marinella

​We can all evolve based on a relationship of love and knowledge, in which the other is the dialogical You capable of reading and interpreting us.  
We can all learn to love.
We can all be creative.

We only need to want to be in order to embark on the path that leads to Beauty.

​Roytan
To the world
April 7, 2024

Marinella
The realization

The man moved swiftly inside his home, aware that he had composed the piece about his Companion, in an environment of absolute intellectual and psychic freedom. The artist had waited 16 years to immortalize in score the image he had within him of the Woman who had resignified him, and he was convinced he had succeeded. She, so beautiful... So sensitive and delicate, and, at the same time, strong, in her revolutionary spirit... The composer woke up on that Sunday day in early April, having finished the working stages of the piece. He had been glad to have said good morning to the eternal girl with whom he was totally in love. There was much tenderness between the two. The written piece was titled after the name of his Companion: "Marinella." Subtitle: "The Realization," since, it was with her, inside his lush psyche of Woman, in an eternal embrace, that the man had awakened from a years-long nightmare, which had manifested itself in terrifying storms, and moments of loss of his own righteous feeling. In the music, indeed, echoed the funereal hours of tidal waves destined to make men succumb, entrusted, in the musical description, to moments of atonal parts, designed to create lofty tensions, and then to flow into a cosmos made of Beauty and Freedom. There were moments of boundless sweetness, in the music. At the worst junctures of their lives, the two of them had stood together, waiting for a ray of sunshine to pierce the darkness. Theirs had been, from the beginning, the love story of two dissidents. They had never given up, always holding hands, aware of their strength, corroborated by an infinite love. They had gone through immense grief and tragedy, such as the loss of all four of their parents. They had seen a people in disarray, under the lashings of media and politicians whose only purpose was to subjugate the greatest number of individuals to enslave them and let them die in the ontic dimension of annihilation. His Companion had a sharp view on things, which he followed by reasoning about them, and always finding his theses always lucid. "This music," he thought, "represents a struggle between a Woman who wants to live well and a system that intends to subdue her. The composer had used a Chorus, to indicate new melodies within the music itself. The piece was beautiful, at least that is how its creator intended it. The music proceeded with sure step. There was tenderness. Love. Momentum, and a knowledge of the other that wanted to go beyond limits, to proceed toward the infinite... "I used strings a lot," the man thought, "and these instruments express all the sweetness in my heart. Many years of battles had passed: they had not been amputated by the violence of events, since they had managed to protect themselves. They had not allowed themselves to be tamed by a corrupt and evil system of thought. They had not become herds, but steppe wolves... Their virtue and strength had been reasoning. They had analyzed all the major dominant dynamics. They had come to the conclusion that the world was in bad shape. In severe decompensation. Adrift. It was therefore necessary to protect themselves from the broadsides of a psychotic society, which had lost the right feeling. "This music, "Marinella," is meant to represent the indomitable strength of a warrior who never gave up, and always made her arm reach out toward the light, even when it would have been easier to give up everything and become a slave," reflected the author, who was increasingly proud of his Companion and his acoustic representations of her, to whom, over time, he had dedicated mountains of sound. The world was not well. It was in psychotic collapse; atomic bombs were very easily talked about, as if they were a solution. The formerly wealthy West was living in darkness, and the author had wanted to paint with sounds these deadly storms that were bearing down on the helpless population, making them increasingly fearful and alienated. Humanity, on the other hand, needed light. Love. Slants. Vitality and Beauty. Her Companion had glimpsed the general decline of the Western world long before it manifested itself in all its destructive scope. Man recognized in her a natural vocation to utter prophetic words. Around her, among her acquaintances, no one believed her. They were destined to be dissenters with a cause. Rebels. Warriors. Love had united them. The vision of things had corroborated them, in their substance as righteous human beings. Theirs was a psychic union, in an overwhelming passion of two minds always seeking each other. The man saw a cyclamen petal falling from the plant. He thought it was beautiful. "I don't want to go back to the swells. I want to stay with her all my life." His Companion was a force of Nature. Her power had been to remain steadfast in her identity as a seeker, always, without being tempted by accommodating positions that would alter her nature and search for identity. The composer deemed it his duty to pay homage in sounds to his Muse, who had made the improbable possible. "In this Music there is Love. Touch. Kindness and struggle. Passion and emotional tension. Tenderness and that indomitable spirit that does not allow People to give up." The author was very satisfied with his own work. The atonal parts stood out from everything else, and the swells were crisp, in score. The man loved his Woman in an all-encompassing way. She was the genius, always ready to correctly analyze