WHAT IS PAIN FOR?

Pain. How many people does the pain weigh on the shoulders, stomach and head? How many people are there who would like to eliminate it from their life? But they tell us that it is useful, that suffering helps to understand life, to know others and ourselves. Would we be the same if we hadn’t subjected so much? Would we be so sensitive? Would we be so in need of love? What pain did it give us? The light. The light to see where the darkness was and where we were stuck. The light to see where we went wrong and how to move forward. Pain is our light. We can now see in the dark.

 

A LITTLE FEATHER ON MY HAND

For some time now I have felt a ‘presence’ while I cook. I can’t explain but I know exactly who to connect it to. It makes me smile because if it were the thought of who I think, it would be quite strange. I do not have a good character, which is much worse alas, I am quite drastic when I decide to say enough, I rarely go back, men know that I am difficult, they consider me a piece of non-malleable granite. In fact, I can’t blame them, it’s better to give up someone like me, yet I haven’t always been so hard and adamant, I have a past as a ‘puppy looking for a master’. I wanted to be loved, like in fairy tales … stupid exactly like this sentence. The men I met made me realize that fairy tales are a collective deception, that princes and princesses are unlikely characters and that all of us, male and female, are just lower and sometimes very mean beings. Love is exploited, often used as the perfect shit gift one can get, the perfect rip-off. For love we do a lot of bullshit, we dress with good intentions those who have none at all. And so we find ourselves inside apparently wonderful stories, but that to see them like this, it is only us. What does this have to do with ‘presence’? It has to do with it because in 2015, while I was on the new social Tsu, I came across a very enigmatic man (eh I always fall for it!), Named P., he had a nickname that I loved mondomagico and who wrote wonderful things. I had met a unicorn, finally in the middle of nowhere! I put a lot of the things we said to each other here too, parts of chats and private messages, I also came to read on thce chat because my writing about ‘us’ made him happy. He was meditating, he had a sculpted physique, a beautiful voice with an Emilian accent and a top secret job, which I still don’t know about and which I will never know. We dated ‘virtually’ for many months, then things fell apart because too much mystery stops being fascinating after a while. I’m not the type who remains a thought, I want to become presence if, as they say, things are becoming serious, so the moment I feel a reticence, a deliberate lengthening, I tend to close the relationship. ‘If they don’t want you, don’t offer you’ is rule No. 1 now on my basic scale, so I told him we were fine like this, each in his own world. Too bad, I really liked his sweetness: he was able to hug me from afar, always making me feel his presence. And it makes me strange to hear it again, like this, after years. In the end, I hope he’s fine … better than me.
Then the problem is not that there is no hope, it is that there would be nothing to hope for. Who among you can say you know this sense of irrelevant vastness of the world – I wish I had better words to describe it – this closet world, stacked things, bad pyramid under which the dead sleep unhappily. For years I have said to myself: the trick is to find a moment of acute pain, which lasts at least half an hour and it is done. If you start thinking about it, if you let yourself slip into the phase of emptiness in the stomach, of the perpetual squeezing of the heart, then it becomes impossible: life has its tricks, it is on you like a blanket of tiredness, like the working day for workers , then you go to bed and sleep and wake up and you’re still alive and so again, like an absurd vice. I think it’s been a year since I last hugged someone. The intolerable semantics of tenderness – this too is difficult to explain. A year has passed, the exams are back in high school – you haven’t returned, despite Nietzsche. My waist is light and awaits the wind like a feather on the back of my hand.

MY PERSONAL THERAPY

It sinks, it is true, in life it sinks many times. Then you don’t know how to re-emerge. You swim in the midst of events that don’t seem to belong to you at all. You see horizons, many different horizons, but you’re tired of deciding which one to go to. Then the sea pushes you, with its liquid embrace, pushes you to change your mind, to recreate yourself, to leave useless things on that bottom where you trudged. And then you too become water and there is no longer any difference between you and the blue waves.

