flamingo_road @ 2010-07-23T15: 01:00
How do I feel, if not the luckiest person in the world? As a young man with a bag full of stimuli felt more excited to meet me?
I feel so, as if someone had stuck my head firmly in the coffee. I feel so strongly as if they swim in a fluid that makes me strong, that opens my eyes. All of my efforts are rewarded with more energy, hard work but do not sweat, and, as sudo, I get rewarded by a greater beauty.
Not even a year since I became a complete vegetarian, but since I deleted the last animal bite, I feel another.
I rebuilt, reconstructed. I feel new, better, more beautiful. I feel almost magical, as if I were able to do anything. And they are, within the limits of the human.
Not even a year job, but this experience has opened the doors of the airport that there is more majestic and inviting. E 'by less than a year that really live? No, definitely not, but many lessons to help find ways to live better. It is not always the beatings to grow an individual. Even caresses work.
The secret is to be willing to listen. But very often a hurry, too impatient to live, too much desire to play with that toy, without losing time to mount it.
I'm lucky, I was born with the patience already placed on the bottom of my bag. I just had to take it out and learn how to dose it. I am lucky because I went along with that also comes with fear and courage, respectively stored in the side pockets of my bag. The fear I need to reason, to silence the instinct, natural in every animal, to recognize what is needed and what to avoid. Courage, however, I need to give voice to the stimuli that slowly gather, keep, and slowly quench the thirst I meet along the steps that I proposed.
Sometimes I doing proposals, but should go some time for them to be evaluated and, finally, accepted.
I do not believe in a god, but I believe that each of them actually has something interesting to tell, something good to offer, but when the man makes them too similar to themselves, lose their luster. I do not believe in people, they come and go. I do not believe in their stories, believe in their experiences when they show me the fruits, their scars, their skills and know how to exploit. In this belief, in the absorption knowledge and learning. I believe in science, when done well.
I believe in the capacity, innate or acquired, and in their exploitation. Maybe it's not very scientific, but I believe that every individual has a purpose, which was dedicated to each task a recognized ability to learn to operate along the route so that it can bear fruit for themselves and for others. I
I found my, but I will not be happy until I perfected it. In fact, I believe that everyone has several to choose from and who can improve them and use them all has my respect.
There who has an innate ability to love. He who gives all of himself to others, even strangers, who cares for the children, the elderly, anyone who needs it. About
in friendship is never selfish, the couple who has a single point of reference. The love they give is their skill. A gift, indeed. Difficult to learn.
I love you, yes, but not so. The few times that I loved more than now, I almost go crazy. Now I'm in love less, but longer and not people. Now is the sound of words that move me in a foreign language, is the scent that not perceived from the windows of this country.
I do not like me when I fall in love people, I lose my mind and it is not easy to notice the dark or light. I do not see anymore. And 'as if I were no longer me, as if my body was sealed inside a clear plastic bag off, put under vacuum, and if my robot to make decisions without considering that the brain has been suffocated under the plastic .
But this is not the only way to love, I am convinced that there is a healthy way of giving to others. I have a lifetime to find out. Today I
stimuli, I love what I do, I love who accompanies me, even if its choices were to get him to leave. The respect.
I love being cold in the summer, get in a couple of long sleeves and cover your skin tan.
I love languages that are not mine and I love when they start to belong to, little by little, meaning after meaning.
I love to sit at a table in a room so obvious that, if he were here, never attending. I love the typical, when I'm not home.
I love perfection, because I ride, but fall victim to the unexpected is almost a relief.
I love the London sky, oh how I love it! I love the foam, the trail left by the ferry that takes me from coast to coast, through a "monstrous" lake, to reach an island that houses the museum more attractive.
I love to read the signs on the highways, which turn from green to blue. I love
as highway, I love breakfast in roadside restaurants.
I love the postcards. I love to choose them, I love to write, I love the original paste on a stamp, I love to read them all in one breath before I slip through the hands, I love to greet them before leaving, I love to send them. It is a ritual, is the best moment of the trip.
I love to travel, everything. I also love the time before the trip, which can be particularly long. This is one of those, is a preparation and lasts for eight months, but I am convinced that will not suffice.
On August two thousand and will touch the other side of the world. For ten days I will live a unique experience, my American experience. The first. And certainly not the last.
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