It 's the second week of the month "mercurial" and this is the story of George:
In a small town, a peninsula in the Mediterranean, George lived. He was an orphan, always! A very reserved, seemingly shy but sometimes with great sensitivity, as well as a curious singularity.
In the village it was said that George, a man of 40 years, was a bit over the top, because he claimed to hear the "voice of the sky and the stars." Voice that, at crucial moments of his life, always showed the right path to take.
Indeed it was a bit "unusual." He spent hours and hours on the beach collecting shells, and when asked him why, he replied that "the sky passes through them singing."
One day, just a shell, told him to get on the first ship and leave this sad place. We thought for a moment and departed not greeted nobody and did not take any luggage. He brought with him only .........
Yes, maybe it was crazy! Be known as special people, enlightened, if ever .... crazy is the one who can feel something inside, which gives him the compass of feeling, a voice that, for simplicity, calls "the voice of wisdom." But just not to waste time explaining it to those who do not will never understand.
Giorgio So .... yes, it was crazy! So nobody was surprised when he brought with him only "one" shell.
He left the country with no regrets, but then what was to regret? He had always felt an outsider, different, seemed to speak another language.
But he had something special that was left to its every step, like a trail of light: the energy of all creatures. That is, was so strong, the connection between him and all the things around him, to draw such a force that is turned into energy. And then that reverberated throughout the space that enveloped him, with great astonishment of those around him.
Often saw him lay a small crab, with his head slightly tilted to one side and his eyes filled with tenderness. The same look that now caressed the shell resting on the palm of the hand, while on the deck of the ship was beginning a journey that did not know the destination. He just wanted to go, lulled by the waves that he so loved and then feel the wind in your hair, face and entire body.
The wind, the air! This vital, transparent and pure delight and able to make you suffer. That same wind that gave him a song that has always accompanied him and sang something like this:
"I am the voice of feelings / if slightly caress envelops me a deep peace / screaming if the storm the first to feel it is my male heart / I want to throw in the ocean of emotions / there I can enjoy my pleasures / suffer my regrets / of what I want and I never had. "
So delighted George, the current and the saltiness Vergano. "What a beautiful song," he thought. I run at once to write it so it does not fall into oblivion.
Alas, though with a bit of regret, never remember not having known the school, but he did not regret. Rather, Squeeze his shell that whispered to look ahead, and it did!
He looked up and saw him! An old craftsman was intended to do with the old network nodes. Without moving he began to observe it, he knew he was fascinated by the hands of the elderly man, they reveal a back full of wounds suffered and calloused knuckles so as to seem nuts.
Yet those hands looked like magic, hovering read between the networks, with the lightness of two butterflies. And despite everything, still created!
He remembered, then, the words read by the Reverend at his church, the Sunday before, words which, although difficult to interpret, it had attracted. Those words went like this: "Oh, great Harvester, where is thy crescent?". So, approaching the old man and asked him: Tell me old man, what are you creating?
The old man looked long and to welcome in the blue tired of his endless eye and replied: "I'm creating nodes joining
On hearing those words was a shock and doubt melted like snow in the sun and the doubts became certainty, endless! There was no need to say more, because George had understood everything. Now he knew to be part of that sea, the sky and the wind. No longer felt a stranger in this world, someone had taken him in her arms, as a father and given him a new name and a new form.
All that was, all he had, all I had hoped, all I loved was there before his eyes.
Now he knew that nothing would be missed, and now, George has never been more alone. Forever!
In a small town, a peninsula in the Mediterranean, George lived. He was an orphan, always! A very reserved, seemingly shy but sometimes with great sensitivity, as well as a curious singularity.
In the village it was said that George, a man of 40 years, was a bit over the top, because he claimed to hear the "voice of the sky and the stars." Voice that, at crucial moments of his life, always showed the right path to take.
Indeed it was a bit "unusual." He spent hours and hours on the beach collecting shells, and when asked him why, he replied that "the sky passes through them singing."
One day, just a shell, told him to get on the first ship and leave this sad place. We thought for a moment and departed not greeted nobody and did not take any luggage. He brought with him only .........
Yes, maybe it was crazy! Be known as special people, enlightened, if ever .... crazy is the one who can feel something inside, which gives him the compass of feeling, a voice that, for simplicity, calls "the voice of wisdom." But just not to waste time explaining it to those who do not will never understand.
