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 ...
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