Una volta, scrissi il breve brano che segue per una giovane donna presa da sconforto. Un problema fisico stava consumando insieme al corpo anche l'energia che quello sorregge. Era inglese, le scrissi in inglese; non l'avevo mai vista, sapevo il suo problema, sapeva che volevo aiutarla. Nessun contratto o consenso informato, ma la condivisione di un momento tra un medico ed un paziente che non sarebbe stato mai stato suo, se non nell'affidamento/fidarsi di un momento. L'operazione le portò "fortuna"!
Non chiedetemi di ritradurlo in italiano, fu pensato per essere in lingua inglese, ma tentate di farlo ed ...arrampicatevi senza timore!
Non chiedetemi di ritradurlo in italiano, fu pensato per essere in lingua inglese, ma tentate di farlo ed ...arrampicatevi senza timore!
Dopo aver pensato di porlo qui come post, a significare l'uso dell'energia nel teatro della vita, ricevo un commento di Nina al precedente inserimento di Mr. Hube. Incredibile, montagna lì, montagna qui...Che esista la telepatia?! Io vi ho sempre creduto...
Step Trail
"Come close… Once there was a steep trail that was sometimes chosen as a passageway by the rains in winter and much rarer by a solitary wayfarer. Never at night, though... the trail was always there, but it seemed that even the moon avoided it, so hidden amidst the thorns and bushes. Season after season it was shunned, viewed as inaccessible because it was out of the way or because there were less steep paths in the mountains.
One day, unable to endure its fate no longer, the trail decided to slide down, tired with the life. It waited until the winter floods arrived, when the water wildly sweeps away all sorts of things in its path… and it threw itself into the downward descent during the first big thunderstorm… When it finally reached the bottom, the trail felt endless pleasure, stretching out in the plains, the sun warming every once inaccessible corner, and the sounds of a place that is no longer solitary, yet…
... soon the trail became bored and longed for the steep thoughts it used to have alone on the western side of the tall mountain… The trail could no longer return uphill … so tired and dejected, it let the current carry it further down... ending up in the bed of a stream, where it found itself bathing the feet of a little girl … Slightly fearful yet curious, the trail – yes, that precise trail, so used to precipices -- climbed up the little girl’s legs… entered her thoughts… and silently convinced her to be taken once again to the mountain top, nestled now in her fresh, curious mind".
"Come close… Once there was a steep trail that was sometimes chosen as a passageway by the rains in winter and much rarer by a solitary wayfarer. Never at night, though... the trail was always there, but it seemed that even the moon avoided it, so hidden amidst the thorns and bushes. Season after season it was shunned, viewed as inaccessible because it was out of the way or because there were less steep paths in the mountains.
One day, unable to endure its fate no longer, the trail decided to slide down, tired with the life. It waited until the winter floods arrived, when the water wildly sweeps away all sorts of things in its path… and it threw itself into the downward descent during the first big thunderstorm… When it finally reached the bottom, the trail felt endless pleasure, stretching out in the plains, the sun warming every once inaccessible corner, and the sounds of a place that is no longer solitary, yet…
... soon the trail became bored and longed for the steep thoughts it used to have alone on the western side of the tall mountain… The trail could no longer return uphill … so tired and dejected, it let the current carry it further down... ending up in the bed of a stream, where it found itself bathing the feet of a little girl … Slightly fearful yet curious, the trail – yes, that precise trail, so used to precipices -- climbed up the little girl’s legs… entered her thoughts… and silently convinced her to be taken once again to the mountain top, nestled now in her fresh, curious mind".
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