Giorgio So .... yes, it was crazy! So nobody was surprised when he brought with him only "one" shell.
He left the country with no regrets, but then what was to regret? He had always felt an outsider, different, seemed to speak another language.
But he had something special that was left to its every step, like a trail of light: the energy of all creatures. That is, was so strong, the connection between him and all the things around him, to draw such a force that is turned into energy. And then that reverberated throughout the space that enveloped him, with great astonishment of those around him.
Often saw him lay a small crab, with his head slightly tilted to one side and his eyes filled with tenderness. The same look that now caressed the shell resting on the palm of the hand, while on the deck of the ship was beginning a journey that did not know the destination. He just wanted to go, lulled by the waves that he so loved and then feel the wind in your hair, face and entire body.
The wind, the air! This vital, transparent and pure delight and able to make you suffer. That same wind that gave him a song that has always accompanied him and sang something like this:
"I am the voice of feelings / if slightly caress envelops me a deep peace / screaming if the storm the first to feel it is my male heart / I want to throw in the ocean of emotions / there I can enjoy my pleasures / suffer my regrets / of what I want and I never had. "
So delighted George, the current and the saltiness Vergano. "What a beautiful song," he thought. I run at once to write it so it does not fall into oblivion.
Alas, though with a bit of regret, never remember not having known the school, but he did not regret. Rather, Squeeze his shell that whispered to look ahead, and it did!
He looked up and saw him! An old craftsman was intended to do with the old network nodes. Without moving he began to observe it, he knew he was fascinated by the hands of the elderly man, they reveal a back full of wounds suffered and calloused knuckles so as to seem nuts.
Yet those hands looked like magic, hovering read between the networks, with the lightness of two butterflies. And despite everything, still created!
He remembered, then, the words read by the Reverend at his church, the Sunday before, words which, although difficult to interpret, it had attracted. Those words went like this: "Oh, great Harvester, where is thy crescent?". So, approaching the old man and asked him: Tell me old man, what are you creating?
The old man looked long and to welcome in the blue tired of his endless eye and replied: "I'm creating nodes joining
On hearing those words was a shock and doubt melted like snow in the sun and the doubts became certainty, endless! There was no need to say more, because George had understood everything. Now he knew to be part of that sea, the sky and the wind. No longer felt a stranger in this world, someone had taken him in her arms, as a father and given him a new name and a new form.
All that was, all he had, all I had hoped, all I loved was there before his eyes.
Now he knew that nothing would be missed, and now, George has never been more alone. Forever!
E' la seconda decade del mese "mercuriano" e questa è la storia di Giorgio:
In una piccola cittadina, di una penisola nel mediterraneo, viveva Giorgio.
Egli era orfano, da sempre! Un tipo molto riservato, a tratti apparentemente schivo ma dotato di grande sensibilità, oltre che di una curiosa singolarità.
Egli era orfano, da sempre! Un tipo molto riservato, a tratti apparentemente schivo ma dotato di grande sensibilità, oltre che di una curiosa singolarità.
In paese si diceva che Giorgio, un uomo di 40 anni, fosse un pò sopra le righe, perché sosteneva di sentire la “voce del mare e delle stelle”. Voce che, nei momenti cruciali della sua vita, gli indicava sempre la giusta strada da prendere.
Effettivamente era un pò "fuori dal comune". Passava ore e ore sulla spiaggia raccogliendo conchiglie e, quando gli domandavi il perché, rispondeva che: “attraverso di esse l'acqua ed il cielo passa cantando".
Un giorno, proprio una conchiglia, gli disse di salire sulla prima nave ed abbandonare quel triste luogo. Non ci pensò un attimo e partì; non salutò nessuno e non prese alcun bagaglio. Portò con sé solo...
Sì, forse era matto! Come sanno esserlo le persone speciali, illuminate; sempre se....pazzo è colui che riesce a sentire qualcosa dentro di sé, che gli dà la bussola dei sentimenti; una voce che, per semplicità, chiama "la voce dello saggezza". Ma giusto per non perder tempo a spiegarlo a chi non lo capirà mai.