WHAT I DO

When I have negative emotions I start painting or I go to the gym where I swim. Or I’ll put on some music and dance or go out walking with my dog. Sometimes they are very strong and don’t pass right away. But somehow I try to get them out of me and turn them into something beautiful. I have read many books by Osho about tantra and meditation but unfortunately there are no meditation courses in my area, even if I have practiced Tai Chi, which is called “meditation in motion”. In the past I have attended a Hare Krishna temple in London and have had more comfort from singing and dancing with them but also from the silence and peace in the temple. I have also had the opportunity to hear the Ohh sung by the Dalai Lama himself, in a church in London, but all of these things have not solved my history of abuse as a child. Unfortunately, however much I can avoid thinking about it, certain traumas remain in the mind and body
How many sensations do you have? How many demolitions do you do? Heart to heart lined up for a second. If you want a thousand monsters who whisper loves to you. You peel off sheets and be alone. A drop of life instilled in the chest. You want illusory loves. You let yourself be captivated by stupid sirens. I’m not like you. I don’t need illusions to live. I look at the flowers. I look at the trees. I watch my dogs. I need these things. People only know how to deceive and ask for money.
So I stay here, trapped in a life I don’t understand, thinking that those who call me ungrateful are right, yet without the strength to change. It is an illusion to think that memories cannot have form, concreteness. We believe we can bury them in the dark ravines of a cellar where we will never enter, like a clouding of conscience, which makes us continue our miserable lives. Then, one day, without warning, we bump into the analysts of a past so vivid that we can touch it. I found the ticket to Paris in my jacket pocket, exactly what we looked for everywhere, two years ago, on returning home, because you said you wanted to keep everything from that trip, about us, from those days away from the world, where it seemed we could be anything we wanted. I believed it, with every atom. It was a hope, a prayer. I don’t believe in anything, I would have liked there to be a God in my head too. I would not have asked for anything else in life. Your gaze was enough, because it contained everything. And I have seen everything in our days together, in that determined impulse departure. You convinced me with a smile. You were half a woman and half a child, stripped of heels, makeup, clothes that were always so elegant for work days. The world had Geneva in career. I, only me, kept my private Geneva, the one that took off the mask and let its frailties and tenderness caress. I saw you sleep, every night, from the first times you were still on yours, to those when you instinctively looked for my arms, even in sleep, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I heard you sing in the morning, to the rhythm of songs that only you knew, while I, as soon as I woke up, only knew how to spy on you in my silence. I watched you provoke me, without even having to take off your clothes. You had the right words, slow movements like a distant call. I imagined you naked and you felt it, you smiled. You got me drunk
Yet I don’t think about your body as I turn this note around and around in my hands. Something I loved even more is hammering in my head, that is, that strange empathy that allowed you to understand everything I felt. You knew how to read me. Would you ever have thought that one of your greatest qualities would push me away? It is not your fault, of course. I did it all in this strange game of destruction. I was afraid. It seems the classic excuse that we men invent, against which many of you slam, convinced that it is enough to take care of our weaknesses to have a fairytale ending. The truth is that everyone has to fight his demons alone. You knew it when you let me go. You seemed to have always expected this, as if you were born to let me leave you. You said nothing other than tears and I didn’t expect silence to have sharp weapons. You couldn’t know that I was already dead, years before, in front of those who said the same words to me that I repeated to you. When she left me, I convinced myself that I was like her, that I didn’t know how to love. I witnessed the waltz of strangers who approached my life without ever really being part of it. “I don’t feel”, I said. At first they didn’t understand, then over time they gave up and I saw them disappear from my life. I found a thousand excuses, a thousand faults. It was easy to dismiss. The closer I got to someone, the greater was the heat with which I ran away. You really touched me, without my realizing it. You slipped into my head, into my limbs, and when I realized it, it was too late to send you away. I loved, and I couldn’t explain why. But I assure you, for someone like me it burned, like a stake that consumes you. I didn’t want to depend on someone who could potentially deprive me of myself. I made you witness the waltz of ambivalence, split between the desire to keep you and the urge to send you away, to protect me from those ghosts that perhaps were only in my head. The danger I felt and attributed to your presence was the echo of a distant wound, which I was afraid could reopen, with your simple touch, with your presence. I fought with the invisible enemies in my head and gave them your appearance, to the point of giving you this huge emptiness, where before there were a thousand words. But the sin of one’s own silences is paid for with loneliness. I know very well now that in this empty house I no longer hear your laughter and I have no arms to touch me at night. I thought I was defending myself and instead fear exposed me, it shattered everything.
Perhaps it was not yet the time, our time. I didn’t know how to love you without shields. But now that there are no trenches, no curtains, I don’t need weapons … If I wanted to walk in this life with you, would you come? They say that those who love you will not leave you. I say instead, that sometimes we run away thinking that a place is hurting us, but then we understand that no other place is home. So, once again, in this letter, I give you words. However, now, they no longer serve to protect me, but only to love you. I ask you forever: Do you want to be my home?

