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.
There was a season
Of ordinary amazement
Innocent fingers brushed
The sky to count the stars
Dreams blossomed lightly
With golden firefly wings
The world was everything
In a moment
In the protected circle
Of hugs
Life seemed beyond
Beyond doors forbidden to childhood.
Is it the shadow that exists by virtue of the light, or is it the light that exists by virtue of the shadow?
We are made up of chiaroscuro, secret areas, bright accents and dark hiding places.
Nuances.
Cries of children.
Far horizons.
We are a contradiction in terms, of spirit and flesh.
The ethereal evanescence of the soul and the concrete physicality of the body.
We are perfect in our imperfection.
Outstanding bills have to be paid right?
After all, life is like this, it takes everything away from you without warning,
it's better to face everything like when you have to tear off a plaster on the wound, you count to three.
And you tear, you know?
In this case you raise your head and let your silences make them feel, there you understand that you are ready to strike.
Do it but make everything tremble.
I am what I am.
It took me years to be like this.
And dreams.
And you are wrong.
I could have been countless others.
That to find us all together, apart from a common and sometimes vague resemblance, many would not recognize each other.
I am what I can.
That may not be much, but never judge anyone for what they are not.
In his place, you could have been less.
And seeing yourselves, you would be doomed.
I am my fears, which are many and some do not even have a name.
And they are just a shadow, a gust of cold wind, a noise in the silence, a phrase repeated in the head.
I am my hopes, I am the road on which I walk, I am my horizon, which does not follow the curvature of the earth, but the less geometric one of my life, of my thoughts, of my alternating emotions.
I am what I am.
And sometimes I still flap my arms to try to fly.
I have seen so many ugly realities, so much blood, violence, children growing up without parents, appreciating the value of freedom, knowing how painful it is when they take it away from you. Here I have always seen a lot of love, loyalty, family, humility, education. I had to know what I can go up against on the one hand to understand that there are those who have fought so much to ensure that I can be free forever. I know where I’m from but I also know who I can be. You have seen certain things only in movies, yet you sin of presumption and rudeness continuously. I looked into your eyes and listened to you talk about your fears, your goals and your past, I watched your reactions as I talked to you about me and the period of shit I’m going through, but although I know things you haven’t said no one else thinks of her before sleeping, because she is sweet and unlike me in bed with you she came immediately. I’m 24 and I’ve always wondered what my biggest secret is, in short, everyone has one right? I also have mine, but finding something that only I knew, something that I had never really told anyone, not even the closest people, seemed difficult to me, and in short, nothing that could boast of the importance of this name! But tonight I understood it and it’s as if I saw myself inside, it was such a bad thing that I probably didn’t want to think about it, convincing myself that it wasn’t and almost forgetting.Luna doesn’t just show your best side You look great alone you know what love is ” “Luna, you only speak to those in love Who knows how many songs they have already dedicated to you ” The best way to start this post is by quoting some lines from Gianni Togni’s song ‘Luna’ A song about love even if hidden behind the apparent description of the moon shining in the night sky This post is aimed to all those who at least once raised their eyes to the night sky and enchanted themselves in observing the stars, thought without even realizing it of a special person to all those who have imagined that at the same time that person was observing the sky and it does not matter if physically close or far away to all those who have confided their greatest secrets and desires to the moon to all those who, with a full moon, return a little child to the memory of stories or television series in which the moon was the main part of the plot To all of us romantic dreamers. I wanted to tell you that more than once I have listened to songs thinking of you and I wondered if you think of me too when you listen to that song Sometimes you enter my mind without asking permission messing everything up Sometimes they ask me why you who were the least suitable person I don’t know how to answer him I think about you, even if I don’t want to And I would like to throw away your memory I think of the thousand ways it could have ended But in the end I think it was better for both of us to get lost.After all we are scorpions. We love death, we symbolize rebirth, we must die ourselves to get up again. We scorpions look so small and cute, but we know how to sting and sometimes we don’t even do it intentionally. We are the governors of the mystery, we live by this, we live by curiosity and magic. Of shadow and fog. This darkness pervades us. We are intuition, sixth sense, sensations. We are revenge and passion, because we have feelings that swim in deep waters, they are never superficial. This sometimes makes us suffer terribly and we prefer to take our pain out on ourselves. Everyone considers us the most insidious, grumpy and “ugly” zodiac sign. The truth? We like to hear it and laugh because we are the mystery you haven’t solved yet. I wish that at 23:59 you could shout what you want to people especially those to whom we do not have the courage to say the simplest and most beautiful phrases like i love you, i love you, i stay this year too … for the simple fear of ruining everything. Here if we could do it at that time it would be easier because they are all drunk, they are all high, maybe people do not even listen and therefore you would not be afraid of losing someone just because you reveal your feelings to them. you feel about him or her. Instead it is not feasible and you are left with the weight on your stomach or heart. Because people remember why unfortunately we don’t have a year cancel button even if we wanted to. In a year there is a lot of bullshit in love, in friendship, at school and in the family but if we had the possibility to reset everything it would be better but we do not pass from one year to another but from one simple day to another, we pass from 23:59 to 00:00 to 00:01 celebrating changes that we hope will come true like magic, changes that, however, if we don’t roll up our sleeves and keep fighting, they won’t come true.
