If you have hidden, even in distant times,  awkward skeletons in the cupboards is not easy to  follow the phases  of your growth.
Facing your own mistakes implies their second reading and to do so you need a solicitation, a starting push that tempts to open the drawers and begin the “spring cleaning”!
Reading “El Origen Perdido”, the last novel by Matilde Asensi, I’ve found in me the strength to go on in this further analysis spurred by the matter  dealt with such  skill.
The author writes about the power of words, about their  ability to activate some neuro-transmitters responsible  of our moods and, in synthesis, of our  consequent actions.
The matter is so fascinating as real and I had verified its exactness  by myself  in the course of my life, sometimes complicated.
More times have been words,  together with a look of deep compassion,  to unblock some negative stages of my life and to direct its course towards an outlet that was, till then, unlikely.
The book by  Umberto Eco “The Search for the Perfect Language”  writes of an ancient idiom, the aymara, the language spoken by the Yatiris, a South America community existing since the time before the Deluge, which should have conserved undamaged idioms, equal to algorithms, with a peculiar neuro-transmitter effectiveness.
A pure language, spoken before the collapse of the  Tower of Babel with a phonetics able to have mankind making progress.
After all the story of  the  tower of Babel and of the Deluge is  common  in every  culture in any latitude of our world.
In the Bible is told how Jahvé, displeased of  mankind, sent the deluge for forty days and forty nights, in the ancients Egyptian papyri is told of a body of water, Nun, that submerged all the lands and also Mesopotamian mythology, in the poem of Gilgamesh,  tells of Ut-Napishtim, the equivalent of our Noè, that saved all the seeds and the animal species from the flood wanted by the Creator, Emil.
In Chinese myths was Yu to build for thirteen years the channels that saved the survivors of the Deluge and in the Bhagavata Purana and in the Mahabharata, India’s sacred texts, is repeated the story of the hero and his saving boat.
Even Australian Aborigines, Indians from North America and Eskimos tell an  analogous story so as happened for the Yatiris that transcribed it in aymara in the tocapus .
A same myth expressed in different languages  which protagonists are called with different names, according to the idiom in which the facts are told, even being  the same identity.
A logic consequence to the dissolution of the original idiom broke  with the thousand pieces of the Tower of Babele.

1563, cm.60×74, Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, Rotterdam, Peter Brugel Il Vecchio

When the whole mankind will understand how origins and myths are common and how isn’t a different name to vary the substance …maybe then fratricide wars will have an end to give place to Human Being Age.


n enchanting matter that move my thoughts while I succeed, in the end, to open the doors of my wardrobe to give light and make a clean sweep of the left “bones”!
I found myself  new archaeologist…  and it isn’t easy!
Often I justified the delay in facing the thankless task with the excuse that  doing so I could damage some readers of mine. This excuse has worked as a lever  to make me  leave off.
Certainly the matter is not the most simple: it has to do about the difficult years of my life, when I used pernicious drugs and then I begun, to tell the truth till the beginning, an exhausting struggle to free myself from them.
I don’t’ mind explaining in every detail who was the author of my initial fall in a journey that, for many people, finished tragically.
It is of use, I think, only to underline the behaviour I had, when I was drug addicted,  towards  that who  was around me.
I never  did any follower, I never initiated anyone to that hell.
I’ve never been responsible of  allotting with other people my same own way towards death.
I always refuse to divide it with anybody.
I remember once, in the mountains, at Foppolo, I was host at my friend Roberto’s and he, to try to understand my uneasiness , asked me to try.
I tried to discourage him but, seeing his persistence, it remained me only a way of escape.
I opened the loo and  threw inside it all my reserve of drug with the result that, the morning after, I had to leave on run, being prey of retching and a generalized “cold turkey”, so as it is called in slang the sensation of bad ill linked to cold shivers and weariness provoked by dependence.
“Rather than  let you try it…I throw it away.”…and so it was.
I don’t know if Roberto kept him free in the future,  but I know surely it was not for my fault or after my  superficiality that he begun .

