If you'll Walk to the delight of one meter from the ground, nothing will make you stumble
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
If you walk to the delight of one meter from the ground, nothing will make you stumble
'It's in this month of August, that we like to think about on vacation, or at least slowed down rhythms, with clocks that run slowly, the smarthphones off, or used intermittently and much more calmly in using social networks. That is: to live a period of change from the usual routine allows you to reflect on the phenomenon of metamorphosis in nature but also in the society. Open up and accept the mutation definitely requires a deep work to abandon prejudices, clichés and preconceived secular. "
The director Antonella Antonelli wrote that on the weekly Marie Claire of August.
And if in a week of August we happen to spend it in hospital?
We should, however, give her reason. Because vacation is not just sea, sand, mountains or city.
I open my eyes at dawn. Painkillers have ceased their effect.
For a moment, i remain motionless, wrapped in slumber blankets that smell of pure wool, my eyes fixed on the window. It was a cold night.
I intentionally left the blinds raised to enjoy the first show that the sky can offer me. The charming pastel blue brushed rose among the white clouds, today it seems even more unique. I give it mythical aura and forget my pain.
I get up slowly. My low blood pressure seems to win on the desire to act quickly and get to the window with my eyes still plastered. I give up. I can stand on the IV pole, stumbling through the wires of the infusion. My heart is beating in my throat dull.
I open the forefront of the window. A breath of fresh air makes me take a deep breath. With closed eyes is even more hilarious.
The nature eats me, so much better.
The lush beauty of nature seems like a miserable existence and an antidote to pain.
The camp, outside, sends a light of its own, as if the sun's rays emanate from the ears, that quiver in the breeze and golden.
"The sun goes perfumes. Get the jasmine for example. At dawn, its fragrance is more intense, slightly different from that of noon, but after sunset, when the sun is just a memory, the flower gives off its true soul. You can not confuse them, you can not. "(1)
I shrug, the air is cold.
It 's weird how the mind can go beyond the trees, where the eyes can not see beyond the horizon, as well.
Any hospitalization should be a great experience for reflection and change. Every day, every minute, every moment, here, I decided to live it fully but according distilled emotions. With other eyes, with another spirit, seizing the opportunity that gives me.
I feel smell of disinfectant make his way down the long hallway and into my room. It contrasts in my nostrils. I shut the door. I open a little bit it. I breathe. I smell something like aseptic alcohol. It 'an integral part of this "holiday". It's "the smell of the hospital," that from childhood is associated unknowingly lane. I leave the door open so that I capture.
It 's funny how fasting makes you so vulnerable and sensitive to odors, perfumes. It 's true that our senses come into competition.
Life has put me to the test, but as Caboni Cristina writes in the book "The path of the perfumes", the scents can be on our way.
I try, every molecule is part of me, I feel what I suggest. The scent is a path and make us find ourselves.
On the lacquered pink coffee table, a cup of tea. The first, after a week of fasting.
It has an intense aroma (parfum). I close my eyes. A hint of citrus transports me to an exotic place.
I go in the persistent memory of the holiday just passed. My olfactory memory catapults me there, among the joyful memories of warm sand.
I sip. slowly.
There is silence now, and peace. Only the echo of the carriages of the nurses is able to distract me, and some stealthy step. Everything is muffled, I feel safe wrapped.
The operators will change the linen. Refer the bed according to a ritual that is repeated every day for years.
The clean scent wafts into the room and makes his way up to here. I'm sitting in the corner of the room, leting me kiss my face by the hot rays of the sun, he knocks on the window.
It 'an intense, soothing, calming, reassuring, that of clean sheets. And 'penetrating.
The dazzling white by bleaching reflects its brightness in these few square meters. I let myself wrap. I lay heavy my head on the pillow, . powerful its scent. Hypnotic.
i'm Seeking the energy required for new projects. I want it.
The squeaky rubber soles of a pair of clogs enter into my room. It's the cleaning lady with the mop for the floors wet with antiseptic. From floor stands now a pungent smells of damp. A smell of the past, of lost things, of old. A load of memories falls on me. Memories of the open country where I live, my moss garden of fallen leaves left to rot on the edge of the river behind the house. The blend of aromatic molecules and odors is this strange result. The lady gives a second pass as the sun floods the wall behind my bed. Here it is, in a few moments, the scent. It becomes almost a delicate fragrance. And 'the effect of the sun and fresh air coming through the window still open.
I turned off the phone, the ipad and tv. I removed the watch from my wrist. I think. Think about it. Hospitalization is a great opportunity to get in touch with our deepest self. Let us be soothed by anything that does not appear, but that is. Because this "holiday" is a training of the soul, which communicates with the senses, and speaks to us ..
