PAY WITH YOUR SOUL

Snow

This trip made me realize the magic of friendship and the warmth of company. It is important to leave, to go to new places, to meet new people. Only when you meet something new, something unprecedented and different you can see your true identity and your true nature. Limits. How easy it is to talk about limits. I often think that those who talk about boundaries have not lived the real life, the life that makes you strong, the life that makes you human. What would we be without difficulties? Maybe we would be better than we are now... The answer is no. Nothing we would be without them. No poet and no writer would write about an easy life. And if anyone ever wrote about an ideal life, No one would read this poem, this book. You see Nobody is used to reading the absurd.

Those were my thoughts that Sunday morning, that white morning that reminded us of the face of winter. The first snowflakes had fallen the night before. The leaves of the trees were now white and covered with white snow. The snowflakes fell so gently on their leaves that no sound betrayed the snow.

After the snow what will follow?... Lara asked. The ice I answered. The snow is so beautiful, white, pure, soft and quiet. Quiet because when it falls, our ears can't hear it like rain or like wind or like hail. We can't smell the snow the same way we smell the rain when it falls on dry soil and green leaves. We can't feel the snow when it falls like the wind that passes between the crevices of the windows. We can only see the snow. We can only see it when it has already covered everything. This always pleasantly surprises us. And after the snow ice.

And after the ice?...Tiffany asked. After the ice comes the mud. The purest of all is followed by something so impure. And this surprises us unpleasantly. Because snow is what becomes impure. When it falls white it does not warn us that at some point it will turn into something so different. And while the beautiful and pure snow covers everything, we know it will become mud. We do not get angry with it except when it spoils its beautiful image in our eyes.

And what does all this mean?.. asked the one who was warming his hands in the fireplace. All of this can mean a lot to some of you , for some others what I say may not matter.

I looked at the snow. Snow is not multi-faceted; in fact it does not have any of the faces you would probably think. But he looks so much like us. Many times we judged something impure as white and we justified something dirty as something pure. We knew that the snow from pleasure would become dissatisfaction but we did not care much, except when it finally stood before our eyes dirty. And we still do not know why this surprised us. After all, who has the purest face?

The snow will turn to mud anyway.

We know it in every way.

We have to find the right way. It will always snow.