Mountain Girl

8 January 1984

2012-01-08T08:05:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to girl Milena on this special day. She is still here. I am here.

Gli angeli ci sono

Fu un attimo

e poi solo il silenzio,

un'attesa dolce

il richiamo di un angelo

le sue ali sul mio viso

ed è ancora giorno

la luce risplende per la seconda volta

chissà quando sarà

che dovrò veramente partire

The angels exist

It was a moment

and then just silence

a sweet waiting

an angel calling

his wings on my face

and the day came again

the light shines for the second time

who knows when

I must really leave

Christmas wishes

2011-12-22T05:11:00.000-08:00

I wish you all a wonderful Christmas time.

May the blessing of the Lord bring you peace and gentleness of the heart

and may the acceptance of whatever is

flower in your soul.

May the light of the new born Jesus shine on your path in life.

A Merry Christmas for you all from the "Amsterdam Vocals", the choir of my beloved husband Driek

St. Francis forever

2011-10-04T06:56:00.000-07:00

The 4th of October, St Francis feast.

I was so happy to find in Rhodos a church dedicated to him. When I entered last Sunday my heart jumped in joy. His presence was felt deeply.
I sat there and looked at the beautiful wall depicting his union with Jesus in glory and pain.

The famous mystery of St Francis stigmata. Much was written about it especially in 2000 century in a very critical way. I like to think that St. Francis had a real identification with Jesus to the point when his body created the same holy wounds that Christ had. We know the mind have a strong power over the body. So anything is possible. People can heal because of their beliefs why not having stigmata?
To me is not relevant to my faith in the blessed poor brother of Assisi. His action and his words spoke louder then any critics. What really matters is that St Francis talks to me more then any other Saints and when he touches my heart I am in exquisite joy. His "divina Letizia".

And he always talks to my heart.

Beloved St Francis I am under your protection,

always.

My birthday

2011-10-03T06:51:00.000-07:00

27 September 2011.

Thanks to the Lord, to my parents and to Driek

For this special day I was hoping to be on a remote island with nobody to be seen and the calm tranquility of a blue sea. I was blessed to have my dream fulfilled.

On a very small island near Rhodos, I prayerfully swam in the crystal clear water, kissing and gently caressing the sea. The silence, the immense space and the wonderful colors of nature around helped me to release the deep sadness and longing to have already walked on this earth for such along time. Meditating on living and dying, as each birthday marks a step closer to sister death. So I want to be able to welcome it and prepare for it and not going along in denial and pretending it doesn't happen to me.
It almost happened to me, so I have no illusion about the mortality of this life.

At times I do feel like hundred years old, and life seems so heavy just like the rocks of the mountains, but mostly I go around with an inner sense of youthfulness that never dies. Deep inside, I hold the secret of a second life, a second chance that no many can claim to have. The time stood still the evening of the 8th of January 1984, when I was 22 years old. Something of me died that day, and something else in me awakened for the first time and was born out of fire. Indeed I feel more like 28 years old, and who cares about wrinkles, they show the love and pain I had in life.
God blessed each and every day of my life and those who cared for me and love me.
I can only thank Him, each day.

And so I sit here in awe at the setting of this day.

no many words remain to speak, when the sweet presence

is felt in the small place of the heart,

call it Buddha, call it Jesus, call it God

just call for it and He will answer.

You breathe in and out

you move through life trying to be free but eventually you will let go of everything

even of that desire

like a wave disappearing in the ocean just to reappear again, never the same

the spirit guides my way

the mountain gives me strength

and the sea melts my sorrow

only a sweet taste of gratitude smiles in me.

And I know that I don't know

What a freedom!

Poem for my father

2011-07-27T05:50:00.000-07:00

Lago di Tovel Brenta - Tovel lake

After 5 nights with my beloved father in the hospital this day came when I could finally take him back home really in good shape. Tired but happy.

Resting in nature for few hours a day helped me to received the energy to keep going and feel His divine presence deep in my heart. Thomas Merton by my side with his contemplation reflexion and silence.
A love affair with my dad. Oh... love can be so exquisite when we don't interfere.

The silver water,

reflecting the mountain

the silence and strength

a breath of life

deep in the marrow of the tree.

What a delicious moment!

Milena 7-2011

Dedicated to my friend Susanne Kessler. May you rest in peace

2011-04-13T03:09:00.000-07:00

From left to right Francesca, me, Susy

In September 2007, when I was organizing the last details for my wedding, Susanne Kessler was a very soothing and calm presence, especially the exciting evening before the actually ceremony and party. She helped me to arrange the seats for our family at the dining tables and she decorated the room with a lot of creativity in the colors I had asked her, pink and white. Her brother Sandro prepared for me the best vegetarian menu I could have asked for, in honour of my beloved husband who is vegetarian. Francesca, Sandro’s wife and good friend was so excited that we decided to marry in their hotel, and together with Susi she made sure we had everything I wanted for my wedding day.

Mother Linde (that's how I called her) was also very touched by my choice of marrying in their wonderful Hotel Lago Smeraldo. I had to tell her why, although she already knew.

The oldest son, Harald was born in '61 like me, and I used to spend some rebellious time with him in my teenage years. I remember sharing my first cigarette with him, hiding behind the boats at the shore of the lake. He was unpredictable, full of energy, an indomitable rebel and a good cook. He passed away in June 1984, six months after I survived my near death experience after being hit at full speed by a car.

Harald had leukemia and he was the first of my schoolmates that died of a terminal disease. He struggled a lot with his predicament and the family tried everything to prolong if not save his life. Sandro two years younger was the donor for the bone marrow transplantation. Sadly it didn’t succeed and we lost Harald at the young age of 23 years.

I remember being at his funeral in crutches as I was still learning to walk again after 6 months in bed and in wheelchair. I was not sure at the time who was the lucky one, because so very often I wished I was dead instead of being left here on earth with so much pain and a body completely destroyed. Back then and just a few months after the accident I was far from being grateful of having survived. On the contrary, I was furious and with all my rights.

Beach in Zeeland

Susanne Kessler, Susy to everyone who knew her, has gone missing the 25th of February 2011 in Sharm El Sheikh. The family was not informed immediately, instead a reporter delivered the sad news with a phone call few days later. Susy was last seen on Montaza beach, where together with her new boyfriend she was enjoying the sun. Around 1 pm the boyfriend left Susy alone to go to do some work and came back couple of hours later when he found only her bag. No trace left of Susy.

I flew to Italy the 1st of March and the 3rd I woke up in the morning with a terrible headache. The news broke into the village like a heavy blow. The front pages of the regional newspaper were showing her pictures, with titles of disquieting if not horrifying impact. This is how the village of Fondo found out about Susy’s destiny. The titles were talking about being eaten by shark, killed and then thrown into the sea, body mutilated, found a dead body in the sea. They just assumed that because Susy was missing since the 25th of February, the body that was found was hers. It was not possible to recognize it. So it was not possible to declare with absolute certainty that the poor body was Susy.

And so it all started.

Once again I could confirm my profound dislike for the sensationalist approach of the media. They harm the privacy of people more then informing and stick to the facts. They certainly harmed the Kessler family.

The waiting for the family and friends became an excruciating trial. The Kessler family with great dignity retreat itself in silence, hurt and in shock, not feeding the media with information. Instead a dear friend of the family became their spokesperson to shield them for further journalistic assault.

For a few days I went to visit the family in the hotel Lago Smeraldo and we talked about many things, mostly to distract their mind from the agony of not knowing. Sandro, Susy’s brother was getting ready to live for Sharm el Sheik to identify the body and have a DNA test. Even he had to wait until a flight was available. Susy’s ex-husband Ahmed, still a good friend, with whom she was married since 2004, now living in Switzerland, was accompanying him. He was shocked like anybody else but did not lose faith. For him Susy was just missing, not dead. So everyone was hoping. Once they finally arrived there, the Egyptian bureaucracy delayed any further attempt to know the truth. Fondo, the small village where both me and Susy grew up was in shock.

The Roen mountain

Last time I spoke with her was this January 2011. After a long walk in the mountain me and Driek went to the bar of the Hotel to greet our friends and have a hot chocolate. I remember joking with Susy about the sharks in the Egyptian water and she was like always happy and smiling. I was pleasantly surprised to see her, usually she comes only in summer to help the family running the beautiful hotel. She shared with us that according to the common opinion of the Egyptians, sharks were brought into the bay by the Israeli people. Theory that was shared by more sources.

Me and Driek we were planning to go to Egypt for our 4th wedding anniversary, and were concerned about the danger of sharks. So we spoke a bit about that. Little did I know that few months later she would find the end of her life in the same water, although no one still knows the cause of her death, the body was being assaulted by different kind of sea predator. I would not exclude the possibility of sharks.

But Susy was an excellent swimmer, she spent her childhood and youth swimming in the water of our cold Emerald lake in Fondo. Water was her element, that is also why she decided to live in Sharm.

All of that was coming to my mind in those terrible days, and my heart was heavy with sorrow. I went for walks in the forest just above the lake. I was praying that it was just a case of a missing person not a death. The newspapers kept delivering information about the possibility of a murder case. The new boyfriend of Susy was the primal suspect. Apparently a first autopsy showed a 17cm fracture in the skull, probably caused by a wooden blunt instrument. Nothing was certain, nothing was clear.

Many question were haunting me. If this body is Susy's, what were the last moments of her life like? Was she aware of death coming? Was it just an accidental fall and the sea did the rest? Was she violently hit by someone she knew and trusted? I could not believe she was murdered. Susy was not a naïve person, she was very down to earth and very smart. Me and her we shared the destiny of village's natives that chose to live abroad. We both explored a good amount of places around the globe, but were always happy to be back in the mountains. That was what bond us strongly.

To calm my thoughts I was lying on the dry soil of the mountain above the lake and prayed she didn’t feel pain and could go peacefully. Pray that she was just gone missing, pray that the mystery of her disappearance will soon be solved. Instead it took more then a month.

Last time I saw Linde and Francesca was exactly in the forest above the lake and there Francesca told me she needed to be alone. I respected her wishes although I was truly worried about her, she seemed so fragile and blue and I knew she could not sleep, thus leaving her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I kept praying for everyone in the family and more intensely for Susy.

A few days later I had to go back to Amsterdam, and it was with a kind of relief I left the valley. Normally I suffer from homesickness leaving my family and the silent majestic mountains behind. But I needed space. The hotel Lago Smeraldo, the place where I was so happy during my wedding and the first night after the marriage was overwhelmed with deep grief, sorrow, even anger for the disarming loss and uncertainty.

Sandro in Egypt was not able to identify what was suspected to be her sister’s body. He underwent a DNA test and flew back home to Italy with no energy left. Bureaucracy in Egypt sucks.

From Amsterdam I had no way to know what was going on, apart from trying to read the local newspaper online. So I started to write Francesca, Linde and Sandro emails of support, prayer, just to let them know how much I was moved and concerned. Sometimes Francesca answered me with a few lines of deep pain and agony that brought home to me the incredible level of distress everyone was feeling.

Then the news came that Sandro’s Dna test was not valid and mom Linde had to fly to Cairo accompanied by Sandro to do her DNA. This I am sure must have been so terribly painful for Linde. So the days and weeks went by in this exhausting and wrenching waiting.

During these weeks I dreamt about Susy often. I remember two of these dreams. In both of them she was explaining to me she had to go away. That I should tell everyone that she is fine and happy where she is. There is no need to worry. She will look after her family from the other realm. I thought it was a meaningful message and wrote that to Francesca. But I was still hoping like anybody else.

A case of a missing person put you into a limbo where you can’t really start the mourning process for the loss of the dear one, but you can’t however neither feel at peace that the dear one is still alive. You simply don’t know. That leaves your psyche if not your soul wondering in search for certainty and it creates a level of stress that wears you down dreadfully.

I decided I was going to do a meditation for Susy, whether she was alive or dead. Deep down I knew she was not here with us on the planet earth any longer. At least not in the form that we all knew her. Each morning I would wake up and sit in front of my altar and with the newspaper's cuts with her story I would pray:

Breathing in I calm my body,

breathing out I send peace to Susy wherever she is.

Breathing in I feel the pain of her loved ones,

breathing out I send waves of peace and compassion to them.

And so on. I don’t know if it helped them but it certainly helped me to stay connected with Susy and her family. Also if she really was in that body, the soul needed comfort and soothing prayers to let go of the attachment to the body. At least this is what the Bardo tradition explains in "The Tibetan book of the dead".

In Catholic tradition you recite the rosary, asking the Holy Mary to intercede for the passing.

In the book from Sogyal Rinpoche “The Tibetan book of living and dying” there is a section about when someone dies a violent death, in war, accident. I found comfort reading and meditating according to this Buddhist approach. I also went to the Nicholas Church in the city of Amsterdam and sat next to Jesus on the cross, lit a candle and prayed. "Let it be your will", "Help us to accept with grace this cross we bear" were other gentle prayers to bring acceptance in this awful circumstances.

Nicholas Church Amsterdam

Last Thursday, March 7, late in the evening I checked online the local newspaper “Trentino.it” and with my utmost shock I saw written in big letters that it was indeed the body of Susanne Kessler found dead in the water a month earlier. The DNA result confirmed. The body will be coming back to Fondo where she can have a funeral and be placed in the cemetery's tomb together with Harald, her older brother and her father who passed away 12 years ago.

I still don’t know what has happened to her in the last hours of her life. We may never know. I like to hold on to the dream I had sometime ago when she told me she was happy and serene and not to worry.

This is how I will always remember her. A smiling friend, a wonderful calm presence, being with me in the most beautiful day of my life. May you rest forever in peace beloved Susy with the angels above.

Basilic St. Agatha and St. Barbara in Oudenbosch

I wrote this poem for her:

For Susi

The wind stop blowing

The leaves whisper your Goodbye

The water of the lake are again transparent

You left dear Susy for the great Journey

and now you are finally Home

in the house of the Father.

May your soul be free flying peacefully

together with your beloveds who preceded you

and with the Angels.

Smile to us from above as you always did

And bring comfort to those who love you on this earth

Giving them peace in the silence of your forest

You will always stay here

in the garden of our heart

Like a flower that embraces the sun

Poem's original version

Per Susi

Il vento si è fermato

le foglie sussurrano il tuo Addio

le acque del lago sono tornate ad essere trasparenti.

Sei partita cara Susi per il grande Viaggio

E ora sei finalmente arrivata

nella casa del Padre.

Che la tua anima possa essere libera

volando serena insieme ai tuoi cari che ti hanno preceduta

e con gli Angeli.

Sorridici da lassù come hai sempre fatto

e conforta chi ti ama sulla terra

donando loro la Pace

nel silenzio dei tuoi boschi.

Resterai per sempre qui nel giardino del nostro cuore

come un fiore

che abbraccia il sole.

“The rest is silence” ( Shakespeare)

Per Susi, amica dispersa

2011-03-08T06:07:00.000-08:00

In questo giorno per le donne, il mio pensiero va a te come ormai da molti giorni. Dormire è difficile quando non si sa dove sei andata. E il cuore non si da pace finchè non si svelerà la tua sorte.

Per Susanna Kessler dispersa nella terra delle piramidi dal 25 febbraio 2011.

Un fiore di speranza

Un fiore per te bella Susi,

che tu possa ritornare tra noi

il silenzio dell'attesa è doloroso

la speranza nell'attesa è l'unico filo

che ci fa intravedere forse ancora il tuo respiro.

Il non sapere è devastante

non resta altro che calmare la mente

e acquietare il cuore

sperare con fede e coraggio

che avvenga un miracolo

qualsiasi esso sia.

Nell'eco delle acque smeraldine del nostro lago di Fondo

si sente ancora la tua risata

e si continua a vedere il tuo sorriso

Un fiore d'amore dalle tue montagne

che accolgano la tua anima dovunque tu sia

e che ti accompagni dovunque tu vada.

Un fiore di speranza
che tu possa ritornare tra noi.

Milena 8 marzo 2011

"Come be my Light" by Mother Teresa of Calcutta

2011-02-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

The beauty of our Lord is all around us.

Sometimes you need eyes to see

and ears to listen

but deep inside you need nothing

only your heart beat

will tell you the hidden truth

remembering why you are here.

Accepting everything with a joyful smile

smile even when the path is hard and the night is ever so dark,

smile even more then.

I pray this year I am able to live up to this wonderful way to go through life.

I thank deeply Mother Teresa for being an example of a true smile despite the dryness she felt for so long in her soul.

The new book, a collection of private letters to her confessors, Come be my Light" has revealed an aspect of her that nobody knew. It opened my eyes and my heart in faith and trust that He is always there even when I can't feel His presence.