(1) Cristina Caboni. The Path of perfumes. Ed. Garzanti, 2014
If you walk to the delight of one meter from the ground, nothing will make you stumble
'It's in this month of August, that we like to think about on vacation, or at least slowed down rhythms, with clocks that run slowly, the smarthphones off, or used intermittently and much more calmly in using social networks. That is: to live a period of change from the usual routine allows you to reflect on the phenomenon of metamorphosis in nature but also in the society. Open up and accept the mutation definitely requires a deep work to abandon prejudices, clichés and preconceived secular. "
The director Antonella Antonelli wrote that on the weekly Marie Claire of August.
And if in a week of August we happen to spend it in hospital?
We should, however, give her reason. Because vacation is not just sea, sand, mountains or city.
I open my eyes at dawn. Painkillers have ceased their effect.
For a moment, i remain motionless, wrapped in slumber blankets that smell of pure wool, my eyes fixed on the window. It was a cold night.
I intentionally left the blinds raised to enjoy the first show that the sky can offer me. The charming pastel blue brushed rose among the white clouds, today it seems even more unique. I give it mythical aura and forget my pain.
I get up slowly. My low blood pressure seems to win on the desire to act quickly and get to the window with my eyes still plastered. I give up. I can stand on the IV pole, stumbling through the wires of the infusion. My heart is beating in my throat dull.
I open the forefront of the window. A breath of fresh air makes me take a deep breath. With closed eyes is even more hilarious.
The nature eats me, so much better.
The lush beauty of nature seems like a miserable existence and an antidote to pain.
The camp, outside, sends a light of its own, as if the sun's rays emanate from the ears, that quiver in the breeze and golden.
"The sun goes perfumes. Get the jasmine for example. At dawn, its fragrance is more intense, slightly different from that of noon, but after sunset, when the sun is just a memory, the flower gives off its true soul. You can not confuse them, you can not. "(1)
I shrug, the air is cold.
It 's weird how the mind can go beyond the trees, where the eyes can not see beyond the horizon, as well.
Any hospitalization should be a great experience for reflection and change. Every day, every minute, every moment, here, I decided to live it fully but according distilled emotions. With other eyes, with another spirit, seizing the opportunity that gives me.
I feel smell of disinfectant make his way down the long hallway and into my room. It contrasts in my nostrils. I shut the door. I open a little bit it. I breathe. I smell something like aseptic alcohol. It 'an integral part of this "holiday". It's "the smell of the hospital," that from childhood is associated unknowingly lane. I leave the door open so that I capture.
It 's funny how fasting makes you so vulnerable and sensitive to odors, perfumes. It 's true that our senses come into competition.
Life has put me to the test, but as Caboni Cristina writes in the book "The path of the perfumes", the scents can be on our way.
I try, every molecule is part of me, I feel what I suggest. The scent is a path and make us find ourselves.
On the lacquered pink coffee table, a cup of tea. The first, after a week of fasting.
It has an intense aroma (parfum). I close my eyes. A hint of citrus transports me to an exotic place.
I go in the persistent memory of the holiday just passed. My olfactory memory catapults me there, among the joyful memories of warm sand.
I sip. slowly.
There is silence now, and peace. Only the echo of the carriages of the nurses is able to distract me, and some stealthy step. Everything is muffled, I feel safe wrapped.
The operators will change the linen. Refer the bed according to a ritual that is repeated every day for years.
The clean scent wafts into the room and makes his way up to here. I'm sitting in the corner of the room, leting me kiss my face by the hot rays of the sun, he knocks on the window.
It 'an intense, soothing, calming, reassuring, that of clean sheets. And 'penetrating.
The dazzling white by bleaching reflects its brightness in these few square meters. I let myself wrap. I lay heavy my head on the pillow, . powerful its scent. Hypnotic.
i'm Seeking the energy required for new projects. I want it.
The squeaky rubber soles of a pair of clogs enter into my room. It's the cleaning lady with the mop for the floors wet with antiseptic. From floor stands now a pungent smells of damp. A smell of the past, of lost things, of old. A load of memories falls on me. Memories of the open country where I live, my moss garden of fallen leaves left to rot on the edge of the river behind the house. The blend of aromatic molecules and odors is this strange result. The lady gives a second pass as the sun floods the wall behind my bed. Here it is, in a few moments, the scent. It becomes almost a delicate fragrance. And 'the effect of the sun and fresh air coming through the window still open.
I turned off the phone, the ipad and tv. I removed the watch from my wrist. I think. Think about it. Hospitalization is a great opportunity to get in touch with our deepest self. Let us be soothed by anything that does not appear, but that is. Because this "holiday" is a training of the soul, which communicates with the senses, and speaks to us ..
(1) Cristina Caboni. The Path of perfumes. Ed. Garzanti, 2014
