There are moments of our lives as full expansion during which we, immersed in a kind of timeless time, we absorb every drop of this around us bringing it inside, expanding it. Times when we do not have enough eyes to watch, enough lungs to breathe.

It looks like the description of an altered state of mind so we are unaccustomed to live it.

Yet looking at our past, distant past, we can easily remember having experienced.

I remember a rainy afternoon at the home of an aunt. Through the windows of her kitchen looking at the flower garden and the apple tree laden with fruit. In the room the smell was spreading that the land which returns thanks to rain that nourishes it, water it, the sprays.

The atmosphere was full of joy emitted from the ground, the beautiful flowers, rose from the tree that its branches, if possible, even more in another, and each blade of grass that had stepped up its green color.

And we laughed. I little girl, her elder. Accomplices, the antithesis of life and for this reason both able to listen to that joy. Because she had nothing to lose, because I had yet to be discovered.

That moment had no boundaries, he had neither committed nor weight, had no fear or expectations.

It was only the moment. It was enough in itself.

Then life takes to accelerate. Before the search for new experiences, then the flight from new possible disappointments.

But accelerates. And we lose every drop of perfume. Someone lives in the memory, many have forgotten.

Loads of weights leading travel burdens and frustrations which have completely replaced the joy of this.

As closed systems do not communicate more with the outside world no longer listen to the mysterious force of life.

But if we could reclaim some time, even for just a few minutes, moments of complete immersion in the present, producing a so deep and intimate contact with ourselves to be touched for a long time dormant and vibrating strings of pleasure to exist.

I have a dear friend. Actually they never made long talks together, we always met ... from afar.

Infuse the little I know, I do not know exactly where he lives, I do not know how it made its home, I do not even earn that salary.

I know so little about him that nobody would believe me if I say that is a friend.

Yet I feel so.

There are people who knew them, know them so many things, but what we see is only the surface layer.

Do not you feel, and even if they do not feel we are maybe in Tugging her love when they meet us, but we are seeing, not really.

We meet people and establish human relationships sometimes even respectable, but they are and will remain forever unknown.

This is because we have not listened to their hearts, and they have not heard ours. We laughed and joked with them. Sometimes a fight. But the image that we like is printed on a photographic plate: two-dimensional.

Maybe we do not like to admit it for fear of loneliness. But that solitude, even if we can not accept it, is all.

Rarely can have an extraordinary meeting, but we could not remain indifferent because more often than not we listen.

We do not know they want to look in depth remain on the surface is easier, less painful.

Goodbyes does not cost anything, the encounters are not afraid of the inevitable, subsequent separations.

Each in its own shell is closed, again the idea that has drawn the other. And all is consumed there, on the surface.

Joys and sorrows are only images of fantasy. Just because a small event, a new emotion, to move all the attention elsewhere and friend who thought quickly disappears in the shadows, coming out relentlessly by our thoughts, our field of perception.

But true friends, those "heart", the connection does not stop ever.

They remain close to us, even if you do not say it, or not openly.

They know, as we know, and that is enough.

Do you believe that there are friends of this nature?

The fragrance spreads through the air like a bid.

As I observe the intense red color, shape, soft and smooth, velvety surface, seem small waves that propagate in the palm of your hand.

Life has bright tones, so strong that only a brave heart he may support the view.

The daring each of us took him to himself when he was a child but the weather then turned it.

The weather, disappointment, boredom, the sound of this era that does not grant a respite, not grants or breaks silence, have transformed the desire to be crossed by life in fear of being touched, just touched.

But in listening still, harvest, sometimes it can be found, only letting the silence is acting in its own way.

And let it expand, it can emerge a distant memory, the memory of ancient times, ferryman of an ancient message.

Emerges from the depths of his being something, a sort of wreck that resurfaces, bringing with them the flavor of times in which austere beauty, power, tragedy, desire, everything was contained in a few gestures, and decided in a few simple acts.

Then comes the certainty that ... yes, you can do.

It's just water, in one of its many forms ... It consists of tiny droplets suspended in air.

Objects are wrapped in a white halo, and visibility is reduced, the forms appear almost softened, time seems to be a short suspension.

A feeling of silence spreads around us and reaches us on the inside.

When the fog is very dense produces a mixture of confusion, pleasure, sense of mystery.

Look through a memory but I can not see clearly, the details fade into the recesses of time, I know, but I do not know. I would understand, but I do not understand.