an action, a statement, an event. They had seen squalor spread to all places where interpretive intelligence had been banished. Ostracized. Verminated and offended, but his Companion had recognized the signs of the West's undoing years earlier. Together, the two were valiant. They lived an intimate victory. "Everything will go as it should," thought the composer, as he listened to the brass move in solemn chords. Their lives had indeed been full of meaning. Emblematic: from raging tides to the confident Identity of human beings no longer willing to give in to evil. They had seen People lose themselves. They had seen evil triumph in certain latitudes. They would never regret the goodness of their path, which had led them to be Creatures of Light, in a world in which darkness reigned, chaotically. "This Piece is for those who fight!" reflected the composer. They had fought so much, he and his Woman. A life of fighting. An existence aimed at Good. Years and centuries of liberation from everything that wants to make a life a nightmare. It had been a real battle, since evil is everywhere, ready to sow its discord in the hearts of those who, for just a moment, surrender. The man and his Companion had seen Evil in the face. They no longer believed his flattery, his mischief, passed off as truth, aimed only at the destruction of what is most beautiful in the world: intelligence and one's ability to heal the wounds of an injured soul. The man had been healed. His Companion, with maieutic art, had seen the man in the suffering child and had rescued them both. So the man knew he was a Creature of Light with a child within him who longed to play. The Woman, for her part, had immediately felt loved by her man, and together they had been able to live well. "This Music is for those who have crossed the desert!" the composer said under his breath. The man aspired to the realization of Humanity. It was a simple concept: all men and women glad to be themselves. Not destructive. Not belligerent. Only men and women endowed with the capacity to be creative and loving. The author had long pondered those concepts, supported by reading great masters of the past, and had come to the conclusion that there was a Possibility for all to be well and live in peace. He firmly believed that. The path to Beauty was there for any Person who wanted to take it. The path was splendid. There were no more lies, only Love. There was no more blackmail of the system, only infinite tenderness and momentum toward those who, like themselves, had begun to take their first steps toward Pulchritude. Man's Companion was of supreme intelligence, and this man intended to paint with his sounds through the music he had composed. There was no room for the now psychotic and rotten system. No one to tell lies to. No one to entice. No one to be fooled, with the usual games of the media, which were an important part of the downfall of Western countries. "Only those who have faced the test of fire can conceive of the scope of this Music," caught himself pondering the author, who was increasingly aware of the revolutionary scope of his own work, to which he had always devoted his best energies, in a seamless crescendo. The man was in his own little study penning words of rebellion, certain that sooner or later someone would read them and find them good. "This composition," the man reflected, "is for those who search, for those who have not been satisfied with the glossy surface of the promises of a West that can no longer afford the luxury of being considered the ethical compass of the entire world, having its bloody hands in all the worst conflicts on the planet. His Companion was there with him. She was smiling at him with that dreamy childlike air of hers. The man had been very lucky, really, he realized this every morning when he woke up and gave thanks for everything he had. "The brass plays a primary function," thought the man. His composition, "Marinella," was, arguably, one of the most complex pieces of his entire output. He had written it in four days of intense compositional activity. He had finished it the day before by adding the dynamics and mixing the overall volumes of the tracks. This composition was for 40 real instruments, formally very complex. The composer had treated it with utmost care, devoting feverish hours of composition and chiseling to it. He was in the re-listening stage and everything sounded good to him. "There will come a New Age of Light," the man thought, "in which People will be able to be happy, at peace, devoted to their creative activities, loving themselves, in total freedom, for what they will be, Creatures of Light, a dimension that will allow them to no longer give in to any deception, which will be banished from human society, capable of welcoming the different in their own reach as harbingers of wealth, which will be held in the highest esteem by all members of Mankind, who will no longer have to be afraid, fearing the disproportionate reactions of the powerful, who will be placed in the condition of no longer harming anyone, in a disarming continuity of Beauty, Justice and Peace." This was what the man thought. This sustained him in the hour of trials. He went to his Companion. He kissed her on the neck; she smiled at him with that joyful childlike air of hers. It had taken them 50 years to learn to become children again, with the personality structure of a healthy man and woman. Now they knew. Now they could no longer be deceived. Now it was time to live. To embrace those who were like them, along the path that leads to Beauty. Sharing. Celebrating with those who had survived the lie machine of a system dedicated to the extermination of other thinking. The man was glad. He knew that he would live with his own Muse, in harmony....