A long time ago I went to Mexico, to visit a cousin who decided to open an Italian restaurant over there. He was in Puerto Escondido which looked like a getto on a beach where hippies and desperadoes met, searching for a solution that was only within, as it always is.
It was one of his many failure: the wrong side of things to which he focuses its attention gets always in his way; there are men made that way, they are constitutionally being unable to be honest with themselves. I tried to make him see his reality, but he did not like to hear the truth and he asked me to leave.
So I left, and I went to Acapulco. A long time ago, when in Acapulco, I did not speak with anyone for 11 days.
When I was in silence, after 3 or 4 days, the voice in my head stopped too and then, after experiencing silence for the first time, I became aware silence was not so silent because you can hear it; it has a particular sound, the sound of silence, of contemplation, the sound of the sun when it crashes in the sea, or of the air when fast and suddenly rises in the sky or of a leaf when it comes down from apparently nowhere, or the sound of you grief for what it has never been and of your joy for what has yet to come and of the present time, remanding you're still alive.
A long time ago, when in Acapulco, I did not speak with anyone for 11 days.
Then I took a Lufthansa flight back to Rome via Frankfurt. On the flight I lied by an exit door and slept. At the time they let you do these things, we were living in more freedom. At the time, you could not be distracted by your mobile phone, or by the arrogance of the dominating classes because you could better see the humbleness of the poor, they were still strong and proud enough to express it without feeling the shame for their condition, that embalmed shame manoeuvred by the Media, by the left acting as the right and by the return of illiteracy of the middle class, the evil influence of the influencers and the fear induced destruction of past realities of solidarity and human connection.
Then I arrived in Rome, took a train, then a bus and then the keys to my apartment. I entered my flat. The sun, coming through the large living room window hit me on the cheeks. I stopped there as I never felt it before, and then I felt it, the presence of God. It was not just a feeling, but a certainty: the single true reality, despite the sun, and me, and the rest of the world, all embalmed of His Grace.
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