Something we did not anticipate sometimes comes as a simple sea breeze and the mist can dissolve, to show the truth forgotten, slumbering strings to vibrate.

It can hold an amazing power. The images are more crisp, clean lines.

Take off then you take everything with a glance, but the world gets smaller details are revealed in all its breadth, and beauty.

A comprehensive fills the lungs, large eyes like everything that can embrace as large as all that the heart can perceive.

Past, future and all distances appear, for a moment, gather in one place, and a boundless joy pervades us.

The thin air and cold water tastes martial.

We and only we, in the air without a doubt, with the power intensity.

But then the wind drops, the mist spreads everywhere, and a fear of new attacks us. When you lose the horizon, all communications should be clear.

Let my heart do not lose track that leads me back to the old mansion.

Amber is a fossil resin.

Millions of years ago, oozing down the trunk of conifer, imprisoned insects and other small animals choke and keeping them in time almost intact.

Like insects in amber included, we live embedded in a dense, smooth emotional substance. We feed off of emotions, they rejoice and suffer, remaining constantly embroiled.

The result prevented any movement.

Life around us is constantly changing and yet we pause in what we have always been, only a few wounded and a few more wrinkles.

The hardening of the resin and its transformation in amber is a very special process of fossilization , which makes it transparent enough to allow often to see with the naked eye bodies preserved inside.

We, like insects trapped, we float in our emotional substance of which, totally surrounded, we have no perception.

We do not know in time to change our mechanical gestures, our reactions, the language we use, the perception we have of the world.

All processing is inhibited.

If it were possible to emerge, even for a few moments, we realize the terrible feeling of friction that this "dense matter" produces, as a huge attraction center in which all the vital energy dissolves.

As a result, any action "alternative" to being part of our mental patterns is impossible, impractical, and each evolution only a possibility postponed until tomorrow.

As soon as they emerge, life goes on moving force.

Passion, intensity, will take over the convictions of the mind, the fears and our absolute.

Our life then becomes impossible and the possible, from the "maybe tomorrow will happen" to "I am now," the new is only now. "

"That's one small step for man one giant leap for mankind" (Neil Armstrong)

How long trampled on, how many steps taken in the event in my past ...

A new year has arrived, with all its burden of expectations, with its weights and good intentions.

Now, for a moment, set a particular silence in which I can move freely, can come together and take stock of my platitudes.

A river has marked the way, follows the path of least resistance.

Drop to the valley in a path that did not choose him, following precise rules, which will be influenced by gravity, friction, obstacles, or less permeable soil, slope, and many other factors.

Will continue its run in the same bed for a long time and, over time, will dig deeper into the ground so relentlessly digging the furrow of its destiny.

Perhaps only a flood wave, a frightening, unpredictable flood wave will allow him to break a natural levee and the river will then fall free into the valley, divided into a thousand streams, assemble, compact to resume its journey along new paths, to other depressions and other grasslands.

But the pain in that wave of flood that has made havoc of the places where, still, the river has passed for so long.

Metaphor for life? Maybe yes.

For years we encounter people, places, events, obstacles, or interesting new seductive yet this only rarely leads to a mutation within.

Our "inner maps" remain basically unchanged, our thought patterns are identical, each new experience we'll use it basically to validate our subjective view of the world, our convictions and our deep-rooted fears.

Only a rut again. Another struts.

Step by step, day after day, the scent of rain forest, the fragrance of the night, the land climbs and I climb, with difficulty, but I go.

I wonder where I go, where fate, silently, is leading me.

I feel like a blind man who continues his journey in the middle of the night and do not know why.

Move the stick in a vacuum and are convinced that only touches the stick.

The rest simply do not know it's there.

Meeting so many people on the move, like me ...

Each is enclosed in its own bubble of subjectivity ", each convinced of their views, their own interpretation, sometimes only temporarily (and thus comes from a belief to another), others permanent.

Like soap bubbles collide, bounce, and sometimes break their hearts but never touch.

There are only varying degrees of conviction.

I dreamed that I was looking for a book.

An old book from the pages yellowed and brittle, the smell of dust and moisture.

I was in a crowded library in the city center, targeted by an explosion of colors, improbable best seller, useless gifts, rumor and continuous noise background music in the background.

People collected Christmas packages, a breathless collection of unwrapped gifts at the last moment under a tree without its poetry heat, joyless it's true intention.

