THE STONE CIRCLE

Stay inside the stone circle and keep it away. This I have been trying to do all this time. You can’t imagine what force it took to keep him at bay! Only the strongest souls receive his terrible attack to prove that the light has victory over him every time. The first time he came I was so weak and didn’t know anything about myself but I managed to avoid his overwhelming me. It was painful but I stood up to him because I had immense strength inside me. Over time I have always learned to recognize him, but each time I don’t know if I will get the better of him. The closer I get to the goal, the more he puts his wonderful obstacles in front of me. Each time he changes his face and his entire semblance but I recognize his way of doing. From the beginning I knew what it was aimed at and I tried to keep it well hidden in me. I told him: “Not me! Not me, you were wrong! I am cursed. I come from your own kingdom! ” But he’s too smart and he never believed me. It’s true, for a while he left me alone, I managed to divert him from me, I disguised myself as a damned soul and for a while he really drank it. I covered myself with ashes, with pain, with black suffering to convince him that it wasn’t me, I wasn’t the one he needed. But now he is furious, he has discovered the deception and his anger is terrible. He feels he has been made fun of by me, a cunning little girl. How she managed to get rid of him like this I don’t really know. Perhaps only a woman can succeed in deluding even the devil. But now he doesn’t want to let go because he knows what he would give up. And his war on me is merciless. He devises a thousand ways to make me fall and has become good at showing himself under his best clothes to capture my soul. He scratches me, he calls me to him, he leaves marks on my body, he wants to reach me to chain me to him. Sometimes I feel so weak, so tired, it would make me forget everything and disappear and never be found again. But I’m not a coward and I can’t stand him laughing at my vile escape. And so now he has sent his best soldiers to destroy my flesh, my mind and my heart. each of them knows a thousand techniques to bend my will and the torture is worthy of the martyrs of the past. You do not know what war is being fought inside my life, in this life that you believe to be full only of human passion. It is not the love against which I fight, it is not a man that I escape but it is the first Enemy of all mankind. This little girl has no shield, I have no armor, this girl that I am has only a stupid hope of being able to save someone else by paying with her own sacrifice. And if letting his soldiers cut me apart will help your ascension, I will let myself be wiped off the face of the earth. Behold, the ferocious lions are ready to receive my blood, delicious morsel, to save your path. This was my secret, this was what I wanted to tell you. I will not hesitate to be devastated to save your soul. I will not hesitate to be eliminated for your sake and for your love. When I was told that I should have done this to give my light, I did not reply. That Enemy I didn’t know really existed. Now I can tell you that he is here, waiting for my yes. When I told you to link together it was to avoid drinking my cup. But now I’ve brought it to my lips and I’m drinking it to the last drop. I want to give my life to save yours. I will fall but you will remain standing. What can my life of mud be worth if I can save the mission of you, my prophet? I want him to take every last drop of my blood and set it on fire, so you will be safe and I will no longer exist. I trust only in YOU and I trust that you will reach your divine Glory. “Everything is done”.

DAMNED ART

my dark side always stands out. it is a constant struggle. it sinks and resurfaces. you continue to breathe while remaining at the bottom of the sea. submerged in torment, chained to the passion that takes away a piece of me every day, I fight an existence of continuous death. a black blood flows in my veins, I tried to purify it, eradicate it, erase it from my every vein, from my every cell. but it always remained where it was, even when it seemed to disappear. Each time it regains the upper hand and holds me prisoner in its claws. The night is nothing, it is during the day that the atrocious suffering of being and not being at the same time begins. Like a crack in a well-programmed clock that has this little detail. I ride on the lost hours of my inhuman time and I lose myself in the shadows that are drawn in my secret garden. A little girl comes out of the past, brings flowers to a grave, and says her name is Ophelia. That little girl was me at the age of five, and I was reciting death on the Persian carpet at home. I soon appreciated the silence of certain places where the only living presence were the marble angels. The scent of rotten flowers followed my steps. I never felt so happy as my first time at the cemetery. Was that the paradise everyone was talking about? there you could stay like that, just as you were. He didn’t have to talk to anyone, he could sit and stay for hours with them, the stone angels. They whispered sweet words to me and I alone heard them. The candles fascinated me, I wanted to take them home, my mother scolded me, you can’t steal from the dead! She said. I was upset, for me they were the flames of their lost hearts and I wanted to keep them safe, in my home. Then, when I was finally grown up, I bought as many as I wanted and my room glowed with flames. They were so happy to me, people didn’t understand light, they thought they were candles of the dead and that was it. I miss the cemeteries. It has been a long time since I entered it anymore and nowhere have I found that silence again, perhaps only when my struggle ends will I be able to rest too and be just a stone angel. Art is a need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming one’s existence with the creative act is the only way to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Art is power. The power to create from nothing. giving life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most perisolos power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is a ferocious demon, and whoever takes it is doomed and for all life seeks the escape route but one never gets rid of art. It is like a second skin and if you take it off, you skin down and you can’t live anymore. You have art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies you throughout your life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds your flesh, your spirit, your whole life. It crushes you and lifts you into the highest sky. you can see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using your fingers. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. You enter and exit as if through a window. We go in and out of ourselves, we feed ourselves to swine, we are left in pieces and then we start again. Who would ever want such a life? yet everyone envies us and do not know what it means to have the FIRE that consumes you!

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