Il sole quando sorge, sorge piano.

There is this very famous song that everyone learn as the first one when it comes to play the guitar in Italy, the song is called “The song of the Sun” and there is this line that for some reasons I keep singing since few days “The sun when it rises, rises slowly ” (Il sole quando sorge, sorge piano).

Its been days that I look at the sun earring that C. crafted for me, I almost lost it the other day when we left the ashram to sleep in the tree farm, but of course it came back to me.

A wound is a wound is a wound, I said to myself this morning. I thought I was doing more than fine until my dreams became very messy. I did not cry but the sensation was ugly. Healing is not linear, after all.

I went to the Yoga class with my brain upside down, the Yoga helped a bit, even though I would like to do more exercise. I go for breakfast and the sun is rising and is orange and in the middle of 2 stripes of clouds. It looks like an eye. I stare at it to open my pineal gland, and I see the spectrum of colours dancing around the orange circle.

I realised I lost the keys of my room. I try to look for them around where I walked, but I’m not sure where I could have lost them, I go back to the Yoga room and I found ShreeJan walking the dog. I ask her to let me in, to see if the keys are inside the space, maybe on the floor. I tell her I’m sorry my brain is a mess today, I did weird dreams and my ex was in there.

I tell her we had a very symbiotic relationship. She says I may have been in his dreams too, normally this happens with people that were so bounded. I tell her I don’t think so,  things went on a different direction very quickly. She says there is a way of breaking this connection, if I’m interested they can help at the ashram. It’s quantum physics.

My keys are not there and I’m thinking about this break-the-connection thing. I thought I broke the connection when I made S. A symbolic funeral. It was necessary. We are not in touch whatsoever, blocked from any social media and said bye in the most ugly possible way and still disturbing my dreams in the other side of the world. While I have things to do, a festival to run, a soul to feed, a brain to train, and all the rest.

What happened doesn’t make any sense for my brain. None of my thoughts seem to speak clearly to me and I have so many different feelings I’m trying to analyse, understand, recognise. I think I’m driving myself a bit nut. Shh. Feel the sun. It’s getting warmer.

I need to do some work and I go in the space that I need to transform in our Undergrowth base camp. It is locked. The key that I have for that (which I didn’t lose)  doesn’t fit in. I look for someone that can help me out. Also the lock of the bathroom is changed. I still can’t find the key of my bedroom. W h a t s g o i n g o n ? I think am I getting crazy or this is actually happening. ShreeJan is walking the dog back and she confirm there is something going on with the locks and its not only in my head. Ok.

I go on the roof to meditate and I read myself tarots.  I write down things. The last thing I write is “Il sole quando sorge, sorge piano” . One hour later the key of my bedroom is found, the lock situation is explained (they are doing some changes to prepare the space for the guests and festival volunteers) and everything seems to unravel slowly. I prepare the Undergrowth base camp cleaning and tiding and hanging red Indian fabric all around. How can I get rid of a disturbing thought?  Focus on what you are doing now, focus. And I do. It looks nice.

In the meantime, Al and Em arrived. It was a couple of days ago actually, we went to pick them up in Jodhpur and it was the night we slept at the tree farm in a hut. I need to move in the dorm now that they are here, I’m not having a room on my own anymore. Changes.

The dorm is closer to the main palace, in a big room with royal columns and 9 beds. Its a bit cold but it will be soon warm and filled with people. I can’t believe at one point all the collective will be a proper collective and our friends are going to be here to make this festival real. Its slowing building up.

I’m inside the dorm when I confess to Al my dreams and I tell her I want to get ride of those thoughts. I tell her I may do this procedure to break the connection whatever it is. She tells me instead to surrender to my thoughts, that I’m the right place to learn how to do it with meditation. I should stop trying to understand what happened with why and how and what does it means, it has been the way that has been. I don’t need to reject it or to delete it but I need to be able to look at it from distance  then let it go, so it can’t affect me or come back in my brain and in my dreams. I understand the theory very well. Practice needs…practice. Patience.

