Ladycat War Zone #6. “Letter to a sister twin in cats”

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This is an open letter to you, sister and twin in the path.
Our special way of being and living as solitary allows us to evade and jump over fences.
It ‘s so deeply rooted in us and indestructible sense of belonging, consistency and absolute respect to the our respective lives and companions that we can dream and live a community of souls.
That dream or act of faith that unites us as a man and woman free from any bias or blind stupidity,of our mental wavelength, our pilgrim and sometimes uncertain road of our common feline world.
As you know, I am often in the limbic and dark place that is the land of my soul
combat mode for cats. And it is so rare and deep that even my partner can get there.
But I was lucky, because unknowing help of others, to see you from a distance,
and then find you, you who know such a place to mine and following in your footsteps to the end the race maybe I can get out of it more or less unscathed.
Thanks for being there, for not making me lose and for giving me the strength to follow and
maintain the right direction along the flood that surprised me and my Ladycat.
And for giving voice to her in the darkest moment, my little twin.
There is nothing more sincere, unselfish and true, respectful in any way in the world of the
existence of the substance that unites the two of us who love cats most of our lives.
I in my obstinate and desperate search for salvation and peace for them and me, you in your
generous and unwavering desire to provide home, love and a new life to those who are special to them that blind eyes are disabled, or crushed in the body from ignorance and blindness of others.

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Ladycat War Zone #5. “A deep blue scale of a pilgrims from a long and forgotten time”

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“Hi… it’s nice to to find you”
“I’m returning to the mountain, lean on me,
slowly we could go home together”
“… Can you feel this peace, see this beautiful landscape?
I think I will stay here a little bit more”
“We might get back together …”
“See my legs wounds? Slow down your step.
And now hug me my friend, and then you go.
I still drink a little bit of sunshine, then I will sit and await the sunset.
If heaven will want we meet again, brother or sister, and we find ourselves without words. Now, you go.
Goodbye and see you soon, pilgrim of a deep blue sky…”

 

Ladycat War Zone #4. “Ghost recon in a deep blue sky”

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In the darkest moments,
in the fog of silence and struggle,
there is always a tiny lonely star
that lights our path
and warms our shy and brave dreams…

Nei momenti più oscuri,
nella nebbia del silenzio e della lotta,
c’è sempre una piccola solitaria stella
che illumina il nostro cammino
e scalda i nostri timidi e impavidi sogni…

 

 

 

Ladycat War Zone #3. “Flow tears in the land of dreams”

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Where our essences and our nodes cancel out in an epiphany of love, where we are perennial refuge beyond time, that tree of life that we climb relentlessly, exchanging the roles each time.
Where resonate distant echoes welcome and goodbye, joys and struggles, impare battles, games and defeats, dreams and reality, where some of us can smile, cry and hug each other finally without fear or shame, in a clear sense of belonging, evading for a moment the time and empty.
Where you can feel the scent of mimosa in the wind, in a possible but unlikely first day of spring without you, with that feeling of wonder that cuts you breath and words.
Why not serve. It is the place where we are all before you were born and where we will meet at the end of the trip.
It is the house in an absolute sense and pure. A state of grace. The dawn and the dream.
Where it can also be a common language between people living in different worlds but united by love for cats.

Our children.

 

 

Ladycat War Zone #2. “Ricognizione fantasma sotto una pioggia battente”