8 January 1984

2011-02-01T06:18:00.000-08:00

Short essay, autobiographical.

8 of January 1984

There was a premonition, though only later I could make sense of it. A poem jotted down hastily in the back sit of the car, only half an hour before, on the front page of my little address book. Inspired by the French poets of the nineteenth century it was decadent, pessimistic, self destructive.

I remember only few lines, I lost it in one of my travels and I regret not having it anymore.

The flat tire required we stop the car on the National road 7, near Aix- en –Provence, in order to replace it. I felt a sort of agitation and didn’t want to remain sitting in the car as my friends asked me. We didn’t possess the car warning triangle sign. So I offered myself for the safety of my friends.

Last thing I remember was the kind voice of a man who stopped his car offering help and suggesting me to be careful. I declined his offer and he drove away. After that just a flash like a lightening bolt.

I opened my eyes and there was only blackness, as deep as a night without moon. Utter nothingness. And yet no fear.

What has happened? My mind is roaming frantically trying to answer. Thoughts flying around that had no connection with each other. I only recall the most trivial of them: “I lost one of my contact lenses. It never happened before.”

Why am I lying here? Whose are these voices screaming from a far distance?

Then as quickly as the thoughts came they also disappeared. I felt a gentle hand cradling me in a place made of air. I can almost touch, now, the incredible Peace that pervaded my whole being. I was carried in a dimension unknown to me. There was not a battered body, neither a mind that was thinking, only the soft caress of this invisible hand.

I didn’t wanted to leave, but the forces of gravity were stronger and pulled me down. I was lying on my belly and felt no sensation from my waist to my feet. Worries. I was wondering what happened to my legs, I felt as my lower body was not with me, instead was left behind on the road where I was a second ago, or perhaps long ago. I didn’t know where I was, who I was, which day it was. Just a great emptiness in front of me.

Strange languages. Not Italian not English. Voices. Terrified voices. People were calling what it seemed to be my name, not founding me, lost as I was in the bushes far from the road. I was trying to say I am here. No sound. Annoyed by their frightening screams I left them behind and once again I was suspended above the ground. What an incredible pervasion of immense Peace. There was a sense of perfection, a delicate state of being, limitless, serene, mystical. A serenity of now, here and everywhere. A sound with no melody and no silence but a wave of tranquility gently embracing the essence of me.

The disturbing noise from below called me back to my body and although no physical pain was experienced, my mind was worrying about the numbness in my legs. A terrible question started haunting me: Do I have my legs? I could hear someone saying yes. Than, I thought, everything is all right. And I was transported again into that peaceful state where nothing could touch “me” anymore.

A drunken driver was overtaking on the right side. His car hit my body at the speed of 100km/h and then I flew 50 meters away in the bushes. Twice heavily injured. Still today, 27 years later, I carry the consequence of that day.

I stayed 6 months in hospital, 2 weeks in an Intensive care, I underwent around 9 long surgeries in the first 6 months that saved my life. Over the years I had many more surgical operation, mostly to my legs and knees.

But I didn’t die. What is left is a moment, a moment of eternity, when I lingered at the door and glimpsed into the beyond. And that Peace.

I woke up five days later in the intensive-care unit, unable to move, not recognizing my own body, wrapped in white bandages like a mummy. My mother’s wet eyes were warmly smiling at me and the doctors started to call me “petit italienne”.

My life as I knew it was over, and a second chance, like a promise, was all I had.

July 2010 over the Alpine house Brentei-Brenta group-

Christmas wishes

2010-12-25T03:06:00.000-08:00

The Golden Wedding of my parents

2010-12-15T09:19:00.000-08:00

Today 15 december 2010 I am happy to celebrate the 50th Wedding Anniversary

of my beloved parents.

May God bless your union.

Vittorio e Mariacarla Callovini - Scanzoni

Here is a poem I wrote for them in Italian.

Camminando insieme

Mano nella mano per mezzo secolo

50 anni sono tanti

ma forse anche pochi

se si contano i capelli bianchi

Dei sorrisi, delle lacrime

la vita di coppia
è come il seguirsi delle stagioni

a volte il tempo è turbolento

altre sereno come il volo degli aquiloni

È bello voltarsi,

a guardare cosa è stato

e ancora ritrovarsi

camminando su di un prato

dove le foglie ormai ingialliscono

senza perdere il loro splendore

anzi tutte sorridono

al pensiero del lontano ardore

Che li ha guidati fino ad ora

con pazienza e amore

a festeggiare con tutti i cari

la gioia della loro unione

(Milena 2010)

Sulle orme di San Francesco: Un cammino da La Verna ad Assisi

2010-12-14T02:55:00.000-08:00

Dedico questo racconto alla mia cara mamma che non smette di amarmi e di avere fiducia in me. Nell'agosto 09 all' età di 72 ani camminò gli ultimi 190 km del "camino di Santiago di Compostela."
E al mio caro papa' che non può più camminare come una volta.
A loro sono immensamente grata.

Nel video potete osservare le foto fatte lungo il percorso e ascoltare la preghiera di San Francesco cantata da me e Driek.

Tutto cominciò parlando con la mia dolce amica Loredana la quale alcuni fa percorse il "sentiero della Pace" da Gubbio ad Assisi con un gruppo di 40 adolescenti. Mi diede il libro guida di Angela Serrachioli e quando incominciai a leggerlo seppi che volevo camminare sulle orme di San Francesco. Il completo cammino e' di 14 giorni da la Verna a Rieti - Poggio Bustone.

La nostra destinazione era Assisi, meta' del percorso. Da La Verna ad Assisi sono 190 km. Guidammo con la macchina dalla valle di Non nel Trentino fino a La Verna (vicino ad Arezzo in Toscana) il giorno dopo che Olanda arrivo' seconda nella coppa del mondo 2010. La nostra macchina era decorata ugualmente in arancione e noi eravamo felici lo stesso del secondo posto.

Io e Driek decidemmo di aspettare la finale della coppa del Mondo 2010, Olanda contro Spagna. Non volevo essere disturbata dal calcio durante questo santo cammino. Questa decisione causo' di prendere il periodo più caldo di tutta l'estate, il che' ebbe aspetti positivi come la mancanza di pioggia, ma anche e soprattutto molti problemi collaterali come il portare sopra le nostre spalle molta più' acqua e arrivare comunque alla fine della giornata a destinazione quasi disidratati.

Ma tutto e' relativo nel grande schema di un pellegrinaggio.

Arrivando a La Verna

A La Verna suor Priscilla e i suoi aiutanti ci accolsero con un gentile sorriso, una cena abbondante e nutriente e un letto per dormire. Quando entrai nella foresteria del monastero non potei trattenere le lacrime. San Francesco incominciò a battere nel mio cuore e non mi lasciò mai da allora.

La montagna di La Verna è semplicemente un posto meraviglioso. Uno può respirare tutta la sua incredibile, per dire il minimo, vita. Lui e' nell'aria, nei sorrisi silenziosi dei frati e delle suore, in una delle sue tuniche che puoi osservare nel santuario, ma soprattutto nelle rocce selvagge sotto la chiesa, dove lui fece il suo letto.

Abbiamo lasciato La Verna martedì mattina del 13 luglio e molto ottimisti incominciammo a camminare verso l'eremitaggio di Cerbaiolo. Secondo il libro di Angela, "Di qui passò Francesco", che fu la nostra bibbia in quei giorni, sono 27 km.

Benedicimi San Francesco, ho bisogno che tu cammini con me.

Presto lo zaino incominciò a pesarmi sulle spalle e il caldo cocente ci impose di fermarci molte volte per bere. Ero stata molto attenta a non caricare troppo i nostri zaini e di portare con me lo stretto necessario. Ciascuno pesava circa sui 6 / 7 chili, ma non avevo calcolato il peso extra dell'acqua per tutto il giorno. Ci siamo preparati per questo viaggio facendo delle lunghe escursioni sulle Dolomiti del Brenta e sulla catene delle Maddalene.

Lassù lungo i sentieri difficili e faticosi, lungo le montagne rocciose riuscivamo a trovare sempre acqua per riempire le nostre borracce. Presto ci rendemmo conto che lungo la strada per Assisi non c'erano fontane, o corsi d' acqua potabile, così' dovevamo caricarci come asini di quel amico, liquido, essenziale senza il quale l'uomo muore. L'ammontare di liquidi inoltre che sudavamo e' al di la dell'immaginabile.

Verso il Rifugio Pedrotti sul Brenta luglio 2010

"Laudato sì mì Signore, per sor'acqua, la quale e' molto utile et umile e preziosa e casta"

Camminare è già pregare

Quel primo giorno mentre camminavo per Cerbaiolo così tanti ricordi e pensieri si affioravano nella mia mente. Il corpo dopo alcune ore incominciava a soffrire terribilmente. Tutte le cicatrici sulle mie gambe gridavano per una sosta, le anche dovendo portare anche il peso dello zaino incominciarono a parlarmi. Mi ricordarono di quando molto tempo fa giacevo su di un letto d'ospedale in un paese straniero, dopo le numerosi operazioni chirurgiche, e mi chiedevo cosa sarà della mia vita dopo la traumatica esperienza di essere stata investita e quasi uccisa da un auto.

In quei dolorosi e silenziosi ricordi S. Francesco cantava per me e per alcuni attimi i miei dolori si assopivano potendo così continuare a camminare verso Cerbaiolo. Angela nel suo libro avverte i pellegrini delle due possibilità' da Pieve Santo Stefano fino all'eremitaggio di Cerbaiolo. Scrive: nel caso di pioggia è preferibile prendere la strada bianca, altrimenti il sentiero che sale lungo la montagna e molto più selvaggio e pittoresco. Essendo un anima avventurosa prendemmo il percorso più rocambolesco, senza considerare pienamente l'effetto del caldo e conseguentemente il bisogno di più soste. Durante la mattinata più volte avevamo incontrato Mirella che camminava da sola anche lei fino a Cerbaiolo. Nel negozio di alimentari a Pieve Santo Stefano, facemmo rifornimento di acqua e cibo per cucinare una volta arrivati all'ostello. Ripartimmo alle 4 di pomeriggio dopo già 6 ore di tratto. Percorremmo il primo pezzo insieme e poi lasciammo andare Mirella con il suo passo. Io dovevo fermarmi ogni 10 minuti. L'acqua appena comperata incomincio presto a scarseggiare e noi non eravamo per niente vicino alla nostra destinazione. In tutta onestà ino nel profondo delle mie ossa, scusate l'eufemismo, il primo giorno fu il più faticoso e difficile e mi sono veramente pentita di non avere scelto per la strada bianca. Ma se lo avessi fatto l' esperienza non sarebbe stata la stessa.

Quando finalmente la segnaletica ci diceva che eravamo "solo" a 20 minuti dall'ostello, io, letteralmente non riuscivo più' a camminare.

Improvvisamente le lacrime incominciarono a bagnarmi le guance ad ogni passo. Il dolore alle gambe e il totale esaurimento delle energie si mescolò con uno stato d'euforia che mi permise di entrare ancora più profondamente nel mio cuore e sentire un amore di serena accettazione.

Il mio amico Francesco deve avere vissuto ancora di più di questo nel suo ultimo viaggio da La Verna ad Assisi. Lui sapeva che non sarebbe più tornato su quella montagna meravigliosa dove lui era entrato in così' profonda comunione con l'Amato tra gli Amati, Dio supremo. Così come la sua storia ci dice, lui lasciò la Verna portando con se i segni "Le stigmate" della sua fervente estasi con il Signore, un 'esempio di pura "Imitazione di Cristo" fino al centro del suo essere.

Lo pregavo con ogni passo di aiutarmi a dimenticare le ingiurie e cattiverie di mi aveva ferito, di aiutarmi a trovare il vero perdono per chi aveva tradito la mia fiducia e il sacro legame del' amicizia.

Questo e' un punto doloroso nella mia vita e nonostante il dispiacere e l'amarezza che a volte sento non smetterò mai di porre la mia fiducia nella parte buona degli esseri umani e di imparare l'arte della compassione. Anche Buddha mi aiuta in questo sforzo.

Come radici

Le nostre mani assorbono come radici,
così io le poso su quello che è bello in questo mondo.

e le intreccio in preghiera
e loro attirano dal paradiso
luce.

Poesia di S. Francesco tradotta nella sua versione inglese da Milena

Camminare mi aiutava a guarire quelle ferite dell'anima, ricordandomi che dopo ogni passo ce n' è un'altro, come quando dopo l' inspirazione segue l'espirazione. Non smetterò mai di metter la mia fiducia in Lui e di sperare quando la disperazione offusca la mia mente.

Camminare con la consapevolezza che quasi 800 anni fa Francesco si muoveva ballando in quel stessi posti era abbastanza per dissipare qualsiasi dubbio o oscurità. Ogni volta che ritornavo a questa consapevolezza la mia anima saltava in gratitudine e totale felicita'.

Mi ero preparata a questo viaggio leggendo tutto su San Francesco, da Bonaventura e Celano ad autori moderni. Mi sentivo abbracciata dalle sue parole, dalle sue benedizioni, dal suo esempio e riuscivo a lasciare andare velocemente la mente con i suoi dubbi, provando ancora grande gioia di seguire le sue orme. Un po' come un ombra che ti segue, solo che nel mio caso, l'ombra ero io che seguivo la sua luce. Mi sembrava perfino di vederlo, che ammirava la creazione di Dio, dimenticandosi del mondo e delle sue preoccupazioni, soldi, prestigio, carriera, le debolezza dell'umanità', piuttosto lo vedevo perdersi a cantare a voce alta il suo pazzo amore per Dio. Francesco mi invitava ad essere un giullare per il Signore, senza posare troppa attenzione su cose, persone, situazioni che non sollevino la mia anima a Lui. Mi invitava a guardare la natura e gioire di essa, del suo silenzio e della sua melodia, della poesia nel mio cuore per l'Amato.

Mi diceva di apprezzare ogni fiore, canto degli uccelli, il sole e la luna che non si fermano mai nel donarci forza e illuminarci il percorso sia durante il giorno che la notte dell'anima. Mi diceva di spogliarmi di quello che non e' necessario e di portare con me la consapevolezza di quello che è veramente importante.

Laudato si' mi' Signore, con tucte le tue creature,
specialmente messer lo frate Sole,
lo quale jorna e illumini noi per lui;
et elli e' bello e radiante con grande splendore:
da te, Altissimo, porta significazione.

Laudato si' mi' Signore,

per sora Luna e le stelle:
in cielo le hai formate,
clarite e preziose e belle

Arriviamo a Cerbaiolo.

Alla fine del primo giorno esausti e disidratati finalmente arrivammo all'ostello francescano situato 10 minuti dall'eremo di Cerbaiolo. Per visitare l'eremo era troppo tardi.

Nessuno gestisce l'ostello. L'anziana signora che per anni insieme alle sue capre si prendeva cura sia dell'ostello che dell'eremo mori alcuni mesi prima. Un uomo che avevo informato per telefono che saremmo arrivati in ritardo ci stava aspettando. Aveva fretta di ritornare giù nel paese e si dimenticò di offrirci dell'acqua, invece ci chiese senza tanti preamboli i nostri passaporti e i soldi per la notte. Lassù in mezzo al bosco, lontano dal mondo era più' importante registrare i nostri nomi per la polizia locale che essere gentili con i pellegrini. Ma questa è anche l'Italia. Ho dovuto inghiottire per non rispondere sgradevolmente, certamente mi sarei aspettata , dopo un così lungo ed estenuante giorno un po' di empatia e un vero benvenuto francescano.

Come mi sbagliavo. L'ostello era molto trasandato, sporco e con moltissimi gatti che vi avevano fatto casa. Tuttavia ero felice di avere un letto su cui dormire anche se riuscì solo a riposare il corpo ma non fui in grado di dormire per il male alle ossa e articolazioni. Al pensiero che Francesco fece di un sasso piatto il suo letto non potevo tollerare l'idea di lamentarmi. Così non lo feci, sperando nella mia mente di non prendermi la scabbia o le pulci. Continuai a respirare l'aria che entra e che esce, così' semplicemente mentre ero sdraiata sulla schiena, su questo materasso sgualcito, dove il mio corpo si sprofondo' in profonda preghiera di riuscire ad arrivare all'alba. Ancora i ricordi mi riportarono a tutte le notti insonni che passai su quel letto d'ospedale, ferita nel corpo e nell'anima, piangendo per una via d'uscita implorando di vedere un po' di luce, alla giovane eta' di 22 anni.

Ripensando a quello che Francesco disse sulla "perfetta letizia" riuscì ad appisolarmi per un po' in gratitudine per il miracolo di essere qui, in grado di camminare e capace di essere felice nonostante il dolore.