I message L, which is in London, To tell her how I feel. She tells me, you will see all of this work you are doing will bear its fruits, and then teach me what you learn. I will learn from distance from you.

I go to the roof again. The sun is at the zenith the highest point in the sky. I write down “Do not try to eliminate the thought, do not try to understand it – because you can’t. Do not desire anybody else defeat. Observe from the outside, accept and let go. There lies your healing, your victory.”

I go down the roof and I do some more work for the festival. I feel better. I’m singing again.

The sun when it rises, rises slowly.


Utsava Maa

“I’m in an unbelievable place. Is where I always wanted to be. It’s an ashram in the desert of Rajasthan. It’s so beautiful and peaceful and they do so many relevant things for the environment. The Guru of this place wears leopard prints shoes and there is this American lady, that goes under the name of ShreeJan here, that wants me to help organising this festival, about the Great Mother,ecology, ecofeminism, the seed and divinity. Well… I said we are doing this, Lu, we are going to organise and make our art this festival in India next year!”

It was about this time last year when GG wrote to me to inform me about her discovery, and our future. I was travelling South America at the time.

It is hard to imagine something until you don’t see it yourself. That’s why I was so curious about this Guru Ji, ShreeJan, the ashram (which is like a monastery in Indian religions) and all.

They came to pick me up in Jodhpur.

ShreeJan is an American blond lady with an angelic face, she is on a spiritual path alongside Guru Ji. She teaches yoga, practice Ayurvedic medicine and run the festival. GG told me that when ShreeJan was a kid she used to have regularly something similar to epilepsy and passing out for hours and feeling she was literally on Pluto, where she would hear the sound of the universe like a OHM.

Guru Ji reminds me of my flatmate A., and this make me laugh a bit. He only wears orange and he has a very sweet face.

After 2 hours in the jeep to get the destination, few stops for samosas and chai tea, we leave the busy roads with car and cows behind and we arrive to the ashram.

It is hard to describe the sensation of being in the right place, at the right moment for the right reason. My heart, that I thought shrunk two sizes in the past months, become as big as the moon and beats with a new sound. I have an immense sense of gratitude, for everything.

It has been 5 days now that I’m here. I live in a room inside the palace, facing a garden next to a beautiful temple, in the middle of the desert.

There is still no one else from the festival, either guests or organisers. Sometimes men and women from the village come to pray. They are curious about us, they stare and giggles and I admire the women beautiful traditional clothes. Because the influence with Pakistan here some of them cover even their faces with the colourful veil, and I found it intriguing. You can still see their faces through.

It’s very quiet life here. I wake up every morning at 5.45 am and have an hour of yoga. 8 pm is breakfast time and then we work for the festival. Currently I work on the laptop, I sketch plans for the set design and draw and read. In the late evening you can go to pray, outdoor in the temple, with beautiful singing, mantras and bells. You can see the stars and the moon very clearly, and the marble of the temple shines against the dark blue sky.

The food in incredible and they grow it here, in a little piece of land next to the temple. The Indian man that take care of the land is so sweet, GG told me that he is a Pakistan war survivor and apparently he screams as crazy at night. I would have never guessed. When he showed me the garden he saw me taking a rotten tomato from the floor and he went like “no no no” then he picked and offered me the best coloured and shaped ones. Right after that he gave me mint, oregano, and lettuce to try. I was so happy holding a little salad in my hands.

Dinner is at 6.30 pm after the prayers. Here I learned how to eat, with no forks, using only with one hand and some pitta bread to help. Using both of the hands in not polite apparently. At 9 pm I’m already in bed, I’m reading and writing a lot.

The research and work I’m doing those days is reflecting everything I ever been interested and researched in my life time. The depth of this feeling touches my soul and heal so many wounds.