Allora Giorgio... sì, era pazzo! Per cui nessuno si meravigliò quando portò con sé solo "quella" conchiglia.
Egli lasciò il paese senza rimpianti; ma poi cosa doveva rimpiangere? Si era sempre sentito un estraneo, diverso; sembrava parlasse un'altra lingua.
Eppure aveva qualcosa di speciale che restava ad ogni suo passaggio, come una scia luminosa: l'energia di tutte le creature. Cioè: era così forte, la connessione tra lui e tutte le cose che lo circondavano, da trarne un tale vigore che si tramutava in energia. E che poi riverberava in tutto lo spazio che lo avvolgeva; con immensa meraviglia di chi gli stava attorno.
Sovente lo vedevi fissare un piccolo granchio, con la testa leggermente inclinata da un lato e gli occhi colmi di tenerezza. Lo stesso sguardo che ora accarezzava la conchiglia adagiata sul palmo della mano, mentre sul ponte della nave stava iniziando un viaggio di cui non conosceva la meta. Voleva solo andare, lasciarsi cullare da quelle onde che tanto aveva amato e poi sentire il vento nei capelli, sul viso ed in tutto il corpo.
Il vento, l'acqua! Questo elemento vitale, liquido e puro: capace di farti deliziare e soffrire. Quello stesso elemento che gli regalava una canzone che da sempre lo accompagnava e che cantava pressappoco così:
"io sono la voce delle sensazioni/ se lievemente ti sfioro, mi avvolge una profonda pace/se urla la tempesta il primo a percepirla è il mio maschio cuore/ voglio gettarmi nell'oceano delle emozioni/ lì potrò godere dei miei piaceri/soffrire per i miei rimpianti/ di ciò che vorrei e che non ho mai avuto".
Così si deliziava Giorgio, mentre la corrente e la salsedine lo vergavano. "Che bella canzone", pensò. "Corro subito a scriverla affinchè non cada nell'oblio", si disse mentre si recava verso un chioschetto.
Ahimè, seppur con un briciolo di rimpianto, ricordò di non aver conosciuto mai la scuola; ma non se ne rammaricò. Piuttosto, stringeva tra le dita la sua conchiglia che gli sussurrava di guardare davanti a sé, e così fu! Poi lui alzò lo sguardo e lo vide! Un vecchio artigiano era intento a fare nodi con delle vecchie reti.
Senza muoversi si mise ad osservarlo; capì di essere affascinato dalle mani dell'anziano uomo: esse palesavano un dorso pieno di sofferte piaghe e delle nocche delle dita talmente callose da sembrare delle noci.
Eppure quelle mani sembravano magiche, si libravano leggere tra le reti, con la leggerezza di due farfalle. E che nonostante tutto, ancora creavano!
Si ricordò, allora, delle parole lette dal sacerdote nella sua chiesa, la domenica precedente; parole che, seppur di difficile interpretazione , lo avevano affascinato. Quelle parole recitavano pressappoco così:
"Oh, grande Mietitrice, dov'è la tua falce?". Così, avvicinandosi al vegliardo lui e gli chiese: "Dimmi vecchio, che cosa stai creando?"
Il vecchio lo guardò a lungo, accogliendolo nell'azzurro stanco dei suoi occhi infiniti, e rispose: "Sto creando nodi di congiunzione"
Al sentire quelle parole ebbe un sussulto ed ogni dubbio si sciolse come neve al sole e le perplessità divennero certezza infinita!
Non c'era bisogno di aggiungere altro, perché Giorgio aveva compreso tutto. Adesso sapeva di essere parte di quel mare, di quel cielo e di quel vento. Non si sentiva più uno straniero in questo mondo;
Non c'era bisogno di aggiungere altro, perché Giorgio aveva compreso tutto. Adesso sapeva di essere parte di quel mare, di quel cielo e di quel vento. Non si sentiva più uno straniero in questo mondo;
qualcuno lo aveva accolto tra le braccia, come un padre e gli aveva dato un nome nuovo e una nuova forma.
Tutto quello che era, tutto quello che aveva, tutto quello che sperava, tutto quello che amava era lì davanti ai suoi occhi. Adesso sapeva che nulla gli sarebbe più mancato; adesso, Giorgio, non sarebbe mai stato più solo. Per sempre!
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