La polla delle visioni

Guarda nella polla delle visioni.

Scruta nello Specchio di Galadriel:

e vedi un volo d'ali neri all'imbrunire,

vedi un pozzo scuro come il cielo senza luna.

Vedi te stesso ferito a morte,

ti vedi cadere nella luce argentea del mattino.

Immagina le distanze infinite distese al di la' della tenebra,

sogna cio' che giace oltre il buio,

invito e sgomento dei Viaggiatori.

The grass was greener, the light was brighter...

    Ci sono luoghi, che ho ormai lasciato alle mie spalle, gli unici luoghi cui sono affezionato, in cui vive una magia che mi e' tanto cara. Forse funziona solo per me e pochi altri, forse ognuno di noi ha un luogo diverso in cui trova questa magia. C'e' qualcosa che vive e vibra in accordo con la nostra parte piu' profonda, qualcosa che ci fa sentire di essere nel luogo giusto. Io percepivo di essere nel posto giusto per me: ogni mattone con cui questo mondo e' stato costruito era perfettamente incastrato agli altri, tutti erano perfettamente allineati, non c' erano crepe ne' fessure. Non vedevo la trama, non distinguevo l'ordito: era un "tutto" unico e armonico.

    Si, in quei luoghi l'erba era piu' verde, la luce acquisiva una caratteristica particolare...c'erano le sere d'inizio estate, spese sulla panchina fuori della cucina, una birra in mano, il mio grosso cane vicino ai piedi, quando il sole gia' era calato sotto la linea degli alberi, ed insetti ed effimere si levavano a nugoli dall'erba del crinale, alta e grassa; c'erano stormi di uccelli, che al crepuscolo si accomodavano sugli alberi vicino la casa chiamandosi l'un l'altro chiassosamente: mia moglie li chiamava "il condominio"; e c'erano le umide sere di autunno, appena  prima delle gelate e della fine dei funghi e l'arrivo delle castagne: il fumo del fuoco spargeva tutt' intorno a casa l'odore della legna di abete, il profumo della resina bruciata, e il bimbo era ancora a giro, dopo una giornata passata a tormentare i rospi (non ne ha mai ucciso uno, per carita', ma dubito che ai poveretti sia mai capitato di essere manipolati in quel modo! Credo che il tasso di suicidi fra i rospi di Montepiano sia aumentato vertiginosamente in quel periodo!) Ed io uscivo sulla porta della cucina, nel buio di un cielo cosi' pieno di stelle che ti dimenticavi di te stesso guardandole. Chiamavo mio figlio a gran voce, perche' era pronta la cena, e mi rispondevano gli "uccellacci", gufi e civette appollaiati sugli alberi piu' prossimi alla casa. E c'erano i rientri a casa d'inverno, dopo il lavoro, guidando per le strade di montagna, ai cui bordi la neve, accumulata dagli spalaneve, arrivava ad un metro. E la luna piena, bianca ed enorme, stagliava le forme nere degli alberi spogli e mandava cosi' tanta luce, luce che si rifletteva cosi' intensamente nella neve bianca, che nonostante fosse "notte" potevo guidare a fari spenti. E la terra indurita dal gelo, il profumo delle foglie e del terriccio nel bosco, quello dell'erba estiva su cui mi distendevo, la corsa veloce di un cinghiale o un capriolo, i daini maestosi che ti osservavano passare da bordo strada, l'affrettarsi goffo e "sculettante" di un grosso istrice; la tana del tasso e le orme della volpe; i falchi che planavano in alti cerchi e scomparivano dietro il monte e un barbagianni dai "grandi occhi", bianco e quasi etereo,  che come un fantasma si lasciava scivolare da un ramo per venirmi incontro mentre guidavo nel bosco di notte.

     C'era magia in quei luoghi. Lo spirito del Dio viveva in quei luoghi e mi parlava, mi sussurrava all'orecchio e metteva pace nel mio animo. Mi parlava attraverso tutte le cose che ho descritto e molte altre. In questo momento comprendo come debbano essersi sentiti Adamo ed Eva, allontanati dal Giardino dell'Eden. Sicuramente hanno trovato molte cose belle nel mondo in cui hanno dovuto vivere, ma non era il "loro" luogo. Erano stranieri in terra straniera, non piu' in pace con se stessi, bramosi di qualcosa in piu' di cio' che avevano, non piu' soddisfatti e spinti da un demone alla ricerca di qualcosa che in realta' non gli serviva. 

     Forse l'Eden ce lo portiamo dentro, o forse, come qualcuno ha gia' detto, ci portiamo dentro il nostro inferno personale. L' insoddisfazione diventa parte di noi, compenetra le nostre cellule. Credo che quei luoghi mi siano ormai preclusi. Non da un angelo con una spada fiammeggiante, ma semplicemente da un sistema che non lascia possibilita' di riscatto a chi e' stato sconfitto, che vorrebbe per questi una condanna come quella di Sisifo. Ma se Sisifo era astuto, in suo figlio Ulisse all'astuzia ed arguzia si sommano la saggezza e la tenacia; e se Sisifo nella sua "spensieratezza" riesce ad incatenare Thanatos e poi per un certo tempo a sfuggire agli inferi, prima di esservi definitivamente rinchiuso quando il suo macigno gia' lo aspettava, Ulisse, con caparbia ostinatezza, attraverso privazioni e rinunce, riesce infine a prevalere sugli dei maligni e volubili, raggiungendo la meta che si era prefissato.
     La mia Itaca mi aspetta in qualche mare sperduto, ne sono certo.