MISUNDERSTOOD

When I speak and say something, I am never understood. When I speak and say something I am not listened to because I do not speak on video. I write and speak. I don’t record videos. Those who make videos perhaps have a better chance of being heard and understood, even appreciated by everyone. The videos are more followed. I am never taken into consideration because I don’t start talking in front of a cam, I don’t show my tits, I don’t whisper, I don’t blink, I don’t talk about fashion and make-up. I feel very frustrated about this because in this society only videos matter. People want to see someone, fantasize, imagine. I don’t show videos. I speak. But I’m not understood.

FRAGILE SOULS

Sometimes I stop to think … I find myself lying on the mattress staring at the ceiling and reflect. I think a lot, maybe too much, and we know that too much is good, unfortunately it’s part of me and I just can’t avoid it, it’s as if it were an unconditional reflection. I think back to everything, everyone, I think back to everything that made me feel good but also to everything that made me suffer. Today I went to bed with tears in my eyes and a weight on my chest and I think it’s one of the most unpleasant sensations in the world, you know? When you just want to sleep and switch off your brain, but you get so sick that you just mull over what doesn’t work. I interpret it as psychological torture: to suffer for something, and to feel even more hurt after thinking about it intensely for hours. What an unpleasant feeling of oppression. Oppressed by their own feelings, rather than by people. It is strange to think how something apparently abstract, such as emotions, can alienate you from the totality of the world for an indefinite period of time. It’s almost scary to think we’re so vulnerable, but it’s part of life after all … If it were too simple, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.

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)

HEART IN DARKNESS

Conrad. The good heart of Tenebra. How I loved Lord Jim !!! It was a happy time in my life. The only one. So, I can tell you that many words are beautiful but then it’s not that easy to find happiness. Especially if at 4 you found yourself a man who pushed one knee to your chest to rape you. Continued abuse for years has devastating consequences for a child. I have not eaten since 4 years. I ended up with injections and infusions. I no longer opened my mouth. Nobody understood what had happened to me. Then I unlocked thanks to my paternal grandmother and a hen, who became fond of me and made me understand that not all beings on this earth do harm. So as you can see I’m still alive and I owe this to the art that saved me by allowing me to express the immense anger and pain I had inside of me. I survived but at what price? I would have preferred that he had killed me because carrying death within him is even worse, you know. You often feel desperate. You fall into bad hands again. You get up and fall back and suffer. Until one day your father dies and you look in the mirror and suddenly you see your evil twin living violently. And so you become the executioner. But that doesn’t make you feel good either. Neither love nor pain can defeat the death that man made you suck. And what do you do? Therapy is done. You try everything but nothing is needed. There’s always that monster growling inside me. And I scream but nobody hears me. Nobody saved me that day.

