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 A long time ago there was a little girl, her parents called her Giolidama because they loved her so much. 

Her father was a sailor, he loved the sea, the wind, the turbulent skies and solitude. He always said that only in solitude greatest accomplishment can happen (and I think he did not take it from Picasso who somehow seemed to have said: "without great solitude, not serious work is possible", but it was his own thought); her mother was a idealist, she loved perfection and had a inner belief (obviously not based on facts, because we all know perfection is just an idealisation sometimes based on fear and shame) that she could attain it and, if she could, everyone else could to; she was beautiful because the man loved beauty and in her he always saw the hand of God crafting with love. The mother loved the man, his vehemence, his directness and the immense tenderness he showed her because the love he felt for her was infinite, and unconditional, as only real love can be.

Giolidama was also a gift of God, a single cell developed into a perfect being, able to confront illness, look at the most undesirable past with joy and contentment, feel feelings no other creature could, experience the light of the spirit, tenderness and compassion and unlimited love and make decision based on free will (apparently - but this is another story). She also was a gift of God to the world, as we all are because we are here to help each other find ourselves and in this doing find beauty and contentment and enlightenment. 

When Giolidama was 10 her father went to Africa with an old friend who shared his passion for the sea and nature, with the intent to find petrol in Congo. They were employed by a petrol company which, notoriously, are obsessed about profit - and unconditionally love exploitation since it is a direct consequence of profit - so they were happy to employ two men who would sail anywhere for free, just for the pleasure of sailing. 

The two men had a sail boat made of wood and a rough sail made of hessiac. They left Trieste, a small town in the norther Adriatic sea, an old aristocratic splendor, sitting in his magnificent past of being the port of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire and living in its decadent present of the Italian pseudo-democracy; they left on a very early June morning when the wind was strong and the air near the pines trees in the bay of Barcola was still fresh from the night just passed, they left when the sun was doing its best to perform its function: keep God creatures alive in collaboration with the solitary pines trees releasing oxygen to expand life and fulfil God's dream. All was perfect when they left, as always is in God's will. 

#danitringale - "don't you know it is dark outside"

They sailed and sailed and sailed, until the reach Congo. On they way Giolidama father's friend never washed himself saying that he was not dirty so he did not need to wash. Giolidama's father accepted it with a laugh. On the way there they cough a dolphin, with a hook and a line. They wanted a swordfish and were ready to let the dolphin live, but the fish was exhausted when they pulled it inside the boat, so they waited for the animal to die, praying God to help the big grey beauty to die quickly; then they cut it out into thin slices like you would cut a tuna, and put it in a freezer to take it home. On the way there they experienced God's will for us: they were joyous and free.

Once in Congo they could not find any petrol so they were dismissed by the petrol company with a few words. On the way back the weather had changed, it was now the beginning of winter and the sea was rough and strong. The men were experienced sailors but one night the sea and the wind had the best of him. The wooden boat was reversed on itself and they were never found. 

The petrol company informed their families with a condolence message that sounded written a thousand times. Giolidama mother never recovered from the death of her only love, anger and rage became her only feelings and the life of Giolidama changed forever. 

In the beginning there were long years in which she asked herself a million questions to find an answer, to find serenity and peace. Long years of silence, isolation, nullification and self-defeating. Then there were years in which she gave herself away, to receive the love and affection she had lost too young. Those were the most painful years, because love cannot be produced on demand and it is felt only when it is freely given, not demanded or implored. Then the were the times when she decided not to ask for it and just be. By just be she returned in contact with what is real and she found her authentic self and God again (because we cannot find God without knowing our fragile human condition which is a consequence of knowing our imperfect self). In those years she understood that everything that happened to her, including her father's death was a gift of God: God, who loved her so much, had decided she had to be gifted so he gave her pain to create greatness, because there is no great creation from pure joy (or sand or superficiality); the substance of creation is made by transforming pain into beauty. Giolidama became who she was meant to be in God's will for her and God continued to give her, and all other human beings who accept to perform his will, his gift for ever and ever and ever. 


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