Bubble Of Blood On Gums

PENDING

's true. Lately I'm a little 'disappeared from this neighborhood.

But when I disappear, it's not that I have nothing to say.

fact.

E 'that so many are the thoughts that overlap in my tiny brain in perennial issue a boil, and there are so many external stimuli, like it or not, force you to replanning, in an afterthought, a reset of your daily life ... that eventually would be written to account for endless scrolls everything.

E 'is true, however, that writing helps, anyway. It helps to look from outside, to deepen, to establish some fixed point in the interior and exterior landscape ever so changeable, unstable, until the liquid schizophrenia.

You can live like this? It is certainly not easy, and even less so for people like me, born with a particular need answers, explanations, coordinate, existential carriers do not say to find a time for all and forever, but still ... a guide to follow some of which can be reasonably sure you even need it. I fear that increasingly we will all, more like less consenting / apt / suitable pushed towards an existential dimension without these lights on the runway. Rather than insist unreasonably searching in the dark of night, or groped to rekindle at all costs, it will be good to own a different strategy: the lights on the runway did not we know more, and our track will be dark, and we learn to move in the dark , to feel, to orient ourselves. It 'obvious that the prospect scary. Yet, you can live in the dark. How Therefore, as in the near future will help us the inner meaning, the third eye, the eye that starts from within! The eyes and the mind does not cease to be important, but certainly not enough, most are not enough already. On the other hand, will become increasingly important to find the light within, not outside the self.

Just recently I wrote to Livia, my yoga teacher, a woman of great suffering and balance that could not be farther from the plate of the holy man of the third millennium, I read my own personal concern as the emergence a cosmic labor, a simmering tensions that are by involving the whole time and everyone around me. None at the moment seems to have very clear ideas about where it's going, about where we are going. We are all alert, like when all is quiet in the Amazon rainforest, everything stops, everything freezes waiting for the torrential rain, the hurricane that was predicted by low clouds and black incumbent on the great river of life.

E 'Armageddon what to get? In many people think, and the usual references to the apocalyptic numerology petty about 2012 ports are wasted. "One thousand and not more than one thousand" and so on. I certainly do not read what awaits us in these terms. Perhaps because my size is not that of faith, perhaps because with the mysticism I have never been much of a girlfriend along. But I think certainly expect something. On the other hand, the established order within which to date we have moved, more or less consensual, more or less conscious, carries such an appalling number of contradictions and counter-thrusts, blatant imbalances, not to mention a painful burden of universal frustration and unhappiness, as to suggest that we can only go from a dramatic upheaval when NECESSARY.

In the meantime, we must live. The life, the everyday, to claim the rights and duties to perform which, impel us relentlessly forward, I have not yet figured out whether fortunately or unfortunately, but perhaps the second I said. And it is also true that serves well as give a respite, give oxygen with small moments of happiness. That little happiness that feeds on the gestures, words, of itself, one of the other magical presence in our lives. An embrace of those who love us, the precious views of those around us, which always need to hear, must strive to understand ALWAYS, ALWAYS can teach us something, or at least give material for thought, a bit 'of music company, the naive simplicity of children, families of new arrivals, the silent company of animals ... All this may, perhaps you should adhere firmly to stay afloat at this time that I feel so dark, so indecipherable ... here are perhaps the last hope, a sense, the answer, the comfort (especially for those who do not know if God exists, and if there where he is, what he knows, what it does, how he spends his time ever) . Not far away, so as to be elusive. Perhaps most difficult and challenging this is my constant oscillation between the consoling consciousness of this, and the moments when the darkness seems to invade around inside, gather around my waist and remove the oxygen, as well as its meaning. This corruption of the world and things, this "advanced state of decomposition," I think at some point in the air spilling an unbearable stench, which makes it even more unbearable than it already is because of the poisons that we produce . I do not know if the others feel as I feel it sometimes, the stench of decay, which may resemble that of those terrible, horrible, nasty tropical flowers that bloom once in a while and infect the atmosphere with the smell of death. The fact is, however, that something disturbing on the one hand encourages people to isolate themselves in a culture that autism is expressed, for example, in this neurotic, absurd use of headphones in your ears, that do not serve at all to listen to music but not listen to others, and indeed even themselves: a sort of poison that makes people self-hypnosis self-monads in a crowd from the stadium, on the other hand, clearly and unresolved contradiction at the same time pushes them to seek surrogate spasmodically that communication and contact with others that is increasingly the phone conversation, via email, via Facebook, via this, via that. Everything, except the face to face. Honest, healthy, hard and painful at times. BUT HEALTHY HUMAN NORMAL, FOR GOD! The I-Pod and mobile phone are simply two sides of the coin of this flight without a goal, to this collective malaise, this wandering in a space-time compressed and suffocating in the narrow spaces of the Milan subway and smelling more and more seem to me in my daily go-to come from nowhere to nowhere and (only without a physical move of deep meaning), weighty metaphor and perfect visual representation.

And in all this, less and less, less and less sense is to "do" business ... "doing" and that very few, transient moments corresponds to your inclinations, your interests, your ambitions. Perhaps this state of things requires also to rethink the placement of the meaning of life, not to unduly tie the working dimension. To move the focus, so to speak. A direct at themselves in a less "powerful", to use an overused word, and to others with even greater attention and greater self-denial. Helping oneself by helping others, here. This does not necessarily needs to be done starting from conditions of faith. Or maybe you could make a distinction that some 'paradoxical, but in my real religion among secular and faith .... For example I do not believe / in a religious faith. But I think. And how, if I believe. My life has always been strongly supported by the "belief". Some now seem to me more and more distant faded, lacking vital fluids. The fossils of my existential journey, say. It seems obvious to me that now is the time to make room for more. But without denying. Never forgetting, as Christ himself taught us. But rather to understand what to keep and what to leave in this vast inventory of our lives that I've always liked to imagine how the moon where Astolfo, in 'Orlando Furioso , goes to seek the wisdom of Orlando's mad love for Angelica, and where they end up all the things that get lost in the Land:
the many questions, few answers, smiles and sorrows, the immense nostalgia for the lost and the experience, the excitement, and discoveries and setbacks, the unexpected recoveries and all those moments when you felt something.

Laura