Eremo di Cerbaiolo

Il sole sorge sempre

Il mattino dopo molto presto nonostante i muscoli doloranti, le nostre gambe e i nostri cuori erano pronti per nuove avventure. Eravamo decisi a non soffrire inutilmente questo secondo giorno, quindi abbiamo tenuto l'opzione di fermarci a meta' strada, una piccola località chiamata La Montagna. La destinazione della seconda tappa e' San Sepolcro, altri 29 km di percorso. Ma come dicevo non intendevamo oltrepassare i nostri limiti. Quindi ci siamo incamminati dopo aver fatto colazione con Mirella che lasciò l'ostello 20 minuti prima di noi ed eravamo nuovamente ottimisti.

C'è qualcosa di grandioso e nello stesso tempo di molto umile nel mettere un passo dopo l'altro, muovendosi ad un ritmo naturale attraverso foreste, aperti prati, sopra la cresta di una montagna, nel letto asciutto di un fiume. Un passo alla volta, lento, non c' è bisogno di correre da nessuna parte, c' è abbondanza di tempo, la nostra casa è sulle spalle, il cuore batte silenziosamente e il sudore scorre lungo tutto il corpo.

Che meraviglia avere il tempo di guardarsi in giro, respirare l'aria incontaminata, ammirando il volo di una farfalla che bacia un fiore. Lo sapevate che le farfalle vivono solo un giorno? Chissà come è essere una di loro. Eppure non hanno fretta, il loro volo e' colmo di grazia e osservarle danzare sotto il sole con le ore splendide ali illumina i cuori.

Anche una vipera che ti attraversa la strada ti fa sorridere. La moltitudine dei colori dei fiori mi hanno rallegrato più di una volta durante i momenti duri del nostro cammino. Una Vera gioia mi pervadeva nel cuore e la serotonina, l'ormone della felicita', mi entrava nel cervello regalandomi uno stato di naturale estasi, senza uso di droga alcuna.

Laudato si mi Signore,
per sora nostra Matre Terra
la quale ne sustenta et governa,
et produce diversi fructi con coloriti flori et herba.

Alle 6 di sera, dopo otto ore di cammino e molte soste indipensabili, arrivammo finalmente a La Montagna. Era troppo tardi per continuare fino al monastero di Montecasale e poi scendere fino a San Sepolcro. Se uno dovesse solo camminare senza prendersi il dovuto tempo per osservare, ammirare e perché no riflettere e pregare nei vari posti sacri che hanno visto la presenza di San Francesco, non e' più' un vero pellegrinaggio. Inoltre non avere fretta di arrivare è essenziale per vivere profondamente il momento presente. Senza contare che si possono fare incontri inaspettati e conoscere delle belle persone lungo la strada. Ofelia e' una di queste.

Lei e suo marito furono degli osti splendidi. Dopo la situazione abbastanza primitiva all'ostello sotto Cerbaiolo mi sono sentita come una principessa quando ci mostrò il nostro alloggio. Era un piccolo appartamentino che si affacciava sulla verde valle per la modesta spesa da pellegrini di 20 euro. Inoltre si e' messa anche a cucinare per noi un pasto delizioso con i prodotti del suo giardino e tutti insieme abbiamo cenato fuori sotto gli alberi in un atmosfera calda e amichevole.

Un momento di gentilezza può guarire mille ricordi di ferite passate. La condivisione al tavolo con questa coppia che ne ha viste tante fu quella di pellegrini sul cammino della vita: profonda, avventurosa, sacra e anche scherzosa. Siamo stati tutti molto bene.

"Un amico è colui che c'è per te quando ne hai bisogno anche se un momento prima era un perfetto sconosciuto"

Ofelia e i suoi fiori B.B. Alla Battuta in Montagna.

L'eremo di Montecasale

Riposati, rinfrescati e molto felici il mattino dopo camminammo verso il monastero di Montecasale. Tutto sembrava sorriderci, anche lo zaino sembrava pesare di meno. Il percorso che porta al monastero accarezza la cresta delle colline e la vista tutto intorno ti fa sentire grata e molto piccola in ammirazione della creazione di Dio.

Riposati, rinfrescati e molto felici il mattino dopo camminammo verso il monastero di Montecasale. Tutto sembrava sorriderci, anche lo zaino sembrava pesare di meno. Il percorso che porta al monastero accarezza la cresta delle colline e la vista tutto intorno ti fa sentire grata e molto piccola in ammirazione della creazione di Dio.

Ancora una volta ai piedi del mio maestro per questi giorni, San Francesco mi ha regalato dolci lacrime e momenti sereni di preghiera quando nella piccola cappella dell'eremo ho recitato l'Angelus a mezzogiorno insieme ai monaci che sono residenti li'. Non e' importante quante parole uno dica con la bocca, la vera preghiera viene diretta dal cuore ed io preferisco sedermi in silenzio in divina comunione con il Signore che recitare ad alta voce. Tuttavia c'è qualcosa di molto rassicurante e calmante nel cantare i salmi e i vespri nell' accordo melodico insieme con le sorelle o i fratelli del'Ordine che hanno dedicato la loro vita alla preghiera. La mia anima come uno strumento che ha trovato il giusto accordo semplicemente e innocentemente risuona con la loro.

Oh che cibo divino è la preghiera per l'anima.

Beato sia tu San Francesco per la gioia che porti nel mio cuore.

Lui chiese la carità'

Dio venne alla mia casa e chiese la carità'.

Sono caduto in ginocchio e ho pianto
"Amato cosa ho io da darti?"
"Solo amore" Lui rispose
" Solo amore"

(Poesia di S. Francesco tradotta dalla versione inglese da Milena)

Appena sotto l'eremo di Montecasale, ci siamo fermati al "sasso Spicco" a mangiare il pane e formaggio preparato da Ofelia. Questo è un' altro dei posti sacri dove S. Francesco si sedeva in contemplazione della natura e in profonda preghiera.

Come riuscivo a sentirlo in quelle rocce! La natura tutto intorno è ancora così come era allora, selvaggia, ed e' molto facile immaginare questo piccolo santo uomo nella sua fervente devozione parlare alle rocce, agli uccelli, alla piccola cascata, sotto il cielo, avendo solo un grande roccia come suo tetto. Incurante del tempo si perdeva innocentemente nelle meraviglie del creato fino a quando i suoi frati lo richiamavano al presente da questi suoi stati di estasi prolungata.

Dopo una lunga e ripida discesa a volte anche pericolosa attraverso una foresta fitta con un sentiero terribilmente scivoloso, raggiungemmo la piana di San Sepolcro. Personalmente causa la mia situazione fisica trovo sempre molto pesante e faticoso scendere dalla montagna. Il più delle volte quando raggiungo la valle dopo un ardua discesa non riesco più a camminare diritta. Questa fu una di quelle volte.

A questo punto senza molto riflettere decidemmo di prendere un autobus fino a Città' di Castello e di ritrovarci con Mirella che dal paesino la Montagna era andata direttamente fino alla cittadina non visitando quindi l'eremo di Montecasale. Anche il secondo giorno se fatto tutto come il libro di Angela descrive diventa un percorso da Tarzan nella giungla con molte ore di cammino, senza naturalmente contare le soste. Questa volta e' stata Mirella che si pentì di non essersi fermata con noi a Montagna, e prendersi il tempo per visitare l'eremo il giorno dopo.

Io e Mirella ammirando il paesaggio

Prendendo l'autobus abbiamo saltato una tappa che ci avrebbe portato da San Sepolcro fino a Città' di Castello. Secondo il libro guida sembra sia un bellissimo percorso lungo la Valtiberina, ma noi eravamo così' disidratati e sofferenti per il grande caldo che semplicemente avevamo bisogno di un giorno o quasi, di riposo.

Un pellegrino è anche colui che trova delle vie alternative per arrivare alla sua destinazione se il corpo non ce la fa più. Questo è ciò che la mia mamma mi scrisse in un sms telefonico.

La nostra barzelletta era che se S. Francesco fosse vissuto nell' era odierna ci avrebbe detto: "Cari ragazzi perché' non vi prendete un autobus e viaggiate con l' aria condizionata? Non volete mica morire sulle mie orme. Questo caldo è al di là di quello che si può tollerare, meglio rimanere sani e arrivare a destinazione. Siate furbi. Prendete un autobus. Io non avevo questa scelta allora. Vi amo ugualmente."

Naturalmente le persone che abbiamo incontrato sull'autobus non potevano capire perché' camminavamo sotto questo caldo intollerabile con uno zaino sulle spalle, quando il resto dell'Italia che non era già in vacanza sognava di stare sdraiato sulle sue belle spiagge. Ho scoperto che moltissime delle persone dei villaggi che abbiamo attraversato in quei giorni fino ad Assisi, difficilmente avevano percorso anche una sola tappa di questo cammino TAU francescano, conosciuto ormai in tutta Europa. Così naturalmente erano molto curiosi e contenti di darci il benvenuto sull' autobus chiedendoci cosa ci porta da così lontano a percorrere questi sentieri. Non sono mai riuscita a rispondere completamente a questa domanda.

Citta' di Castello

Elisa, che gestisce la Residenza Antica Canonica che si appoggia sulle mura del "Duomo" nella piazza principale del paese, ci diede un bellissimo benvenuto. Abbiamo veramente camminato a lungo in questa bellissima cittadina. Abbiamo visitato e pregato in tutte le sue chiese e sono tantissime. Ho pregato con le "clarisse" quando aprivano la grata del loro convento e condividevano cantando i vespri con noi. Altri momenti che hanno visto le lacrime bagnare il mio viso.

Non possiamo veramente parlare di San Francesco senza parlare della sua controparte femminile Santa Chiara. Uniti da un matrimonio mistico nel loro amore per Dio la storia di uno non può essere narrata senza quella dell'altro.

Così' è arrivato il mio di momento per esprimere la mia profonda ammirazione per S. Chiara e il suo Ordine religiose delle Clarisse, o Povere Dame.

Santa Chiara

La storia di questa giovane donna, ancora ragazza, che decise di lasciare la sicurezza della sua nobile famiglia, sorelle e amiche, e correre alla Porziuncola dove S. Francesco le tagliò i capelli e la dichiaro' la sua prima discepola donna, è una storia di tremendo coraggio, grande forza interiore, e un assoluto amore e devozione a Gesù Cristo e a Francesco.

Così tanto è stato scritto su Santa Teresa d' Avila e le sue famose estasi, anche la più rinomata statua del Bernini la raffigura in uno dei suoi rapimenti, in confronto Santa Chiara manca di tanta grandiosità. Lei e' un esempio di vera umiltà'. E lei era in uno stato estatico tutto il tempo.

Quando uno legge la storia di Santa Chiara di Tommaso da Celano, scritta in effetti alcuni anni dopo la sua morte e basata su testimonianze accurate, uno può sentire l'immensa gentilezza della sua anima. Nonostante avesse un corpo fragile e delle malattie ricorrenti lei visse una vita lunga per ringraziare Dio e fondando l'Ordine religioso che prende il suo nome. Ogni volta che incontro delle sorelle clarisse posso intravedere attraverso la loro gentilezza e il loro sorriso amorevole, lo stesso calore che deve avere avuto Chiara e che infiammo' molti cuori. Certamente accende il mio ancora oggi.

Pieni della bellezza di questa cittadina e dopo aver salutato Mirella che proseguiva per un altra meta', noi prendemmo un autobus per Gubbio. Ancora non me la sentivo di camminare di nuovo. Di conseguenza abbiamo saltato la tappa verso Pietralunga.

Da Gubbio ad Assisi

A Gubbio ci siamo resi conto velocemente di come l'ufficio turistico dell'Umbria era in competizione con l'ufficio turistico della Toscana e con Angela Seracchioli. Decidemmo di starcene fuori da queste questioni politiche e di territorio e abbiamo mantenuto il suo libro come la nostra guida del cammino.

Dopotutto stavamo camminando sulle orme di San Francesco, nel nome di cosa la gente litiga sui diritti sul "corretto percorso, che lui fece 800 anni fa.

Abbiamo pernottato dalle gentili e timide suore in cima alla città' con la finestra che si affacciava sull'immensa valle.

Da Gubbio abbiamo seguito il Sentiero Francescano della Pace, che coincide con la guida "Di qui passò Francesco". Questo percorso fu creato nel 2000 per il giubileo. In realtà' il percorso incomincia da Assisi e va fino a Gubbio, seguendo le tracce, che S. Francesco camminò quando lasciò la sua vita come la conosceva, e si avventurò nella selvaggia natura, nella ricerca di Dio, fino a Gubbio, dove fu ospitato da un amico. Lungo il corso degli anni Francesco fece questo percorso più' volte in entrambe le direzioni.

In ogni caso noi decidemmo di partire dall'Abbazia di Vallingegno, evitando il lungo tratto noioso sulla strada statale dove i nostri piedi si sarebbero sciolti con l'asfalto.

Preferisco andare su e giù per le montagne lungo sentieri dove non passano le macchine che camminare lungo una trafficata strada statale. Alla mattina presto un autobus ci portò vicino all' Abbazia, solo alcuni chilometri fuori Gubbio. La vecchia abbazia è ora un Agriturismo, non c'era nessuno in giro, pero' riuscimmo a sbirciare attraverso le fessure della vecchia porta nella piccola chiesetta, unico posto che valeva la pena di visitare e rimanere per un po' in preghiera.

Da qui dovevamo attraversare la valle per riconnetterci al percorso sulla strada bianca, che arrivava da Gubbio. Il che significava salire e scendere tra fitta boscaglia. Quasi nessuno prende questo sentiero, così' nello stile di Francesco dovemmo veramente farci strada passo dopo passo attraverso covi di spine e cespugli pungenti che veramente mi graffiarono a sangue braccia e gambe. Mi sono sentita tanto come "Rambo" francescana Milena camminando per la pace nel mezzo di vipere, erba altissima, ortiche, sentieri invisibili e pungenti zanzare.

Tuttavia mi è piaciuto molto questo tratto di percorso selvaggio e solitario, sebbene ci impiegammo ben 3 ore per riconnetterci con la strada bianca che ci doveva portare a Biscina, la nostra destinazione per questa tappa.

Camminando lungo la strada bianca dove abbiamo incontrato i primi pellegrini della giornata siamo passati davanti all'eremo di san Pietro in Vigneto. Sapevamo dal libro di Angela che l'eremita, un monaco che si prende cura del posto, non vuole essere disturbato. Su tutto il grande cancello ci sono delle scritte molte chiare: non entrare, no visite, no pellegrini, non fermatevi. No , No, No

Opposto al cancello d'entrata c'è un prato con una fontana che ti invita a fermarti, un tavolo e delle panche di legno. Cosi in effetti ci siamo fermati per recuperare le forze e dire una preghiera per questo eremita che non permette a nessuno di visitare l'eremitaggio. Che triste! C'era qualcosa di estremo quasi arrogante nelle scritte sul cancello, che mi e' dispiaciuto per lui. L'insegnamento che Dio si trova dentro di noi, è fuori dubbio per me, tuttavia le scritte non erano rispettose verso coloro che camminavano in preghiera pagando un tributo ad un uomo, che non aveva costruito barre o cancelli, creato divisioni, e allontanato il prossimo. Al contrario camminò con gioia nonostante i rifiuti e le difficoltà' subite.

Pax et Bonum era il saluto di San Francesco.

Da li' fino a Biscina pensavo di non farcela. Il sole era potente e il caldo ci rubava il fiato. Anche qui si deve camminare prima giù nel letto secco di un rivo, tra massi bianchi cocenti, e poi risalire tra erba incolta e pochissima ombra. Incominciai a sentirmi male, la testa mi girava al punto di svenire, mi pulsava e mi faceva male, e gli occhi mi bruciavano. Io non soffro di svenimenti e sono di costituzione forte a parte le ossa ricostruite. Il pensiero che mi tratteneva dal mollare era immaginare come fosse stato per Francesco scappare via da tutto cio' che era familiare a lui, nel freddo inverno, verso un amico di cui non aveva notizie da molto tempo e ancora riusciva a cantare e gioire della sua scelta.

Quando finalmente raggiungemmo l' Agriturismo di Biscina vicino all' omonimo castello l'unica cosa che volevo era collassare sul letto e morire.

Ovviamente non sono morta di sfinimento: ma entrambi ci siamo risvegliati come da un profondo "coma' dopo due ore. Ringraziando il cielo il mal di testa e la nausea erano spariti. La piscina dell' agriturismo e la cena fecero il resto per rimetterci di nuovo in forma.

Il giorno dopo eravamo pronti per continuare.