ofL’uomo era piegato su se stesso sotto una pioggia torrenziale, nel passato sempre presente, anche se la sua anima era leggera come un nembo. Riemerse lentamente dalle numinose nebbie di se stesso. Una mano lo guidò oltre la barriera nebulosa.
Alzò gli occhi al cielo, le conifere artigliarono il blu alla ricerca spasmodica della luce, della vita, del sole.
Davanti a lui c’era un angelo. Per un attimo pensò che potesse intimorirlo, e si ritrasse.
“Non posso avere paura di te”, disse l’angelo e gli strinse delicatamente le mani, “non devi avere paura”.
“Dove siamo? Chi sei?”, chiese l’uomo.
“Sei nel Wonderland. Io, noi siamo quelli che hai aiutato e che hai tentato di aiutare. Quello che aveva fame, sete, paura, disperazione. Quello ferito, colpito, menomato, speciale, tetraplegico. A terra. Quello che voleva una voce gentile una carezza uno sguardo vero un abbraccio sincero o una mano che mi togliesse dalla strada pregando di farcela, un cuore che non molla mai, a qualunque costo.
Ma soprattutto siamo vicini a chi ha quella…”, disse l’angelo all’uomo indicandogli il collo.
Colui si accorse di avere una collana di piccole perle rosa.
“Ogni perla é uno di noi e ci sei anche tu”
“Non ho più paura…”, sussurrò l’uomo, sorridendo.
L’angelo ormai tornato gatto saltò sulla spalla e insieme si incamminarono nel grande Wonderland laggiù.
E diventarono nuovamente l’uno fratello dell’altro e condivisero ancora una volta le gioie, le parole e le paure, in un abbraccio perenne, mentre il nuovo sole scaldava loro il ritrovato pelo e le ossa, felici di aver ritrovato il loro calore.
Ma se non fosse esistito questo luogo sospeso fra noi e la nostra essenza, verità e sogno, realtà e folla, quali sarebbero state le nostre colonne di Ercole ontologiche, avremmo mai trovato il nostro limen, la nostra sorgente, la nostra casa?
In quali fiumi e sorgenti ci saremmo immersi, in quali fontanili e vallate baciate dall’eterno meriggiare del sole dei cuori semplici e veri? Quali crinali avremmo scalato spalla a spalla, guardando l’orizzonte callido, o traguardando le selle con voi sulle spalle?
E saremmo stati nembi leggeri e intangibili dopo l’ultima neve di primavera, sotto la coperta della galaverna, fra germogli frementi sotto la terra incipriata dalla prima gelata confusi fra la luce e le ombre, fra la leggera pioggia primaverile e l’odore della terra bagnata, fra le scogliere del tempo e del sogno. E non ci saremmo mai ritrovati, e nessuno ci avrebbe più guardato negli occhi perché avrebbero visto il loro inespresso e inaccettato dolore.
E non avremmo valcato la nostra porta sempre aperta, ma saremmo rimasti là dove gli primi bagliori dell’aurora illuminano il nostro ultimo giorno.
Sul crinale dell’esistenza dove bevevamo la luce, inconsapevoli, mentre sostavamo sulla polla d’acqua che ci abbeverava, e non la riconoscevamo più come tale, non riuscivamo più a bere,la nostra casa ci era straniera, e vagavamo senza sosta per ritrovare il verde pascolo e rifugio, con molta strada da percorrere, discendendo lungo il crinale, salutando i nostri vecchi amici e sfumando via nella pioggia.
Lasciando un cielo vuoto di stelle, cadendo insieme nell’impari lotta, e continuando a seguire i nostri percorsi tracciati nell’erba e nel cuore, inseguendoci e perdendoci per sempre.
Incrociando piccole promesse di una nuova primavera timidamente fiorite mentre aspettavano il nuovo sole che un crudele acquazzone ha spezzato, nembi sfilacciati dalla tramontana, soldati d’inverno, persi e ritrovati milioni di volte, silenti echi lontani di sorrisi sottintesi.
Ma forse oggi, o domani, o in un futuro passato, ma noi ci potremmo ritrovare e ci crederemo sempre, per voi.
E ogni giorno le lacrime sarebbero scese ancora, per il passato e per il futuro, sperando di trovare quella porta.
Di aprirla e trovarvi lì, dove i bambini sanno correre fra le stille di pioggia e non devono restare immoti per far sì che le loro lacrime ci si perdano dentro…

 

 

 

Ladycat War Zone #2. “Ghost recon under a heavy rain”

of.jpgThe man was bent over in torrential rain, always present in the past, even though his soul was as light as a cloud. He emerged slowly from the mist numinous himself.
A hand guided him over the nebula barrier. He looked up to the sky, conifers clawed blue looking spasmodic light, of life, of the sun.
In front of him was an angel. For a moment he thought he could frighten him, and fled.
“I can not be afraid of you”, said the angel and shook hands gently, “you must not be afraid”
“Where are we? Who are you?” , asked the man.
“You’re in the Wonderland. I, we are the ones who have helped and that you tried to help. What he had hunger, thirst, fear, despair. That hurt, hit, maimed, special, tetraplegic. On the ground.
He wanted a gentle voice a caress one true look a sincere hug or a hand that I took away from the street praying to make it, a heart that never gives up, no matter what.
But above all, we are close to those that … “, the angel said to the man, pointing to his neck.
He realized that she was a small pink pearl necklace.
“Each pearl is one of us and you too”
“I’m not afraid …”, the man whispered, smiling.
The angel now returned cat and jumped on his shoulder and together they walked in the great Wonderland over there.
They again became each other brother and shared again the joys, the words and fears, in an everlasting embrace, while the new sun warmed them found hair and bones, happy to have found their warmth.
But were it not for this place suspended between us and our essence, truth and dream, reality and the crowd, which would have been our ontological columns of Hercules, we would never have found our limen, our source, our home?
In such rivers and springs we’d immersed in such springs and valleys kissed by the eternal sun of Noon, just for the hearts?
Such ridges we climbed shoulder to shoulder, looking at the hazy horizon, or sighting saddles with you on your shoulders?
And it would be light and intangible clouds after the last spring snow, under the blanket of galaverna between quivering shoots under the ground powdered by the first frost confused between light and shadows, between the light spring rain and the smell of wet earth, between the cliffs of the time and dream.
And we would have never found, and no one would have looked at us in the eyes because they saw their unexpressed and unaccettable pain.
And we would not have crossed our door is always open, but we would have been where the first glow of dawn light on our last day.
The existence ridge where we drank the light, unaware, while sostavamo the pool of water that we drank, and not the more we recognized it as such, we could no longer drink, our house there was a foreigner, and wandered tirelessly to regain the green pasture and shelter, with a long way to go, descending along the ridge, waving our old friends and fading off into the rain.
Leaving an empty sky of stars, falling together in the unequal struggle, and continuing to follow our paths traced in the grass and in the heart, chasing us and getting lost forever.
Crossing small promises of a new spring flowering timidly as they waited for the new sun a cruel shower broke, clouds frayed by the north wind, winter soldiers, lost and found millions of times, silent distant echoes of innuendo smiles.
But perhaps today, or tomorrow, or in a future past, but we could find and we always believe, for you.
And every day the tears would still be down, for the past and for the future, hoping to find that door.
To open it and find yourself there, where children can run between the drops of rain, and must not remain motionless so that their tears we get lost inside …