Speciale Italia

When I sit and read about the beauty and wit of your country, of the beaches, mountains, food and people, i know that I am missing out on a piece of the world that i long to understand better, more deeply, with insight and passion. 

Your country of lovers, of people with ideas and motivations, of those longing for work, for importance, for reality, those longing for a piece of the pie, just a liver, is where I want to be. I want to be mixed into this slew of youth and oldness, of generations gone by, but of history and knowledge still present now, flowing through the products, through the families, through the lives and times of your fellow Italians. 

But the beauty and the class is overshadowed by the mess and the corruption. You only have to look a bit deeper to see that things are not shiny and golden. But then, what is with the full restaurants, the bars still packed with gentlemen drinking coffee and reading the sports paper? Why are there so many tourist, so many gelatos being bought. The life of the Italians in hardship, in peril sometimes appears to be the life that we all wish that we could lead, one of drifting and idleness giving us the time to manage and improve our selves, our senses, our hobbies and crafts. 

It’s a mystery of a country, but one for me, that needs to reveal it’s secrets, bit by bit. I need more time, more ability to explore it, understand it and become part of it’s future. 

Thrusday

I feel lost in a world of my own thoughts that others can’t understand, can’t know or comprehend.  It’s not that I’m silent, I talk a lot, I tell you things, I tell them things but no one listens.  I try to silence my mind, I try to do yoga and go outside and run, and lay in the sun, listening to the birds and the trees and the water gently lapping against the side of the pond.  Ducks quacking and geese yelling at each other, children playing in the water fountain even though I still feel cool in the shade.  MY mind wanders around a lot and sleep doesn’t seem to come easy at the moment — I look in the mirror in the mornings and see a face that doesn’t seem to resemble mine unless I take the opportunity to look closer, to identify those features that I recognize as me, as my own face, my image.  Looking into my own eyes, you see some despair and some sadness, but lurking in the shallow end is the happiness that is just bursting to get out, to more forwards.   

Those who don’t listen, those whose minds are always occupied by their own things, who don’t look, think, act without though of others — those who are supposedly in charge, who are the ones making decisions, they know nothing of us at the bottom, at that trudge our way through thinking thoughts about telling them off, about just not showing up, about leaving them to their own devices.  We are on a different plane, a level that is above them — they are still in the rut of their own life, laying at the bottom and waiting for all the others to join in with them so that they can feel better in their disappointment and sadness. Come to the bottom, here, this is where you need to be to go any further, come with me here, wallow in our anger.    

No thanks. Go to hell.  I’m not stuping to your level.  My mind is mine, it tells me to do other things with my time, to focus on my lover, on the way we want to be, and to ignore those around me that invade this space of fertile thinking, of creative imagery, of roots planted into those ideas and philosophies that I hold true to myself.  I refuse to give in to your meandering and childish feelings, your rude attitude and hatred of those who have lives worth living.   

The day is bright, the sun is high and shines forcefully on my skin, leaving it’s trail of brown and red, giving my mind a way to release.  The air is smooth, sweet with the smell of the spring flowers and I leave all of the things that tear at my daily life, tear so forcefully at my soul behind in the wind.