SEARCHING FOR THE MAGIC PLACE

Events and encounters are not ballast or alleys whose exit is unknown, 
but rather mirrors: small, large, convex, concave, wavy, deforming, splintering, 
obscured ans capable in any case, with their reflection, 
of letting us know an as yet unknown part of ourselves.
Sometimes I wonder what is at the end of this maze of mirrors. 
What will become of me.. Of my self-awareness.
I have a very private private life, hidden, 
like a private life in every shadow of part of a fragment of my private life. 
A real mess, a labyrinth with several floors, perhaps dimensions.
Under a secret, other secrets, under these other little things hidden. 
So deeper and deeper... where there is the truth,
the absolute one, the one even purer than me. 
The one I don't even know I know. 
There, I live. 
I feed on emotions, which, filtered by my tangled life, 
seem increasingly dim and light and are no longer enough for me... 
they are never enough for me.
I created mazes for us
inadvertently
I left traps
scattered around the garden.
I have carved statues
around our bodies
and perhaps I will have a Virgil
and who knows if it will help anything
maybe I'll have a Montegue
that cradles me in the evening
and the next day it flies away.
Where am I going?
I only see "blind spots"
and false leads to follow.
Rough paths
messed up by mistake.
Labyrinths where I get lost,
no way out.
I feel like I'm going in circles. Is it the circle of karma or an unexplored time circle?
I stay here
surrounded by doubts
that plow my way.
Uncertainty upon uncertainty
I get further and further away
by myself.

LAY DOWN

The chills have disappeared,
no reason that should make you a world of passion.

It has no role
the face of the people who have flayed their abyss.

I promised you.

The freedom of the shadow is the sinuous wave that sinks into your chest.

Sitting on the park bench of lonely questions,
take off your woolen gloves,
and shake my hand.

I promised you.

I reflect on the desire,
of your secret vain life;
the fear was beautiful and even the dark, but now I close my kiss in vain,
on the lapel of your black cloak.

I promised you.

I will be changed like this night, reduced to a white dawn,
for those who linger on the quay waiting for the green of the lighthouse,
that gives the green light to every marine jewel.

I promised you.

A reflection of the sea remained on my eyes, before the last boat disappeared, and we greet it with a Goodnight of tears in wine.

TAKING YOUR TIME

I was a girl with many dreams before, now I’ve lost them somewhere, not knowing who I am anymore. I was a shy girl, but now completely apathetic. My hair was long and always in the wind, now red and always tied up. I used to have beautiful fair skin, but now it’s scarred. My green eyes were always bright, now empty and dull. I was not very afraid, now I’m afraid of my reflection, like a child who is afraid of the monster under the bed. Now I’m just ashes. It is horrible to be homesick for yourself, for your own energy. When you look in the mirror and think, “Damn what happened to me?” “I was a completely different person. I realized that actually people don’t give a damn about knowing you, they don’t care who you are, they just want to feel less alone. They use you as a stupid stopper to fill the moments of boredom, of emptiness, which is there when you need it, which is forgotten when you have better things to do. Maybe that’s why I can’t trust people, maybe that’s why when I’m around people I feel like a fish out of water. We may look the same, it probably is. The change is not visible, at least not to most of us, but we have changed. Completely. Forever.

This period, this moment, is so difficult, I find myself in a situation that I now know well, all too well, this sickening apathy, this gray that makes your head break, this desire to cry for no reason, this littleness, this feeling like this. insignificant. Yet now it’s different, or it should, now I know how to get up, a shower, friends, a bit of entertainment, and nothing goes by but at least I pay less attention to it. Instead, here I am wanting to throw myself hopelessly on the bed and do nothing else, drown myself in a sleep that numbs my thoughts, canceling everything until it passes. Ignoring who I don’t want to ignore. Struggling with myself between what I know to be rational and what I would like. Wondering once again if I can do it, knowing the answer is yes but thinking it is no. Want to mess up. The worst part? Having to hold me back. Being forced not to isolate myself, having to keep myself up because I’m not physically alone, I can’t make it clear that I’m down. Worse still? Knowing they are just complaining. The knowledge that I should kiss my elbows, that there are people who are dying every day, by the thousands, alone, that there are people who are doing endless shifts feeling helpless.

