SITTING IN THE RIVER

Sometimes you try to do a thousand things, you lose useful energy for many difficult goals and in the end you lose the true direction. The ancient sages sat on the bank of the river and meditated while all the others busied themselves with the meaning of life or followed their wishes. Sitting on the bank of the river is not lazing around but entering within oneself and acting on the things that are closest to us, that is, ourselves. Sit down and observe. Where does the river go? Where are we going? Each day the river changes in response to the different factors it is subjected to. An intense rain, a flood, the wind, the drought condition the shape of the river at least as much as the materials it erodes as it crosses, finding greater or lesser resistance to the continuous excavation work, thus remaining forced to adapt to these unexpected events and to reformulate its path continuously. Despite this, the river does not change its name and is always recognized as such. The fact that he changes route and shape every day makes him seem almost alive. Are we alive? You sit in I have often walked along the banks of a river near here. Get inside your waters. Hear the turmoil of the heart. Listen to what the water says. I have often walked along the banks of a nearby river. I had the desire to enter that stream and get to the sea and get lost returning to the origin of everything. Then I saw the ducks and my thoughts were dissolved by lotus. So small and defenseless. So beautiful and innocent. The water was cold but they were fine, I wasn’t.

BLUES OF LOVE

It all started with a perfect dinner at the end of the season with her now healed. Seafront table at sunset, bouquet of flowers on the table and “Wish you were here” at its entrance. But if you lack the courage, what do you do with the movie scene. Pretend you are just a friend and then call yourself stupid for the rest of the time. Anyway, the chances were zero and you kept your friend (sigh!): That’s how I console myself.
No. It all started earlier. It all started during the summer, when she was at home a prisoner of the evil of living, the blackest depression, and I wrote to her every day to be close to her without putting pressure on her. I was the friend who gave her good morning and goodnight, the photographer of sunrises and sunsets, the fool who sought her laugh, the poet who hid love with friendship.
No. It all started earlier. . It all started when the day of his disembarkation arrived. We are together in the morning, before the practice in the Harbor Master’s Office: you are a professional and you must do everything right. Then a coffee and a walk, eyes that meet, but no one holds the gaze of the other. Finally the farewell in front of the ferry, she cries and you console her, making you strong sunglasses. And then one last hug, you turn around and then you cry.
No. It all started earlier. It all started when she got sick while on board and I didn’t understand anything until that day when she got hurt. A little cut on a finger and a bit of tears introduce you all of a sudden into the pain of a soul. And then, with pain in your heart, in agreement with her, you look for a way to get her to land as quickly as possible.
No. It all started earlier. It all started when she got sick while on board and I didn’t understand anything until that day when she got hurt. A little cut on a finger and a bit of tears introduce you all of a sudden into the pain of a soul. And then, with pain in your heart, in agreement with her, you look for a way to get her to land as quickly as possible.
No. It all started earlier. It all started on the boat when I secretly observed her while she worked and laughed with that laugh of her throat. And she was so lovely to customers, a light butterfly that exuded empathy. Occasionally she realized she was being watched, but she didn’t understand why. You have sad eyes, he said, captain, my captain.
No. It all started earlier. It all started as I watched her work on fixing the boat for the season. And she moved lightly with that step of her shy but curious explorer. A lively but tormented mind, which I still did not know and observed from afar with hidden (to myself) interest. A mystery of life.
No. It all started earlier. It all started when I started repeating myself: forget her, don’t look at her, you can’t fall in love, she’s just one of the crew. I repeated in my head “forget it”, but I’m not good at giving me advice, the thought came back and insisted, always on her. .
No. It all started earlier. . It all started when I saw her for the first time on the quay, at the end of the transfer of the boat from Turkey to Sardinia. As soon as I saw her dark, deep and shining eyes, I was shipwrecked in her without remedy. I gasped without air like a fish out of water and didn’t understand why, but in my heart I knew why.
Yes. It all started with his eyes. It would take special permission to have eyes like that. Eyes that pierce your heart and tear your soul apart. . This approximate blues should console me. Like all blues it was born to soothe the soul, but how come I’m crying then ?!

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