Lives of P.

There is one place in a remote corner of the world that can give you the keys of your own self. I know that this is something that I feel everytime I come back there.

There are many who have made of this place their home. There are many people who have left everything to put a tent inside this dry and green, yellow and brown, thick land. Sometimes their tent looks may look more like a villa, but this is just a matter of personal taste.

I have been talking to many of them this summer. Their eyes filled with sparkles, despite their age and their greyish, frizzy hairstyles. Many have now family but also some of them are the evergreen singles. People who are maybe approaching their 70th year and still ride motorbikes better than their sons. Men who can climb rocks and go through rough paths at the very earliest sunshine almost on a daily basis. Women still so beautiful, even if their bodies are loose and their hips a bit tired. This is not what counts, because all of us we are naked and all of us share the same land.

They populate a part of shore, which at certain points turn into a village and then, when the land re-jumps into the inside, some other mountains villages are born. It’s a never ending, breathtaking scenery. If you love nature, this is the the place where each single of its beat is going to resound into you.

Here you can see all these fabulous human beings, mixed with the locals and smiling all together, even when their face traits won’t lie.

And then you have the yearly locals, people who didn’t choose to move in the place but who come back every year, on time as a Swiss engine, to spend there two, three, maybe four months.

This is the place where there is no time. Four days are like four months. Five hours can be five weeks. There is no time because it’s only you who makes the clock ticking. Nothing has to do with the calendar.

You just care about the rivers splashing into the sea or mountains grasping the the feet of majestic gorges. Rocks turning into diamonds at the sunset, when the sun makes his own bed looking at the far east.

If you walk those paths and you sleep under the olive trees, looking at the million stars upon your head, you’ll probably at first hear so many voices talking to you. It’s not you going crazy, it’s just that you are not used to your own self listening. If you do it tonight and tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the following week, you won’t hear anymore those voices. And when you will wake up in the morning at 4, with the crickets still in the middle of their best performance, you will also breathe differently.

Because one of those morning, or one of those nights, you will stop hearing those voices. You won’t think the small animals are talking to you. You won’t look at the stars while thinking that they are giving a big speech into your ears, dropping all that is left of you into a big, deep confusion. All of a sudden, you won’t hear anything. Anymore.

Everything will switch off so that you can turn yourself on by simply taking off all that is not you.

When happened to me to do the same with one or more people, I still remember once I suddenly bursted into tears. We were all sober and perfectly fine, but I thought for the first time in  my life I had some hallucinations and out of reality perceptions without the use of any substance.

Then someone, much older than me, told me:

Chiara, you are unfolding yourself. To me, to him, to her and to all of us. We are just sharing our love and you are opening your heart for the first time. Be merry!

So, after that night, everything changed. The clock is just a clock. My thoughts are like clouds that float into my mind, but as they come, they also go.

I am now one of those too. I am one of Planet P.




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