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Fury and epigenesis





Coming from Siesikų stotelė by bus I was staring at the geometric lines of the road. They gave the profile of another culture. More essential, less beautiful, more self-restrained. It was not my culture. It was not the culture of the country where I was born and lived.
Is this the result of epigenesis, I asked myself, which gave shape to my conscience for which I now judge what I see?
It is the first seven years of life that structure the individual, it is said. They are the first seven years of life when you download all the programs you need to live the rest of your existence. Is this epigenesis that guides the existence of the individual?
Here, where I live now, there is no madness, there is no Giordano Bruno’s fury, which makes you go beyond the limit, stretch your nature beyond the human condition.
Here the limit is limit, they don't care. The exasperated individualism of Italians has no place here, here people live according to a conformist point of view with respect to the limit.
They drink and get drunk to forget the limit. It was not my nature to drink and get drunk. I had to appeal to all my energy to overcome the limit I was getting used to. I had to find in me the visionary force that some people call madness, which alone makes you cross the impassable limit.
I looked out the bus window at the precision of those geometric lines and the human little statues that seemed to be glued on with extreme accuracy.
Rome - I thought - had Scipio Africanus and Fabius Maximus the Cunctator. Scipio could never become Fabius Maximus, and Fabius Maximus could never become Scipio, because man is rooted in the body, in the material, in his nature from which it is almost impossible for him to escape, except through the effect of folly that allows him to transcend it.
Only an act of fury and madness can break the cage of epigenesis.

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