The Wind is changing

It has been a while since I began to feel the energies within and around me moving differently. It happens all the time after a certain amount of years and usually it is when I end up moving. As in Mary Poppins: she left when she realised "the wind has changed"!

This time again I felt it with such an intense push that I honestly thought of moving, again... But after so many changes: places, houses, nations... I also felt I ran out of locations that called me so much to lead me into an exhausting next move. 

In recent years I came to realise that whenever an important planet reaches my Death point, in my astrological chart, I sink into that urge to change everything. Exciting, once I found all that somehow exciting. Recently I began to perceive all the hustle and bustle of a move more and more tiring. In two month I will be 73 and my energy has slowed down a lot. Really a lot!  

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Some Days Ago

 

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A tough work

 

Ancient teachings show us the sublime Way to transform our life into something worth living. They are not secret, they are evident, very simple, but challenging. However people prefer to think of the highest thruths as a kind of supernatural special gift that, if discovered, would make them powerful and very much similar to God. But because of some conspiracies, this so special "magic" gift is kept secret, so that common people won't find it and will remain in misery. 

In reality things are quite elementary but extremely demanding. In order to get to the highest splendor you must work hard on yourself in order to get rid of the rubbish you created in your inside as well as in your environment, or that you absorbed from the others and the situations around you. 

Of course, for the majority it is much more exciting to believe they will reach the super gift without any real work on themselves, because they think that the superficial and "romantic" information they received by all the shining and rich, wannabe famous gurus, telling them about the "special mission" awaiting them to manifest in their life is to be fulfilled. They were told that the intimate spark they feel burning inside, that lets them feel different and special, is the sublime sign of their personal prophecy. They are called to a grandious mission. They must dare to become what they deep inside know they are!

They don't recognise these teachings as misleading; they don't realise they push their egos and, as such, they can't be spiritual, but on the contrary very matter greedy!
Therefore they think they must now find that right information, a kind of "magic formula", giving them the key to the enchanted shrine within so that they will be able to completely open it up and "voilà: les jeux sont faits!". Finally they will teach the mass through their personal achievements!

Such a gullible belief is a real bonanza for the hungry mass of wolves, who present themselves as good Samaritans, or as smart Gurus, constantly on the hunt for simpletons like them. At this point, these foolish people are done.  

We were told that at the end of the world there will be two parties: the ones who will be part of the turnover in the Earth's cycles and the ones ready to the next level. Guess who is who...

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Far far away in the depth of the sky

 

The crisp mountain air filled Lisbeth’s lungs as she set her rucksack down inside the wooden hut. She had finally reached it. She had always found comfort in the mountains—her mountains: the majestic Alps with their towering, ancient silence. She had grown up amongst them, spent countless holidays tracing their rugged trails and breathing in their vastness.

But this time was different. She wasn’t here for the thrill of the ascent. She needed solitude. She needed a silence deep enough to fade the noise of the world below.

Too many things had happened in recent months. Outwardly, her life was fine; everything appeared stable. But inside, a restlessness had taken root—an unease she couldn’t overcome.

After a sparse meal of bread, cheese, some slices of cucumber, she stepped outside. She sat on the weathered bench, facing the Rosenlaui Gletscher. This was a familiar landscape, yet tonight it felt somehow different. The glacier stood quiet and eternal, reflecting the soft glow of the moon. Above her, the sky stretched endlessly, filled with the cold brilliance of an infinite multitude of stars.

Lisbeth traced the constellations with her eyes, a habit from childhood. Her gaze fell upon Sirius, the brightest star, burning just south of Orion.

And then she saw them.

Three lights—red, yellow, green—hovering near Sirius, pulsing in slow, deliberate patterns. They did not move across the firmament. They simply were: suspended in the darkness like a silent signal.

Lisbeth stared. Her first thought was an aircraft, maybe military, but there was no movement. The lights rotated, alternating colours, mesmerising her. There was something unsettling about them, yet, at the same time, they felt achingly intimate. A strange warmth spread through her—an inexplicable feeling of home.

Eventually, she shook herself and went inside. In bed she couldn't stop thinking about the lights, but finally she slowly fell asleep. 

The next day passed in a strange state of trance. She hiked the familiar trails, but her mind remained locked on the sky. When darkness returned, she was outside again. The lights were there. Shining, alternating, exactly as they had been the night before. She had the feeling they were waiting for her! 

