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. G
Freedom | Joy | Authenticity | Full Potential