Il castello di Biscina rovinato causa un terremoto nel '84 possiede ancora il suo carisma. Mentre camminavo nel cortile venivo riportata ad un altra era, dove i signori, i cavalieri, preti e contadini vivevano insieme anche se separati dalle classe sociali. Siede sulla cima della collina che domina la valle di Chiascio la sua grandiosa struttura anche se rovinata parla di un antica gloria . La leggenda racconta che San Francesco nel suo girovagare nella valle dell' Umbria passasse di qui.

Ci avviammo verso Valfabbrica, dove sarebbe stata la nostra ulteriore tappa prima di Assisi. Amo camminare, ma a parte le ginocchia doloranti e un piede paralizzato, non ero veramente pronta a marciare da otto fino a dieci ore con un caldo cocente sotto un sole da infarto. L'ondata di caldo che colpi tutta l' Italia in quella settimana colpi anche il mio sistema, forzandoci a dividere l'ultima tappa del viaggio in due giornate.

La magia del camminare portava i suoi effetti nonostante tutto. La mente era più in pace e sebbene il respiro si muoveva veloce causa il passo zelante, ero in grado di lasciare andare interiormente con più velocità quello che ancora mi turbava. Rimanevo in preghiera per lo zio Tullio ancora giovane che era stato colpito dal cancro e la tristezza nella sua famiglia. Pregavo per Gerhard, un amico tedesco 87enne che in quei giorni subiva un intervento di rimozione di un cancro. Pregavo, pensavo nel mio unico modo sperando che questo aiutasse loro. Usavo la meditazione "tonglen" del Buddha, respirando il dolore ed espirando la compassione. E andavo avanti passo dopo passo, con speranza.

Divino Maestro fa' che io non cerchi tanto di essere compreso quanto di comprendere. S. F.

Inoltre ogni volta che ricadevo nella trappola di cercare di farmi una ragione per gli atteggiamenti negativi di alcuni amici che ho aiutato nei loro difficili momenti e che sono spariti dal mio radar, cadevo interiormente in ginocchio pregando di riuscire a capire. Il sapore amaro nella mia bocca si scioglieva in un fervente momento di preghiera. Con ogni passo la vita va avanti! Se ho fatto qualcosa di sbagliato posso perdonarmi e così perdonare coloro che mi hanno fatto del male.

Può la vera umiltà e la compassione esistere nelle nostre parole e nei nostri occhi
a meno che sappiamo che anche noi siamo in grado di qualsiasi azione?
poesia di S. F.

Assisi si stava avvicinando, ma il viaggio sulle orme del mio amato Francesco continuerà nel mio cuore. La sua preghiera "Fammi un strumento di pace" fu il mio matnra in questi giorni e sempre mi innalza l'anima quando la recito. Nel video sopra la potete ascoltare in inglese cantata da me e Driek.

Camminare da soli, camminare con gli altri.

Durante la prima parte del percorso abbiamo incontrato pochissimi pellegrini, due per l' esattezza. Io e Driek possiamo rimanere in silenzio per molto tempo, e a volte sembra di camminare completamente in solitaria. Io amo questo modo di camminare e lui lo sa. Da Gubbio in poi incominciammo ad incontrare più' gente e dovetti essere prudente a mantenere lo spazio e il silenzio di cui volevo fare l'esperienza.

Quel giorno verso Valfabricca dopo il sentiero da Rambo indisturbati incontrammo un gruppo di 15 austriaci. Eravamo seduti nell'unico posto all'ombra lontani dalla strada statale, per riprendere il respiro e per cambiare le scarpe, quando una delle donne mi chiese in un inglese dal forte accento tedesco se c' era un bar lì nei paraggi. "Non ho la più pallida idea se ce ne sia una" le risposi in tedesco. Dopo alcune ore lì rincontrammo e ci dissero che trovarono il bar e che finalmente poterono bere birra e vino. All'arrivo nel paesino di Valfabbrica verso le 4 di pomeriggio erano di nuovo seduti nell'unico locale aperto sotto il sole caldissimo e ci invitarono a sederci con loro. Sui loro tavoli ammucchiati sul marciapiede, praticamente quasi sulla strada trafficata si vedevano molti boccali di birra. Gli risposi "Grazie ma preferisco un caffè e l'aria condizionata dentro il bar. Se bevo alcol muoio"

Ci sono molti modi per essere con Dio. Alcuni scelgono la birra, altri il cappuccino. Cosa importante veramente è non giudicare. D' altro canto se la compagnia di altri non fa per me, ho imparato ad andarmene e a lasciare vivere.

Avvicinandoci a Valfabbrica fummo catapultati dalla visione di immensi campi di girasole in una dimensione quasi allucinogena. Che bellezza per i nostri occhi.

L' effetto che queste sfumature di giallo di questi altissimi fiori ebbe su di noi è comparabile ad un bicchiere di birra. Scoppiammo in risate da folli. Non posso evitare di provare gioia alla vista di questa speciale ed festosa creazione di Dio.

Verso le 3 di pomeriggio i girasoli sorridono e felici salutano il viaggiatore. Che grande esplosione di esuberanza e grazia come se il loro destino fosse quello di farci sorridere.

Alle 6. 30 di mattina pero' sono quasi tutti addormentati.

Arriviamo ad Assisi

Finalmente l'ultimo giorno e' arrivato. Tra alcune ore pregheremo sulla tomba di San Francesco rendendo omaggio a questo amico speciale che ha vissuto così intimamente nella mia anima in questi giorni e queste notti. Improvvisamente mentre siamo sulla cresta della collina vediamo a distanza la grande torre della Basilica Superiore di Assisi.

Voglio allungare il braccio per toccarla. Ma la strada e' ingannevolmente lunga. Driek è, tra le tantissime cose, un grande lettore di mappe e continua a mettermi in guardia di quanto ancora dobbiamo salire e scendere attraversando alcune valli.

Non importa più a questo punto, pensai. Ci arriviamo presto.

Molte volte in questi giorni mi sono girata indietro e ho visto a lontana distanza il monastero, o l'eremo, o il villaggio che avevamo lasciato la mattina. Mi sono sentita orgogliosa che mi sono spostata così tanto solo con i miei due piedi. C' è una sorta di piacere, un senso di compimento nel realizzare che anche senza macchina o altro modo di trasporto si possa raggiungere lo stesso la destinazione. Ho avuto il tempo di valutare la vita nella sua semplicità', con solo l'essenziale sulle spalle e un amico accanto con il quale le parole non servono. L' esempio di San Francesco come imitazione di Gesù' fu un ispirazione per tutto il percorso. Il suo santo matrimonio con signora povertà' e la sua completa devozione verso la croce ha suggerito una nuova dimensione alla mia anima, liberandola da pensieri che la annebbiano.

Camminare e' anche una meditazione zen. Un passo alla volta invitandoti nel presente momento.

"Benediciamo la terra con ogni passo che facciamo", disse San Francesco. Come e' vero!

Benedetta è l' anima che non spreca un momento nel lamentarsi del passato. Camminare aiuta la tua mente a rallentare e in alcuni effimeri istanti ti lascia intravedere qualcosa di eterno. Le mie più' grandi idee, intuizioni e inspirazioni poetiche avvengono quando cammino. E divento eterea, malgrado la gravita' mi spinge giù nella dura materia del corpo, mi sento come librare in alto, libera in una dimensione di spazio infinito, liquido e leggero senza confini e senza limitazioni. Un vero senso di libertà' sconfinata.

L'ultimo sforzo per entrare ad Assisi è percorrere una lunga strada asfaltata molto ripida, dove grazie a Dio nessuno o quasi passa con la macchina. Siamo entrati in città' attraverso la porta di San Giacomo e lì il mondo improvvisamente si parò davanti in tutto il suo caos. La visione della Basilica con il suo bel prato davanti era tutto ciò' che volevo vedere, ma le voci, i colori, il rumore dei turisti mi colpì come uno shock culturale. Dal silenzio di questi giorni e il lento cammino atterrammo in una Assisi letteralmente assaltata da americani, giapponesi, e turisti di ogni nazionalità. Non permettevo che questo mi rovinasse la riunione con San Francesco. Vivendo ad Amsterdam sono abituata ai turisti lungo tutto l'anno. Ma ad Assisi fu difficile da sopportare.

Non ci sono parole per descrivere come mi sento ogni volta che entro nella Basilica di San Francesco. Conservo questi momenti nel mio santuario interiore con Dio. Nonostante

l'ammontare di persone al suo interno, il silenzio è fortunatamente ben rispettato e uno può tuffarsi nella bellezza dei dipinti di Giotto, ma anche chiudere gli occhi e sentire la presenza dell' umile Santo nella sua estatica unione con Dio. E lui è lì con te. Nel tuo cuore.

Abbiamo dovuto attraversare la città', e farci strada tra la folla rumoreggiante nelle piccole stradine per andare a salutare la tomba di Santa Chiara, nella sobria chiesa dedicata a lei, esattamente all'altro lato di Assisi. Da lì prendemmo la strada che scende da Assisi verso Santa Maria degli Angeli. "La perfetta letizia", l' ostello veramente francescano per pellegrini, dove avremmo pernottato quella notte, gestito da Angela, è attaccato alle mura della famosa Basilica.
Dopo una doccia veloce anticipavo con ardore il momento in cui potevo inginocchiarmi nella Porziuncola, l'umile chiesetta dove Francesco incominciò il suo lavoro. Alla fine dei vespri serali un frate francescano ci permise di rimanere da soli nella sacra Porziuncola e ci diede la benedizione dei pellegrini. Mi sono sentita inondata dalla grazia di Dio.

Adesso potevo ritornare sulle mie montagne in Trentino e da lì ad Amsterdam. Il prossimo anno se sarò ancora in grado di camminare a lungo, farò la seconda parte del cammino. Da Assisi a Rieti.

Fuori dalla Chiesa di Santa Maria degli Angeli che racchiude e quasi inghiotte la piccola Porziuncola, ricevetti una chiamata dalla mia mamma che mi raccontò che il papà ha dovuto essere ricoverato urgentemente in ospedale alcune ore prima. Dopo il primo momento di paura per la sua vita, sentì una nuova calma scendere su di me. E un accettazione della vita così come arriva. Il papa' al telefono mi disse che potevo ringraziare S.Francesco. Il mio papa è ora che scrivo questa testimonianza di nuovo a casa, sorridente e sereno.

Finalmente la mattina dopo incontrammo Angela e sebbene non ci fosse molto tempo perché dovevamo prendere il treno che ci riportava a La Verna ci siamo ritrovate come se ci conoscessimo da tanto.

Prego che Angela e i suoi aiutanti volontari possano trovare un altro casa che ospiti i pellegrini, visto che in ottobre 2010 devono restituire il posto usato come ostello ai frati francescani.

Angela si merita più di un "grazie" per il suo sforzo, primo nel' aprire letteralmente il percorso attraverso i boschi della Toscana e dell Umbria, poi nel creare un libro che descrive molto dettagliatamente la via da La Verna fino a Rieti. E infine nel' allestire l'ostello La perfetta letizia provvedendo così' un vero alloggio francescano per i pellegrini sulla via.

Si merita un Alleluia e tutto l' aiuto che può ricevere per trovare un altro posto idoneo, un vero rifugio per pellegrini dove ci si possa riposare arrivati ad Assisi.

Questo cammino fu per me un esperienza del divino

Usando una espressione della mia vita con Osho e con il gruppo del Miracle of love dico: Questo cammino è stato "il gruppo più intenso" che abbia fatto. Eccetto che non era un gruppo e non c' era un leader da dover seguire, nessuna regola da obbedire o istruzioni da osservare, nessuno che ti controllava. Ho camminato da sola, con nessuno che mi diceva come essere e con la bussola interiore sincronizzata sulla sacra presenza di San Francesco. Ho camminato con un vero compagno accanto che mi conosce e rispetta il mio bisogno di solitudine, silenzio e natura selvaggia. Entrambi amiamo le salite solitarie in montagna dove raramente incontriamo persone e in generale tendiamo ad allontanarci dalla folla. Questa può essere, forse, abbastanza una ragione per cui non fare il famoso cammino di Santiago di Compostela, così diventato alla moda. Lì sì puoi trovare tantissimi pellegrini lungo la strada.

Così abbiamo camminato da soli, noi due, e fu in realtà il più potente cammino che fino ad ora ho percorso.

Caro Dio

Caro Dio, ti prego rivelaci la tua bellezza sublime

che e' dappertutto, dappertutto, dappertutto

così che non ci sentiremmo più impauriti

Mio divino amore, mio amore

ti prego lasciaci toccare il tuo viso.

poesia di S. F.

Il racconto in versione inglese cliccate qui

L'esperienza di Driek descritta in inglese su questo link.

Thinking of you

2010-11-18T08:17:00.000-08:00

For Gerhard

Thinking of you

smiling

a secret shared

you will always remain

in the garden of my heart

like this flower's name

Forget me not.

Thank you for finding me

and letting me

be your friend.

In memoriam of my friend Gerhard O. Schwerdfeger

2010-11-13T04:55:00.000-08:00

To my dear Gerhard

*03.05.1922 †09.11.2010

†09.11.

It was weeks I wanted to call you,

I thought of you everyday

the silence from your side made me wondering

are you still with us beloved friend?

In some ways I knew no-one could pick up that phone

Now I cry for the loss

in pain for not being there to say goodbye.

Tears are running and won't stop.

I know you are taken care of

still the ache in my heart is unbearable

for not having seen you one more time.

Words are not enough to say how much I miss you

You said it so well:

"The rest is silence" (Shakespeare)

Your last email 31-7- 2010:

Dear Milena ,

ich bin seit gestern vorübergehend wieder zuhause und kann daher auch e- mailen . Es ist - dank auch Deiner lieben Fürbitten to the Lord - alles recht gut abgelaufen!

Ich bin sehr froh d a s sagen zu dürfen ! Herzlichen Dank für Deine lb. Karten in beide Kliniken , sie haben mir sehr geholfen in dem Bewusstsein, Freunde zu haben, die sich um mein Hiersein Sorgen !!! - Ich bin bis Ende August h i e r , um dann für 14 Tage bis 3 Wochen in die Rekonvaleszenz nach Oberstaufen im Allgäu zu gehen , um mich dort dann endgültig auszukurieren .

Ich freue mich, dass Dein / Euer Pilger=tripp offensichtlich gut verlaufen ist und Du wieder in A - DAM erreichbar bist. Mit dem Wunsche für eine schönes Weekend verbleibe ich für heute

mit einem herzlichen Gruß und Love

Gerhard.

I wish I could hold your hands one more time and look into your lively eyes and with a smile saying how much I love you.

It will take a while to stop my tears running down my face at the thought of you not more with us.

May each of this tear

take you peacefully and graciously in God's hands

behind that door into the other side.

Finally resting

in divine silence.

We both love poetry and the life of Saints

we shared a sweet, deep friendship that will never be forgotten.

I hope you will remember me when you are with the Angels above

May you rest in deep peace my beloved Gerhard

till we meet again.

You loved R. M. Rilke so much. I found this for you:

Schlußstück

"Der Tod ist groß
Wir sind die Seinen,
Lachenden Munds.
Wenn wir uns mitten im Leben meinen
Wagt er zu weinen
Mitten in uns."
(Rainer Maria Rilke 1875-1926)

crossing the bridge

"From sleep we wake
eternally
and death shall be
no more"
(John Donne 1572-1631)

The Amsterdam Vocals in "Korenslag"

2010-11-10T05:25:00.000-08:00

Actually I rarely endorse anything like that on my blog, but this time is different.
My beloved Driek is in fact singing with his choir, The Amsterdam Vocals in the "Korenslag" program.

The curriculum of Driek singing goes back to his childhood when he sang Mozart in a church choir and also when the primary school teacher were sending a note to his parents, saying that he disturbs the classroom with his constant humming and soft singing.
Personally I don't think there were ever any time when he wasn't singing. Sometimes I long for just silence....

Well I cheer for them on Saturday 13 of November 2010 on Ned 2 at 19.55. Just after the day of his Birthday. Do not miss it.

You can watch the show on the Korenslag website.

Fascinated as I am by the life of Saints and what they did while they were alive, normal being on this earth, I found out that Saint Cecilia is the saint patron of musicians. It is said that she sung to God when they were killing her ( ca. 230 AD ). Talking af the Glory of singing. It helps transcend this mortal body with his aches and pains, if you know how to ......transcend it, whether you sing or listen to good music.
So my prayer flies to her to look after everyone who will perform on that night. May they all sing from their heart.

This poem is for my darling husband:

Sing Sing my darling,

like the angel I know you are.

Sing in the dance of this moment,

celebrating the joy of a warm voice

reaching deep into my heart

soothing the edgy corner of a demanding life

lifting my soul to heights

were all else disappear.