By the third day, Lisbeth had abandoned all plans of serious hiking. She stayed near the hut, restless, searching online for anything—news, reports, astronomical phenomena to be observed in the sky. Nothing. It was as if the world remained untouched, unaware of these unusual lights far far away in the depth of the sky.  

That night, when the lights once more greeted her with their presence, it seemed there were even more colours now—hints of amethyst and electric blue—but fainter than the main three. 

And again, she felt that intense feeling of home, of belonging, stronger than ever.  

Lying in bed that night, Lisbeth felt torn. The thought of walking away filled her with a sudden, sharp nostalgia, as if leaving the mountain would mean losing something far greater than she could comprehend. Sleep came fitfully. She hovered between waking and dreaming, every creak of the wooden hut amplified.

And then—she wasn’t in bed anymore.

She stood in a space that was not a place, and before her were three beings. They were tall and slender, radiating a presence so immensely intense it felt like a vibration in her very marrow. Their glow wasn’t just light; it was energy—something that "knew." 

Lisbeth realised that they had been speaking to her for a while and now she began to be fully aware of what they were saying, something deeply uncomfortable.

“The human race is an ‘experiment’, a test...”. She froze. The words landed directly in her mind with the weight of lead.

They explained that Earth was a crucible—a trial unlike any other in the universe. Here, all kinds of origins had been stirred together. There were those with divine souls; and then there were the others. The vessels. Occupied by different forces, impulses, or intents from sources far beyond human understanding.

“If you can navigate the chaos,” they said, “if you can face the darkness without becoming it, then something extraordinary emerges. A new being. One that has seen the worst of existence and still chosen the light. A species that, instead of being destroyed by evil, has transformed it—turned its weight into strength, its malice into wisdom.”

“The challenge,” they continued, “is to remain firm in goodness. Not in passive submission, but in unwavering strength—to stand in the storm without becoming the storm.”

Lisbeth’s thoughts raced. She had always sensed that life carried a weight few truly understood. To hear it spoken so clearly was as if a lock deep within her had finally clicked open.

The beings told her their words were clear because she already knew them. She only needed to be reminded of what she had always carried.

And then,suddenly,—a sound. A distant, sharp break in the silence.

A rooster crowing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The world shuddered. The glowing figures wavered like reflections on disturbed water. Lisbeth felt herself being pulled—backward, downward, back into herself.

She gasped and realised she was awake.

The wooden walls of the hut were there. The first grey light of dawn was timidly awakening. The rooster crowed a fourth time. Lisbeth sat up, her body shaken, her mind spinning. Her breath was unsteady, yet something deep inside her was utterly still.

She stood slowly and stepped outside. 

The air was fresh and untouched. The mountains stood as they always had: silent, ancient, watching. She looked up at the pale gold of the morning sky.

The lights were gone. Nowhere in the fading night sky were the three colours to be seen.

Lisbeth inhaled deeply. She wasn’t disappointed. She exhaled, a slow, steady breath. The mountains stretched before her, vast and infinite. Somewhere below, people were waking up, totally unaware of the great unseen forces shaping their world. Life for all of them continued unchanged!

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Lighting my Candle

"The soul of man is the candle of God" (Proverbs 20:27)

This is a perfect metaphor of the relationship to God. We, humans, work to prepare the candle. We do our best to create a good candle to offer to God, so that he may, at the proper time, lite it. While waiting for this to happen we should  pray/ask for His Intervention and continuously work on ourselves in order to keep improving.

It doesn't matter how good we are: it's not a granted result that God will lite our candle. The right time it's all up to Him!

I summarised the process:

1. Building the Candle (Your Part)

​You cannot light a flame without a physical vessel. "Building the candle" means doing the practical, human work to be and become the best of you.

The Wax: represents your character traits—even the "messy" ones.

​The Wick: represents your will and your daily efforts.

​The Placement: means putting yourself in the right environment to be "lit."

2. The Waiting (or the Relief)

Paradoxically here is where the exhaustion ends. The reality is that a candle cannot light itself. If you are still sitting in the dark, it doesn’t mean the candle is "broken"; it just means the match hasn’t been struck yet. You put all your efforts into it, and continue striving, regardless of the results. Your goal is to become a better person, the struggle you are going through manifests your sincere commitment towards the final outcome. Although not there yet, your deep involved dedication is nourishing your true desire, as if you were filling it with with fuel. You are doing your part. And this action of yours removes the guilt. If you aren't "improved" yet, it isn't necessarily because you haven't worked hard enough, but because the "tank" is not yet full yet.  

