We live the hours, in precariousness, like rushes in the wind. Life, bursting, does not knock, it just enters. A birth, a death, and the continuous flow, we can only move in plastic rhyme with it. Being rigid will not help us. Flexible, attentive to details, constantly listening to our most intimate self, we will instead be able to do great things and learn more and more about life. This song comes from a conversation with a friend, who is struggling. "Life does not knock", we reiterated together. The precariousness is under our feet, in ephemeral moments the sky is close at hand, in other tremendous moments the abyss from which it seems we cannot rise again. The truth is that we are extremely fragile, all of us. We fight with the tools we have at our disposal, but they are not always enough. We try to protect our cosmos, but the truth is that the world knows how to enter our lives with deadly razors. It is all a balance above indeterminacy, above the unknown, above the terror of finding oneself unloved and perishing, alone, abandoned. We can lose everything in a second. We can recover at the same time. What a tremendous and magnificent experience life is ... I say that we can try to live it, protecting ourselves as best we can, in an attempt to be well, in the tension towards sanity, which will not be given to us by anyone, which, probably we will not achieve. never completely, which is, however, something to get out of bed in the morning and try to do something decent, for us and for those we love. We live the hours, it's true. Therefore, we need not fear the fluctuations that an unhealthy world brings into our lives. We reason. Not everything that happens deserves our direct response. Let's analyze. When life comes in, you need to be ready. Erect. Watch out and be careful. Then we will discover Beauty. Each of us deserves a lot. Beyond the grief, the losses, the lacerations that, inevitably, we will get along this path, which, at times, can be merciless, but gives great joy to those who, after being lost, get back on their feet. I composed this piece with love and enthusiasm. I was so happy that I had a good chat with my friend that I went home and jotted down the notes after trying them out on the keyboard. We are like rushes, the wind blows us, but we must never forget that life can be wonderful. Yesterday I played with an 18 month old baby. He was with his grandfather, I was waiting for my appointment and we kicked the ball 4 together. That baby deserves to be okay. He is loved by his family, nothing wrong should happen to him. He must be protected. Respected. Pampered, then yes that it can be what he was born for: himself ... I do not believe that pain teaches: knowing pain, however, a person has the duty, towards himself, to try to re-elaborate it in the optics of the construction of a new identity, which aspires to Beauty, to the achievement of all one's goals, to the awareness of one's world, which must be protected, cannot be bartered or debased, because in that way it is lost and it is not said that we can go up the slope. Today I am calm, I live like a lucky man, after my storm, which has endangered my entire life. I have reasoned a lot. I stopped to analyze. I have waited for a lenient time. The 18-month-old boy who yesterday threw the ball and said: "Goal" deserves a wonderful world, which we can all contribute to forging, in our homes, without violence, blackmail or manipulation. We can interact with each other, with our Otherness in the most constructive way possible, rediscovering ourselves as brothers. Politicians are a separate psychiatric category and it is very difficult to help us build a beautiful world. However, the cure would exist for them too, if they found a good psychiatrist and the willingness to get help. Today I entrust this passage to the great father of waters, which I reviewed and completed this morning, to then listen to it again and judge it complete. I am working on a new idea about Freedom. I collect ideas. Ideas. Sounds. I wish the New Era of Light were already here, but it will be necessary to fight for it, in absolute peace, with determination and that certainty that darkness cannot envelop the whole world if we do not want it. I'm happy. I'm not the same man I was ten years ago. Maybe not even 5 years ago. I know what to stand for in the world. I know what to stand for, with a straight back. I know I love my world. Of course life can teach, if one listens ... Today I close this work session with a smile. I want to feel good. I want my loved ones to be blessed to have experiences that can build them up. Pain teaches nothing. When it arrives, it risks breaking us in half. It is everything we do around it after it that can lead us to joy. I firmly believe that. When we all dance in the New Age of Light, come on wings of wonderful sounds and verses of new poets, then this world will be a masterpiece, forever and darkness will be only a distant memory. I know the hour is dark. Nobody can hide it, but we are creatures capable of doing splendid things ...
You never meant to judge me.
That wasn't your purpose.
