Il libro della History è l’unico che si cancella e si riscrive mille volte, always the same, always different but the same time. A little 'as the book of our lives: They always write things already written, perhaps only in a different way.
We are sure not to be already past?
The time It is just an extension of the space: what is its form?
Sometimes it seems to move in a circle: I can enlarge, vanish, ingigantire.
Path, path, but when I turn around I see more in the center. The time è movimento, but not necessarily change. The real change is rare. Often, we also live the same experiences only differently.
The time passa indolente, lazy, useless until it contracts the instant that causes the change.
Change is the point where time is focused, It becomes more dense.
Change is hard, suffering, but also joy,life.
The vera force è saper abbandonare. Real change can only pass through the suffering, awareness, renunciation: look inside, abandon themselves to find themselves several.
Like a marathon runner who runs for hours with steps are always the same, increasingly tiring, heavy, while the time becomes more and more slow, thinking more and more tired. Grit your teeth, Go on, cerca solo la force che gli permetta di continuare. Through different landscapes that run indifferent, trascinato da una force ignota, the steps become increasingly unaware, the finish line nearer to overcome it in an instant.
L’intera life è scandita da attimi immersi nel mare del tempo.
Surfing facing storms, waiting for the calm steps, hoist the sails toward an island unknown. Find, savor it, live it and then get ready to sail back to the other islands ...