A tradition now deprived of the power of ritual magic and turned into a business transaction.

That congestion of objects, emotions, frustrations, and hurry me from my bearings, to understand where to look.

I turned to a contract which, judging by the expression, had lost all chance of contact with customers and even to herself, acting like a robot and, at my suggestion, typed on a computer keyboard a keyword to find the placement of the book.

But the outcome of the research was rather confused, went out of arguments and related securities, and similar items suggested texts. She looked away and said: "I feel that way."

With a resigned sigh, I began to wander randomly in the library hoping more like a fluke.

Suddenly I was confronted with a door that led into a room half-empty and silent.

I entered.

The first time I heard someone say that people essentially "sleep" I honestly wondered why they should not.

It seemed to me that "sleep" all the time might be a good anesthetic for not suffering too much.

The suffering of all, even the rich and fortunate, however, will have to deal with disappointment, disease and death.

I found then, faced with these words, sufficiently valid reasons for considering that the most useful open your eyes now and look around more carefully.

It occurred to me, however, seen a movie many years ago, a blind child could recover if exposed to the view of a delicate and expensive surgery, the family did not have the necessary money but somehow managed to scrape together the whole sum The intervention was performed and succeeded perfectly.

The surgeon then advised the boy not to set a long time the sun because the light intensity would render vain the operation once again making it blind.

But in a few days that child saw a lot of bad things around him that his blindness had spared.

And so he decided to stare at the sun long enough to lose his sight again and forever.

I think the metaphor is very fitting to what we do all (or almost) every day.

At the bottom (felt at the time) to know, have a clearer vision of life events, adding pain to pain.

I must say that in time I am profoundly changed my mind.

It 's a point, a small dot that expands faster than I can not rationalize.

It is a moment, a magical moment in which everything changes: the emotional wants its part in this story and in a moment I find myself walking down the street, kidnapped by a dream.

I try to bring attention to the sound of my footsteps on the pavement. It is not enough, then listen to the breath, bring him down, I look at my hands ...

Here I am damn, here, not there. But it's hard.

The emotional is bored and wants to play. But I know from experience that escapes from the hands then all too quickly, the claim to govern emotion released even seems absurd.

I'll be back with my mind at present, the here and now.

It's just a dream, I say, do not run after him, it makes no sense.

But my heart is swollen and he wanted to laugh.

How is it that in the end it all comes down always and only to a duty?

Earn a salary, gray-and interact with so many people off, and then do the same things, every day equal to themselves.

But why not take a moment to rest? A small symbolic holiday? Why not treat yourself to a daydream and gaze rests on nothing more than all the window panes and rain down copious?

My image is reflected in the water ... who am I?

For a long time, I myself in foreign eyes trying to see fragments of my soul.

But I found only turbulence of the mind, but now in a way, tomorrow another.

A tortuous path and incomprehensible, a tangled forest of opinions, judgments, prejudices, convenience ...

So, who am I? Everything is teeming with life, but I do not understand this life.

The screams of children during the game ... children to adult eyes that seem so innocent ... But many of them already inhabit the seeds of cruelty.

I try to imagine the planet Earth seen from a distance, a blue speck in the universe that rotates in the silence of outer space.

From silent immensity is impossible to understand this swarm split that takes place every day in the sun.

This cruel game I really do not understand ... One day I met eyes in which I could not finish.

I was hoping to find answers and instead of there eyes it gave no signs of encouragement and even a hidden reproach.

Keen Mountain, chemistry expert practitioner of Yoga for several years, Valerie has also the pleasure of writing. Collaborating with other Blog and I thought to host your articles here too, in a column dedicated.

You can find it in the menu at the top right, before the link to the site of Artemisia.

His articles will pass like the others on the homepage, but will be collected on the page dedicated to her, which is called, precisely, "Traces of Perfume."

The reason the title is the first article of the book, she explains, below. I will leave you to read.

Thank you Valeria and good luck.

Cathe

TRACES OF PERFUME

Sometimes it happens that we are channeling much of our energies in chasing something that we believe is vital for us.

Then one day, by sheer fate, it can happen the opportunity to engage in something completely different and completely unexpected.

We could then find that we are dedicated to this task with surprising as unexpected pleasure.

The writing has a special charm, but since that time I was very young I have always found very attractive is the idea of the combinations and chance.