Metamorphosis

78652075_10215719858050763_4767538158122303488_oSpontaneous writings in a language which is not my first that I did not read twice:

About 3 weeks ago Y. Called me And said “I can see it and I can feel it, you are transforming again”. Only in that moment I realised my old skin was actually peeling off. 2 weeks go I’ve been ‘forced’ from life to come back to Rome to deal with my roots, to look into my foundation. It has been an incredible journey. I arrived at the airport I could not recognize myself. I felt broken in such a way I didn’t know where to start to put the pieces back together. And only now I can see why: there is no way the pieces would go back where they were. My shape is shifting completely. And the steps for completing this transformation are many and not so easy.

First I had to accept the cracks. Yes Lu, you are cracked. Your body is telling you and I feel it in my solar plexus, in the middle of my chest. It hurts so much.Is disappointment and betrayal from someone I trusted with my life . It has been there for weeks now. What do I do then ? I go inside my cracks. It’s dark, cold, and uncomfortable. I could go around it but I would never fix it if I don’t go where it begins. At the source.
It is the complex knitted pattern of life that is revealing itself to me. Rome is rainy and gloomy and everyday I drive at least an hour to get to the clinic where my father is recovering after the last brain surgery. I spend my time in the car, trapped in traffic and in my head, the rain hits the glass firmly and I sing a lot, cry a lot. The first days I thought I would have died. I honestly thought “My heart is going to stop now and I will die here and now. “ Then it didn’t happen and somehow I felt washed by all the water. A broken heart hurts and feeding your own dad food with a spoon is a complex sensation.
There is a weird feeling also regarding the fact my mum has my same face and she really is the woman that has the littlest is common with me. We are aliens to each other. I don’t know what to say so I tell her I’m going to India soon for this eco-feminst festival for Indian women, about the seed and the Great Mother and she says: dye your hair in black and trust no one. Nothing else.
I look up. I accept. And I silently learn something else.

During the first 10 days, I literally tracked back every single crack of my life, every wound, every scar. I looked into them , I questioned them, I finally found peace inside old battles never really closed, got my answers and finally, I healed.

4 days ago I went to Naples to se a theatre show with my sister. Beautiful decadent magical Naples. I arrived that the sea was eating the shore and the wind was pulling me away. I liked it. Few things that I don’t even know how to write about it happened there, but it’s enough to say that that night , while my sister was asleep, during my readings from Rudolph Steiner I encountered this sentence “Pure feelings and thoughts are real as chairs and tables.” All of us can certainly have the right to gaze upon the Reality, but we must first earn this right.
Once again, I started crying, but this time my tears where tears of joy. I did not need to read it and I knew, I know and I will always know. I thought I was loosing it. But here it is! It was always there! The sparkle I kept with me for 28 years . It’s all real. Is devotion and veneration that brought me here.
“If we do not develop within ourselves this deeply-rooted feeling that there is something higher than ourselves, we shall never find enough strength to evolve to something higher. “With an enormous sense of gratitude towards life, I felt it so strongly.

I fell asleep with this kind sense of peace into my heart. I woke up at 10 am the room is pitch black. “I can’t see anything, those blinders are good” I thought. I open the window to look outside, expecting rain, and the first sun, the strongest sun of month is there. I run outside the balcony. And I can’t hold my self screaming “Thank you, thank you!”.
My sister takes the first train and I decide to stay there on my own. I leave the hotel and I’m jumping all around Naples with my backpack, I feel high.
I admire Naples and I go in a library I wanted to visit. I buy M. A present. I ask for the closest metro station, I turn right, and here she appears.
In a small alley close to piazza Dante, in a sort of cave in the wall, a little statue surrounded with flowers of the Holy Mary is looking at me. I knew her from this summer. I say “Hello you” And I’m crying again. It was in June, when I was there for the first time. I needed to pee and I found that little road. I did not see the statue at first but then, sorted my physical needs I encountered her eyes, I stopped and going on my knees I kindly asked her to look after my father. He was going to have his kidney removed soon.
The operation went well.
My gratitude is enormous again and I ask her 2 new favours. I also said, I know I’m always here to ask you things, I’m sorry. Then I leave.
I take my train for Rome and I drive the car from the station to my dad’s clinic. In Rome is raining again. I arrive to the clinic and with my enormous surprise my father is seating, eating on its own, speaking with nurses as nothing happens. He is very chatty and his eyes are lively. I seat next to him and even if the knife is still there in the chest, it hurts always less and less.

2 days ago I have shown to my therapist where it hurts. Nevertheless I have a cup (emotion) tattooed there from S. It is the pit of my stomach and it hurst  also at the same hight on my back. She says I’ve been stabbed. And this is true. I lay down and where it hurts, I start visualising a seed. My therapist says to make space. I do.
I lay on my belly after that, and she works on my back. She presses the pain, I breath into it. Something is moving. It’s fear. It has to leave.

Today I wake up in C’s room. The first thing I want to do is drawing. And so I do.
M e t a m o r p h o s i s. This word come into my mind.
We leave for lunch. I look up to read the name of the road, to remember where I parked. it’s “Via Ovidio*”.
(Is all there.)

 

*Author of one of the ” Metamorphosis ”