SPRING TIME

I would like to take advantage of spring to be reborn too, imitate the flowers that patiently leave frost, cold, short days and persistent rains behind and forget how far away the time when they could have shown themselves seemed.
I would like to dress myself in color and beauty, to be like a sunny day that everyone greets with a smile, sinking my eyes into an intense blue sky, without borders.
I would like to strip myself of the gray afternoons, of the dark thoughts, of the shortcomings that have clouded my heart and take back the life I deserve, to sprout like an insignificant blade of grass, to break the monotony like a poppy in a cornfield, spontaneous and impertinent, lonely yet so essential.
I would like to be waited for and welcomed, like a sunny spring, like a season that instinctively makes one think of the beauty of simple things, of daisies, of perfume... of life.
The truth is that spring doesn't care. He doesn't care if you're sad.
It flaunts all its colors in front of you, its perfumes, and the first warm rays of the sun catapult upon you... whether you're ready or not.
Spring can be very indelicate with those who are sad. It flaunts its laughing beauty, as if to make fun of those who still have snow on their hearts. Indeed, to those people who linger in the winters of the soul, he seems to say: "I made it and you didn't.", "The whole world goes on. While you stay behind".
Whoever is sad is sadder in spring.
Because spring is like this, intrusive and pretentious. He knows how to give you everything he has, but in return he wants absolute devotion.
She is an aware woman, a refined lover, who however demands attention and admiration.
It is an opportunity to choose. An opportunity to be seized.
Spring is not waiting for you. She passes you suddenly, and wants to be chased.
It looks like happiness. It looks like love.

The truth is, spring doesn't care if you're sad. She arrives. It comes anyway.
And you just have to choose it.
Because it's not a right moment, but the right decision to make at all times.

COMING

For a few months now I have been feeling a little better, despite the spring.

I have been in my personal "dark timeline" which in my case is apparently all roses, flowers and perfumes, like in science fiction movies, where you land in the new world or on the new planet and everything seems perfect before you realize that in reality you are in the belly of a disgusting alien monster.

All perfect, but all rotten from the marrow, you realize it when you look to the side, while you are turning around, and you notice that the facade collapses, goes out, like a holographic image that disappearing reveals a dark, gloomy and rotting cave.

I'm back here.

It all sucks the same, but at least you can see it right away.
At least my inner monster always has the same gaze.
Winter is coming even though it is midsummer and sweat is the new rain.

LILITHA

In short, one day you wake up and decide to do Zac-Zac. Dry branches must be cut. On the contrary, you also realize that you have procrastinated enough, because usually one does the cleaning in the spring. I have in front of me the scene of that huge tree growing in the courtyard garden of my building: It was beautiful, luxuriant, I thought I loved it because it was like a cover. It protected the view on my living room, it protected from the prying and often too intrusive eyes of the surrounding windows. And in the darkness of winter nights it stood threatening with its bare branches. He was like a guardian, who could become vaguely disturbing when needed, but I was fond of him. So fond of it that when I woke up one day in April and it was gone, for half an hour I stared at the balcony feeling lost. 

They said it had become "unsustainable": too many leaves were dragging themselves away on the windowsills, too many insects flew around. It had gotten too tall, too bulky, it was TOO. And its branches, which seemed so strong to me, were actually completely gone. And so, zac zac, the tree was gone and I found myself face to face with the sky. And it was extraordinarily blue. Although the tree was no longer there, the new reality beyond my balcony did not mind at all. It all seemed more airy, freer, less tight. The sun penetrated more closely and the feared prying eyes weren't so prying.

Maybe sometimes we convince ourselves that certain situations are right this way, without trying to give us an alternative. We convince ourselves that without certain things our life would not be as beautiful, we impose on ourselves real emotional addictions, clinging to them, thinking that they are the only way, the only thing that can make us feel good. We are afraid of changing, even when situations become objectively unsustainable or meaningless, continuing to live like this, without really questioning ourselves about our happiness. 

At this point, we must take the scissors and cut: clean, strong, decisive. At first we will feel a sense of loss, but it is only the emotion of the turning point, the thrill of liberation; we will feel lighter and after a long time we will see the reality around us and it is probably much better than we thought ...

RISE FROM THE EARTH

Divine Mother, majestic land in which we are all born,
forget our karma,
sparkles of radiant lives,
you, divine light brighter than the sun,
golden water.
Where the petals open our spring,
rise from the end of the black age.
Magnify the heart,
amplify love,
becomes birth again.
Mother of us all,
blue flame of the sky,
defeat the color of Death.
Open your roses,
stretch out your hands,
scatter your heart inside the branches,
fruit be given to each weary breath.
Lady of the golden earth
walk with your feet
over the terrible devils and kill them all.

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