On a gray day like the ones that exist in these terrible winter days (in a nearby town the temperature has reached -30 degrees Celsius) and we are in Italy and a winter so cold has never been seen before and there is little gas and it costs too much and wood and other fuels have a much higher price, and I wake up in the morning and I look at the sparrows singing and they only have a bush to take refuge in and I don't know if many of them are dying and I put seeds and I think the choice is up to us. We are the ones who have to help others, we are the ones who can donate, love, food, shelter, to people and animals. I believe that God wants this, I believe that God wants us all to pray but also to do something important. So I go out and try to bring a smile, even if I'm sick inside me, because I suffer from anxiety and panic attacks, but I don't want anything to stop me from doing good. And so I hope you do too. Peace and serenity to you all.
In the wind that tells the air,
I am surprised to stay still,
not to fly away,
to anchor myself to the roots of the restless earth.
The waking hours, at night at 4,
when the kitten meows,
the hours out of the dream of the stairs that go down and up,
they are so white, so stellar.
A distant movement of clouds, noises, hisses and breaths,
while I imagine the night as a light traveler,
without baggage, without destination,
towards a horizon there,
behind the mountain peaks.
I got up,
with a candle in hand,
as in dreams,
like someone who wants to see in the dark,
and I saw the air, clear, very clean, transparent,
but I saw it and I was inside that air,
as if you were something touched, caressed,
and I had no fear of death.
What purpose would I exist if I were all contained within myself?
But I am contained by the air and this invisible container
I saw it for the first time last night.
Like looking through a transparent, crystalline glass.
The world is immensely foreign to me,
because I look beyond the peaks and see,
I see through the rock,
I see the breath of the animals in their burrows,
the men in their shelters, doubtful and insecure.
A dove's wing moves,
his presence sounds in the silence.
I go back to bed, I blow out the candle,
I get back into the air and sleep.
It doesn't matter who I am.
It doesn't matter what my name is.
I have seen the air and the fire of the eternal soul,
inside a breath of wind that was going away
but I stay here, on the bed,
and I dream of being able to save trees.
I was reminded of some flashes of the main dream of tonight: I lived in the mountains in a kind of community very close to nature that therefore built buildings in the trees and protected the animals. One day a strange thing happens: many electric pylons appear (many in the proper sense one attached to the other). Nobody immediately understands what I am but me and a friend of mine from the past (in the dream I knew the name but now I don't remember it), during our patrol out of the woods we hear the scream of a little girl. Arrived in the place of the scream we see this little girl who was trying to hide between two rocks from what it seemed .... A zombie. We run to save her and we manage to drive away the zombie with fire.
We take the little girl and go back to the village, while we return my friend is injured and I clearly remember her on the ground and I scream in despair: I understand that shortly thereafter the situation would degenerate and I start with the others to arrange buildings among the trees. use as shelters.
The dream ends after, with difficulty, I managed to climb into a shelter (with the child and my friend) via a very long vertical rope ladder and inside the shelter I find the little girl who has become a zombie. Am I that little girl?
Six years ago a friend of mine gave me his bicycle as a gift and he is gone forever. For three years the bike has always served me: I loaded it like a mule to do the shopping, we went a couple of times away and then around this green area, for months she and I, her bike. For months and miles, it was my car. I remember that she was waiting for me on the last sidewalk of the station when he left. When I left for London it was brought with great difficulty to Padua and when I returned from London I went to pick it up from Padua. It was raining heavily that day, rivers of water lined the streets and the Paduans found a girl in the rain who splashed water everywhere and sang the Christmas song “Jingle bells” in the middle of summer. I was very happy to be able to ride a bike. When I arrived at the station, the track for the bike was the last one, outside the station shelter and so I had to forcefully fit the bike onto the wagon and then pull it up, in the midst of a thousand curses on that last wagon before the locomotive. Unlike the one I have at home, this one was called “Little Mermaid” because during the winter rains of a cold and merciless reverse, I always emerged from the waters on her saddle and stayed afloat. I walked around in sub-zero temperatures and warm socks under my pants. Then one day I went to the library, serene as always, and when I go out I haven’t found her. You took away not only a bike of questionable economic value, and of fundamental practical value, but you also took away a dear memory and a piece of my life. The Little Mermaid was the only memory I had of my friend. Thieves assholes!
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 