Every human being is inevitably pushed the need to leave an indelible mark of its passage. A sign
unique, personal, tangible and eternal as possible. What is a painting, a book, engraving, writing a sentence, a song, a portrait.
There comes a time in life when there is urgent need to express the deepest part of us, that nobody knows. And this time usually coincides with the feeling that something is missing, something missing and unable to see the whole scene. As if
always lacked a decisive issue for the completion: we feel a constant longing for what 'that we can not know, we can not understand or prove with certainty. At what 'that we can not have, since the possession is only a perfect illusion of human attachment to the ephemeral, to the changing. All 'uncertain. And that confuses and frightens us. It makes us helpless to the lowest level.
How many times I hear the flow of life and I regret that I am using only one of many roads, only a choice of n the face of daily choices that life calls us to do. And all the choice is not irreversibly into oblivion in the world of ideas.
If I think of the streets, at crossroads, in coincidences, the insights, I can not imagine how many different ways it can build its own road, but for fear, at times, does not it has the courage. Thus wasting precisely the possibility that more could be happy with. This is the good fortune to those who, like me, was cared for, nurtured, grew up and had the opportunity to study, to raise their hands to choose. The choice is
, luxury to leave, too. Elsewhere. Where could be given the capacity. Where someone would be willing to teach what we know and that would be important to know. Where could you give it a try. And also maybe someone willing to help. Never know. As a child I believed that
adulthood decreed, as an imaginary goal, the achievement of all those features on the wisdom, justice, virtue, courage, the ability to do the right thing. Growing up I learned that no, not automatic: the age is not a teacher of life in absolute terms. It depends on where you went. From what we've put heart and soul of what you heard, how many answers you are getting more and more by how many questions you got. Why is that, what really counts. Being present to oneself, to think about things. Ask. Listen. Observe.
Wisdom does not come from ancient suffering we have perhaps forgotten but that our soul has learned something? And yet, with regard to the speech love: not that we do not believe in love, I'd be mad. Love is a pure sentiment, when analyzed in its being as such. And it is the engine of 'universe.
Love becomes a source of suffering when it is binding. E 'in the love of couples that I find it difficult to invest. Just do not think that you can choose each other once and for all so unique, because of the finiteness of the limited and physicality of our bodies and the world in which we live. The mind continually generates new desires. I do not envy those who are married because you're married, now, in the present moment, but I envy the current belief of them - placed in a tie - looking to the future.
"I am a friend of the people uncertain, confused, small trying to understand and that is always nello stato di uno che non ha capito. Sono molto amico della gente che ha paura. L'impermanenza è legge universale e la vita è un enigma refrattario a qualunque volontà di potenza: soltanto alla fine del tragitto ci si accorge di come non fosse affatto chiara la ragione di tutto il nostro affanno".
E. Sottsass
Then, as in any crude analysis, there is a distinction between those who try to understand them, things, and who's not. Among those able to love and who's not. But this is a 'different story.
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