3. The divine Intervention

Our continuous efforts is what Chassidus, the Hasidic philosophy, calls "Arousal from Below". When we "arouse" ourselves with prayer and effort, it eventually draws down the "Arousal from Above": the divine match that will lit our Fire!

Lubavitcher Rebbe, a person I see as an enlightened Master, says that even when the candle is unlit, it is still a holy object. Therefore we shouldn't wait for the "success" of the flame in order to feel our life valuable. The "Wax and the Wick" -our daily struggles- are precious to God even before the light comes. God loves the candle-maker just as much as He loves the flame!

4. The Wisdom of the "Unlit Candle"

​There is a deep relief when you become aware that the struggle is the service!

In our modern world, we are obsessed with "results"—we expect to see the flame as an answer to our well done job. But in the spiritual "jungle," the most sacred work is often done in the dark, while you are still just "building the candle".

This "unlit" state is where Humility is performed. If the candle were always lit, we would think we were the sun. By having to wait, and by having to ask for that "Divine Intervention" we learn the most important lesson of all: Relationship. God doesn't just want you to be "improved" (a finished product); He wants to be in a constant dialogue with you about the process of improving!

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Healing

It is a long, painful and slow process healing. You must really be determined in going through all the internal and external mess of your "dis-ease". 

The body and the spirit, not only have lost their balance, but also their spontaneous capacity to recover and the first signs of diseases appear.

You can't heal the body if you don't begin with your massacred psyche first. It takes so long to go through all the pain you experienced. The psychological sufference is unspeakable. But there is no other choice. If you want to recover and redeem your life this is the inevitable first step.

It may easily take years. 

 At the same time, in a very gentle way, you begin to take care of your body. No harsh treatment. Soft and kind cures to comfort your earthly warrior who strenuously fought for you and now feels done. It almost lost hope.

This process is extremely challenging, bewildering, painful: physically and psychologically.

But eventually, with God's help, you manage. And your new life begins.

 

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The big lies

 

Joseph Göbbels (Reich Minister of Propaganda in Nazi Germany) had a famous strategy: "a lie told once remains a lie, but a lie told a thousand times becomes the truth"!

The philosopher Hannah Arendt explained it: the "Big Lie" wasn't just to make people believe a specific falsehood, but to make them lose their sense of reality entirely.

​"The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is not the convinced Nazi or the convinced Communist, but people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction and the distinction between true and false no longer exist." 

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Emancipation?

 

Nothing has changed. Men have the power: they have always felt entitled to it and they still are. "Emancipation" is just a word to be mocked because men remain in charge of the world's most vital matters. Women are still considered and expected to be pleasant decorations, needed to adjust and soften the atmosphere.

​And yet, despite this low level of consideration, that role is another kind of power nonetheless! It is a power that voracious women embrace and learn to wield in order to dominate, yet without ever clearly affirming this "dominant" role. This type of apparently "submissive power" is much easier to deny and far harder to measure.

​You see this dynamic very clearly in the Mediterranean countries, where the Arab domination left deep roots. In the northern countries it seems less evident. And yet a widespread, creeping hatred towards women remains very strong. The fact that a Swedish author, Stieg Larsson, wrote Men Who Hate Women, it shows us exactly how deep-seated this issue is!

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Reputation

 

In the house where your sadness is a nuisance and your anger a silence nobody bothers to acknowledge, the currency of belonging is not honesty but performance. 

A bright laugh that rang a little too early, a clever remark that landed before the conversation had fully formed, a face that seemed to glow with genuine pleasure at your arrival—these are the tokens that bought you a seat at the table. 

The moment you cross the threshold, the walls already know the script you are supposed to follow; they measure you by the sparkle of your entrance, not by the weight of the stories you carry beneath it.

The rule is simple: first impressions matters more than the tangled truths that linger in the corridors of your mind. 

A reputation, in that environment, is a story told by other people—a montage of snapshots that never quite captured the pauses, the sighs, the moments when the mask slipped. And once the story left the mouths of the gossiping guests, you no longer hold the pen. 

You could try to rewrite the chapter, but the ink had already dried on the cover, and the house will keep reading it aloud to anyone who enters.

