Reflection

When I was a kid, I used to think grown-ups were strange, sometimes fascinating, other times boring. Looking back I realise that we adults are still children. We are just less honest about it. The same basic desires move us, just without as many of the amazing highs and lows of youth. We crave attention, although we're afraid to be at its centre. We desire to belong, so much that we will bend our thoughts and beliefs to fit somebody else's shape. We are hungry, thirsty, and tired. We crave to touch and be touched. We need to feel. We build structures on top of simple desires, mazes that hide a truth often too hard to face, as it would show us how fragile is the steadiness we hold so dearly on to, how small we are, floating in the air after dusk, sharing a fleeting shimmer as we briefly touch. And in this dance of desires, we create and find beauty, a beauty that only we humans can see, a beauty that lives and dies with us, abstract to the universe.

Sometimes it's subtle; other times it rushes and burns. It can be gentle, it can be raw. It can be vivid and carved in memories; it can be a fading feeling you can barely grasp. It can be eternal, unwavering, or impermanent, sensitive to a breeze. It is around and within you.

Remember the moments that defined your childhood. Extend your fingers towards the memories, barely tracing them with your skin; over the horizon, following the shape of the hills. There is beauty in the places in which you found shelter and wonder.

Recall the names of those you hurt. And of those who hurt you; they were hurting too. There is beauty in the pain that can change the course of a river.

Recall the grand gestures of a fool, the awkward moments you can't change, the beauty of fragility that should not carry shame. There is beauty in the fragments you gave and lost, without there being any less of yourself to give.

Recall the smiles that bloomed in quietness, the most honest gift you made, there is beauty in all the words that you laid to rest unsaid.

There is beauty in our connections, in the life we seed and grow, may it be from our own blood, or from the kindness of our heart.

Don't forget, you're only human; beauty comes to be every time that you are true.

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Da bambino pensavo che gli adulti fossero strani, a volte affascinanti, altre volte noiosi. Adesso mi rendo conto che noi adulti siamo ancora bambini, anche se non lo ammettiamo. Gli stessi desideri fondamentali ci muovono, seppure senza tanti dei meravigliosi alti e bassi della gioventù. Desideriamo l'attenzione degli altri, anche se abbiamo paura di esserene al centro. Vogliamo sentirti accettati, così tanto che contorciamo i nostri pensieri e le nostre convinzioni per adattarli alla forma degli altri. Siamo affamati, assetati e stanchi. Desideriamo toccare ed essere toccati. Abbiamo bisogno di sentire. Costruiamo strutture su desideri semplici, labirinti che nascondono una verità spesso troppo difficile da affrontare, perché ci mostrerebbe quanto sia fragile la fermezza a cui ci aggrappiamo così tanto, quanto siamo piccoli, fluttuando nell'aria dopo il tramonto, condividendo una scintilla fugace mentre ci tocchiamo brevemente. E in questa danza dei desideri, creiamo e troviamo la bellezza, una bellezza che solo noi umani possiamo vedere, una bellezza che vive e muore con noi, astratta per l'universo.

A volte è appena percettibile; altre volte è impetuosa e rovente. Può essere delicata o può essere ruvida. Può essere vivida, scolpita nei ricordi; può essere una sensazione sfuggente che riesci a malapena a cogliere. Può essere eterna e incrollabile o impermanente, sollevata da una brezza leggera. È intorno e dentro di te.

Ricorda i momenti che hanno caratterizzato la tua infanzia. Estendi le dita verso i ricordi, tracciandoli delicatamente con la pelle; oltre l'orizzonte, seguendo la forma delle colline. C'è bellezza nei luoghi in cui hai trovato riparo e meraviglia.

Ricorda i nomi di coloro che hai ferito. E i nomi di coloro che ti hanno ferito; anche loro stavano soffrendo. C'è bellezza nel dolore che può cambiare il corso di un fiume.