Only the melody

carrying me away

in the exquisite place where sounds and spirit meet

And what remians

is just His Harmony.

Milena Nov 2010

Milena and Driek singing during our wedding Sept 2007

"Jackson" from Johnny Cash

Natales grate numeras?

2010-09-27T23:59:00.001-07:00

Natales grate numeras?

Do you count your birthdays with gratitude?

(Horace)

I do.

And certainly yesterday was a day like this, silently invoking the grace of God and gratefully thanking Him for the gift of being in this body.
I had no desire for party, for seeing friends and receive present to which you have to smile although you don't really need any of them. I just wanted to review my life in the light of my "achievement" specially the depth of my inner world. So I open my little booklet which is full of little gems, "Imitatio Christi" allegedly from Thomas Kempis (XV century) and read:

"My Lord, give me vigor with the grace of the Holy Spirit; let my inner strength increase; let my heart be free from any vain and anguished torment; without being seduced from many wishes of material things, whether cheap or precious; let me look at all things as momentary and me with them equally fleeting, because nothing stays the same under the sun, here where everything is vanity and affliction of the Spirit."
"Give me the prudence to know how to move away from who is flattering me; give me the patience to endure who is against me." T. Kempis

Because here lays great wisdom, in staying centered and in true peace despite the futile words you may hear and the seducing call of the siren ready to lure in a world of lies.

So "true peace" is my present to all of you family, friends and not. Peace not because nothing is bothering you and everything works out with no obstacle as you wished. But peace, real peace despite the discomfort, pain and difficulty, where you can always drop in and rest inside, even when everything is against you.
St. Francis called it "The perfect Joy". Buddha called it "Mindfulness": the ability to watch your mind heart and body undisturbed by anything.
That is what I call "true peace" and that is my wish for you on my birthday.

Zakinthos ancient olive's grove. Sept 2010

Third Anniversary

2010-09-15T00:29:00.000-07:00

Walking together

Always walking together,

always my true companion,

always hand in hand,

to the top of the mountain

down in the valley

A faithful friend

by my side.

The heart rejoicing

at the memory of that sunny day

three years ago.

Our wedding day.

Tears pouring from my eyes

gratitude has the taste of sweet longing

hidden in those tears.

The most exquisite day of my life.

(Milena 15 Sept 2010)

In the footsteps of St Francis: a walk from la Verna to Assisi

2010-08-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

Il racconto tradotto in italiano cliccate qui

I dedicated this walk to my beloved mother who never cease to love me and have trust on me. To whom I am immensely grateful. Last August '09 at the age 72 she walked the last 190 km of the "Camino de Santiago de Compostela".
And to my dear father who can't walk much in these days.

In the video below a slideshow of the journey accompanied by the prayer of S. Francis sung by Driek and Milena

It all started by talking with my sweet friend Loredana who few years ago walked the "Peace walk" from Gubbio to Assisi with a group of 40 adolescents. She gave me the guide book from Angela Seracchioli and I knew when I read it that I wanted to walk the footsteps of my beloved St. Francis. The actual complete "Cammino" is 14 days from La Verna to Rieti- Poggio Bustone.
Our goal was to reach Assisi, half of the journey. From La Verna to Assisi 190 km. We drove from my valley ( Val di Non in Trentino) to La Verna ( near Arezzo south of Tuscany) the day after Holland became second. Our car was dressed in orange and we were happy nevertheless.
Me and Driek decided to wait till the 2010 world cup final, Oranje against Spain, because I didn't want to be bothered by football during this holy walk. That caused us to pick the hottest weather in the whole summer, which had many positive aspects like no rain whatsoever, but also some pretty demanding side effects, like carrying more drinking water and still being dehydrated at the end of the day.
But it is all relative in the bigger scheme of a pilgrimage.

Arriving in La Verna

In La Verna sister Priscilla and her helpers welcomed us with a loving smile, a nourishing meal and a bed to sleep. When I entered the Foresteria -guest house for pilgrims- of the monastery, I could not hold my tears. St. Francis already started to beat in my heart and never left me since then. What a wonderful holy place is the mount of La Verna. You can breathe in all of Francesco wonderful, to say the least, life. He is in the air, in the loving smiles of the friars and nuns, in one of his robes you can see in the sanctuary but most of all in the wild rocks below, where he made his bed.

We left from La Verna on Tuesday morning 13 of July and very optimistically started walking towards the hermitage of Cerbaiolo. 27 km according to Angela's book "Di qui' passo' Francesco", our bible in these days.

Blessed me St. Francis because I need you to walk with me.

Soon the backpack started weighing on our shoulders and the hot scorching weather caused us to stop many times for a drink of water. I was careful to load our backpack and took with us only what was necessary. Each of them was not more then ca. 6-7 kg, but we didn't calculate the weight of extra water for the long day. We prepared ourselves walking long excursion on the Dolomiti of Brenta and the Maddalene chain.

On the way to Rifugio Pedrotti Brenta dolomiti July 2010

There on the arduous way up the rocky mountains we could always find water to fill up our bottles. Soon we had to discover that along our route to Assisi there were no fountains or streams with drinking water, so we had to load ourselves like donkeys with that magic, essential liquid, without which we would die. The amount of liquid we sweat out is beyond imagination.

"Laudato si' mi" Signore, per sor'acqua, la quale e' molto utile et umile e preziosa e casta"
"Be praised, Thou my Lord for sister water who is very useful and humble and precious and chaste".

Walking is already a prayer.

So many memories and thoughts came to my mind as I was walking the first day to Cerbaiolo. The body was after few hours already aching tremendously. All the scars in my legs were screaming for a break, the hips having to carry also the weight of the back pack started to talk to me. They were reminding me of a long time ago post surgery time, lying on an hospital bed in a foreigner country wondering what my life will be after the traumatic experience of being hit by a car and almost killed.
In those silent and painful memories St. Francis started to sing to me and for few moments my pain became numbed out and I could continue the hard trek to Cerbaiolo. Angela in her guide book she warns the pilgrim of the two possibilities from Pieve Santo Stefano to the hermitage of Cerbaiolo. She writes: in case of rain is preferably to take the dirt road, otherwise the treks that run along the mountain is more wild and picturesque. Being an adventurous soul I thought to go along the most wild path, not fully considering the heat, and consequently the need for more rest. The water started to run out and we still were not close to our destination.
Yes, honestly to my bone, the first day was the most difficult and I truly regretted not having taken the dirt road. But if I had, my experience would not have been the same.

When finally the signpost appeared that the Ostello Francescano was "only" 20 minutes away, I literally couldn't walk anymore. Suddenly tears were flowing down my chicks with each step I took. The tremendous pain all over my body together with the total exhaustion started to melt with a sense of euphoria, that allowed me to take a flight in the depth of my heart, into a love of serene acceptance. My friend St. Francis must have felt much more then this on his last journey from La Verna to Assisi. He knew he was not going to return to that wonderful mountain where he had such a deep communion with the Beloved of the Beloveds, Almighty God. As the story goes he left La Verna carrying the signs, the Stigmata of his fervent ecstasy with the Lord, an example of pure "Imitatio Christi" to the core of his being.
I was praying with each step to let me forget the injuries and unkindness of some of my friends, to help me find a real forgiveness for who betrayed my trust and the deepest sacred bond of friendship.
This is such a painful area in my life, however despite the bitterness and disappointment I am at times experiencing I will not stop putting my trust on the good side of human kind and learn the art of compassion.

Like roots

Our hands imbibe like roots,

so I place them on what is beautiful in this world.

and I fold them in prayer,

and they draw from the heavens

light.

St. Francis poem

Walking was healing those wounds of the soul, reminding me that after one step there is another to come, like after you breathe in you have to breathe out as well. I will not cease to put my trust in Him and to hope when despair clouds my mind.
Walking with the awareness that eight hundreds years before me Francesco was dancing in the same place, was enough to dissipate any doubts or any darkness. Each time I came back to this awareness, my soul jumped in gratitude and total happiness.
Being enveloped by St. Francis words, by his blessings, I was able to let go fast inside and to rejoice in each of my steps into his footprints.
I could almost see him, admiring God's creation, forgetting the world and his preoccupations of money, richness, career, the weakness of mankind, rather being lost singing out loud his mad love for God. Francesco was inviting me to be a fool for God and not to pose so much thoughts on things, people, situations who didn't lift my soul to Him, to turn to nature, to silence, to poetry, to my heart, to God.
To appreciate every single flower, bird's song, to praise the sun and the moon for never stopping giving us strength and lightening our path whether in the day or through the darkest night. To undressed myself of what is not necessary instead bringing with me only the consciousness of what is truly important.

Laudato si' mi' Signore, con tucte le tue creature,
specialmente messer lo frate Sole,
lo quale jorna e illumini noi per lui;
et elli e' bello e radiante con grande splendore:
da te, Altissimo, porta significazione.

Be praised, Thous, my Lord with all Thy creature,
and most especially by Sir Brother Sun:
He gives us the day and he is beautiful and shines with great splendor,
Of Thee, Most High he is the sign.

Laudato si' mi' Signore,
per sora Luna e le stelle:
in cielo le hai formate,
clarite e preziose e belle

Be praised, Thou, my Lord,
For sister Moon and the stars:
In the sky Thou hast created them,
clear, precious and beautiful.

Arriving in Cerbaiolo.

At the end of our first day, exhausted and dehydrated, we arrived at the Ostello Francescano near the Hermitage of Cerbaiolo. No one is actually running the hostel. A man, whom I informed by phone we would be late, was waiting for us. He forgot to even greet us and to offer us just some plain water, instead busy as he was to return to his home down in the village, he wanted to see our passport to quickly register us requesting the night fee. I had to swallow not to be unkind to him, but certainly after such strenuous day I was expecting a bit more of empathy and a true Franciscan welcome.
How mistaken I was. The hostel was very neglected, dirt and many cats were at home there. However I was glad to have a bed to sleep even though I could only rest my body but was not able to sleep because my joints and muscle were all aching. At the thought that Francis made a smooth stone as his bed, I could not bear the thought of me complaining. So I tried not to and kept breathing in and out as I was lying on my back, any other position was indeed not possible, on a worn out mattress where my body sank in deep prayer to go through the night. Memories took me back to many sleepless night, in the hospital bed, hurt in the body and in the soul, crying for a way out, begging to see some light at a young age of 22 y.old.
Thinking of what Francesco said about "The perfect joy" - "La perfetta letizia" - I could doze off in gratitude for the miracle of being still here, able to walk, and able to feel happy despite the pain.

Eremo di Cerbaiolo

The sun is always rising
Despite the sore muscles, our legs and our heart was looking forward to new adventures. We were ready to continue our journey and we were not going to suffer unnecessary today, so we kept the option open to break our journey in La Montagna, a group of houses on the way to the Montecasale hermitage.

There is something grand and yet very humble in putting each foot in front of the other and move gently at a human pace through forest, open meadow, the crest of a hill, in the dry bed of a river. One step at a time, slow, no need to rush anywhere, plenty of time, our home is on our shoulder, the heart is beating silently and the sweat runs down your whole body.
How wonderful is to have the time to look around, breathe in uncontaminated air, admiring the flight of a butterfly kissing a flower, even a viper crossing the road makes you smile. The multitude of color of those flowers were cheering me up more then once in the arduous moments of our walk. True joy pervaded my heart and serotonin was kicking in my brain giving me a state of euphoria, a natural happiness, without any drug.

Laudato si mi Signore,
per sora nostra Matre Terra
la quale ne sustenta et governa,
et produce diversi fructi con coloriti flori et herba.

Praised be Thou my Lord,
for our sister and mother, the Earth,
who sustains us and keep us:
she brings forth the various fruits
with colored flowers and leaves.

By 6 pm, after eight hours of walking and some much needed breaks, we arrived in Montagna. Too late to continue to the Monastery of Montecasale and down to San Sepolcro.
Ofelia and her husband were the most exquisite hosts. After the rather primitive camping situation in Cerbaiolo I felt like a princess when Ofeila showed us the accommodation in the apartment facing the wonderful valley, for the modest pilgrim fee of 20 euro each. She also cooked a delicious meal with the veggies of her garden that we ate all together in such a warm, loving atmosphere.

A moment of kindness can heal thousand memories of past hurt. The sharing at the dinner table was that of pilgrims on the walk of life: deep, adventurous, sacred and funny.
We were so happy. Ofelia too.

"A friend is the one who is there for you when you need, even when a moment before he was a perfect stranger."

Ofelia and her flowers in the BB Alla Battuta in Montagna.

The Hermitage of Montecasale.

Rested, refreshed and very happy we walked towards the Monastery of Montecasale. Everything seemed smiling at us, even our backpack felt lighter. The path to get there is caressing the side of the hills and the view all around makes you feel grateful in admiration of God's creation.

Once again at the feet of my master S. Francesco, for these days, brought loving tears and serene moments of prayer when we recited the Angelus in the little chapel together with the friars at noon time.
It is not so important how many words you say with your mouth, true prayer comes straight from your heart and I prefer to sit silently in divine communion with the Lord then having to speak out loud. However there is something very soothing in singing the Psalm and the Vespers in the melodic tone together with nuns or friars who devoted their lives to prayers. My soul, like an instrument that found the right tune, simply and innocently resonate with theirs.
Oh how divine food is prayer for the soul.

Blessed be S. Francesco
for the joy
that you bring to my heart.

He asked for charity
God came to my house and asked for charity.
And I fell to my knees and cried,
"Beloved, what may I give?
"Just love." He said
"Just love."
St. Francis poem

Just below the hermitage of Montecasale, we ate our bread and cheese, prepared by Ofelia, at the "Sasso spicco". This is another holy place where S. Francesco was sitting in contemplation of nature and deep prayer.

How I could feel him in those rocks! The nature around is still like it used to be and it is very easy to imagine this little holy man lost in his fervent devotion talking to rocks, birds, the small waterfall and the sky with only a rock as his roof. He was forgetful of time and ever so innocently lost in amazement when some of his friars would wake him up from his ecstatic state.

After a long, steep trek downhill and at times even dangerous through thick forest and muddy earth we reached the plain of San Sepolcro. I always find it so demanding for my knees going down the mountains. Most of the time when I reach the valley down the slope, I can't walk without a tremendous effort. This was such a time.

At that point without much thought we decided to take a bus straight to Citta' di Castello and to reunite with Mirella whom we met along the road several times in the past days.

Me and Mirella admiring the landscape

We skipped a day of walking this way, from S. Sepolcro to Citta' di Castello. Angela describes it's a beautiful trek in the valley of Valtiberina, but we were so dehydrated and suffering from the heat that we simply needed a break. A pilgrim is also the one who can find alternative ways to get to destination if the body cannot make it any longer.

Our joke was that if S. Francis had been around in nowadays he would have said: Hello guys why don't you take a bus, ride with air conditioning, you don't want to die on my footstep. This heat is beyond tolerance, better stay healthy and arrive at destination. Be smart. Take a bus. I didn't have a choice in my time. I love you anyway.

Of course the people we met on the bus could not understand why we would walk under such a hot weather with a backpack on our shoulder, when the rest of Italy that was not already in holiday, was dreaming of just lying on its beaches. I discovered that many of the locals in all the villages and town we passed through to Assisi hardly walked even one stage of the "Cammino Francescano". So naturally they were more then happy to welcome us on the bus and find out what is that brings us walking such a long way. I could never really answer that question.

Citta' di Castello

Elisa, running the Residenza Antica Canonica, situated attached to the walls of the "Duomo" in the central square, welcomed us beautifully.

We had our share of walking along this adorable little town. I visited and sat in prayer in all the churches. I prayed with the "Clarisse" "Poor Clares" as they opened the grate and shared the singing of the Vespers with us.

We cannot really talk about St Francis without speaking of his counterpart Saint Clair. United by a mystical wedding in their love for God the story of one cannot be told without the other.

So this is my time to express my profound admiration and devotion to S. Chiara and her Order of the "Clarisse", the Poor Clares.

Saint Clare

The story of this young lady, still a girl, that decided to leave the security of her noble family, sisters and friends and run to the Porziuncola where S. Francesco cut her hair and declared she was his first female disciple, is the story of tremendous courage, inner strength and absolute love and devotion to Jesus Christ and to Francesco.

So much has been written about St. Teresa of Avila and her ecstasies, even Bernini's most famous sculpture depicts her in one of her raptures... in comparison St. Clare lacks all this grandiosity. She is an example of true humility.

And she was in ecstasy all the time.

When you read the story of St. Claire from Thomas of Celano, written in fact just a few years after her death and based on testimonials, you can feel the grace and immense gentility of this soul. Despite a weak body and recurrent sickness she lived a long life, to praise the Lord and be the founder of the Order named after her.