What this teaches us about the broader social world is that the architecture of perception often rewards the façade over the substance. When you are judged by the echo of your laughter rather than the echo of your deep reflections, you learn to sculpt yourselves into the shape that will be welcomed, silencing the parts of you that could be perceived inconvenient to others.

The cost is a quiet erosion of authenticity, while the reward—a fleeting sense of acceptance.

Is all this worth it?

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God! Are you still here?

 

The freezing winds of the past caught me again. Once, my stamina was solid. In spite of all the attacks, it kept me going.

Now, in old age, energy decreases. I am not ill, but vital energy is slowly decreasing, and the cutting winds of the heavy past catch me. I feel my heart slowly freezing, colours fade, sounds around me are like the fierce thunder of an approaching storm.

I must sit down and send you a voice: Hello God! Are you still here?

And immediately I feel my squeezed heart finally stretching out. Your warmth moistens it. My taken-away breath comes back, and I am living again.

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Angustia: no way out!

 

Thomas Aquinas in his Summa Theologiae describes anxiety as a narrowing (from Latin angustia - narrowness):

"Anxiety is that which so takes possession of the mind as to leave no opening for escape"

It is sorrow so intense it "binds the soul" and "shuts out all hope"

The soul becomes trapped, unable to find a way out.

This image is precise: anxiety feels like being in a space that keeps getting smaller, the walls pressing in.

Aquinas's proposed remedies all point towards "dilatatio" (expansion):

-Grace as "enlargement and strengthening" of the soul. A distraction that provokes a "dilatatio" (expansion) and therefore: 

-Joy and love causing the heart to widen

-Hope opening what anxiety has closed

-Contemplation of truth delighting more than pain saddens

This is grace - not as theological abstraction, but as lived experience of sudden release.

My frustration: 

Around my 20s when I was trying to deepen Catholicism, I began to read him. And I totally disliked him. Too much mental constructions. I have tried again a few days ago, because, again, I am trying to reach the "splendid essence" that all converts claim to have finally found in Catholicism... But I seem unable to grasp what they see, and it is only through their eyes that I understand their depth!

Here is how Aquinas explain how anxiety forms:

"The heart is moved by the soul... not as by a physical force, but through the apprehension of the mind. When the mind perceives something as good or evil, the heart follows with an affection, either expanding in joy or narrowing in sorrow."

Technically it is a super description but his writings do not share any compassion at all. Just a sharp surgery on how we humans "function"!

When Aquinas suggests to swich one's attention towards something holy, it describes it perfectly:

​"The contemplative life consists in a certain liberty of the mind... for the soul is not drawn to things outside, but is fixed upon the thought of God alone."

In contemplation we become one with God and therefore, my conclusion, we may aspire to His Grace!

​"Grace is not a movement, but a certain formal principle in the soul... by which the soul is perfected in its being, so that it may later act through the virtues".

After reading him, I perfectly understand what is talking about. I perfectly know what it means, but somehow his aridity strikes me. Especially when you come from a spiritual path like mine, that through Hinduism reached Buddhism, in which I found the necessary inner state to reach God and unite in contemplation; and finally Hebraism. Just to be clear: it has nothing to do with common Jewish people (with a Zionist mentality), but with the deepest essence of Judaism, out of which Jesus resumed the essence that became Catholicims - if only the Fathers of the Church would have maintained the purity of heart and didn't switch into a surgical analytic mind!

Therefore I take you now into the Jewish Understanding on how we should face all troubling adpect of life: 

-You honestly try your very best;

-At the same time you invoke the Heavenly Assistance (Siyata d'Shemaya)

In other words: You provide the candle, through the intent and your good will in acting in the best way possible; God provides the light.

A fundamental spiritual law:

Human effort is necessary but insufficient.

-We must be willing to struggle towards good

-But we cannot succeed in transformation by our own power alone

-We need the "Ray of Divine Illumination" - God's active assistance

From Tanya Chapter 13: "If the Holy One, blessed be He, did not help him, he could not overcome it."

This is why people write BH "B'zrat Hashem (ב"ה) at the top of documents, meaning "with God help" - not as superstition, but as theological acknowledgment: even my best effort requires divine help to bear fruit.

The Mechanics: How It Actually Works

1. Stop Fighting Yourself Directly. For instance: dealing with anxiety, don't try to "not be anxious." Don't suppress the trait. Your anxiety, your stubbornness, your intensity or whatever - these are part of you. Trying to eliminate them is like trying to remove parts of your own engine.

