MISTIC GOLD

If what you call a spiritual path becomes just the umpteenth race (with yourself or with others) to try to be the best, the most evolved, the most perceptive, the most sensitive. charitable and moral then you are just replicating the dynamics of your ego-personality world that you have to strive for to be available for and loved oneself (by yourself or loved by others).
If what you call the spiritual path is for you just the attempt to contact your true Self and your true Essence beyond the wounds, the imposed patterns and prejudices and the false boundaries that you have, then this is just a psychological investigation of your life and yours. reactions to it in this and other existences.

LOVE ONESELF

This is the fearful little girl inside me who still has so many fears! It is her survival strategy and I will never stop thanking her for saving and protecting me when I was little and helpless. But now, being an adult and in a better place, these mechanisms are no longer needed; when I am in a difficult moment I reconnect to the Guides and to my heart, I feel a sense of peace, of security, I feel lulled by love, and I recover the confidence that everything will be fine, in line with my higher good, that I do not I know except in my heart and in my spirit. The path of awareness is a long journey, there is no goal to reach, or a specific destination, but a journey to be fully enjoyed. Even today I was watching the news and reflecting on the fact that in such a divided world so complicated at this moment we can be grateful to be born in a part of the world where there is peace and many many problems could be overcome if only each of us devote even just ten minutes a day to cultivate peace within himself to be able to bring it into the world. So much suffering and so much human misery could truly be eradicated from the world if all of us were able to give and receive love. Yet it seems that this is particularly difficult for the human race. It is often said that before one can learn to love other people, one must learn to love oneself.

CHANGING SHADOWS

We must never forget that even the Shadow is interior, it is not something that objectively exists out there, and when it has dissipated within us, it will also recede into the world. The more people have access to the new state of consciousness, the harder it will be for the dark side to maintain control over the territory. At first they will impose more and more liberticidal measures, almost compulsively, but at a certain point they will have to let go of those who no longer resonate with their vibration.
Everything that “the monster” does to demolish the light ultimately only strengthens the light. Each path by which he attempts to annihilate the power of the Heart only creates a direct confrontation. The Shadow has a purpose. It affects you in your frailties, stimulates pain, disturbs you so that you become aware of your value. In the end it does not die, but it dissolves. It integrates by giving back to you what you deserve. This is why it is not the lukewarm and fearful who are saved, but those who rebel against their fears. For this reason the Righteous has nothing to do with the do-gooder. Courage is in your Shadow. In the illusion of separation, that’s the only thing you have to deal with.
Love, my dear love, I know you close to me … with your beautiful face. If you change your name, accent, heart and age, it will certainly be your face that will not betray me. The eyes of your face, love, have for me the patient light of the stars … of the night, of the sea, of islands without stopovers, I fear nothing if you will be there to recognize me. My love, from far away, for you, I have perhaps come. And God knows where we will go now? How long have you been looking for my vanished shadow? When did I lose you? In what life? What would heaven dare against us now?

SENSATION

I’ve seen people leave my life without even apologizing for the inconvenience. Then I saw other people sitting quietly on a bench waiting for me to notice they were there for me. I met people who just met made me think “I could never share time with someone like this” and became the most important people in my life. There were those that I liked at first glance and they then showed me, along the way, that it was just superficiality and mistake. Those people I judged negatively only because they didn’t convince me, or because they didn’t think like me on many and many topics and then, they taught me that, despite the differences, people know how to be beautiful precisely because they are “different” . I met someone who made me say with conviction “I will never forget you again”, but after a couple of years I no longer wondered where they were and how they were, not out of malice, but because sometimes it just happens. And then I met those who traveled only a little way with me and in the end embarked on their path, different and distinct from mine and has remained with me even today. Because life is a way to go. You will meet many faces, some will simply remain so, others will be much more than this.
In a moment of time, my life took a break. She relaxed and focused on the world around her. It was all chaotic and peaceful at the same time, like calm water in the open sea and destructively marvelous crashing against the rocks. And that was how I felt that sentimental gash; I felt like a hot wind breaking on my skin, it was the steam that the old train was expelling from the fireplace, while its engine was revving and pawing, it made its way into the walls of my heart. A crust by now settled there was to protect it, a really hard crust, behind which there was hidden a roaring and pounding heart like that train. That crust, under that warm wind of steam, began to weaken, and the vibrations of the engine cracked it. The future refused to answer his questions, however, telling him that he had to focus on the present, do what he felt without looking away.
It’s all so fleeting, volatile Speed ​​is relative, pure mental perception Time, the only constant of everything. Therefore learning through attraction complexes is nothing more than a distraction of the space-time perception of the present around. If there is interest in an unknown girl, but present in the present, it is good to express it, against any reaction. Imperturbability is the ability to have firmness of mind. This, combined with the passage of time, puts up resistance to this, however, releasing awareness of actions and consequences. This is to say that if you find a girl you like, don’t mind talking to her. Don’t let time try to unite you, because time will do nothing like that for you, no one.

UNDERWATER WORLD

And you watch yourself walk the path of your life, that path already traced, already decided, that path that you have not plowed, that path that does not reflect you in the least, that path decided by others for you. And you watch yourself walk along it, without doing anything.Without rebels, so with his head down, accepting his path. And you stay like that, empty, walking almost by inertia in a life you don’t like, in a life that doesn’t belong to you, in a life that walks without you. And why are you there? Because you don’t want to hurt the people you love. They need you and you can’t leave. You can’t choose a different path and leave them in pain. You are always underwater. Stay among the algae. You never re-emerge. Feel the cold of your destiny. You can’t get rid of who you are. You will never be able to live your happiness without making others suffer. Therefore you are imprisoned in the waters of destiny.

MY NAME IS AMLETA

Art is his need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming its existence with the creative act is the only way for Hamlet to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Being a river in flood, dangerous for others, not accustomed to strong liquid currents, but a natural and splendid element for her. Art is its power. The power to create from nothing. To give life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most envied power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is its fierce demon, and it has been walking this path all its life looking for an escape. But you never get rid of art because only art makes it free and alive. It is like a second skin and if you take it off you become skinned and you cannot live anymore. Hamlet has art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies her throughout her life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds the flesh, the spirit, the whole life. He raises it into the highest sky, being able to see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using his fingers; and then makes it descend into the most terrible depths of the human abyss. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. Hamlet goes in and out as if from a window. It goes in and out of itself, feeds itself to the pigs, gives its vital breath, falls apart and then begins again. Who would ever want such a life? Yet many envy it and do not know what it means to have the fire of inspiration that consumes! Art is its condemnation.
She didn’t choose to start drawing, then painting, writing and playing at the same time. A dark force took his hands, and guided his dark energy. He was thus able to empty the pain he felt while living and to enclose it within his creations. Nothing remains of that period: everything burned. Unfortunately, something was saved from his subsequent dark periods, still not gone and up in smoke. Amleta was born on a cursed island, in a sick country, and soon she got rid of her life and the pain took her far away, where she continued to suffer and create, create and destroy, herself, paintings, installations, plays, notebooks, sculptures, … Amleta creates and destroys what he creates. Hamlet is and is not at the same time. He yearns for this perennial creation and has tried several times to free himself from his prison without success. This gift, this power, this torment of colors and words, is the nectar of his days. Everything else is just a bitter side dish.

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.

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