June 24th: We Can Be Friend!

A buzzing  of  rotor blade fills the air, even the swallows stop their chirping flights: from my strategical position of my sun-bath, on the small terrace at the fifth floor of the Hotel Inghilterra in Rome, I can assist at an epochal event.
The fresh conditioning air is waiting for me in my room, the bed with white linen sheets is covered by pink petals as a welcome from my forever pleasure mate.
I can still enjoy the sun on my body for a while, laying on the white towel I have my naked skin kissed by its rays just as a young girl in Positano. There,  guests by my sister Ala , in a white small villa  climbed on a hill, I obeyed to my mother’s advises that was keeping me at least a quarter of an hour a day, to keep the sun on my naked small bottom of nymphet. How slow was that time to pass… I could speak with all the insects that are falling down from the wall of fragrant jasmines, the angels’ flower, whose aroma heralds and surrounds the most close moments making them unforgettable.


Even now I’m before a balustrade smelling of jasmines, with my “small” bottom in the air and I’m happy to be alive and present at this particular day.
Pope Benedict XVI is going in the “open” car to see our Head of State, President Azeglio Ciampi. He is crossing his town without fear, three helycopters, positioned at different heights over him, follow and assured the way filled of so many people full of faith and hope in a change.
People shouldn’t be afraid, Rome belongs to the Pontifices even before the advent of Christ when, in 600 b.c., at Romulus’s death the Sabine Numa Pompilius succeeded him in the government of Rome: he established in the Eternal City, introducing it from the Sabine rituals, the Flamen worship, the Vestals and Pontifices worships, the bridges’ builders, those who link the “two lands”.


Still now on the pope’s headgear, the skullcap, there is a remainder of the headgear of the Flamen, now a small point, once a middle or long staff to capture Jove’s darts to protect his thoughts. The headgear of Jove’s Flamens was white, our Pope’s skullcap is white as well, purple the Cardinals’.
Memories of the particular headgear have been found in more ancient times in the drawings let from the Egyptians in hieroglyphs, Seshat, the lady of time, wears one of it with a star on top of the high point, and in the statuary, Tuje, Pharaoh Amenhotep IV’s wife, kindly wears one completely similar to the actual papal skullcap.

       Tuji’s Statue XVIII th Dynasty  and                                           Papal skulcap

Nothing is invented, everything follows and results and Rome knows how the Pontifices represent it since the period of its birth. They have absorbed christian culture carrying it on, preserving it in their city and now has come the time of opening, of offering the secret knowledge, of becoming spiritually rich in doing it.

Last June 16th, on thursday, day always devoted to Jove, Malachi’s prophecy has come true: the Coliseum, the Imperial Forum, the Eternal City has been inundated, flooded by half a meter of purifying water. Time has come for the Church to open itself, to complete its own knowledge together with the world, our and the other one!
Pope has come on the Quirinus Hill, the helicopters are going home, two pass over the roman roofs of my sun bath, I cross myself… I hope they see me and understand my message, anyhow, everywhere and however we are, even naked, we believe and we wait for a renewal, the opening of the doors, the forgiveness for the divorced, the protection for millions of people that, unconscious, face death everytime they make love without using condoms.
It’s a too serious affair not to begin to speak about it, the body’s health must be kept safe and preserved as much as the soul’s. Aids patients in the world are a sad result of it.
Now is more than a quarter of an hour of sun bathing and, without the flamen’s headgear, it’s better to leave the glad thoughts and the fragrant jasmines to come back in the healthy inner shadow to enjoy another side of life, more “sombre”, as French people tell: nearer to reality, in the shadow where it’s better living in these late antemeridian hours.

                                         The Hotel Inghilterra’s terrace

Before coming in the room I water the plant with the mild white flowers: we can be friend everyone respecting other people’s life, making those little acts that make it easy, that make evident the aptitude to understand, to stop the judgement, receiving in us the awareness of not being alone, knowing how it didn’t exist only a way to see things but various ways.
Different writings: from the left we Occidentals, from the right the Orientals, upright Chinese and Japanese peoples.
Different ways of driving: everybody keep the right; English, Indian, Australian peoples and New Zealander keep the left.
In ancient times the mistake was marked with the colour  black, now it is rectified in red.
Various are the religions: someone has the culture and the consciousness of a membership to a faith in use there where he has borne, where he has been initiated to life.
These instructions of different cultures can’t divide us or put us one against the other. Never!

Now I take a shower, I let the water run on my body washing my thoughts and filling my senses of fresh pleasure, sometime a little is enough to feel so essential emotions.
The fresh shadow of the room is receiving me, I put down my bathrobe on the bed and I lay down on it to relish the coolness of my skin, throbbing of life. I smear the after sun cream by Clarins, the “Baume aprés soleil” rich of natural essences; the fragrance that exhales all over my body in breathing it makes my nostrils dilated, I smile thinking at these preparation to make the morning meeting with pleasure more charming. When he will come down to kiss me between my legs he will smell that same flavour come up from my skin to attract his senses, to take him by hand in a world apart, where there are no ways to be happy, but only sensations…then he will be happy, in that twilight, to be able to rejoice of so little, while he succeeds in getting, without deceptions, my unwitting hymn to life.
When I, certain of him, let myself go I’ll make him feel important and he will… to have me arrived to the nectar of the gods, to the pleasure of the senses!
It’s not easy for me to reach the goal, I must be sure of the person I have before me, I mustn’t notice in him any desire to overwhelm or judge me. He mustn’t arrive to me through an expedient or a manipulation because I’d discover him at once and the consequent disappointment would prevent any relation of complicity.