Then the future, this huge messed up nothing, that can’t take a shape anywhere, in any way, the many possibilities in which not even one seems to be the right piece of the puzzle, which I keep turning and turning, trying to fit it everywhere. , to no avail, to the point that I will probably pick one at random and break it in an attempt to make it fit with something that has nothing to do with its half, with the suitable continuum. The question always remains the same, why can’t I be different? Why do I always have to get complicated? A lifetime of being told “you are never as person x”, we have always thought about this, we have all felt different at least once. I understood that it is better “not to be like someone”, “never like someone”. It is us, it is ourselves. Children, young and old, we are perfect. We have lived like crazy, we are living like crazy. Everyone lives in his own way, who lives as a madman, as a moralist, as an arrogant, as a bigot or as a frustrated one. We are the result of what we have around us. Each of us lives different and unrepeatable experiences that enrich us and make us wonderful. All people have stories … not just one. We never allow anyone to underestimate or belittle us. Because all of us, despite adversity, are the sun … and the sun never stops shining.

BLUE STARS

If only I could walk
between the chiaroscuro of your irises,
light up my days
with the lights of your every memory,
if only I had the key
of that French garden
which makes the contours of your face
guiding breath for each completed painting;
if only i could stay there,
stop, hold out your hand,
waiting for your name,
your veins like purple wisteria,
your skin like peony petals,
and listen to the rhythm of your beats outside the heart,
touch the shores of the lake
and make them tremble
in the reflection of the other shore where I wait for you to blossom and we are alone on a branch of blue star flowers. 

THE CRYSTAL SHIP

 

The heart is nothing more than a row of rooms, smaller and smaller, one leads into another through a closed door and stairs that descend. There are seven rooms in all. The heart of the heart is the seventh, the most difficult to reach, but the brightest because the walls are made of crystal. Every system evolves towards disorder. Everything is provisional, order cannot be sought where it cannot be found, the birth of a life is an ordered system, just as the birth of a project, the creation of something is a defeat for the universe and for entropy, because it represents what puts order in a disorderly context, the universe is always expanding towards disorder and will do everything to create more and more. Entropy always wins, each of us is destined to die, every material good to break and every emotional bond is destined to dissolve. The concept to quickly understand what this fascinating word means is this: Everything flows into disorder, every living being dies, every object breaks, is forgotten .. And we can’t do anything about it, life is disorder and despite the fact that we always try to put some order in our thoughts, in the our home, among our objects, it is not possible to avoid creating more disorder. But we will start over and continue to try to get out of the chaos.

The universe is part of this one cry in this mysterious land, where everyone is born to die. Every tree and leaf, every star shows that the universe is part of this one cry that all life is known and welcomed and all that is loved will not be lost. Let it be. Let it be. Let things happen. Do not fill yourself with paranoid problems. Or worse still of fears. Sing. Dance. Dedicate songs. Dream. Dream a lot. And go out of your way to accomplish your goal. Rebel. Don’t get submissive. Don’t worry about the future. Don’t be afraid to get involved, to dare, prove yourself for who you are. Let yourself go, let yourself be carried away by life and emotions. There will be no second chance to relive certain moments. Go out. Go dance and come home at six in the morning. Or don’t go back at all. But don’t stay indoors. Don’t be proud. It is useless. Or rather, it only serves to keep people away. Everyone has had bad experiences. Everyone has had their disappointments. Don’t think you are the only one. But you don’t have to close in on yourself for this. Write those messages you don’t have the courage to send. Don’t be left with the doubt of how it could have gone. Don’t regret it. And don’t judge yourself. You are who you are. Don’t waste time with envy. There is no reason to have a plan B, because it distracts from plan A. Relax. Lie on the lawn and look at the sky. Go to the beach. Listen to the sound of the waves. Don’t pay attention to what people say. Yes solar, even pissed off. Don’t be afraid to laugh out loud. Read the instructions, even if you do your own thing. It is never too late to change. Or not to change to fact. Look at things from different points of view. Don’t be stubborn. Yes curious. Travel. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Not too lightly. People come and go. Like the seasons. Only promise if you are sure you will keep. Surprise yourself with the little things. Amaze with small gestures. Watch a lot of movies. Believe in many things. Especially in yourself. Laugh. Yes happy. I am wasting happiness. Because smile brings smile. Yes humble. Love so much, love everything, always love. Let things happen. Let it be as it should be. Let it be.