You entered my life with a sinuous dance.
You hugged me with a smile.
And now I'm yours, forever.
I don't imagine anything higher than my loyalty to you.
I always knew you were a marvel.
In past ages, I thought that so much Beauty could not touch me.
Then you came.
In the silence, some things have grown, like flowers in the sun.
In comparison, we found ourselves out.
With the hands that sought each other, we walked over the abyss.
I can't think of a life without you.
Years together, so much heat and light,
that swept away the darkness.
You radiate purity.
You are as good as the bread of my land.
Born to be a Princess, you are now my Nymph.
I loved you from the first word,
in a land consecrated to morpheme.
Now we can walk around the world gladly,
although it is at the mercy of psychosis.
We will not give up.
We will fight to the end.
A cruel world faces the great scenery of history,
made by ungodly men,
forged by cruelty.
We cannot be fooled.
You and I know the Truth well.
People have the right to a sweet song,
who is closed to them by the wickedness of a few,
in their lust for domination.
We will be ready, at the right time.
We must not despair.
I walked a long time before meeting you, my love.
I thank life for meeting you.
You are my Everything.
The Psyche needs calm.
We fought a lot,
together, during storms.
Now it is the time to celebrate,
despite the unfair era that is making its way,
in the rubble of an illogical system,
who does not want to resign itself to the idea of having lost the dominion of men.
This music is for you.
light as a butterfly,
in your home,
gorgeous like you.
She rested on the sofa. The face turned towards the stove, under a blanket they had bought together, on a trip to the sea. He watched her, smiling at the beautiful shapes of her Nymph body. The silence was broken only by the regular sound with which the wood fell, burning in the burner. She gave him peace, she was his Muse and they lived an intimate passion, made up of sudden kisses, constant hugs and many little dances, with which she enjoyed making fun of him. She was also his lightness, the man had learned to be graceful, in relating to things, forgetting that long period in which he had had a muscular relationship with reality, which had not led to anything good. Maybe she was really falling asleep, in the warmth of a house that was finally hers, after having belonged to her mother, to her father. A dwelling that she finally felt her own, which represented a space of her own, in which to let her bursting vitality as a woman - child shine. Of an eternal girl with a backpack in search of the perfect sea. Of a person who had never resigned himself to evil. There she was, lying on the sofa, changed her breath and fell into a pleasant sleep. About her, people knew how graceful she was in her ways and kind in interacting with others, but not everyone knew how determined she was to respect her ideals as a woman who did not tolerate injustice. He watched her, finding her beautiful. He had been madly in love with her for 13 years. Who knows what they would have done that day of celebration? The blanket drew her Nymph shapes, which he silently admired. They were a couple: he, with the identity of an artist, she with his internal image of a Muse who knew how to inspire everything in his delight. He did not have a single synapse that produced the idea of a separation. She loved him intensely, taking care of him with infinite tenderness. It had no edges. She never wanted to hurt him. He respected with all of himself the child she had been and they had rediscovered themselves capable of playing. Feeling passion for each other. Really love each other. For him, she had been the highest revelation of his existence. To her, he was an excellent travel companion, eternally loyal, who had also learned to be strong for both of them. Together they were truly brave. They were resisting external attacks from a system that doesn't tolerate people being happy. They were part of a silent people, not without words, however. They were part of that tribe you see. Feel. It analyzes and scrutinizes the gestures of those who plot, in the darkness, against the joy of individuals. They fought with common sense an upside-down world, which had lost the logic of the heart, the reasons for feeling, the dynamics of being together in peace. United they proceeded, certain that they would meet many like them, who could not resign themselves to the schizoid advance of a system made only to humiliate otherness and kill the legitimate aspirations of the person. She was still on his sofa, while he wrote for himself and for her, so that one day those words could be read inside. They had not genuflected. They never wanted a world like this. Within a few years, everything had changed. All. Relationships between people themselves had changed. They would have fought, with the tools of intelligence. They wouldn't give up. She, with her child visa under the blanket. Him, with his revolutionary thoughts. They had isolated themselves. Old friendships had been abandoned. Some new human contact was standing instead. Life is choice. You choose every moment. You also choose who to stay with. It is vital. He, from time to time, continued to observe her. She was really beautiful in her serene expression. The man rubbed his hands in search of an idea. There wasn't much to say. They were the resisters and the world didn't deserve them. They still believed in the caress given to an elderly person. The system was meant to kill tenderness. Only inhuman gestures reigned. Perhaps Humanity would have awakened. They wished it from the bottom of their hearts. Perhaps. While waiting, well, it was necessary to remain tender, sweet, like children playing in peace together. No one could have explained what had happened to their lives over the past two years. Many had fallen. Some had