                                     Certain of him

Attracting a person with intelligence and dialogue is the way, capturing it with the senses and with imaginary, even if being evenly matched can show inadequate it’s a risk to be run to live free love. When someone esteem a person he doesn’t underestimate neither cheat it, he rejoice of its presence over his own expectations.
Any other mean is restrictive and a little despicable, because make of it a prey doesn’t mean free it, of course not!
We needn’t search the satisfaction of our own pleasure, the one of the first minute, but the reaching of the other’s one through a direct, explicit line.
Not through tricks but with more difficult complicity.

“Let ourselves go” has a very precise meaning, it means to trust who we have in front and lower our guard. This thing I never will be able to do if I have in front of me a man who want to cheat me somehow, to take me to his shore with fraud: the aptitude of his thought will be fatal to him, because even if he’ll succeed in doing it… he’ll never have me: my unconscious, with defenses much on the lookout, would prevent it and everything will have been vain.
When you look for the same thing with reciprocal esteem, with the desire of giving as more pleasure you can, when you don’t want to demonstrate anything but only to live, to permit to the other to open to the pleasure, you’ll obtain as many sensational results.
Our civilization underestimates these tenuous relations of acquaintance, our culture has taught the man to be already satisfied only having his phallus erect, nearly as if this was a condition of arrival, and not of starting. Viagra has thought to the most reticent how much could this erection be uncomfortable if prolonged and failing further spurs, in comparison with a natural way of make love.
Will they have understood that this is only a point of starting to involve the other and not only the summit of an encounter?… the maximum evolutive effort only to exhibit it, what a waste!

                                  Con…tact! Means Whit…tact!

Welcome who can use the right mix, who has read the Kamasutra even only for curiosity, who asked himself how much respect wants a woman before being touched. And it’s not a question of days, months or years, it’s a prompt respect, perceptible in those few moments when you meet as equal… Only when the encounter isn’t destined to the reaching of a single selfish pleasure but is opened to the acquaintance and the acceptance of the other, who can’t and mustn’t agree against its own will, then we’ll open, if we’ll have been both clear in our intention.


       A young Masai                                                                             …. thirty years later

They are luckier, the young men Masai, to which respect is taught!
As a tradition, they can’t touch a woman until they haven’t pass a test: they must leave for the savannah  with the others  “already men” with the aim of killing a lion with the only use of their naked hands!
Why choosing such a wild animal?
Not only because it is the principal danger for the grazing of the herds, of which the Masai are natural guardians from time immemorial, but because in the idea of facing it everyone of us meet the wild animal that is inside him.
For days and weeks the group wanders about in the grazing lands, lights fires in the camps, waits for the fateful encounter. Nobody among the “already men” reveal anything, they leave time running its course, waiting that the spectre of fear leaves the young soul and tempts him to respect life, any life, not only his. Then he’ll understand… with naked hands has another meaning!
He must defeat the lion driving it away from the herds, brandishing in his hands fire, hunting it without touching it, maybe burning it, at most, few hairs!

        Wild, safe, lion

Only leading in the animal a subjection, establishing in the wild beast the respect for the man who can handle fire… without useless risks and bloodsheds or losses of lives from both sides.
When the young man has learnt by himself to understand, when he has read in his companions’ eyes the silent assent and the satisfaction for his success… so much he will have increased his knowledge and will be able to touch a woman. The  “already man” is now  up to the task of asking himself more things, of understanding more and more, of investigating the secret of life with more patience.
He will be able to respect the object of his desire turning it in the subject, he will be careful to not tarnish  the immense fragility of what is made the strength of a woman.

He will be able to recognize the source equal to the one where he was born from, to help in her way that being so unselfish to ask nothing offering all  herself for the development of new lives,  deserving, over everything, respect! So doing he will be an integral part of the creation, just as he has learnt alone with the silent help of his friends “already men”, before those night fires under the savannah stars, there where the sky is higher and ideas fly free, pure in a single choir to life to which all inhabitants of the earth participate, the herds and the lion, now occupied in licking its burnt whiskers. The young “already man” has learnt to not undertake a thing if not intimately proven.
He has learnt the power of reflection and has appreciated its goal, now he’ll be able to bear it in mind!


                                  Gustav Klimt: The Kiss

As  Paolo Coelho tells in his novel “The Alchemist”, we leave to learn what we search, that then is… in our house’s well!

Copyright © Ely Galleani Blog. All rights reserved.

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