Whenever I meet a Poor Clare I can see through their gentleness and loving smile the same warmth that she must have had and that rekindled so many hearts. It certainly kindles mine.

Full of the beauty of this town and having said goodbye to our friend Mirella we took a bus to Gubbio.

I still was not fit to walk again. Therefore we missed the Pietralunga stage of the journey.

From Gubbio to Assisi.

In Gubbio we realized quickly how the Umbrian touristic office was in competition with the Tuscan touristic office and with Angela Seracchioli. We decided to stay out of any "political" argument choosing to keep her book as our guide. After all we were walking on the foot step of Francesco, why on earth people has to fight over the rights of the "correct trek" he walked 800 years ago.

From Gubbio we followed the "Sentiero Francescano della Pace' - the Franciscan trail of peace - created in 2000 for the Jubilee year. Actually, the walk starts from Assisi towards Gubbio, tracing the steps that St. Francis walked when he left his life as he knew it and adventured through the wild nature, in search for more of God all the way to Gubbio. Over the years he walked the same trek in both directions.
However, we decided to start our walk from the Abbey of Vallingegno, avoiding therefore the long annoying state road where my feet would fry on the asphalt. I rather go up and down hills and mountains where no car passes, than walk along a busy state road. Early in the morning a bus took us close to the Abbey, just a few km outside Gubbio. The old Abbey is now an "Agriturismo", a country hotel, but we could peak through the cracks in the door of the wonderful little church. The story goes that Francis was not a very welcome guest here when he escaped Assisi.

From here we needed to cross through the valley to reconnect with the main path. Hardly nobody walks this way, so in the style of Francis we literally had to made our way through thick bushes with thorns, which left my arms and legs bleeding. I felt so much like a "Rambo Franciscan Milena" walking for peace in the middle of vipers, high grass, nettles, invisible paths and stinging mosquitoes. But I simply loved it although it took us three hours before we connected to the dirt road leading us to Biscina.

We passed in front of the 'Eremo di san Pietro in Vigneto". We knew that the hermit, a monk who is taking care of the place, doesn't want to be disturbed. Across the huge gate full of signs: no entrance, no touristic visit, no pilgrims. Opposite the gate was a meadow with drinking water and two wooden benches with a table. So indeed we stopped a bit to recuperate and say a prayer for this hermit who doesn't allow anyone to visit the Hermitage. How sad. There was something so righteous almost arrogant of the writing on the gate, that I felt sorry for him. The preaching that God is found inside ourselves are unquestionable to me, however all the writing on that gate were not respectful to those who are walking in prayer to pay a tribute to a man who didn't put up bars, or gates. He rather walked in joy despite the rejection and hardship.
Pax et Bonum was S. Francis salute.

From there on to Biscina, I thought I couldn't make it. The sun was scorching and the heat was taking our breath away. I started to feel dizzy and on the verge of fainting, my head aching and pulsating, my eyes burning. The thought that kept me from giving up was imagining how it would have been for Francesco to run away from everything familiar to him, in a cold winter, towards a friend who he didn't see for a long time and still singing and rejoicing for his choice.

When we reached the Agritur in Biscina next to the old castle I only wanted to crash on a bed and die.
I didn't die; both of us literally woke up two hours later from a state of profound "coma". Thanks to heaven the headache and nausea were gone. The swimming pool and the evening meal did the rest to bring us back into shape.
The morning after we were fit to continue.

The castle of Biscina, ruined in the earthquake of '84, still has its charm. Walking around the courtyard, I was thrown back at another age where lords, knights, priests and peasants lived together. Sitting on top of the hill it dominates the valley of Chiascio, its grandiose structure still speaks of old glory. Legend wants that St. Francis in his wondering through the Umbrian valleys would passed by here.

We set forth to Valfabbrica, to break our journey to Assisi one more time. I love to walk but apart from my bad knees and a paralyzed foot I was not quite prepared to have those long days of eight to 10 hours in such hot weather. The heatwave really "hit" my system, requesting me to cut the last stage of the journey in two days.
The magic of walking had its effects though. The mind was more at peace and even though the breath was moving fast in and out of the body under the zealous pace, I could let go inside of anyone who still was bothering me.

Oh divine master grant that I seek not so much to be understood then to understand.

Whenever I stumbled inside trying to find a reason for the nasty behavior of some friends whom I helped in their difficult time, I went on my knees inside and asked to understand. The sour taste in my mouth would simply dissipate in the fervent moment of prayer. With each step, life goes on!
If I may have done something wrong I can forgive myself and those who hurt me.

Can true humility and compassion exist in our words and eyes

unless we know we too are capable of any act?

St Francis poem

Assisi was approaching but my journey on the footstep of my most beloved Francesco will continue inside my heart. The prayer "Make me an instrument" of S. Francesco was one of my mantra's through these days and always lifts my soul.

Walking alone, waking with others
During the first part of our walk we hardly met pilgrims on our journey. Me and Driek can be still for a long time, sometimes it feels like walking totally alone. I love it, and he knows it. Since we left Gubbio we were meeting more people and I had to be careful to keep maintaining the space and silence I wanted to experience.
On this day towards Valfabbrica we met a group of 15 Austrian walkers. We were sitting in the only shadow there was, away from the State road, trying to catch a breath and change shoes, when one of the woman in broken English asked me if there was a bar nearby. "I have no idea if there is one" I answered in German. We met again later and they told us they did find a bar, had beer and wine. Later in the day they were sitting in the only bar open in the village of Valfabbrica and they invite us to join them. In front of them on the table many big glasses of beer. I said to them, "thank you but I need a coffee, if I drink any alcohol I die."
There are so many ways to be with God. Some chooses beer some chooses cappuccino. What really matters is not to judge. On the other end if the company of some people is not for me I learned to walk away and let the other live.

Approaching Valfabbrica we were catapulted in an hallucinogen land by the vision of immense field of sunflowers. What a delight to our eyes. The effect the bright colors of this tall flowers had on us was like a glass of beer. We burst into mad laughter. I can't avoid feeling joy at the sight of this special God's creation.

Around 3 pm in the afternoon the sunflowers are chuckling and happy to greet us. What an explosion of exuberance and grace as if their job in life is making you smile.

6.30 am. In the morning though they are almost all still asleep.

Arriving in Assisi

Finally the last day has arrived. In a few hours we will pray at S. Francis tomb rendering homage to this special friend that has lived so very intimately in my soul during these days and nights.
Suddenly as we stand on the crest of the hill we see at the far distance the big tower of the Basilica Superiore in Assisi.
I want to stretch my arm to touch it. But the way is still deceitfully long. Driek is, amongst many other things, a great map reader and he keeps warning me of how many times we still have to walk up and down, crossing few valleys.

It doesn't matter any more, I thought. We are getting there.
Many times in these days I turned around and saw in the far distance the monastery or hermitage or village we left early that morning. I felt proud of myself, that I moved so much only with my two feet. A sort of pleasure a sense of accomplishment to realize that even without cars or any other form of transportation I can still reach destination. I had the time to value life in its simplicity, with only the essentials on my shoulder, and a friend by my side with whom words are not needed. The example of S. Francis in its imitation of Jesus was an inspiration all the way. His holy marriage with Lady Poverty and the complete devotion to the cross suggested a new dimension to my soul and purified me of polluting thoughts.

Walking is also a zen meditation. One step at the time inviting you in the present moment.
We blessed the earth with each step we take, said Francis. How true!
Blessed is that mortal soul who doesn't waste a moment wallowing in the past. Walking helps your mind to slow down and in some fleeting instants gives you a glimpse of the eternal. The greatest ideas and intuition come to me when I walk. And I become ethereal, despite the gravity pulling me down in the hard matter of my body, I feel like soaring high and free in a dimension of infinite space, liquid and light knowing no boundaries and no restrains. A true sense of boundless freedom!

The last effort to get into Assisi is a very long uphill walk on a paved road, where thanks God hardly anyone drives. We entered the town through the gate (porta) of San Giacomo and there the world suddenly appeared to us in its full chaos. The vision of the Basilica with the meadow in front was the only thing I wanted to see, but the voices, colors, noise of tourism hit me like a cultural shock. From the silence of these days and slow walking we landed in an Assisi literally assaulted by American, Japanese and tourists of other nationalities. I was not going to let this spoil my reunion with Francesco.
Living in Amsterdam, I am used to tourists all year long. However in Assisi it was hard to take it.

There are no words to describe how I feel each time I entered the Basilica of S. Francis. I keep those moments as my secret in my inner sanctuary with God. Despite the amount of people the silence is respected and one can dive in the beauty of Giotto paintings, but also close the eyes and feel the presence of Francesco ecstatic union with God. And he is right there with you. In your heart.

We had to cross the town and made way through a mass of people in order to say high to S. Chiara tomb, in the sober church dedicate to her. There we took the road down the hill of Assisi towards Santa Maria of the Angels. "La perfetta Letizia" the Franciscan hostel run by Angela where we were staying that night, is attached to the walls of the famous Basilica.

At last Angela and me in an intense conversation.

Finally I met Angela and although we didn't have much time, we immediately connected as if we knew each other for a very long time.
I pray Angela and her entourage of volunteers will find another house to host the pilgrims of this "Cammino francescano Tau", as at the end of Oktober 2010 she has to return the place to the Franciscan friars.
Angela deserves more then a "thank you" for her endeavor, first in paving the way literally through the woods of Tuscany and Umbria, then in creating the book that describes the route from La Verna to Rieti. And finally in setting up the hostel "La Perfetta letizia" providing thus a true Franciscan place to stay for the pilgrims on the road.
She deserves an Hallelujah and all the help she can get to find another suitable place, a true pilgrims refugee where we all can rest in Assisi.

After a quick shower I was looking forward to actually kneel in the small Porziuncola, the humble place where Francesco started his work. At the end of the evening vespers a friar allowed us to stay alone in the sacred Porziuncola and gave us the pilgrims' blessing. I felt showered by God grace.
Now I could return to the mountain and on to Amsterdam. Next year if I am still capable I will walk the second part of this pilgrimage. From Assisi to Rieti.

Outside the church of "Santa Maria degli Angeli" which envelopes and almost swallows the little Porziuncola I received a call from my mother telling me that my father was brought urgently to the hospital few hours before. After the first moment of fear for his life a calm descended over me, and an acceptance of life as it comes. My dad is now, that I write this chronicle, back home and still kicking and smiling.

This walk was for me an experience of the divine.

Quoting a cult-like expression of my sannyasin and mol friends I say: This walk was the most intense group I ever did. Except it was not a group, and there was no leader whose instructions to follow, no rules to obey and no-one to control you.
I walked on my own, with no one telling me how to be myself, and my inner compass tuned into the holy presence of Francis. I walked with a true companion by my side who knows me and respect my needs for solitude, silence and wild nature. We both love our solitary treks in the mountains where we hardly meet people and shrink from noisy crowd. That may be enough of a reason why we most probably won't walk the famous Camino of Santiago of Compostela as it has become very fashionable, and truly you can find herds of pilgrims on the road.

So we walked alone the two of us and it was indeed the most powerful walk I ever did.

Dear God

Dear God, please reveal to us

your sublime beauty

that is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere,

so that we will never again

feel frightened.

My divine love, my love,

please let us touch your face.

St. Francis poem

Driek's experience of the walk is described now on this link.

A kiss from the Luco -Laugenspitze-

2010-08-12T07:21:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Driek, the only one who truly knows me.

It doesn't really matter how hard it is the way to paradise.

I will walked it thousands time,

again and again.

The joy that comes after every hardships is a divine reward.

This time I took Driek and Loredana with me.

This is his first time on the top of the Luco- Laugenspitze. Despite the vertigo he was also touching heaven. The Luco is intoxicating, you have to be on top of it to fully grasp the power it has once you stand at the cross. 360 degree of mountains and if you are lucky you can spot eagles hovering above. Rare in these days. More easy to see a buzzard.

Blowing a kiss to my adorable man, Driek

Take me here my love when my body is into ashes

back to earth where the eagles fly

on the most loved mountain,

a sanctuary from a very young age.

Let me dance with the wind and I may rest softly

like an autumn leave

on the holy rocks of mount Luco

and be finally

in eternal Peace.

My Heaven is here.

flowers on top of the Luco

A smile

2010-07-26T12:44:00.000-07:00

I smile to an old friend
The Mountain

a friend that will never betray you
will never turn his back
will not break a promise
and will not promise what it cannot fulfill

a friend who deserve my loving smile
a friend I can always rely on
even when everything else fail to make me smile.

Friends come and go
when you most need them, they are never there,
especially those who promised you eternal friendship are the first to disappear

The mountain with its silence
its solid rocks
the murmuring rivers
the winds whispering between the trees
will always take me back to myself
to my heart, to my prayer
and to those who are truly close to me
and need not to say it.

I deeply thank my body who is allowing me to "still" walk up the mountain top
and back to the valley with a smile and a tear on my face.

My way to God

2010-07-11T23:33:00.000-07:00

On the Bocca del Brenta, 2700m. on the Brenta dolomiti group.

Okay, enough football! The 2010 world cup is over. Thanks God. My beloved Oranje lost and Spain won! Good for them. It is just a game. Cool is that the Germans didn't win:-)

In Amsterdam there will be anyway a million people party on Tuesday 14 July with the Oranje team at Museumplein. That is the good spirit of my Dutch fellow brothers. They know how to celebrate.

But I won't be there as I am already in Italy, and finally leaving today for my 200km St. Francesco pilgrimage.

Walking walking walking and praying in gratitude for the blessing of being alive of living of loving and of esperiencing pain. All of it makes it all worth to say to God. Thank you for the gift of life.

Ode to the mountain

2010-07-07T14:13:00.000-07:00

Let me lean at your cross my sweet Lord

high into the sky
where I seem to fly with the clouds

One step more
and paradise is just the joy to be here.

Being at your feet
makes every pain bearable
Can I stay with you a little longer?

The silence up here makes my heart

rejoice of Your wonders.

How can I ever forget

you are walking with me

all of the time

Mount Vecla or Mount Cornicolo, in the Maddalene chain. Val di Non Trentino

And the eyes never stop to wonder.......

World cup 2010

2010-06-19T10:02:00.000-07:00

It is the time of the year every 4 year. I just love to sit and watch international good football games.
So between reading all that I can about St Francis' life in preparation for 200Km walk in Umbria and watching the W.Cup I don't have time or desire to write at the moment.

But just yesterday on a brisk walk to train my body and breath for the future endeavor few words in form of prayer just resonated in me. Nothing special just were I am standing right now:

"Lay me down on mountain top
send me angels to my soul
let them whisper words of holy virtue
to help me stand strong in humble wisdom. "

I love St. Francis and I love football.

What else to say...... may the best win.
Not sure if Oranje or Azzurri or the usual Germans, my heart would love the Africans to win.
Anyway the goal is in the way. So let's enjoy the way till we get to the goal....

Spring is over the mountain

2010-05-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Gina.

May you always smile

Spring time from above my wonderful valley and the church tower of my sweet village.

Yes spring has come like the smiles after those tears.

And I will continue moving with the Holy Spirit, like the wind keeps bringing the swings of life.

Behind everything His Hands move the players.

The only thing to do is do your best and keep smiling.
Milena - May 2010

Poem to The Holy Spirit

2010-05-21T23:06:00.000-07:00

I will walk to the highest peak for you my Lord,

I will walk down deep in the valley

I will walk into the joy and into the pain for you my Lord

I will walk wherever you asked me to go

Just please do not ever leave my side

even when I don't feel you

stay with me

silently embracing me

sometime the dryness of my soul is unbearable

and I long to be shower by your Grace

beneath it all the Holy Spirit is ever present

playing tricks with the troubled mind

I light a candle and silent my breath

and the miracle of your flame irradiates my heart once again.

May I walk everyday in the fire of Your holy Love

and never forget why I am here.

Milena May 2010

Life and death walking hand in hand

2010-05-06T04:49:00.000-07:00

I was driving along the Val Venosta to visit my friend Valeria just after the day it happened.
The 12 of April the train that was taking people around 9.30 in the morning to Merano was hit by a landslide. Suddenly, deadly, without any warning sign.
The 9 people whose life was taken away didn't even probably realized. The other 30 wounded and deeply shocked could tell their story. Most of deceased were student. They were sitting in the first wagon. One minute before or later and nobody would have been hurt.

So unpredictable is mother earth, although sometimes there are human mistakes, that provokes a situation and creates a disaster. I only know that when I stood opposite to the place of disaster I could not hold my tears.
I parked the car and walk towards the train. I had a deep burning feeling of sitting in prayer and mourn for those lost lives. Many people were watching, mostly from the valley, apart from journalist and television. The grief was unbearable.