lost the light of reason. Others had tried to resist, reasoning, questioning the official narrative of facts. Many had given up. She did not move from her position on the sofa. He looked at her with infinite love. A world could never have been imagined without her. He continued to write. It was almost at the end of his page, which he would deliver to his site. To tell the truth, the man was not worried about the outcome of that battle. He knew he was no longer alone. There was her, with her boundless Muse Beauty and that was enough for him. The man tried to imagine their day together. He wanted to dance with his lei. Sink into his embrace. Feeling her Donna's heart beating steadily. He looked out. There was no one along the way. The silence was broken only by the sound of the stove and the ticking of his computer. He smiled and smiled at his Muse, huddled in a fetal position under her favorite blanket. Perhaps she was dreaming of a new world ...
He had spent a day full of reflections. “I've written a lot in recent years,” he reflected to himself. His creativity had kept him company in the most important phases of his days, especially since he had met his Muse, who had never tired of inspiring him. "You're the perfect companion," he whispered, thinking of her, in front of his small kitchen window. He moved quickly into his rooms. He was on axis. He didn't want to be troubled by world news, which never carried a message of hope, annihilating the healthiest aspirations of the people. He was flying, with his thoughts, towards her, the primary source of his fantasies, of his laughter. He danced in a funny way for her, just to be able to see her laugh, amused as a child. They loved each other in spite of what was happening in the world, where a horde of dissonic signals were advancing, dedicated to the destruction of the psyche of individuals. "I don't want to lose my kingdom of Beauty," he found himself thinking while the coffee was muttering. He poured himself the magical drink. He drank. He lit a cigarette. "I have always written about a New Age of Light for everyone," he concluded, in his silent reasoning. "There can be no New Age of Light without the Revolution of consciences, which must start today to spread towards the Infinite". He was lucid, attentive to all the signals that came to him from outside. He knew that he and his loved ones would have to defend their microcosm from the attacks of the powerful. He breathed. He looked at his library, where there was his novel published years earlier. He smiled at himself, aware of the difficulty of bringing to light a work that had been so important in his life. He received a joking message from his partner, who never failed to make him light, he, who, for centuries, had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The meeting of the two had been wonderful: she had immediately understood that he needed a chance, he that that sweet little girl deserved deep respect and esteem. Since then, they had never separated and had faced the tides together. The storms. The disorder that a cruel world sowed in front of their footsteps. "May I say, without being denied, that it was a really difficult climb," he thought seriously as he observed the small sumac in the garden, which had lost all its leaves. He continued to think through his day. He was at peace with the world, which, too often, polluted people's consciences, making them blind. He didn't want a new conflict. He just longed to be left with his Muse, forever. "They will not be able to lie to us all the time, the truth will emerge and then we will all be free" he concluded, with a peremptory tone of that flow of thoughts that kept him company since he was a rebellious boy, in a city that did not forgive talent. He went out. He went for a walk. He returned and took a sip of coffee, which he found good. The things he did smelled of goodness, it was his new dimension and he loved it. He was convinced that the time for the awakening of humanity was near. The Good cannot be hidden under a mountain of aberrant things. He was convinced that the New Age of Light was not that distant after all. He was convinced that Good would triumph over darkness. He sat down. He analyzed the flow of his thoughts. They were clean. His crystalline mind. Her body in plastic rhyme with her mind dancing happily to the notes of a song heard on the radio. He had never believed in the system. He had never felt the need to be homologated. He had never fallen in love with the chimera of capital, which, for him, was only a sum of individuals dedicated to destruction. He got up. He took a tour of the house. He played two notes on the keyboard, a gift from his father. He checked his e-mail. "There is nothing for me out there..." he found himself thinking, while observing how the light filtered through the kitchen window. The New Age of Light awaited all awakened ones. Dormant consciences existed, just as there were people who would no longer believe in the deceptions of the powerful. They were living in the era of great misdeeds. Men devoted to evil had tied their forces to a dark destiny, which included the subjugation of mankind. Those who had eyes to see were firmly opposed, waiting for the manifestation, thanks to the action of the brave, a New Age of Light, which was, in the first place, an intrapsychic dimension, in order not to hurt one's neighbor, otherness, that we cross every day. It had been a world of I, at the expense of the Non-I, of the other, used only as a receptacle for one's delusions of grandeur. It had been a dark world. Aneffective. Schizoid. The New Era of Light would bring the "Psyche" question back to the center and the "I - You" relationship, constructive, beautiful, clean. The author phoned his Muse, she invited him to dinner. The man showered happily while listening to "The Art of Fugue" by J. S. Bach ...