LOVE IS NOT THE ANSWER

If I think back to how much love I gave to people who didn’t want it, how many disappointments I had, how much sadness and suffering, how much anticipation and anger! now it doesn’t seem true that the end of all this has come. I poured my love into hearts that did not feel, into souls that did not live. I gave myself to people dead inside, to those who did not know what it meant to love, to those who do not yet know what it means to love. I painted love in minds that just wanted not to love. I tried, tried, risked everything about myself, even my sanity, my inner well-being. And all because within me this energy needed to flow out, to be given to others, to expand, to go out and fulfill itself. After so much wandering, the unexpected landing is the best thing. Where you never thought you could find a place of peace and serenity, you arrive right there by chance, discovering that everything that was was only a prelude and to what would come after. After so much torment, so much existential fatigue, after every conflict and inner struggle, now I can say that everything has taken its place within me. That there was a total stop of that wild and dangerous flood that came out of me every time I tried to stop myself. That noisy and chaotic waterfall that poured onto the other, like an explosion of uncontrollable energy, now flows by itself in a different way. The tiger that roared inside the lotus flower has now disappeared and the lotus flower has opened and shines with light never seen before. My Tai Chi master had seen well, but it was I who couldn’t see because the times weren’t right yet. There was all that water that stirred my heart, which deprived me of that vision of myself that I still could not have. Because I was not yet ready for enlightenment. Now I understand that enlightenment can only be found if it is not sought. It comes at a time when you don’t look for it at all and you may feel you can never even get there because you are not the type, because you do not have that way of seeing or feeling. Because you are in the hell of life and you can’t think that anything else can exist. It comes at a time when the last thought of your life is to have that vision and that peace that you have always dreamed of. And only now do I understand why it is so difficult to describe it to others, why it is difficult to find the words that can describe such an inner state. It is a bit like when Buddhists try to explain that suffering does not exist and that it is only a construction of man. If I go to see what has been inside me so far, I find nothing but nothing. But it is that nothing that is stupendous, that is a whole. Because becoming nothing, becoming emptiness is a splendid thing. Nothing has become my past. There is no longer any trace of it inside me. There is no one and no thing. Everything has vanished into the nothingness that I am now. A lotus flower needs only water to grow and water is the only source it needs. Everything else no longer exists. The inner light is the only source, the rest is something that never comes. My being is aware of the journey it has made to become the Void, and the acquired well-being is extraordinary. Because my being no longer needs anything. Love, anger, life, sun, food, friendship, internet,… ..all these things seem made of smoke to me. I am like an impalpable fog inside me. No sensation comes to me from the outside but it is my being that flows and that’s enough for me. Before, the world was the fertilizer for my plant. Now my plant grows by itself, has its roots in the sky and the sap comes from the light. It does not need anything else. The void needs nothing else. My heart is still beating, it is alive, yes, but inside my heart there is only infinite light. Inside me there is only one lotus flower that blooms every day.

I HAD ANOTHER BLOG

My blog was born as an artistic space but nobody cares about art. I also had a blog with all my works but it didn’t matter to anyone. I also said that I would burn my paintings but no feminist or association said a word. I have no friend or I would have given them all as a gift, as I did some time ago. I never wanted to make money with my art. For me it was just a way to vent my pain. And also my paintings and all the things I did. Now I’m tired of creating useless things. Nobody cares about my life. I could be dead and no one would notice. People got bored with me. My German Shepherd puppy gives me more satisfaction than a lot of fake people. There was a user who wrote to me that “HUMAN GENDER IS GOING TOWARDS A POSITIVE EVOLUTION” So then he called me a pessimist. So apparently it is only I who now see the human disaster where it has come. Maybe everyone else is blind. So I take a step back and leave all this scum to their positive evolution and I step aside and think about my own business. It is not a defeat but every now and then you have to take a break. What I was doing was important to you, to me and to some haggard whore. For the rest, everyone was there to comment with monosyllables and smilies at the end. No dialogue. See, this is my trouble. I am sociable, still too sociable, and I expect to have a dialogue with people. But some believe me to be superb, pretentious, dominant. And all this because I had different life experiences from theirs. Then some when they know that I am not looking for money they almost consider it an affront. As if having money you can live well. On the other hand, they do not understand that inner well-being cannot be bought with money. I can have it all but I still don’t heal. My heart no longer exists. I live only for my son and my husband. Only for them. For me to exist or not to exist is the same. I don’t differentiate between life and death, they are just two different types of energy but the source is the same. I have lived with such strong emotions and even ecstasy you know, mystical ecstasy, seriously. And then? I have never used drugs, I have never taken anything, not even opiate drugs or psychiatric drugs. For my anxiety I use a simple tranquilizer, which I only lose if I have severe anxiety attacks. I have a very normal life: husband, son, dogs, cats, garden, swimming pool, vegetable garden, cellar, … I don’t drink and I don’t smoke. Never caught anything strange or poisonous. I have had friends who are alkist and sadistic artists as well as ordinary artists. My inspiration came only from my pain. My fantasy originated only from my pain. The pain of abuse lasts for a lifetime. I used my pain to do good to others. I am at peace with myself. I wanted to help other people but I couldn’t. If people want to listen to Chiara Ferragni’s advice, let them listen to her. People have the right to choose. I don’t want to save anyone anymore. What happens will happen. I had to stop in every sense. The pain resurfaced. There are bad dreams, bad things about my unconscious memories that come back to the surface. But I’ll be fine, I’ll continue to paint trying to keep the shadow of my executioner away. But I don’t want to talk to people anymore. They don’t deserve my words.

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