The tempest

The drakkar, slender and multicoloured, glided on the quiet seagoing around the promontory by oar strokes. There was no wind and the sail had been tied up. Men bent regularly on the oars, without forcing the push. Laughing sound reached the top of the promontory, which was a wedge stretched out from the sharp rocks cost. On the ship everybody was tranquil and cheerful.

On the top of the promontory, feet ankle-deep sank in the green summery grass, Reginn, the shrine priestess, appeared. The long light blond hair, the colour just a little bit faint by the age, came down under her waist. More than fifty winters old, she still stood upright and the nice face was no seamed on wrinkles. Only around eyes and mouth corners wrinkles branched off thin. Especially when she flew into a rage as in that moment she was. Her grey eyes stared at the drakkar, burning of anger.

At her back, quickening their pace, the shrine's novices arrived. Ten girls at all, between ten and twenty winters aged. Before being instructed they lined up at the Reginn back in a semicircle, ready to carry their part out.

The lips, before tightened in a narrow line, opened in a summon, which turned early in a repetitive song. She rose her face and arms to the sky. The black fur which covered her shoulder slid down backwards, kept just by a big, round and metal brooch which closed it on her breast. After the third singing verse the girls, divided into three different groups, began three different tunes which interwove themselves into a sole crescendo.

On the drakkar the men interrupted their laughing and oarsmen stopped, gazing at the promontory where Reginn was outlined against the clear and azure sky.

-What's she doing?- Sigurðr, giant among giants, asked. His hair was gathered in two thick plaits.

Fàlki the Black, from his position close the mast, where he was putting a hawser in order, sneered. -She's crying hers anger-, answered with disrespectful voice.

A chorus of laughs welcomed his words. Neither Sigurðr neither Egill, Fàlki's brother, added themselves to the laughs. Egill's face was frowning.

-Don't mock the Priestess-, Sigurðr said.

Turning towards the giant, a scornful expression on the dark skin face, legacy of a southern woman in the family branch, Fàlki asked: -What can she do to me? Maybe did she notice something? Useless female who stays close in the shrine, maintained by us!

Egill stared the gaze at his brother. Nobody would said them were brothers, as dark of skin and hair was the first one as pale and copper-coloured hair was the second one.

-Give up! You hadn't to touch the girl, so give up insulting the Priestess.

A furious light shined for a moment in the Fàlki's eyes, which immediately changed in evil.

-You should heard how she squeaked-, he laughed. -And how she screamed when I took her from behind.

The oarsmen burst into laugh, encouraged him to tell his deeds.

In the while, on the promontory, Reginn's summon was going on. Her singing rhythm became at a fast pace, faster and higher, followed by the girls' counter-melody. Every laugh that she heard arriving from the drakkar was like a stabbing pain at the breast. How did they dare laughing?

Suddenly the atmosphere changed, temperature felt down. A strong wind blast skimmed over the sea smooth surface rippling it. Few metres close to the boat a wave rose smashing into the broadside. Laughing stopped all of a sudden, while the boat rolled vigorously and men had to hold themselves to something avoiding to fall.

The song was a rage crescendo.

Wind quickly grown stronger, blasts became so frequent that there were no breaks among them. Sky veiled in darker and darker colours. First the sun became pale behind thin clouds, after dark storm nimbus gathered from the four world corners closing over the drakkar. Wind began moaning and howling; the day changed in night. Far on the sea, at the horizon, jagged thunderbolts broke the darkness. Thunder sound crackled on waters and rocky ground, while waves rose higher and higher.

Reginn's words were an ancestral fury cry.

The drakkar turned on itself, tossed and blown here and there by the wind and hit by the waves. Who first laughed now was crying of dismay.

-BITCH!- Fàlki waved his fist towards of the far woman, eyes blazing of rage and hate.

-Shut up, fool!- Sigurðr shouted to him.

Wind roared, knocking a water body over the boat; a wave rose it dropping it off almost on its side. Fàlki had run at prow, and holding itself at the dragon head with one arm, waved the other one towards the promontory, hurling insults and swear words.

-Egill!- Sigurðr cried. -He'll make we to sink!

Egill turned towards Sigurðr.

-Kill him, Egill! The Priestess wants his life!

Egill shook his head. Would be useless, he thought.

-Kill him or we'll die!

Some men joined with the Sigurðr's request. Fàlki, lost in his rage, didn't notice anything.

Egill gritted his teeth and drew his triangular blade knife. Took a step towards prow, staggered when a wave tossed the boat, stopped and looked at Sigurðr.

