed: they left me out and I stayed out. I would have liked to be a fairy, but I’m just a girl, with edges and oddities that have become accustomed by now … And whoever gets used to certain loneliness survives.
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.
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.
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?
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 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.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 