Skip to main content

Memories: Are they a curse or Heaven’s gift? The decision is yours to make.

 






She did yet recall that moment when, ascending the steps that led to the roses garden, it was nightfall, one of the first nights when the air was filled with the scent of summer, and her father was sad, She halted upon the uppermost step and gave him a big hug.
He was angry with her, now she didn't even remember why, but surely it was because of her, she vividly remembered it.
She had hugged him tightly and said: "Father, you're such a child".
His response had been: I am as I am. I'm this way".

Memories. She was always fighting against memories. And those of the dead father whispered at her like voices, back from remote places, approaching as surely as death. Those voices would crash whatever they met and replace her with themselves. She thought of her mother, of the aunts, of grandmother and grandfather, she thought of so many. They had all passed away. What remained of them? Memories, frail memories sometimes.
I am a mystery, she thought. What was I and what am I?
The mystery I cannot see through.

She saw herself weeping in that little bedroom. Father had left the house forever that day.
Silvia, what will become of us now?
I don’t know, Claudia. But I am sure, Father will never leave us alone. He is an angel. Did you know?

An angel?
Yes, he is.
How do you know it?
I know.
But how?
I saw him flying.
You saw him flying?
Yes, I was sleeping one night. I woke up and I saw him flying around the bed, watching us, like a guardian angel. There was love in his eyes. They were full of love, his eyes. Only our guardian angel can have such eyes, such love!
Listen Claudia I know a poem about guardian angels, it is beautiful

In the quiet of the night and the still of the day,
Guardian angels, in their own subtle way,
Watch over us with love so pure,
In their protection, we are secure.

Eyes that sparkle with heavenly light,
Guiding us through the darkest night.
Wings that shelter in times of fear,
Whispering comfort, always near.

They dance on the edge of a gentle breeze,
And hum in the rustle of the trees.
Invisible hands that guide our way,
Guardian angels with us, night and day.

Their love, a beacon, a shining ray,
Illuminating paths when we lose our way.
In their light, we find our peace,
Guardian angels, bring us sweet release


Her eyes, those poor wet eyes, shut that night. They closed soothingly, as if a gift of love had descended to bring peace to her little heart. Silvia watched her sleep. Now, finally, Silvia could cry. At last, she could let go of the pain she had so often strived to hold back.







Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fasting to reconnect your "Self" to your body

If there is a discrepancy between yourself and the body, between what you are and what you don't feel you are in your body, then fast, because there is excess to remove in the body. Through the stratifications of fat, the material that alienates you is deposited in the body. Removing decades of fat you remove the "Self" from its impediments to be reconnected with the body. Start thinking about fasting and wait for the right moment. Your body has its own indicators; it will signal when it is the right time to start fasting. Fasting is not a mere physical fact. It is changing the spirit of a time that has become stranger to us and that lives in us in order to alienate us to ourselves. Impossible to fast, without implying a change of the inner spirit. Those who fasted in the Old Testament did so to invoke great changes in life. Jesus himself fasted for forty nights and forty days and after fasting he was ready and strong enough to resist the devil and was ripe for his minist...

The temple of youth

  The yearning for death is but a swift race seeking to curtail our tormented pace. There lies a sacredness in thy yearning toward the highest good wildly striving. Toss the gaze heavenward and grasp the truth! In death, we lie upon and cast the temple of youth.

Guardando l'Amore di una madre con le sue figlie

Siete fatte della stessa pasta Di stesso sangue e spirito apposta Create - e vivete il mondo unite. Solo voi vostra lingua capite. Io curioso vi guardo lontano. Altro universo vivo io e so invano di non essere voi e mi stupisco, ma la materia vostra oh capisco! E' fatta di altra tessitura, la mia invece è sfilacciatura, e in altro spazio e tempo ascoso sto relegato triste, invidioso.