-Is my brother-, said, stretching the arm out and handing the knife. Sigurðr moved decided and quick, and passing Egill over grabbed the knife from his hand, while Egill stayed with bowed head gritting his teeth. Sigurðr arrived fast from Fàlki's back, snatched him at the forehead with the left hand, tugging back his head to expose his throat. The blade passed quick on the flesh, cutting the artery, breaking off the umpteenth curse. At the moment when the body collapsed, all life fled from it, Sigurðr pushed and dropped it into the sea.

-He's died!- cried, standing up at prow, blood stained hands stretched out in a surrender gesture, balancing out to remain standing, while the sea shook the boat beneath his feet. -He's died! He's punished! Stop now!

The words arrived till Reginn even the wind howling. She had seen the blood to come out in spurts from the cut throat, blood like that soiled the young Halldòra, barely thirteen winters old. She didn't curse, didn't shout; she cried in silence. She cried and couldn't give up, cried so much that tears soaked hers ragged dress. Same dress which she tightened on hers body, in the vane attempt to cover herself, while lay curled up in a warehouse corner. No, said her song. All you knew. Knew and accepted him among you, she accused. You knew and laughed.

A fierce and shrill cry went out high from Reginn's throat. A wave rose sudden, Sigurðr was snatched from the deck and lost into the sea. And while the cry going on, another, last wave formed coming from the open sea. Was lifted high by the wind and staid menacingly over the drakkar. Fear cries of the men were brought far by the wind, the water body beat down on the boat as a hammer and the wood crack was like a god shout. The boat split in two and men threw into sea, while the water closed again over them wave by wave, like bodies of an enemy army came to lost them.

Reginn's cry went out, stopped suddenly. As the wind felt down, as sudden as it was born summoned by rage and sorrow. Clouds disappeared in few minutes, giving back the blue sky to the summery world. And the sun came back to shine on the smooth sea. A sea where corpses and wrecks, a white and red coloured sail, oak wood shields and broken oars floated. On the promontory top Reginn gasped. Her forehead was sweat, her eyes wide open.

And now, Reginn asked to herself, what does it remain? Revenge is completed, but what does it remain to me?

Hers gaze stared at the coast, where the fiord opened itself. A crowd, men and women,elders and kids, was gathered on the beach, coming from the villages.

All you are witnesses, go and tell it. That what today is happened will be known. It will be known as those men paid and this mustn't happen again.

At least here.

The legend of Isis split in pieces

    In Egyptian mythology Osiris was the eldest son of  Geb, god of the earth, and Nut, the goddess of the daytime sky. He married his sister Isis and after slain by his brother Set, who got jealous about him because people's love and praise. First Set drowned Osiris, after split his body in fourteen pieces and scattered them up and down the whole length of Nile. Isis recovered the fragments of hers husband, gathered and rejoined them together by magic. Then hid the body in a place which she alone knew, waiting for the time when Osiris' spirit will rejoin the corpse and Osiris would return to earth once more.

    But there's a different version of this legend, written in one of the Pacomiani Copti Texts, papyrus scrolls dated back to the sixth century held at Chester Beatty Library of Dublin. This text quote an older oral tradition which says that not Osiris split in pieces by Set but Isis. Following this tradition, Isis loved Set fascinated by his dark soul. They lived far from Egypt, loving each other in a house which set built for Isis in the middle of a water garden. But Set was evil. He became jealous and imprisoned Isis because wanted her just for himself.

   After one year from the imprisonment Isis escaped from the house to Egypt, where Set reached her. He killed Isis and split her in fourteen pieces, because fourteen were months that they loved each other, scattering them up and down Nile course, to make sure no one else could have had Isis if he hadn't had her.

  When Osiris knew about the killing he started to search Isis' fragments. Slowly, piece by piece, Osiris recovered all fragments, then collect them in a secret shrine. But he found just thirteen pieces, he didn't find the earth because Set ate it to make sure having Isis' earth just for himself.

   Alone in the shrine, Osiris asked to spiders to weave the pieces together, at the moon to make her skin with its light and at the stars to give their light to be hers eyes. In the end he asked at the sun to warm her up. But even Isis body was warm, she didn't come back to life. Osiris knew she needed a heart. Then he went to Thot the Sapient, who made a heart for Isis and put it into hers chest. But Thot couldn't make a beat for the construct and told to Osiris that he had to find it into the world. Osiris thought where to find something such strong and tireless to be a goddess heart beat. He found it in the Albatross wings beat, so prayed the big and strong bird to donate its wings beat. Albatross gave it, and it is for this that from that day its fly is without a stroke.

   When the artificial heart started to beat, Isis opened her eyes and rose. Learning as much Osiris loved her, Isis reciprocated his love and married him. By this union Horus was born.

    But it couldn't last long. Set, who had planned  revenge, poisoned Isis cervogia. When she swallowed the poison, her artificial heart stopped. Osiris, finding the wife died, understood the construct heart had given up to beat. Immediately he opened his chest and took his own heart, putting it into Isis chest, replacing the still construct.

    So Osiris didn't die by Set hand, but he gave his own vital force to bring back his love to life, becoming lord of Underworld, where on a scales he weigh men egoism when they arrive to that kingdom.