A group of student were sitting next to me crying and sobbing for having lost their friends. Seeing them broke my heart and more tears for mercy just wet the ground.

I was only 22 when a car hit me 100 kmh of speed as I was walking on the right side of the road and threw me 50 meters away. I landed in the bushes completely unconscious with severe multiple fractures.
Every accident I witness since then pierces through my memory like an arrow and touches for few moments the space between life and death. I am always so deeply moved by the inevitable and there is nothing else I can do then cry and silently pray.

So in front of the devastation of the train I cried, feeling those people who cannot go to work anymore, seeing their family and friends anymore, cannot finish their study, marry and grow old. A prematurely born child, held in the hospital since 3 weeks, will never see his mother again, because she was sitting on that train that she took every morning since he was born to bring him milk in the hospital.

Few candles and some flowers on the road side to remind those who stayed to never forget.
May the mercy of God give strength and patience to those who mourn their loved one who lost their life on that train. A train that never came to its destination.
May the journey into the beyond take them Home.
May those souls find peace.

More about the train accident.

My life with Miracle of love. Kalindi passed away (part 8)

2010-04-27T02:31:00.000-07:00

I have moved all the Miracle of love blog post to a dedicated site.
You can find this article on the new blog here:
My life with miracle of love (8)

You can still read the comments made on this blog here.

Stranded in the mountain: volcanic eruption, what an adventure!

2010-04-21T03:17:00.000-07:00

I spent two weeks in my wonderful mountain in Italy at my birth place. Weeks with family and solitude walking, sometime alone, sometimes with my mom, in the forests still covered with snow.
Slowly in these two weeks I saw spring unfolding, giving us all a hope for warm weather, finally after this cold and long winter all over Europe.

Last Thursday, the 15th of April, I was supposed to fly back from Verona airport to Amsterdam but then it all started.
So many people all over the world were affected by the volcanic eruption in Iceland. What a call to wake up mother earth is sending us. I took it with grace. I was happy my beloved husband, who could not join me in this holiday, was safe home on Wednesday evening after flying from Baltimore to Amsterdam. If his flight would have been a day after he would have been stranded in the US, and I in Italy.
So at least one of us was home. And I was lucky to be informed by Driek on my way to the airport, a three hour drive, not to bother and to return to my parents house. Yes I am lucky.

I could go back, in my mountain home town, although slightly in shock and taking care of my aging dad. I had a strong feeling though it would not be solved easily. The earth erupting after 200 years in that particular location was going to effect not just few travelers and me but the whole wide big world.
I took it to heart and didn't complain. I watched online news and volcano amazing pictures.

I decided to lose my self even more in the forests and walk, walk, walk till the body was tired and then lying on the fresh new born grass watching the sky, clear of air trails for the first me since I remember.
Enjoying the cloud moving swiftly with wind changing forms and colors.
Feeling my body resting on this alpine meadow, feeling the warm embrace of mother earth and thinking that it is the same earth is spewing fire and ice from her deep roots.
Still I trust this incredible supporting element, still it is worth pondering how dependent we have become from our own comfort and way of traveling.
One day passes and everybody is on shock. Emails starts to come in from friends around the world that for whatever reason were supposed to travel in those days.

Two days are passing and the first bewilderment transforms in annoyance, on the third day I could feel the increasing illusion of wanting everything to go back to normal. People were even denying the evidence.

I heard comment from people. I was stomached by it. I kept breathing calmly, taking care of my sweet dad suddenly victim of a mild form of ischemia and surely hiding myself in the mountain. I am tired of the narrow minded of my friends and other people in the valley. Everyone pretends to know better, even of what is happening inside of you, better then BBC news and other reliable sources, better even then God. I choose to be silent and organize my trip by train.

My 13 years old nephew was supposed to fly for a school holiday to Ireland on Sunday 18 of April. The travel agency told the school teacher to go to Milano Malpensa despite the official warning and announcement that all the airports were still closed. The kids had to get up at 4.30 am to be told by the bus driver who was supposed to take them to Malpensa to go back home to sleep. The trip was canceled. Did they not know that before?

What an eye opener to never forget how vulnerable and dependent we are.
Finally after 5 days of waiting I took a train from Bolzano to Amsterdam and after a 15 hour train ride I was able to reach home and fall in Driek's arms.

An interesting observation and personal experience on this train ride. The people who was stranded around Europe and trying to get back home were sharing some of their adventures. We bonded with each other beautifully, helping each other and bringing it out the best in us.Those who were on the train for short business trip untouched by the volcanic explosion and consequent difficulties to return home they were not interested at all in our story, showing instead a lack of empathy and simple kindness.

Human heart.... how marvelous and surprising that is.
It is in fact true that danger and pain brings people closer, as it is in fact even more true that indifference is the graveyard of one's heart.

But after all the flowers are still blooming, the busy life of Amsterdam is continuing almost forgetful of last week's discomfort, my dad is in the hospital and my heart is preparing for the inevitable.

Throughout it all I still breathe in and calm my body, mind and soul and I breathe out and smile
to the mysteries of life and wonders of mother nature.

Glorius Easter to everyone

2010-04-03T13:57:00.000-07:00

Splendor and glory to the risen One,

his face is luminous of thousand candles

blessed be those who feel his sweet love

a caress, kind, generous into your soul

the certainty and tranquility of His gentle presence

the serendipity of an immense treasure

a richness of within

once you found this love

you will never be the same

and

you will never be afraid

your flight will take you where you need

and

I am gratefully

still flying.

Milena 3 April 2010

For the women of the past, present and future

2010-03-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to every woman.

These wonderful poems were written by women of the past, and yet they are still a source of profound reflection, courage, beauty in the time we live now. They are timeless.
May they inspire you to love yourself as you are and be grateful in who you are.
May you let the message through these saintly women' s words reach deep into your heart, and sooth gently the pains and the joy of being a woman in this modern age.

Marylin Monroe's famous quote: " I don't mind living in a man's world as long as I can be a woman in it."
So let us be, dear women.

For the women who wants to exist, live, be.

Always keep in mind that the skin wrinkles, the hairs turn white, days are transforming in years.
But what is truly important does not change; your strength and your conviction have no age.
Your spirit is the glue of any spider web.
Beyond every arrival line there is a new departure
Beyond every success there is another disappointment.
While you are alive feel alive.
If you miss what you used to do start doing it again.
Don't live out of yellowed pictures
keep going even though everybody expects you to give up.
Don't let the iron in you become rusty
See that, instead of pity they give you respect
When because of your years you can't run, walk fast.
When you can't walk fast, walk.
When you can't walk use the stick
but never restrain yourself!

Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Your hair, your face

What is it
you want to change?
Your hair, your face, your body?
Why?

For God
is in love with all those things
and He might weep
when they are gone.

St. Catherina of Siena

I would cease to be

God
dissolved my mind-my separation.
I cannot describe now my intimacy with Him.
How dependent is your body's life on water and food and air?
I said to God: "I will always be unless you cease to Be,"
and my Beloved replied,
" And I would cease to Be if you died."

***
I found completeness when each breath
began to silently say the name of my Lord.

St. Teresa of Avila

My own poem of last year

Poem on love

2010-03-06T09:43:00.001-08:00

I know a love

I know a love that knows no steel bars
I know a love that brings a king to his knees
I know a love that pours fragrance all the time
I know a love that just loves to love
I know a love that smiles when everybody else has gone away
I know a love that does not cease to whisper its delicate song
I know a love that is beyond rules and beliefs
I know a love that does not need to be understood
I know a love.

( by Milena, March 2010)

"My life in Orange" my praises to Tim Guest

2010-02-19T08:56:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I found out that Tim Guest died last Summer, on the first of August 2009. He died at the young age of 34 of a heart attack. And I felt extremely sad when I read this news.

Right after the bomb explosion in Poona in the German Bakery, I had an impulse to google for Tim Guest' s name. His book was in my hands again in the last days and I wanted to know how his journalist career was unfolding.
I never met Tim Guest aka Yogesh. I was never in Medina, I only knew his stepfather Martin -previously Sujan- because he was one of my teacher in the Rebalancing Advance Training in Amsterdam '86 and I worked for a while in his studio in London in '91.

Tims autobiographical book is the story of a remarkable childhood as the son of a sannyasin woman, who was one of the commune leader in Medina. "My life in Orange" - 2004 is considered one of the best autobiographical account of the decade in his obituary in The Guardian and in my humble opinion I agree completely.
I read the book in 2005, when I was immersed in my process to undo the harm of my participation both in Miracle of Love and in the world of Osho sannyasins. I already wrote my thoughts on other books written by ex-sannyasins (Hugh Mine, Kate Strelley). Now I finally put down a few words about Tim Guest' s book.

First thing I thought was, if one day I will write a book about my own involvement in spiritual groups I would love it to have the wit, humor and plain truth of Tim Guest's book. He writes from the eyes of the child he was and describes brilliantly how it was to grow up with so many people who were pursuing the dream of enlightenment and experiencing a community lifestyle of love light and laughter.

I praise him for the literary achievement and for the honest recollection of his own experience. Beyond the dream, beyond the illusion of perfection and freedom.
Let the kids speak what they felt in the commune time. This is how it felt, if you are humble enough to hear that not everything was a horn of plenty in the world of Osho. Not at all!!

Osho sannyasins are ever so often ready to put the blame on the individual, whenever someone is asserting his opinion, voicing his doubts, questioning Osho's teaching or simply saying how different is his/her experience from the main stream devotee.
But if there is some good to gain then it is all because of the Commune lifestyle, because of the outrageous and visionary teaching of the Master Bhagwan/Osho.
This is a kind of a black and white way of looking that characterizes a group as very selective with a "supremacy syndrome" - we/us better then they/them. How arrogant! Certainly Osho sannaysins suffer from the "being special and better" syndrom.
And I indulged into that too, to wake up years later and recognize my shortcomings.

I read an obituary on Tim Guest online from a sannyas website that made me shrink for the lack of depth and foremost lack of respect for who Tim Guest was and how he dared to speak. Not to say about the cheap comments that follow the article.

Personally, I found the book amazingly well written. I can see this little kid running around the commune, looking for his mother, straining his ankle and back to try to grow taller in order to meet someone' eyes and receive full attention to his needs. He didn't have one mother, he had all the women of the commune as his mother, and consequently no one had the time to really take care for the children so they ended up roaming around like in a fairy land of "everything is allowed".
Some time ago, a sannaysin friend who lived in Medina and with whom I shared my thoughts about 'My life in orange', turned to me and said: "I remember that boy running around always so lost. He looked to me so out of place and very sad". She was still defending the commune life and condemning the child. If he was "lost" it was his fault.
I am still disturbed in seeing so many of my sannaysin friends being so 'brain washed', acting aloof and judgmental, while simultaneously professing to be such a caring and understanding person. My friend didn't read the book. Anything that points out defects, contradictions or even is just questioning whether the world of Osho was at all 'sane', is often discarded as untrue or not worth reading. How sad and how one-sided way of life.

My life with Ohso

Your book, Tim, is a must-read for those who have the eyes and a heart to recognize that it was not only a blissful land to live with Osho, whether in his presence or in a commune with his gigantic picture hanging in every room, to remind everyone who was the boss.

Certainly there were moments, at least for me, in my years in Poona (from 86 to 96) when you could feel that everything was possible, that all the limitations are inside your mind, and that if you have a complete trust everything will work out fine. Those were words, ever so often spoken by the average disciple, and at times you could even realized them for real.
Since I left the Ashram in Poona and changed my sannyas name back into my old dear name, I had those experiences maybe even more often then when I was in the Commune, as I had them also before Osho in my solitary walk in the mountain.
Freedom is not limited to following a master or anyone for that matter, the real freedom is in knowing yourself and where you stand.
And Tim in his book is slowly unfolding his journey to find who he really is, searching in his past, lucidly expressing even the most agonizing pain for a child: missing the love of his mother.

From "My life in orange"
-We all want a way out of pain and the fear of death. The way out Bhagwan offered was Enlightenment, but even Bhagwan died. Sannyasin believe he "left his body". But those are just words. Bhagwan snuffed it. He kicked the bucket, jumped the perch, shuffled off his mortal coil. He is an ex-guru. He pulled a stiff one, popped his clogs, booked a One Way Sleeper-Ticket on the Night train to the Big Adios. as the French say: He will have toothache no more'-

I chose this bit, just because I like to wake up from dreams. And in memory of Tim Guest I thank him to have done his part in seeing through the lies.

It was very sad to me to find out about his untimely death, that it took me few days to recover and write about him.
My heart reaches out to his wife, and all of those who survived him.
May you all find comfort.

From sleep we wake
eternally
and death shall be
no more

John Donne (1572-1631)

From Driek on the same book: Reflections on "My life in orange"

Poem: "Let it flow"

2010-02-18T04:09:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to those who have thrown stones at me

A grass blade doesn't ask the sun "please keep me warm",
so the heart of man should bend in humility to the great Presence from above
Much too often the mind wants to retaliate on past offense.

Who is there to listen
to this agony of the intellect
when the heart can fill you with so much tenderness
and like during a gentle sleep
rejuvenates your soul?

Nothing is worth the bitter feeling of revenge.
Let it pierce when it pierce
and let it burn
when the hurt burns you like a log in a fire.
It will dissipate
if only you have the patience and compassion to wait.

Everything is just a flickering moment
the dance and the dancer can only truly meet
suspended by time
in the blessed moment of Now

All will pass
and what truly remains
is the space you have found between your heartbeat
and the stillness of your mind between your breaths
Simply let it flow
like water carves the stones and find its way to the ocean
so the heart of man need to travel light
with no burden or bitterness
polluting
its natural purity.

Milena, February 2010

"Sorrow mountain": a book that breaks your heart

2010-02-02T03:03:00.000-08:00

Today I finished the book of the life of Ani Pachen la (1933-2002).
And today, the 2nd of February, is unknowingly to me till now, the anniversary of her death in Dharmasala in the year 2002. I waited until I reached the end of the book to check on the Internet if she was still alive. Another of this unexplainable coincidence.

Some people called her the Joan d'Arc of Tibet. And as Joan D'arc (1412-1431) is one of my inspiring example of true surrender to God, who was leading French soldiers to several victories during the 100 years War and was burned at the stake at a young age (19 y.o). I humbly recite a prayer for this indomable Tibetan warrior nun who stood, fought and led an army of warriors against the Chinese invaders.

The book is her autobiography which has accompanied me in the last days in a world of abuse torture and faith, in the magnitude and silence of the Tibetan mountains with their monastery of peaceful life till the sorrow changed the very earth of Tibet and their culture.

I am horrified at the immense brutality and persecution that the Chinese has inflicted on her. Reading her story (written beautifully through the pen of Adelaide Donnelly) you are carried in the first chapters into a dreamlike state of Tibet full of its ritual, tradition, spiritual richness and integrity of spirit. As a woman of the mountain myself and a warrior of life in many ways, I resonate with the simple deep enriching life of a Tibetan tribe, long before the Chinese decided to make Tibet their own. How wrong! Tibet will remain always Tibet.
The Tibetan prayers flag are blowing on my balcony in the strong wind of Amsterdam, as my personal support and love for Tibet.

Slowly the horror of the invasion unravels through the story of Any Pachen and you are thrown without even realizing into a nightmare of the uttermost reality. The facts told in the book did really happened and you can really say that to survive such abuse is a miracle, a grace of Buddha. It is possible to understand how someone is able to endure and survive such cruelty if they possess an untamed courage, a deep trust and one of the most ancient practice of meditation on compassion.
Compassion in action. Faith in His Holiness and an integrity of spirit that nothing can bend.

I was touched deeply in my soul by the essence of Ani Pachen that transpires throughout the book and I just wanted to write this piece in memory of this wonderful courageous woman exactly on the day of her departure from this world 8 years ago.
Maybe because I come from a small village in the mountain in the independent region of Trentino in Italy, maybe because the Tibetan cause has always brought tears to my eyes, or simply because in my visit to Dharamsala in '90 I fall in love with the Tibetan people there and their kindness. Or perhaps I was in one of my past life as often I said a Buddhist monk.

I like to think this way and I also believe that truly everything is transitory. In one moment life can be broken and you are no more in this form. Sometimes I wonder how our human body can endure and survive the most horrendous torture, famine, and sickness and I am amazed by what is possible that apparently seems impossible.
The physical torture and terrible abuse are only one sad facet of the persecution that the Tibetan people had to suffer. The indoctrination, brainwashing and thought reform in the name of Chinese education are as bad if not worse. Attacking ones' own identity, spiritual beliefs and faith and coercible forcing to deny or betray them is the most disgusting sin on earth.

