Shortness of breath

Reading time: 3 minutes

Meditation on steep hills and shortness of breath

Hill

The start of the ride, in the hills, is simple.

You are still caught in the flashes of compassion, everyone embraces you, you are still dazed by the pain, dense and gloomy, and you cannot look beyond that smoke screen, which envelops your life for the moment.

You are convinced that you will make it, you come up with many plans for tomorrow, you think and think about the past with one foot in the future, but sooner or later the hill will give way to the difficulties of the mountain.

Senti già il fiato che si fa corto: ogni giorno tocchi il freddo marmo e senti che rimarrai attaccato ad esso, e sarai così certo che la tua vita si libererà di quel fardello pesante ed insormontabile del lutto, della perdita di tuo figlio. Ti seppellirai con lui, e così finiranno tutte le tue pene.

If only it were that simple.

Mountain

And meanwhile the climb gets steeper every day, the mountain shows itself in all its mighty and oppressive splendour.

In a moment of wakefulness from the daily torpor you realize that there are survivors, there is your youngest daughter, who is now older, she is unique, she is also alone. It's easy to lose your balance right now. The static nature of the structure has changed, the balances have changed, we need to move with the surrounding universe.

And it gives you strength, that little strength that allows you to move your limbs for another day, hopefully for the next.

The breath becomes short, the muscles can't handle the effort, the brain is out of whack.

The bed becomes your second home, the sofa envelops you in its swirling coils, social networks dazzle you with their variegated and useless news, they anesthetize you, they give you those little moments in which you become part of other families, other problems , of other realities, perhaps smoky, certainly non-existent.

The brain is haywire, the heartbeats lose their sonority: the space around you rotates at the speed of a broken washing machine.

Where am I, who am I?

Tuo marito ti chiama, tua moglie ti chiama, tua figlia ti chiama, tua suocera ti chiama, tua mamma ti chiama: tutti ti vogliono, ma nessuno ti tende la mano. Nessuno ti dona un attimo del suo tempo.

Your voice, your hand

"Here, it's me” … who are you, where are you?

"Ciao papà, ciao mamma. Sono tuo figlio. Sono qui, sono sempre qui, sono sempre stato qui e sempre lo sarà, accanto a te. Non mi vedi perché non guardi; non mi senti perché c’è troppo rumore di silenzio. Chiudi gli occhi e mi vedrai. Apri il cuore e mi sentirai. Accendi la tua anima e ci toccheremo ancora, e ancora."

I see you, I hear you, I hug you, we care hand.

This is the life.