Searching a way of escape

There were hard and useless  years.
In the end I was saved by few magic words that opened a gap in my heart and from here lift up until my neurons stimulating them  to a drastic and  redeeming changing.
Once I was at the Testaccio quarter,  in Rome, to look for my daily quantity to buy when the pusher, that was supplying me for the first time and  whom I was a complete unknown for, told me:
“You’re gonna died…”
I remember, as it was yesterday, the crack  that those  crude words  produced inside me.
After having re-established my  “physical normality” assuming that  poison I begun walking for the desert  streets in that Sunday morning with a light spring sun that was enlightening gradually also my thought.
It was true, I’d have been died shortly after if I had gone on in that way.
Did those  few  crude  words  of the pusher represented reality of a future that I really wished? Or did exist other things that were  waiting to be lived?
I was sure: I had to stop immediately.
How… I didn’t know… but I had to find the will and the  road not to  finish under earth.
Words had activated  my neurons and from this moment I won’t ever been  the same as before.
Some months after, on June 12th 1982, I threw my last quantity from the  window of my car running…and I was safe.
Those were days of suffering, a real exorcism that few friends of my boyfriend of those days help me to overcome.
They chose a desert farmhouse in the roman country and here I spent three nights breathing my last.
At daybreak  of the fourth day Pino help me to get up and take me, to  help my wishes, to a shower where I put only the palm of my hands under the  running water feeling a real sensation of  wellness.
In that moment I stared to him: his hairs had turned white during that prolonged assistance.
Pino was far from being a saint but had an iron will and helped me to recover my health.
As a child in the burst of an unexploded mine, he had lost a forearm and he had become blind  from one eye…but he had managed succeeding in recovering  a fashion that had made fell at his feet  wonderful women, and me too.
He was born in the district of Caserta and had chosen to survive committing frauds against  stockists to which he sold, at very convenient prices, non-existent….goods!
He had taught me the working of the trick and me, who were grateful to him to have  torn me up from the world of drug, had taken part to one of those operations.
Something went wrong and Police arrived.
The stockist didn’t file complaint because  after all he was buying  goods of uncertain origin and could fall into  the crime  of purchase of goods suspected to be stolen… but he told me two words:
“What a pity! How much  wasted  cleverness…”
And those words activated  at once my neuro-transmitters: in my brain  it was clear as I should have left this kind of behaviour, that manner of doing not at all in accordance with my new existence…just recovered.
Two words and the change of direction was  total.
I begun to work, involving Pino in a new activity, in interior decoration in Pesaro and, after few years, I was able to make completely my life in which, unfortunately, there was no place more for my saviour.

Before leaving him I wrote a letter to the then President of the Republic, following the advice of our lawyer, showing the justifications for a petition for mercy that had been submitted for an old crime that hung over his criminal record.
I justified that letter telling how he had saved my life.
Pino obtained the pardon and he was happy of this but it was of few use on this earth because he passed away after a short time.
In the meanwhile I was alone again, free to live and I could do it with my skill and recovered independence without bending me down anymore to a kind of underlife that was taking nowhere.
Finally independent of substances and people.
And this thanks to the redeeming power of words.
The force of making these episodes resurface come from my steady pursuit of a liberating rite.
So reading Matilde Asensi’s novel I remembered my life’s saving words and I joined them to the knowledge learnt in different occasions of attentive reading.
In books I reached, as autodidact,  knowledge.
For instance in the book “The great Pyramid and the Zed” by the archaeologist Mario Pincherle, I found news about the ancient earth of Ur in Caldea (the present Iraq) deriving the occasion for the research of a best form of existence the made me able to self-censor some periods of my past life. http://www.libreriauniversitaria.it/goto/author_Pincherle+Mario/shelf_BIT/p_0/Pincherle_Mario.html
In that book, as a matter of fact, I found news about the ancestors of our mankind that  protected knowledge, closed in the Zed or Djed, transferring it in Egypt that in that age was called Mishraim and which termination  Msr in Arab indicates, still now, the nice country crossed by the Nile.

The ancient moves the Knowledge, the Djed

They put in a safe place and hid a knowledge that, left to the will of unscrupulous people, could have annihilated mankind rather than saved them.
So made  Yatiris.
Both, to fulfil the safeguard’s duty,  bereaved us of knowledge.
And now we advance as blind and deaf persons using only a minimum part of our brain.
Reading between the lines of the book “El Origen Perdido”,  I recognize words familiar to me:
“…the matter is that both fear and love,  shyness, sex desire, hunger and hate, serenity, etc. rise because there is a chemical that is activated by a little electrical discharge”
Yes, for instance, that little thrill in the membrane behind the ear is the symptom of  dopamine  flowing and causing pleasure in our being.
A kind of electromagnetic wave  that  aymara as a primeval language had inside it and that  Yatiris, as ancient  Chaldees could use.
Bombardment of brain with sounds  cause a resonance that, using neuro-transmitters peptidic, gives rise to different moods according to the conscience of people.
A particular arrangement of sounds, exact words told in the necessary order, have in themselves a strong power of recovery or inhibition.
By chance some people, totally unrelated to me, have pronounced them answering, maybe, to the necessity of express their thought in a direct and extemporary manner.
Few words that saved my life…

There is an auspicious sentence in the book by  Matilde Asensi :
“Jupaxusutaw ak munta jinchu chhiqhacha jichhat uksarux waliptaña”
whose meaning corresponds with:
“ He is ill and I want this: that wind that enter into the ears  health him  at once.”

                                                        Ancient reach Knowledge on books, us on Internet!

How not to be enthusiast of that.
I don’t know how much all this could be scientifically true but I know for sure that we use our potentialities in a insignificant way and that it will come a day in which  man’s psyche and that archetype that hides inside it will have more attention … succeeding in opening a small hole through which getting better our concept of world, our contacts and our way to approach others.
Not to dominate them or gain benefit from them but to  devote ourselves to the ancient message together with them, being interested in better horizons’ research,  beyond supremacies of struggle and power.
Free of exist in a life nearer to its essence.
After all it’d be enough to ask:
“where come from the instructions fit to save our life? How many times each of us has found an extraordinary strength that has helped to overcome incomprehension, emotional blocks and difficulties?”
It is following those advice, in themselves the best for the human being that, always,  man finds a way to escape misery.
Maybe because we remain moved before truth and we follow it: suddenly we have solution inside ourselves …as if a door with absolute had opened.
Then we perceive that our fortune is  more and more great than what we guess!

Copyright © Ely Galleani Blog. All rights reserved.

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