Ricorda i gesti grandiosi di un folle, i momenti imbarazzanti che non puoi cambiare, la bellezza della fragilità della quale non dovresti vergognarti. C'è bellezza nei frammenti che hai dato e perso, senza che ci fosse poi meno di te da dare.

Ricorda i sorrisi sbocciati nel silenzio, il regalo più sincero che tu abbia mai fatto; c'è bellezza in tutte le parole che hai lasciato non dette.

C'è bellezza nel nostro essere connessi, nelle vite che seminiamo e coltiviamo, sia che provengano dal nostro stesso sangue o dalla gentilezza del nostro cuore.

Non dimenticare, sei solo un essere umano; e generi bellezza ogni volta che sei vero.

One seed in the universe

We have travelled, as the world became meaning for your eyes. We have travelled, tiny seeds through the stars, specs of will on your first journey around the sun. Air, water, earth and sun have nourished you, mother's milk has guided you, while we followed your joy. With each discovery I see you bloom into the person you’re growing to be. It's so wonderful to meet you. You are the beginning and the end of my days, the overarching meaning that pervades them. I feel you expand from the deep centre in me each time I see you smile, my breath stops to see your wonder before leaving to rejoin the wind. You amaze me, your strength and determination reassure me of life’s wisdom. You move me as your gaze reaches mine. I am here to give myself to you, holding your hand as you learn to walk on your own path.

Steps to wisdom

Data -> Interpretation -> Information -> Knowledge -> Understanding -> Wisdom

As opposed to

Data -> Misinterpretation -> Misinformation -> Reduced Knowledge -> Misunderstanding -> Ignorance

Define consciousness?

Is consciousness a self perceived reflective emergent behaviour of dynamic feedback capable information?

Here is to the weird ones.

Here is to the weird ones, the awkward, those who don’t quite fit. Here is to the quirky, the different, the non-conformists. Here is to the poets, the artists, the moon howlers. Here is to the hungry mad readers, the mind travellers, the daydreamers. Here is to those who feel uncomfortable, the unsatisfied, those who spill themselves on the page, raining words like relief on arid lands. Here is to the kind hearted, the quiet ones, the verbose lacking confidence. Here is to those who dwell on the details, who find universes in a grain of sand. Here is to the learners, those who open hungry eyes and eager ears to the awareness of their ignorance. Here is to the unassuming, the non-believers, the empiricists, those who need to understand. Here is to the seekers, the explorers, the unsettled. Here is to those who go farther, deeper, higher and further. Here is to those who wander in wonder, those who seek amazement, the vagrants of knowledge, the nomads of understanding. Here is to those who listen, but don’t follow, who observe, but do not partake. Here is to the wallflowers of life, here is to the beating heart in their minds. You are those who don’t fully belong to this world and therefore are compelled to change it.

Each breath of a child - Ogni respiro di un bambino

Each breath of a child whispers the meaning of life

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Ogni respiro di un bambino sussurra il significato della vita

The gift of life you bring to our home

You carry the strength of storms within you, the all encompassing reach of nature's embrace shows like a fleeting glimpse in your kind gestures. A blooming seed, you can withstand the dark ceaseless winds that would rip the tallest trees into the majestic arcs of an earth shattering fall, the roots of motherhood reaching with unbreakable grace through your slender fingers, woman and life-giver, your essence expands beyond the horizons, revealing its greatness as an ethereal impression against the sky when lighting strikes. Your visible beauty is just a projection of a greater world, an icon, a still image of a greater tale, fragment of an eternal story, and I read every word in admiration, as the vivid image of life is reflected in your deep loving eyes, a revelation of the strength that animates your gentle heart.

Thank you, my love, for the gift of life you bring to our home.

The tempest

When the dark wind blows, even the tallest trees fall, with majestic arcs into earth-shattering sound, illusions of strenght bound forever to the ground. The northern fires' glow, a whirlwind of leaves and dark clouds from parting snow, the sky tipped over in rivers' flow, a shower of tears to fill the lightning's plough. Arms wide open, I call it to my chest, this land-cracking tempest, from which there is no rest.