I feel that, if we don’t devote our powers to nourish something bigger than us in this world we are not taking part of the evolution of the humankind. You don’t “save the world” with big actions, as you probably never “save the world”, but you can figure out what’s your role and do your part, trusting your gut and remembering your values and the reasons you are here. We can do it in every day life, in our family, in our friendship group and in our community. We are here to constantly grow. To help others in growing with us. I’ve an infinite love for this planet and the beauty of creation, for the masculine, and the feminine energy, which is the one we are celebrating here. This Earth. Mother of all, seeds keeper, intuitive emotional and brave creator.

Utsava Maa is the festival I’m working for here, which means The Great Mother. It’s a festival in a country where most of the women can’t walk on their own in the street, they can’t travel, they can’t smile at men , have a job they like, or have any power whatsoever. They work in their house until they die, biting their tongue and covering their bodies. Isn’t it paradoxical in a country where its history is dense of references regarding infinite power of the female energies, reflected in the Indian goddesses and spirituality?

My role here and our role with Undergrowth Collective is to enchant that power through the medium of art but also just standing for ourselves as privileged white women, born in a fortunate country.

It’s with gratitude and devotion that I proceed.














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Are you travelling on your own ?

Ukraine Airline was the cheapest way to get to India from the UK. 370£ return. When I told it to my sister she said I would have probably never arrived in India but
There I go. London – New Delhi with a stop in Kiev.
The night before the journey I was drunk, I walked along the canal with -2° for 40 minutes, I did not sleep but…I never had such a smooth trip. Usually I’m almost missing my flight, I can’t find my boarding pass, my phone battery is about to die when I need to scan the barcode for the check in etc etc.
I have a 5 Litres backpack on me with: 3 cameras, a laptop, 4 books, an hard disk, some clothes, my tarots and others precious tools. If something happens to the backpack, I’ll better kill myself, so I basically attach myself with glue to it and I even sneak into the plane with it pretending is hand luggage. While is clearly as big as me. How ? Luck and a bit of attitude, I guess.
New Delhi sounds and spins like my head, so much noise, so much is happening around me. I slept a bit on the plane but I have a lack of sleep from the night before and I’m confused. I’m excited and confused. The air is thick, the pollution is wild. And the traffic too.
Are you travelling on your own? The male gaze is something different.
There are, basically, only men around me.
I need to: find a way to protect myself, protect my backpack, do not get scammed, raped or robbed. Amazing challenge, I’m in.
I have 12 hours to spend in Delhi before taking a 10 hours night train to get to Jodhpur where Georgina, Mike, Shri Jen and the Guru of the Ashram where I’m heading to will come to pick me up.
I decide to go to the market while waiting for the right time to take the train. I take a tuk tuk (basically a motorbike taxi).
At the market? The driver said. I can come with you and show you around.
No, thanks, I’m fine on my own.
Do you have tattoos all over your body?
(I’m literally completely covered but my hand shows something.)
He touches my hand and take my wrist.
Where is your husband? You know here women need to have an husband to walk with?
Fuck the husband and fuck you, I think.
I have some friends that will join me ad the market. Thanks for your offer.
Eventually he drops me at the market and here I go, on my own, thoughtful but free.
The market is a journey into colours, fabrics and smells. I buy few nice things for such a small price. I walk for hours. The cars and the motorbikes are everywhere and the soundtrack is a constant “BEEP BEEP BEEP” from the horns.
I find a temple. I want to see it. I need to remove my shoes. I have to get used to it, I think. When I walk into the temple, with my new Indian scarf on the head as a veil (cultural appropriation or cultural appreciation? :)) rather than feeling to have time to worship what I’m seeing I feel like I’m the “thing” under the spotlight. Every few steps I walk someone would ask me for a picture. A couple even gave me their little baby to hold to take a picture with. I felt like the Pope. As if the colour of my skin could make any good. Historically it did not really.
It’s time to get my train to Jodhpur. It’s night. The Old Delhi station is old, colourful and beautiful. But again I’m the only white person on my platform, and I’m the only woman. I say to myself (maybe I even said it loud as lately I’m having a lot of conversation with my own persona that are not really just in my head) “Walk as a badass and no one will come on your way” And so it was.
I have a sleeping coach, sharing with other 4 men. There is literally no trace of a woman in the whole train. I’m in the upper bed. I go up. Me and my backpack do not really fit both in the space so I literally sleep on the top of it. My head is a discotheque, I have so many flashbacks of London, Rome, and now India that I feel I would never sleep. I have this picture in my mind which is a painting I have done two years ago. I realise that without even knowing I draw my future self. I draw me in india.
After this image I basically pass out and, 10 hours later someone wakes me up
“This is the last stop”
The train was empty.
“Where are we?” (Please tell me Jodhpur say Jodhpur) “Jodhpur.”
Y E S. I made it.

