Stories and News No. 1078
I read that giant colonies of one million and a half penguins were discovered in Antarctica, revealing a remote area that has become a vital refuge for wildlife affected by climate change and overfishing.
Vital refuge, refugee lives, still alive refugees, in spite of everything.
This free association invites me to think about what I like...
I like to think.
I like it regardless of all, because that’s my mind’s need to me.
A shelter, which to secure life in, and then, reading about those penguins - hoping that the aforementioned discovery’s news doesn’t reach the ears of those who in some way could be an attempt to their survival, I like to think of something else.
In fact, I like to think that somewhere else, out there, among the folds of the known world, there are further colonies.
Whispering it in a humble voice - not to awaken the damn devouring utopias monster, gatherings of a purely human nature.
I like, indeed, the idea that these mysterious creatures are travelers without landing, until proven otherwise, and that the latter never comes to give us public evidence on our shores.
However, not to dissolve from the page because swallowed up by the umpteenth, cruel sea wave, but because their story is continuing on other shores, beyond our parched empathy.
I like to think of it.
That there are exceptions to the unfair script of the world, where remnants of miraculously surviving life, have escaped us, for their good fortune.
I like to think, I said it.
And, insofar as I insist in such a common action, I am inclined to turn back and reason to cold reality, I admit it.
Consequently, riding on this fleeting gait, I like to think of the word “end”, engraved once and for all with ink made of every red, except the blood of innocent victims.
One, simple term, I agree, but immensely powerful in the presence of the most horrible stories we are witnessing in the shelter of comfortable armchairs with armrests: the end of the war, the end of the violence, the end of the massacres, the end, finally, of every tolerated abomination out there.
Outside the naive remedy I call thought.
What I like, too, is the right to think about what I like, which sometimes becomes duty, on less optimistic days.
Because otherwise, I couldn’t write about it, and many others, far more practical than myself, couldn’t find the courage to lay foundations beneath those blessed fluttering castles.
So, I like to think, I said.
I like to think, at this point of the tale.
That some of those precious builders of illogical, unexpected yet concrete wonders had read this…
Read also stories to think about
Buy my English Italian, dual language books
Listen my music band
Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Sunset
Storytelling videos with subtitles
I read that giant colonies of one million and a half penguins were discovered in Antarctica, revealing a remote area that has become a vital refuge for wildlife affected by climate change and overfishing.
Vital refuge, refugee lives, still alive refugees, in spite of everything.
This free association invites me to think about what I like...
I like to think.
I like it regardless of all, because that’s my mind’s need to me.
A shelter, which to secure life in, and then, reading about those penguins - hoping that the aforementioned discovery’s news doesn’t reach the ears of those who in some way could be an attempt to their survival, I like to think of something else.
In fact, I like to think that somewhere else, out there, among the folds of the known world, there are further colonies.
Whispering it in a humble voice - not to awaken the damn devouring utopias monster, gatherings of a purely human nature.
However, not to dissolve from the page because swallowed up by the umpteenth, cruel sea wave, but because their story is continuing on other shores, beyond our parched empathy.
I like to think of it.
That there are exceptions to the unfair script of the world, where remnants of miraculously surviving life, have escaped us, for their good fortune.
I like to think, I said it.
And, insofar as I insist in such a common action, I am inclined to turn back and reason to cold reality, I admit it.
Consequently, riding on this fleeting gait, I like to think of the word “end”, engraved once and for all with ink made of every red, except the blood of innocent victims.
One, simple term, I agree, but immensely powerful in the presence of the most horrible stories we are witnessing in the shelter of comfortable armchairs with armrests: the end of the war, the end of the violence, the end of the massacres, the end, finally, of every tolerated abomination out there.
Outside the naive remedy I call thought.
What I like, too, is the right to think about what I like, which sometimes becomes duty, on less optimistic days.
Because otherwise, I couldn’t write about it, and many others, far more practical than myself, couldn’t find the courage to lay foundations beneath those blessed fluttering castles.
So, I like to think, I said.
I like to think, at this point of the tale.
That some of those precious builders of illogical, unexpected yet concrete wonders had read this…
On the same topic:
Read also stories to think about
Buy my English Italian, dual language books
Listen my music band
Watch my last storytelling show with English and Italian subtitles Sunset
Storytelling videos with subtitles