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?
Fragility is part of me, this is true; I feel very emotional and sensitive, able to grasp details that people are not normally able to fully grasp Even those details are fragile: those little pieces of the world that no one sees, perhaps hidden by the shadow of chaos and lack of time … see them, and I appreciate them. I see the fragility of the cobweb after it has rained, when the droplets of rain run down the threads … I see how easily it could snap, and I sigh, hoping it doesn’t. I am so fragile that when I see a bee, or a hornet, or any insect that could hurt me, that is drowning in a basin, I bend down and pick it up with my hands, because I know it won’t hurt me, because in that moment we are both fragile. At that moment we both suffer. can’t explain more clearly the sense of fragility around me, but know that wherever you look, in everything you see, there is always a crack, a delicate edge, something that if you look even more carefully, you will find fragile. Almost as fragile as you are.
The clock strikes 4.44. I breathe, I breathe. I am still and yet it is as if I had made a run, a run at breakneck speed. I sleep and I see it. I see her. Beautiful as always. Words, words, words, words, words. Words and voices that don’t go away. I believed those words, with and without a voice. They poison my mind. Ah my mind. A field after a battle. Swarming with things that are no longer anything. And they were everything. Enough, enough, enough, enough! A shadow. Here’s what they are. A broken and toxic shadow. Food for the night and its ghosts. Idiot! I am the ghost! A dead man who still wanders. Haunted by his nightmares. Yes, I am the specter. Idiot! It is so. I’m an idiot. But I can’t get out of it. I can’t find the damn door. Of this prison. Which is making me disappear.If pillows could talk, they will tell others how I am depriving myself of sleep, regretting past decisions while my “what if” scream in my head and they will also tell others that I wake up in the middle of sleep because I am haunted by unwanted memories, those undesirable memories that turn into nightmares. If pillows could talk, they will tell others those days when I questioned my worth, those days when I entrusted my happiness to someone who loved me and yet showed me how replaceable I am and they will also say how absurd I was to believe made up excuses for every call or every ignored message. If pillows could speak, they will tell others how often I feel weighed down by responsibilities I carry on my shoulders that I didn’t have to have. If pillows could talk, they’d say they’re sick of catching my tears every time I get scared, broken and tired because I’m weak. They will tell others how sensitive I am that I easily notice whenever there is a slight change towards me from those close to me. And if only pillows could talk, they’ll tell others I’m having a good fight, tell others how many times I’ve rebuilt, tell others that no matter how many times I’ve shed tears, I’ve never denied myself smiling and breaking my heart. life like I’m not exhausted. It’s a cycle, they burn me out, I wear out and then I get back to working.It doesn’t matter who you spend the day with. The important thing is who you spend the night with, when doubts, fears and worries are strongest. It is important with whom you spend the night because close to us you have the person who fills our heart, mends the most serious wounds and is that person who despite having seen our biggest defects has loved them all the same.
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.
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 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.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 