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.

SWEET EMOTIONS

Having reached this moment in my life, after several disappointments on the part of everyone and after long periods of reflection, I realized that now I need to be treated with unprecedented kindness. No more anxieties, doubts and insecurities. I just want genuine, kind and tender feelings. I am not willing to compromise on what I want and what I deserve. Committing to capturing at least a fragment of innocence in people and feeling tenderness for it is the only way to avoid retiring to private life as fast as a cockroach when you turn on the light.
There are moments in which I would like to go back to when I was little, moments that I miss and that unfortunately will never come back. I miss that innocence and that light-heartedness that I had, I looked at the world with different eyes, a beautiful world. I imagined already after the age of 20 with a job, a guy who cared about me and that only I existed as a woman for him. I imagined many beautiful things, but everything remains the fruit of my imagination alone. I miss it when I played dolls, when I watched cartoons on TV, the beautiful ones that passed Italy one. I miss living in my beautiful imaginary world.
We played hide and seek within the city walls. I was hiding, you were looking for me. I laughed, you laughed. We spent the whole afternoon even just playing one game, because I was hiding really well, and you didn’t even know where to start looking. In the end, you always managed to find me, somehow, and all you could say, finding my umpteenth hiding place, was: “Oh!” I laughed, you laughed. We spent the afternoons like this, together, without ever getting tired, meeting every afternoon at the same point, without even having agreed. We loved each other like that. We were really too young to know what love was, to be able to say we knew it, yet there was something between us: a thread, a red thread that united our hearts, a little girl’s apron ribbon, long, perhaps infinite, he would have been able to keep us tied even if we had been at the two opposite poles of the world. Subsequently, however, all that I managed to glimpse in our afternoons of play was your miserable shadow, nothing to do with you. And finally, what I thought to be your shadow also vanished, but perhaps it was just a figure of my invention, created not to admit that you had abandoned me. I was left alone. Without you, without your shadow. Yet, I continued to spend the afternoons playing, giving the landscape that surrounded me tiny and timid smiles, waiting for your return. Every now and then I stopped, playing, and looked towards the path that led to your house, waiting to see you arrive hopping, with the hat in your hands and the sly and proud look that had always distinguished you. But you never came back. And I, I continued to wait for you: I could not accept the idea that our red thread had somehow been severed.

I HAD ANOTHER BLOG

I thank you for your closeness and your support. I believe that our freedom will never go back to the way it was before and that now we are the only ones left who know what it is. I see people very happy to be slaves. I see that everyone watches TV and believes in the mass media, they are manipulated and diverted. The dark mind is now mush. I am very sad and in the past I was an artist but now I am dying. I had an art blog with my paintings, I didn’t sell anything, I gave them away. I said that if nobody wanted them I would burn them. I have no real friends here, I didn’t know who to give them to. I wanted to leave them on the street but there was the covid and they would have thrown them away. I said I was missing, that I would burn them, and nobody told me anything. Nobody cared about what I created. I studied art in London, I refused recommendations, I refused a career. I regretted it. One day I wrote to a psychologist who had an association, I told him: “I give you my paintings, they are 50, you sell them and use the money for sick children”. Do you know what he answered me? “You are not famous, you do not get anything out of your paintings.” I regret having rejected my career. And so I burned all my paintings. My artistic blog no longer exists and there are few paintings left in my attic, eaten by mice.
I had a blog with 3000 followers. I said very interesting and important things but people weren't there. There were a lot of them but none of them spoke. I was really disappointed. I wrote very important things but somehow there was no dialogue between them and me. This made me very sad and one day I deleted everything, I deleted the entire blog. These 3,000 people got lost. I don't know if they still exist, I don't know if they looked for me, because I also changed my nickname because I wanted to close with the past, I wanted a new page in my life. But I believe that past has remained and always remains glued to me like a dark shadow.
I was very sorry to close that blog but maybe people didn't expect a woman to talk about certain things. I didn't talk about nails and I didn't talk about actors, not even about cooking, or about many other subjects that women love. I don't regret what I did but a piece of my life has been lost, destroyed, erased.

STORY OF A FAILURE

What does a woman do when she has had a family, has wanted to forget her dreams, has decided that she no longer wants anything and becomes a shadow of herself? A woman who had a good career and who now has to take care of socks and sheets? We talk about how a woman is always brought or forced by some man to devote himself to the family and to abandon his career. Men never willingly accept a woman who is good and important. Let’s talk about how a woman feels when she looks back on her past and sees a different woman. A woman who was an artist and now no longer creates anything. A blocked, diverted and repressed creative nature. I am not speaking of a woman of the 19th century but of a woman of today, of this century. A woman who secretly mourns her failures and disappointments. The world has not helped her to be able to realize herself. Men have never given her a hand. He has never received help from anyone. A woman who feels alone and who has lost the desire to have a beautiful life. What would you tell her that you have had the opportunity to be able to stay on your path as men?

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