Recognise therefore your status. Most of all recognise you are unable to deal with it. You tried your best but it doesn't really work!

2. Redirect Instead of Remove

The Lubavitcher Rebbe: We don't need to transform our nature as much as redirect it.

Anxiety is a constriction caused by the impossibility to act in order to solve a situation - your body has mobilised the energy and is ready. But in the state of immobility the subtle energy bloats. You can't cure it but you can use it as fuel for action. It's the action that must be chosen carefully. If you can't do anything to solve the trouble, you must choose another action.

Ask: "God, allow me to redirect this anxious energy into [washing this dish, making this call, doing this one small task, etc.]."

Why this works:

Stop the fight: Admit you cannot force the situation into something better. For instance, you can't oblige yourself to be calm. 

This admission - this humility - opens the needle's eye. 

Then you say: 'God, I provide the will and my best deeds to deal with it; please provide your Ray', your holy touch, strength, enlightenment...

In requesting the Ray: You're asking God to illuminate your mind so you can see clearly - not to do the work for you, but to turn on the lights so you can see where to step.

The Mood: Joy as Foundation

"Simcha Poretz Geder" - Joy breaks through fences.

Not happy-clappy laughter, but internal confidence that God is with you and your struggle matters.

The Rebbe's teaching: Maintain a "base level" of joy - not because life is perfect, but because you are a partner with God.

All this works and makes the shift happens: You aren't fighting anxiety anymore. You're taking that engine (your natural intensity) and shifting it to an area where hope and the following joy for having God's help will accompany you.

You do not battle the darkness; you simply turn on the light.

The Complete Picture

The Problem: Anxiety as narrowness (angustia) - the soul bound, no way out.

The False Solution: Try to expand yourself through mental effort, contemplation, willpower.

The True Solution: Partnership with God.

-Recognise you are at your limit;

-Provide the will (the spark, the struggle, the staying in the fight);

-Ask for the Ray (God's illumination, help, partnership, fuel)

-Redirect the energy into some small positive actions;

-Maintain base joy because you're not alone in this;

-Enjoy being with God!

God doesn't require you to win the war. He requires you to stay in the fight... with Him!

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Rainer Maria Rilke Lessons on Life

 

"Letters to a Young Poet (original title, in German: Briefe an einen jungen Dichter) is a collection of ten letters written by the Bohemian-Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926) to Franz Xaver Kappus, a 19-year-old officer cadet at the Theresian Military Academy in Wiener Neustadt, between 1903 and 1908. Kappus corresponded with the popular poet seeking his advice as to the quality of his poetry." [From Wikipedia]

This short booklet is one among the many favourite books I have, and keep going back to. It's full of life wisdom in which I recognise the wisdom, I myself have reached now, in my old age.

When giving workshops or lectures, there is a question that keeps appearing: «Tell us exactly what are the right steps to... (whatever they want to reach)!»

The inevitable answer is that there aren't codified "right steps" and whoever preaches that there are: is a fool, or a very immature person! Because the steps that work out well for a person may easily be a complete disaster for another.

Therefore my answer is what I found today, when I happened to take this, almost forgotten booklet, out of the bookshelf. Here is what Rilke says:

«You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you – no one.

There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must”, then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.»

[Here you find all the letters to read or to listen to]

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The Farce

To my eyes and perception, the world is becoming increasingly out of proportion. Actions follow the whims of the foolish individual now leading the most powerful nation on Earth, while those who represent justice and knowledge simply shout indignantly about the "illegal acts" he commits—yet do nothing!

Before me unfolds a true "commedia dell'arte": the same confused agitation, filled with big words and bad actions. 

Those who theoretically hold important positions either follow the hoaxer out of fear or simply fuel the disconcertion with their upset talk. To the latter, I have begun to say: "If it is 'illegal' as you claim, then do something! Stop talking: act!"

Perhaps this is exactly what they should realise: they are big, pompous talkers, incapable of putting theory into action.

Culture, instead of shaping character and informing conduct, has become a kind of "narcotic nirvana"... I am horrified!

 

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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 new bond. I am simply watching the old float away into the sky, exactly like a red balloon disappearing into the clouds.

As soon as I managed to get over the unsettling feeling created by the discrepancy between the old and the new reality, I felt light—as if I were that red balloon floating high into a new, faraway reality. Perhaps not even belonging to this world anymore!

