Vittorio Volpi

Someone had a hand in synchronising the rising of the sun and my presence. Okham’s razor advises me to go no further in hypothesising presences and powers. But it is enough to have grasped the moment, stage of an unplanned path, and a step ahead of me. The light sees me naked, natural and real: what more do I want?

Enveloped in a sphere of golden light, I feel it invade me, a vital light, a light for all creatures. With our thoughts, we would like to ascend to the heavens to give thanks for this wonder. This light makes us better, aware, attentive… perhaps even devout. Awareness is knowing that we share the same nature.

If we like the colour gold, it may mean we recognize that light in us.
If we like blue, we may recognize the same sky.
If we like green, we may participate in the same nature as the meadow.
If we like the whole set of colours, we may share the same life and awareness of being alive in different forms.

At 7:30 a.m., the sun has just risen, its grazing light illuminating what lies before it. Nature is full of gratitude for this and the daily wind. We only appreciate it when we have time to go outside. However, a straight line reaches us too: my nakedness expresses my total gratitude as a son, stripped of all the calculations and thoughts the mind can make. It is a picture of a moment, but the ray reached the deep and illuminated what I could not see. And this glow will accompany me all day long…

After the storm, nature looks like Venus emerging from the bath. The meadows smell dew at dawn, and the sun sends its first down rays on the earth. I am already awake and alive to the present, even today: what is more important, what is more valuable, where to look for something better than to rely on nature, where tragedies do not last forever, where everything is new again every day. I will be 70 years old in a few days, but I feel fresh, vital, clean, full of life force, and light every day. What more could one want?

Yesterday was the annual party at the Bivacco Marino Bassi bivouac in the mountains of the Camonica Valley (N45°51’42.18 E10°17’54.11). You can get there in various ways, but always a two-and-a-half-hour walk. (The priest who was to celebrate mass arrived from the sky – by helicopter). There were about 200 people there. I go there every year. This year I took a photograph in front of the waterfall, just below where the hut is.

I heard the affectionate call of this old cherry tree. It tried hard to make itself beautiful, to tell me that it exists and now offers its beauty and, later, its fruits. Picking the fruit is not theft. Free, always free, everything free. It is a great gift that nature gives us because we, too, are life. We participate in the same life. Nature is made of life and for life.

This plum tree has not gone unnoticed: the glory of the flowers and the light is a spontaneous call, like breathing. I inhale the fragrant draughts in my lungs: I know it is good for me, I try to touch the white flowers, like something familiar:

“We are such stuff | As dreams are made on, and our little life | Is rounded with a sleep” said once Shakespeare.

I say: we are made of flowers, of light and colour, everything beautiful that attracts us.
I raised my hands to touch those flowers and felt like an ancient worshipper admiring his god.

I am pleased to witness and share the blossoming of the almond tree in my garden.

Tangled in the Light. Surprisingly “tangled” and “entanglement” look very close. Now I understand why this place attracted me: because I wanted to be there = to fill in there. Setting myself in my nakedness, poverty, and essentiality, without weapons because there is no fight with no one because I feel invulnerable.

Tutta questa luce, tutto questo sereno, la limpidezza dell’aria fanno trionfare il verde delle querce e dei cipressi, di contro al terso azzurro del cielo. C’è un’evidenza immanente, una gloria (δόξα direbbero i testi delle liturgie pasquali), una forza invincibile e pacifica che governa tutto.

Il sole è appena sorto. C’è ancora un fresco venticello che accarezza le canne e i rami del pioppo. Le foglie sono dello stesso colore che avevano in autunno: qualcosa continua, si riprende un discorso interrotto. Contemplo la foto e la mente si riempie delle cose che vedo: non sono ancora pensieri, men che meno parole: sono cose vive che mi vedo dintorno. Devo anche far altro, ma una parte di me continua ad essere lì. E continuo a guardare, a meravigliare. È solo l’attimo di uno scatto, ma parrebbe per sempre.

Dopo le ultime piogge, una manna per la campagna, con la neve che di nuovo è caduta bassa (700m.) m’è ritornata la voglia di uscire di muovermi e vedermi e fissarmi nella natura. Ormai i primi pruni hanno perso i loro fiori bianchi e rosa, una festa per gli occhi, e anche i peschi stanno già mettendo le foglie. Ma ora trionfano i ciliegi. E i prati, i vigneti sono bianchi per migliaia di fiorellini bianchi (borsa del pastore). Questo è il mio canale MeTube: nulla di tecnologico, tutto ancora primitivo, tutto reale attimo per attimo. Ma arriva dove deve arrivare. C’è una brezza gelida che scende dai monti innevati, ma è pur bella sentirla sulla pelle, risveglia, rianima: È primavera!

Today February 15, is the patronal feast day of Brescia. Faustino and Giovita, warrior saints from the second century AD, are celebrated. During the siege of the Lombards in Brescia (VII century), they appeared on the city’s walls and defended it. A proverb says that San Faustino is the last merchant of snow. And just this morning, getting up at 5 am, I found the very welcome surprise of seeing snow. A sight that does not leave one indifferent. All white, all calm: all that remains is to be enchanted to watch. Today also comes into force the mandatory vaccination for the over-50s. Who is more hostile towards people (elderly, children, workers): the snow or the elite of the universal masters?

It’s the 1st of February, and spring is suddenly here. The sun is warm, the air is fresh, and a gentle breeze. Everything is clear. The snow on the peaks is receding. I feel as if I am being reborn. And what wonder was seeing the first hazelnut catkins this morning, wandering around the Reserve! In other years, I used to see the buds of the willows (but towards the middle of the month). The calycanthus trees were already in flower before Christmas. Here at home, more than five million people will not be able to go to the post office (that’s where they get their pensions), to the bank, to all shops (except the grocery shops). Life is difficult for the unvaccinated. But as long as you resist, it means that you are stronger than those who force you.