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Floating away

  A new inner choreography for a changing reality Little by little, the "texture" of the many memories that once furnished my mind is fading away. They no longer exist—not because I have erased them, but because they are no longer the same as they were when they first became my memories. ​It is like taking a photograph of a child. If you continue to see that child, the picture becomes a video that follows their development. But if you stop following that child’s adventure through life at some point, the video becomes a static image, frozen on the last shot. This is what gets stored in your memory. If you happen to meet the child again, he has become someone else, and something cringes deep inside. The memory is reset, yet the shadow of the previous one remains—at least for a while, until the new reality becomes your new inner choreography, building a fresh memory. ​At the moment, I am not renewing all that is fading away because I don't have the opportunity to create a ne...

Windows

 I loved to have my bed as near to the window as possible. Underneath or just in front, so that from the bed I could see the sky, and the stars at night, the moon, the clouds…

The best position I had was in Luzern, in Switzerland. It was an old nineteenth-century noble house, with four floors (plus the attics) and a flat on each one. It was just in front of the city wall in the old town.

It was all wooden inside. The old and beautiful floor was always creaking when walking, and all the rooms where interconnected. It means they had three doors, one opening towards the previous room, the other towards the next and one opening towards the long corridor. It was quite common once.

The two big rooms had the windows I absolutely love the most: the “Erker”, in English “Bow window” or "Bay Window". You find them often in the old northern Europe houses.

One of these room was the sitting room, and the other the bedroom. At that time I began to sleep on the floor, like the Japanese. Therefore the fouton, that I took back into a closet in the morning, for the night was positioned half way in the arch created on the floor by the Erker.

At night I could immerse in the clear sky, so characteristic in the north. (I miss the northern skies so much!)

I was also used to always sleep with the open window, even in winter – though it was just a bit open during the cold nights. And even when I lived on the Bernese Alps! I love to breath fresh air, and smell the scents of the night, which differ from season to season. As the sounds.

But when I lived in the Apennines hills, in central Italy, I began to realise that the harsh wilderness of the steep hills emanated some kind of subtle disturbance. Not really in a sinisterly way, but still disturbing. Somehow I understood why Italians always close the shutters.

Nevertheless I didn’t want to give up the habit to feel the emotions of the night,although I must admit that my sleep began to deteriorate.

At some point, while deepening the Feng Shui teachings, I discovered that it was suggested the bed not being placed neither in front of the door, nor the windows…

It was finally in this house that I had to capitulate. My sleep was deeply disturbed. No matter what kind of Feng Shui cure I adopted. Yes, they helped a bit, but not in a complete way. I am also getting older and I have become more and more sensitive, and obviously less strong, too.

The other day I eventually moved the bed, that I positioned along the bookshelf you see in the picture above. I was amazed by the incredible difference. I have begun to sleep well, so well and deep that I was utterly surprised by the difference!

 

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