Goodbye Lucrezia

The day I left the UK, 3 days ago, London was silently frosting, a thick fog was making the atmosphere very spooky, the green grass was covered with frozen dew, smoke was arising from the water of the river and I wanted to walk home after my night at I.’s new place. Even if it was -2°, even if I wasn’t wearing warm socks. I wanted to feel it all. It was painful and incredibly beautiful.

I thought about all our walks in the summer there, looking at the boats, dreaming about our future. I thought about L. and M. that now is in Norway, it’s -20° there. My walk is not that bad, I thought, and the view is quite special, even if I can’t feel my toes anymore.

I arrive home at 4am. I’m half frozen. I have a flight to India at 12pm. I lay down on the carpet in the living room. I think about my painting. It was a huge canvas, the biggest I ever painted on that I’ve started before going to South America last year. So many things I’ve seen in that painting, until the moment I realised it is the mirror of my soul. Lucrezia’s Journey. and now I finished it! YAS! One year to finish it and the day before leaving for India I made it. You go Lu! I need to remind this to myself time to time.

There is so much I would like to say and so little words to describe it. This feeling of closing a chapter, my mourning, my mission and my hope. It’s 5.30 am. I’m still cold. I put a blanket on myself and I switch on the hairdryer. Lately, when I see I’m turning a bit too sad, I start singing songs to myself.

It will be all right, Lu. It is important to remind this ourselves. I’ve done this promise to myself the first time when I was 6, I perfectly remember where and how. I hold a duty with it.

I spy the park from the window: the beautiful fog, the frozen grass, the fallen leaves.

I feel relieved looking at nature very closely. The great teaching that comes from the seasons. It is Fall in London. Accept to fall, accept the Fall. Only falling the leaf return to the whole and become the soil and nourishment all over again. Do not fear death, that is just another passage. I write this down.

I felt very cold inside over the past months, but now I can see myself so clearly. My painting is finished. I never felt so related to a decaying leaf.

There was this day last week were I had fever and I’ve been sweating my soul out for 16 hours and it was intense. I had the most horrible nightmares (that weren’t visions but actual things my eyes had witnessed recently, unfortunately).

Wait a second did I die ? I asked myself in the morning. After such a deep experience, I needed food or I would have, for real. F. text me he needs to collect a print from the studio. He comes visit me with juice and paracetamol. I decide to leave the bed to walk to the kitchen to eat some oranges and surprisingly, what ? I was…fine. I may say, almost happy.

The night after I’ve been sweating again, much less and with no fever. I fall asleep reading On Isis and Osiris from Plutarch. I have this vivid dream where I sleep with snakes and I repeat the name of Isis as a mantra. I wake up in the morning with a weird feeling in my belly. Something is happening. The old Lucrezia is really leaving.

But who is Isis that came in my dreams ? It has been a while, that she comes to me. Iside, in Italian, is the ancient Egyptian goddess of magic, fertility, motherhood, death, healing and rebirth. I will write more about it, I will. And because a big ego doesn’t lead you very far, while seeking for guidance to higher forms of being may do…it is to Her that I devote my rebirth, to Her I dedicate my new name for this india’s journal.

Goodbye Lucrezia.


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, 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 is 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.)