I tell myself the tale of my life. I walk through the labyrinth talking to myself. Everything seems to be the same, monotonous, indifferent to pity, to rage, to boredom, to enthusiasm, impassive to scorn, to pride, to respect… I would like it to be different, but it is useless. Cutting edges, hard light black shadow, narrow corridors, repetitive?... no. I want to see curves, look at him, he is tired of white, black, solid, square, masculine, he has given up on smoothness. I want to get out of here, how would it be in another part of the World?... Impossible to know, contrast, vertical, white sky, I crash down, again here? I drown in my thoughts, Grey Ocean of corridors full of words, tiring speech. Shout. The sound of my own shout surprises me, in my thoughts it was very powerful, piercing, of a superhero and what I hear is sharp, dramatic, nearly stupid. Stop criticising yourself. Stop hurting yourself… guilt, how long with it? That’s it. I can feel myself. I rest. I close my eyes. I caress my head with thinking. In the labyrinth I whisper calmly, calmly… Do I not need all I learnt? Is it about forgetting? I cannot answer myself, I walk and walk between the words and the silences, lights and shadows of my internal city, I find tranquillity in repetition, security, these structures make me feel comfortable, my reclusion is attractive, I ran from one place to another, I hide myself, I play within my reclusion and I dream with freedom without noticing that I am already free. Because I play.

Labyrinth of space full of voices. Language has no meaning here, thoughts conform themselves hazily in a heap and I do not know anymore what they say. They sing. I feel. I close my eyes and I feel myself. My conscience expands itself and it crosses walls. And I fly. Fly?... Look, look at the Earth, what you see is what you are, you are matter… and this silence outside. That’s what I am. I am what there is. I am silence except my steps, my breathing. No. Fights of the internal city. I am also what I want to be. Where I want to get, I am also that place. I am what I feel, what I think, the peace I look for...

I am the only being here. I am looking for myself. I get lost here. Until when? How many of me am I? How many between the ones I was, I am and I will be… and that they are also others. Am I where I was before? Have I passed by this corridor? It seems so familiar to me, and at the same time… I doubt. Perhaps I passed by but I was another one, another I, a character, an idea that becomes a character, an age. I discover myself by looking at the existence of other beings, truth or dream are the same, for me they are real here inside me, I hear them, I feel their warmth. I can see passing by the child I was. The children I was. I stand by looking on in ecstasy. They go across the bewitched forests full of gnomes and fairies and fog and green and humidity under the cold sun in Autumn. They take the sticks, they are soft and wet. They throw them away far in the water. Further away. Much further away up to the peak of the mountain that is further away than the lake. They throw them up in the sky, they touch the sky with them, I am going to kick that cloud. They climb over those immense rocks and they dream they are very strong giants, they jump from up there and they dream that they can fly. And I get a lump in the throat while I smile happily. Here it is contained all the beauty and the magic of being human. The doubt does not exit anymore inside him. It erased itself. It is. Without justification and without obligation. He is the cause of his life, not the consequence and he has unexpectedly encountered beauty and he ended up soaked with it as if he was just coming out of the sea with his clothes on.

I. He. Because life is not this labyrinth, this labyrinth is the mind. Life is living away, life is what changes inside me, the cedar that I form from this seed. And these corridors are not the World. The World is the miracle of creation inside my ties.