Inside and in the skin.
Where you live.
The regal images of you pile up.
I never had to lie with you.
You tactfully entered me.
You respected my code.
You didn't want to sell me anything.
You wished to be with me.
You are silhouetted against an upside-down world.
You, Muse, Nymph, Love.
You healed me and my cosmos.
You weren't scared.
You made me happy.
Many things have happened since then,
but our relationship has not faltered,
beyond the storms,
beyond the pains,
in the joys that came.
Today you are the inspirational muse of a man who craves you.
Today you are free.
Today you are the one who comes from the sea.
I've never seen anything more beautiful than your smile.
"Intus et in cute" is a piece of music on the interior dimension, on the intrapsychic life of the internal world, on the soul of a person. The title is a Latin formula which means "Inside and in the skin". Inside is a reality that perhaps today is too often forgotten and mocked. In fact, it seems that people who live existence in their interior are objects unknown to the system. They are the ones they let in. Those who know how to love. Those that move with the coordinates of the heart. And it is inside that the most beautiful things happen in our life. I have been living for 13 years with a wonderful woman who welcomes me into her inner dimension. I entered her splendid internal garden on tiptoe, listened, observed and breathed her innate desire to live, and I immediately loved her. In the skin, in the smiles, in the grasp of the hands that were always looking for each other. In warm hugs and the desire to always be present in the life of the other. "Inside and in the skin", therefore, without the fear of being hurt, of not being understood, of causing evil. It takes courage to live inside. It is a dimension that has fallen out of favor with the advent of reality shows, where everything is entertainment, even feelings, put on display to create an audience. However, there is a handful of people, who moving in the opposite direction to that of the system, still love, let their internal gardens bloom and take care of the people they show genuine interest in. One cannot love without an intrapsychic dimension. Love is not outside. It is not giving her a diamond. It's not buy her a villa. Love is a slow construction thanks to which we take care of the other, we are not afraid of wounds, which we decide to heal with presence, listening, continuous attention and the joy of finally being able to say "people". I saw an infinite Beauty in the eyes of my Muse. I have been writing for her for 13 years. She is the one who inspires me. I have come from very far. From a place where it was not possible to feel good. Then came she who lives everything inside and in her skin and I was saved. We save ourselves in the relationship, always. We are saved in mutual understanding. We are saved in the embrace. When we find someone who does not judge us, we already begin to breathe Beauty. Purity. Oxygen. I'm close to 50. I got there by enjoying every step, feeling every moment, breathing in the scent of a finally beautiful life, as I wanted it. I lived it all inside. All in the skin. All giving shape to my internal world that deserved, since I was a child, to be respected. Now I don't want to be afraid anymore. Life is short. One moment you are a teenager, the next moment you get tested to see if you have high triglycerides. It is in this flapping of a butterfly's wing that an endless grandeur is inherent: that of being able to learn to be beautiful. I am satisfied with my existence. I consider myself a survivor. I want to be able to see my grandchildren playing free in a meadow. Inside and in the skin, however, it is not a dimension to accommodate everything that happens in the world. You need to have a screen, a filter, with which to distance yourself from what bad happens, because otherwise you feel bad. We cannot receive the distortions, the wickedness, the oppressions that dwell in the world. It is necessary to protect oneself, to defend oneself, to then live in and in the skin the sublime passions of life, the smiles and the dances, the kisses and the hands that are found, the words that blend with those of the other to create a symphony. Inside and in the skin, forever, therefore: the best way to experience love and creativity. Inside, within the secret garden and in the skin, in the limbs, in those tissues that