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Last night full moon

 

I like festivities when they are compact. One or some sequential days. I don't like them when they come in a very narrow sequence, like Xmas, New Year's Eve, Epiphany, where each one comes after seven days plus the Sundays in-between. 

There is a general stress during winter holidays. The intense need to buy: decorations, presents, food. People get really stressed. Shop assistants are stressed. The general vibe is stressed. 

I try to avoid shops and offices in these three weeks, although it is not always possible. And now we have almost reached the end. Tomorrow it will be the last day of the winter holidays. Children will go back to school. And I will go out for my grocery shopping, relieved that it is over. 

Nevertheless, I had really nice days. Everything quiet, smooth, delicate. In fact I enjoyed them all. And yet, it was too much!

[In the picture the full moon and Jupiter. It makes me always happy when Jupiter or Venus greet me from the sky!]

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I Don't Need Christmas

 

Yes, I don't need it because for me it's Christmas every day—at least twice a day during my morning and evening meditations. I say "at least" because when you meditate continuously from nineteen to seventy-two (my age today), your system integrates, deep within, a sacred space that becomes part of you—of your body, your psyche, your brain. Therefore, even when you're not formally meditating, in reality you are, because that sacred part within has become, over the years, more and more active, switched on, shining on its own.

Christmas celebrates the divine Light on Earth. Meditation activates the inner Light, regenerating us, nourishing us, guiding us.

I would never have survived the continuous heavy pressure of unceasing challenges if it weren't for the steady practise of meditation.

What Meditation Is Not

Let me clearly state some facts about meditation: It is not a relaxing exercise, even if you must first get into a relaxed state. It is not a breathing exercise, even if you have to regulate your breathing. It is not listening to relaxing, dreamy music—even if that may help at the very beginning. Honestly, I discourage people from combining the idea of meditation with that mellow new age music because they get trapped into a misconception.

And finally, it has nothing to do with some kind of romantic sentimental state, or even the mystical devotion that in some religions is taken for deep divine connection. These things may help at the beginning if you clearly understand they are the very first stages of your inner journey towards the destination. In other words, if you know they are not the meaning of meditation.

Early Influences

My mother was a deeply disturbed person—emotionally, with her devouring need to show how much better she was, and mentally, as she became more and more disconnected. But from a conceptual point of view, she was educated and very clear. In fact, it was she who introduced me to the world of meditation when I was very young, between four and five—the age when most children are read fairy tales. Instead, I was told incredible, fascinating stories about monks in a faraway land called Tibet, where they meditated and could withstand the sharp bite of cold without being disturbed.

My father taught me the existential necessity of wide knowledge—not just to show off, as I see everywhere today, but because only through knowing can you dare to jump out of the box. He urged me to think above, below, at the side, and beyond what is obvious or accepted.

My mother, instead, gave me all that kind of education necessary to be a "lady": how to behave, good manners, how to speak appropriately, no accent "for the Lord's sake!" How to recognise a class style—"class" in the old meaning, not the cheap striking style they often call "class" today. The different styles in art (she had very pronounced artistic traits), and so on.

Of course, always attending elite schools helped consolidate all that. Why did I attend elite schools, even though my parents were totally against the "cheap" (my mother's definition) showing off that the emerging new-money class was looking for? Because they have the best teachers and give the best education.

One day I asked my father why I was always given the best schools while my two brothers weren't. His answer was totally unexpected: "Because they're not interested in studying! I surely don't spend my money for them" he said sharply, with an angry hint of disappointment.

It was true. All my mother's good manners left them completely untouched. Both my parents eventually capitulated. My brothers grew up to become people I could hardly recognise as family—a strange alienation that made my own isolation even more pronounced.

The Move to Milan

I was eleven when we left the Italian Riviera—first San Remo, then Genoa. We moved to the suburbs of Milan, where my father's new offices were. And everything brutally changed.

My mother hated being there. She found the surroundings not as "signorile" as they were in Liguria, although we moved into the most "signorile" house in the area (to such an extent that older men of the "common people," the "populace"—as my mother called them—would take off their hats as a sign of respect even in front of me, an eleven-year-old girl).

My mother's deep unsettling feelings when we left Liguria contributed to exacerbating her personality. Everything became hell.

And yet, soon after, at nineteen, I luckily found how to regenerate my massacred inner state through meditation. I couldn't change my external life, but I could change my inner state. A safe anchor indeed. 

I began to create my Christmas inside.

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