PHILOSOPHICUS

Not safe as help, as to save you, perhaps from the very beginning I could not save you, from your mystery, your thoughts … bastards able to obscure all that was beautiful around you. I didn’t rush to understand how you didn’t rush to see how I saw you, fragile, alone, confused, but you loved and I didn’t have a message, I didn’t send a message when uncertainty prevailed. Some of the most famous, mysterious, mysterious. Secondly, I was just a fragile troop for this world, a world that is not capable, which is not in the degree of good luck, and you are why I do not love, but you love me, that it is part of this world, so tell me, how is it possible? I would like to feel you at the same time love you.

I fell into one of my pathetic periods of closure. Often, with human beings, good and bad, my senses simply detach, they get tired: I let it go. I am polite. I nod yes. I pretend to understand, because I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is the weakness that got me the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often find myself with a ribbed soul, reduced to a kind of dish of spiritual noodles. It does not matter… My brain shuts down. I listen. I answer. And they’re too dull to realize I’m not there …

Porcupines huddle together to fight the cold. Their body, however, is covered with sharp spikes, which causing them pain, forcing them to move away. This is the paradox of porcupines, their need to be close to each other while hurting themselves. Schopenhauer tells it and then Freud is also interested in it, because the same happens in human relations. The closer we get to another, the more we risk being hurt. The pains of one become the pains of the other, the quarrels hurt like quills, and force one to leave. But during the winter, the cold continues to loom, and porcupines left alone risk dying. They then decide to huddle, even though they are aware of getting hurt. The dilemma arises from the paradox: what is the right distance to keep from others? Porcupines will stop suffering when they find the correct distance, not too far away so they don’t freeze, and not too close so they don’t get stung. Even if it hurts, we need others. The closer another person is to us, the more we open up to them and let them be part of us, the more we risk colliding with pain. The more we love, the weaker and more at risk we are, but despite our wounds, love saves our lives. We need to have someone close, but without straying too far from ourselves, from what we are and what we want.

Men were born and raised in a cave, they are chained, then forced to remain imprisoned there, always in the same position. Behind them is a fire that reflects before their eyes the shadows of what is happening in the outside world. This is all they see. One of them, however, manages to free himself and comes out, he is dazzled by the sunlight and sees nothing, he wants to go back to the cave, since he believes only what he had there is true and good. This tells the myth of Plato’s cave. The cave represents the daily life in which we are all imprisoned. The man who comes out of it sees the truth of things, but does not understand it. If none of us are aware of what is in front of us, it is as if that did not even exist. It is not easy, but how many times, perhaps, we find ourselves in front of a happiness, a satisfaction, a kind gesture, a truth, and we do not realize it because it is easier to settle down in our daily life, in the thought that everything is wrong and wrong . It is easier to be sad than to struggle to be happy. It is a gesture that requires effort, violence, but it is definitely worth it. In fact, Plato continues to tell that if man were forced to stay outside and open his eyes to what he sees, over time he would be able to recognize everything, the sun would no longer blind him. And once he saw it, but never would he want to go back to the cave. Even if he did so, the other prisoners would not believe him, they would even be willing to kill him. This is because it is a choice that depends solely on us. We must learn to love what we have and which, too many times, we don’t even recognize. Happiness is a choice, we must have the strength to make it, only in this way will we find our sun.

( All artworks by Kate McDowell)

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.