constitute us. I have always experienced everything in my internal world. Many times I have suffered, because I allowed painful events to enter. Then I learned that not everything has to be let in. Inside and in the skin it is a dynamic that must be lived only with what makes us feel good, everything else must be at a safe distance. It must not harm us. It must not prevail. I met my Woman and I decided to live her inside, in my guts and in the skin, underneath, protecting her from the surrounding world. If you have someone who loves you, keep them in your secret garden. Love it. Defend it. Be there when it falters. Grab it on the fly, just as it is about to fall. You will be proud of it. You will be proud of yourself and your actions. There is no greater joy in life. Inside and in your skin, have the courage to live passions and love internally. Fear not: there is a great reward for those who let joy enter into themselves. May you love your steps. The words that, chosen with care, you will be able to say to your Love. The gestures of attention that you will sow along your path. Life has its own code. When you find someone who, with honesty and love, can read you, hug him. It will be the most beautiful mission of your life ...
¡Buen viento, Marineros!
He was waiting for her naked on the bed, animated by the spirit of the game.
She got out of the shower, dried off and put on a white cotton T-shirt.
He grabbed the magic trinket.
He reached him and placed himself on top of him, like an ivory tower.
He looked into her eyes and whispered funny things, like an amused child.
With his left hand he stroked her hip, discovering, to his immense delight, that she hadn't been wearing her panties.
“Ah, bad Naughty! You're without the underwear! " he exclaimed.
She laughed happily.
She was splendid in her overwhelming desire for tenderness and passion.
He furrowed her side, with his left hand, felt the texture of the skin, soft and of an ivory tone, being captured by the desire to eat it.
She made him hers.
She knew how to catch him.
She looked at her breasts thinking: "I have really great tits!".
He closed his eyes for a moment, entering the dimension of introspection.
They were beautiful.
They were two people who really loved each other.
This opportunity only happens once in a lifetime and they were aware of it.
He stroked her lush breasts, which smelled of freshly baked bread.
She smiled at him, graceful.
Her long brown hair floated in the air.
They made love, survivors of many battles.
She watched him attentively, while he lost himself in the pleasant sensations that came from his body of a man thirsty for the kisses of his partner.
There were none but them, there, in that bedroom.
An ancient and reserved rite was celebrated: an act of boundless beauty between two people who want each other.
There was no interference in there.
Inside, in their bodies.
On their limbs.
In their mouths.
There was only the majestic promise that lovers are renewed every day: to give themselves joy, attention and lightness.
He watched her, thinking that there could be nothing in the world more beautiful than her magnetic gaze.
She cradled him in her arms, as only a conscious woman can do with her man.
Together they were splendid.
Being free to manifest their inner child, they played chasing each other, finding each other and hugging each other, kissing their hands, hair and eyes.
They had gained the freedom to show themselves naked.
She was beautiful as a Nymph.
He, in admiring her, was pure poetry.
They had chosen themselves.
They had crossed many tides.
They had rediscovered themselves.
He had learned to love.
She, in lovingly caring for her partner, had found an internal strength that had saved her.
They had treated each other.
There was no psychosis in their gestures.
She placed her feet on his chest inviting him to play.
He smiled at her.
Together they were strong.
What did two like them have to be afraid of?
They communicated in the depths of the most remote thoughts.
They were in harmony.
They would have defended their Love from everything.
They waited for the others to awaken to march happily and peacefully towards the Revolution of consciences, which would lead them to a New Age of Light.
For them, each new day was a possibility.
Inside is the dimension of the Psyche.
Inside is the dimension of Love.
You shouldn't be afraid of the inside.
The most precious things in life dwell there.