My life with Miracle of Love
Regretfully we still see everyday those tactics applyed in the most sophisticated spiritual group, as I had my personal experience in the Miracle of Love cult. Perhaps physical abuse is not so obvious but let me tell you the game of punishment and reward and spying on each other, confession sessions and humiliation have their part in the education of a "good indoctrinated miracle of love member".
It makes me scream!

Just recently, I had another opportunity to realize how deeply the involvement in MOL can effect the psyche and the soul of a person, making it very difficult a full recovery. One of my closest friend, even after years of being out of MOL, but still having a lot of ties with MOl, has been behaving with me and my husband as if he is still inside the group, denying our friendship and breaking his contact with us without explanation after years we constant support him in his troubled time.

Compassion and pardon are my prayers in these days.

In memory of Ani Pachen.

Ani Pachen survived both the physical and psychological torture with extreme dignity and a fiery spirit. I am reminded in reading her story how sacred is human existence and how vital is to learn the art of cultivating peace of mind so that, even in the most challenging situation fear doesn't hold you down and paralyzes you but you can find true refuge inside into a place of peace and tranquility.

In your memory Ani Pachen, with gratitude:

"The ocean of peace lies ahead of me
Sail the boat, O pilot
You are my constant companion now
Take me in your lap.
Along our journey to the infinite
The pole star alone will shine.
Giver of freedom
Set me free
May your forgiveness and compassion
Be my eternal resources for the journey.
May the mortal ties fall away,
May the vast universe
Hold me in embrace,
And with an undaunted heart
May I come to know the Great Unknown."

Rabindranath Tagore

The mountain on top of Mclead Ganj in 1990.
Oh, how I loved to hike there and just be there!

My red snowshoes

2010-01-27T04:58:00.000-08:00

Finally the time arrived to wear my red snowshoes and walk on the mountains of my valley.

Up and up I go and it doesn't matter how much I have to walk down, always much more difficult for my injured knees. And when I am utterly alone my heart rejoices immensely. I had few days totally in solitude and few with my mother.

Let me tell you:

There is nothing like walking on snow
surrounded by the immense silence

your thoughts can stand still for a brief moment

nothing disturbs the tranquility of mind
especially if your conscience is at ease.
The color white calls forth purification.
I keep a prayer in the small place inside my heart
to hear His voice.
I do feel a little closer to Heaven.
And true happiness permeates every cells of my being.

My sweet mother walking on a snow covered lake (Lago di Tret, 1160 m.).
She walked 160 kn last August on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela (St James of C.) without wavering a bit.
She is like a child being able to come with me and enjoy nature in winter. She never saw the lake in winter. I keep telling her to keep silent and listen.
I guess it is hard to have a daughter who is like a zen monk, but by now she is used to my unorthodox lifestyle and silence.
In one week in the mountain I didn't wanted to see anybody, I left for the last day the hellos and goodbye to my friends.

Sitting on the little tiny island in the middle of the lake.
Below is how the lake and the island looked last Autumn.

8 January 2010

2010-01-08T08:06:00.000-08:00

Night at the alpine house Dorigoni- National Park of Stelvio-

I will just say this

We bloomed
in Spring

Our bodies
are the leaves of God.

The apparent seasons of life and death
our eyes can suffer;

but our souls, dear, I will just say this fortright:
they are God
Himself,

we will never perish unless He does

by Teresa of Avila ( 1515-1582 Spain)

translation from Daniel Ladinsky

There is very little I can say today as I celebrated my almost death and certainly rebirth in silence and in deep prayer and gratitude. No words can convey the profound impact in my life of having touched even just briefly the Hands of the One we love.
So I decided to remain still today and float with my body suspended in salty water. I have been starting working in a new place where besides offering bodywork and massage we also have floating cabins. See (Koan Float ).
My body has been so smashed and broken in so many bones that the experience of absence of gravity brings such a sense of sweet peace which permeates every cell of my body and favors a descent into my inner world or as you may, a flight into an endless sky of calmness . Thoughts are dissolving and when they reappeared on the front of the mind I can't really follow them. Just as it happened that extraordinary night on the 8 of January 1984.
Everywhere around me was dark, it was in fact late evening on a road without any lights. The sound of people screaming and cars stopping was far, far away from my consciousness.

Suspended between worlds. On one side such a divine peace and quietness, a feeling of being lovingly held, on the other side noise, pain, fear of having lost my body. I don't know how long it lasted. I only know I woke up 5 days later.

Here I am 26 years later telling the story of my experience after a car hit my body 100 kmh and threw me up in the air for a flight of 50 meter hitting badly the bushes below. Back to earth. What was not broken on the first impact broke in the landing.

And here I stand strong and tall with a knowing that yes, my body almost stopped functioning and I was almost ready to leave this shore,
but my soul never stopped breathing,
seeing the light and the calm joy of being Home.

Since then my longing is just a fire that burns away all veils
and carries me gently to that place of peace I once tested
and I know to be within me.

National Park Stelvio

I am grateful

2009-12-31T12:22:00.000-08:00

Livigno Italy 01-01-2009

I am grateful for this year 2009.

I started the 2009 with a feeling of immeasurable deep joy for the longing in my soul residing lovingly in His arms.
I continued by facing courageously the challenges of life. And there were many.
My dear friend Virendra passed peacefully away the end of January. I was fortunate to be a witness and support in his last weeks of his life breathing with him his last breath of life. Through his death I found a new friend, his wife Prerna ever so "dearly crazy". She and Valeria have been precious friends, in many ways we shared the same joys and losses.

I continue throughout the year to converse via email with my friend T while he was in prison. I opened up through him to the pain of the incarcerate. A minority who lives a life deprived of many basic human rights. Only this makes me mad. In getting to know the abuse that goes on in prison, I discovered a way to share the love that knows no steel bars but that is stronger then any limitations. I grew deeply and sank more deep into the well of my soul recognizing the smallness of my being. Yet in His presence I feel I am everything I can be. And a flower opens inside.

The incredible treks in my mountains built the strength in me to face any fear so that I could arrive at the "cross" on the top of the mountain, with an amazing feeling of worthiness and gratitude for the single grace to be here and tell my story. A story that continues into next year with a sense of wonder what will come my way.
I only know one thing that as long as I live I will always remember to breathe in and calm my body and my mind and breathe out and smile.
Smile at any circumstance that may tear your heart apart like it happened in summer when T. exiting his imprisonment turned his back to me and disappeared.

I always smiled maybe not so obviously on the outside but my meditation is to mindfully watching my breathing and mindfully watching and feeling my heart pierce through to let nothing else in then the fire of love.

Jesus, sweet Jesus has been a constant presence and a gentle companion to carry me in comfort and with him I cried so many loving sweet and salty tears.

What more can I ask then keep walking on with a gratitude for everything that this journey of life brings to us, blessed both the roses and the thorns.

Mount Macaion summer 2009

My Christmas wishes to you all

2009-12-21T09:40:00.000-08:00

To all my readers
family and friends
with gratitude

My altar

I wish you for this Christmas time:

Buddha to cultivate peace of mind and happiness on the Way
Sufi Dervish to remind you of the sacred dance with the Beloved
Bodhisattva Tara to feel compassion
Ganesh to face any obstacle and remain playful
St Francis to deepen the way of prayers
Angels, always around, to guide you and comfort you along the way.

The divine presence of Holy Mary and sweet Lord Jesus to celebrate the Light into this world

A burning candle to inspire the flame of love residing in your heart
and to dispel any darkness.

May you all have a wonderful 2010

Buddha on canvas. Milena '09

Always remembering breathing in I calm my body and my mind.
Breathing out I smile and care for this body and mind and everything else in between and beyond.

White Amsterdam, Damsquare 20-Dec-09

The true story of the red roses.

2009-12-09T08:24:00.000-08:00

Dialogue between roses.

–What are we doing here?–Cried out one rose in the bouquet. –It is cold today in Amsterdam! I always heard about how beautiful is this city and I was looking forward to come here. But really I didn’t expect this ending. What do you think sisters? Dam square has absolutely stunning architecture but the view from this rubbish bin is a bit crooked. The royal palace is not even visible as they are remodeling and cleaning it. It is Saturday afternoon, the square is full of people. How come nobody notices us? No, really, of all places where roses should spread their beauty and fragrance this was not foreseen.–

Sister rose, on the right, answered, –if only people would notice that we are beautiful and fresh so they could have pity on us and relieve us from this torment of being neglected and rejected.–

The nearby sister came out with her sensitive voice and said: –Somehow when this man came to choose flowers in the Venlo station flower shop, I had this peculiar feeling. I felt he was not clear, from his being was radiating fear and hesitation; his outward behavior was edgy and angry. He didn’t even know how to hold us and got pricked by the little brother thorn. It didn’t mean to hurt him, if only he would have hold us with gentleness. How much was the poor man swearing because of that! God please forgive him, he was just very agitated.

However when we heard he was going to take a train to Amsterdam to meet a woman he never saw before, we were all very excited to this new excursion and perhaps, who knows, we were the witness of a beginning of a sweet love story. I could read his mind and what he was thinking. It has been a while he wasn’t going out with a woman and he was trembling to his core. He didn’t know much about this woman, he saw just a photo on an online dating forum and exchanged few basic information. Nevertheless they decided to meet. It has been all too frantic, something was not supposed to happen.

It takes time and patience to get to know someone, and still we may never know deeply a person.–

Sister rose in the middle observed, –when I saw him waiting and waiting near the Coffee Company for more then 2 hours, and us really getting cold, I suspected she wasn’t coming. We may never know what happened to her and why she didn’t show up. The point is that we are now here, an outcome of a moment of anger and despair, total helplessness and disappointment. He dumped his frustration on us–

Few of the other roses were screaming: –God have mercy on us, please, please let us not end here alone and in the darkness. We are made to bring joy and to invite love in the heart of every person. Help us to fulfill our purpose!–

Look – said the first rose – that Lady with the white jacket has noticed us. She is shocked.-How come such wonderful roses have been tossed away so brutally?- she said. She calls her husband - I see they wear the wedding ring- to make a photo of this contradiction of life. The beauty trapped in the mouth of the beast.

She is saying: “Amore, why is this here? I mean this is a blog entry, a nice story of a bunch of roses. Please make a picture.”

After a moment she added, “do you know, I really feel bad about leaving these roses here. They are beautiful, it hurts my heart to see them in this rubbish bin. I don’t care what people may think or say if I take them out. They are wonderful to me and anything for them is better then lying here in the cold, just because something has gone wrong with somebody.

I don’t want to take them home. Let’s bring them to St. Nicholas church. We are going there anyway to listen to the Choral evensong. Maybe I can give them as an offering to Mary.

I wonder how many of those unaware tourists know of how wonderful can be to spend 45 minutes of time with such devotional and uplifting songs. Maybe the tourist department could help to spread the news of this event that takes place every Saturday at 5 pm in the St. Nicolaaskerk in the city of Amsterdam. A church that, to me, offers such mystical and devotional moments, where God never fails to soothe my longing soul”.

–Oh yes, yes,– all the roses where whispering. And quietly were waiting to see their new destination.

The Lady of the Lady, Mother Mary of love and grace was smiling at them. The candles burning happily all around for all beings who suffers from pain, anger, uneasiness of life. People kneeling and devoutly reciting their prayer to the Holy Mother, finding comfort, solace, a little light and a sweet warmth in their heart. The red roses on the side, proudly and humbly smiling for the unexpected gift to be able to fulfill their purpose and give their total life to it.

Thank you beautiful roses for offering me a moment of Love and devotion.

One of my favorite songs.

"The rose" by Bette Midler

Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.

The voice of an angel

2009-12-07T07:13:00.000-08:00

To my friend Thomas Heydel

I came to you in your darkest night
whispering softly words of love.
You found some refuge
under my delicate wings.

In that dreamlike state
we recognized each other
And together we bathed in healing water
transforming tears in wonderful smiles

You woke up from the horror of prison
the soul restless and disoriented
and you forgot the sweetness of that embrace

As I entered your dark world
with a flame of love in my heart and a tender touch
so I depart back to where I came from
with a touch of wings, like a butterfly free into the sky

May you always remember
the fragrance of my essence
I will always remember yours.

Milena Nov. 09

My personal tribute to Ramses Shaffy

2009-12-01T02:46:00.000-08:00

"It is still in Amsterdam"
even among a busy day

Ramses Shaffy is sleeping

Let him sleep peacefully
A faraway echo of his voice reaching out to the heart of fans.

In my 5 years in Amsterdam I was so fortunate to see you and hear you singing twice.
In both the events I cried, touched deeply by you.

Goodbye Ramses Shaffy
be at peace
singing with the angels above.

Just another of your fan. sweet Milena

My passion for your "chanson", needless to say, was transmitted by Driek a true Ramses Shaffy lover, who has all of your music and likes to sing many of your songs.

My favorite song: Laat me
He could also sing beautifully in Italian:
"Nelle notti a Roma"

From Kabir:

The darkness of night is coming along fast and the darkness of love
close in the body and the mind.
Open the window to the west and disappear
into the air inside you.
Near your breastbone there is an open flower.
Drink the honey that is all around that flower.
Waves are coming in:
There is so much magnificence near the ocean.
Listen: sound of immense seashell! Sound of bells!
Kabir says, Friend, listen
this is what I have to say:
The Guest I love is inside me!

Let me have this dance

2009-11-23T14:40:00.001-08:00

Indian Summer

In English they call it Indian summer. In Italian is called Summer of San Martin. For me it is Autumn, a gorgeous Autunm with its magnificent golden colors under a clear blue sky. A reminder that death is a continuation of life in another form.

I spent two incredible weeks bathing in the glorious beauty of this season that calls for silence, peace, healing and transformation.
Nothing really dies. And that is true even for the leaves that before they fall in their last flight back to earth, are singing their song of freedom. The leaf has no sadness when it lets go of the mother tree, its dance to the ground is one of the most exquisite, delicate, vulnerable and most of all full of true surrender.

Let me stay here to see this miracle repeating itself and yet each time is a new dance.
Like a Zen monk I am asking nothing more then just be here and rejoice of the suchness of this dance.
Sweet is the pain when the day comes to an end, when the shadows of Autumn makes the contrast even more vivid, the light even more clear.

Silently whirling the last goodbye to a faraway friend who never will return to meet my eyes and yet is always here in the secret sound of each heartbeat.

I wish to always live my life with that faith and surrender, just like a falling leaf happy to dance its own dance. Silent to hear my own true voice, happy to trust anything that comes my way. Always remembering to smile at the precious gift to be here and now in this body on this earth, for as long as God wants me to stay.
And with a longing that never dies.

Let me dance my longing.

The longing

I would like to end with few words about "the longing".

The female counter part and predecessor of the mystic poet Rumi (1207-1273) is today to me Hildegard von Bingen. ( 1098-1179)
Rumi spoke of the longing amazingly and Hildegard does it hundred years before him in her unique style of the powerful renaissance woman of early middle age. A woman who was the inspiration and foundation of German ( Rhine land) Christian mysticism. A mystic movement of creation- centered spirituality.

From Hildegard von Bingen:

Like billowing clouds,
like the incessant gurgle of the brook,
the longing of the soul can never be stilled.

It is this longing with which
holy persons seek
their work from God.

Version translated by Gabriele Uhlein

Paradise is here

2009-10-27T13:48:00.000-07:00

Today exactly one month after my birthday, the 27 September I gave myself the best present for my body anniversary.
It is more then a present, it is truly the grace of God that lead me to hike the Mount Luco, 26 years after the near death experience caused by a car hitting my body at 100 km an hour. A body that endured great pain to regain the ability to move again. A body that still is not free from discomfort, but all the aches and limitations are forgotten in a moment of ecstasy like today.
Because today, again after 26 years I made it to the top. And indeed it was the sweetest flight of my soul.

Milena on top of Mount Luco (Laugen Spitze)

I have no words to convey the depth of feelings I experience today when exhausted after a long strenuous hike in solitude, I embraced the cross on top of my most beloved mountain on earth.
I cried for a long time, sobbing like a baby for the overwhelming joy and intensity of blessings deep in my soul. I couldn't stop. Two German trekkers worried asked me: Ist es alles in Ordnung? ( are you all right?). After the third time they asked with a smile and my wet face I turned around and said "very all right!"

self made pix in the shadow of the cross

Nothing can compare to the magnitude I was feeling in my heart. I don't expect anyone to understand and it is really not important to be understood by others. I let go since long to that kind of emotional lullaby. The intimacy of my thoughts and the sincerity of my prayers are enough for me to fill me with delightful gratitude for the gift of being alive. Life is really, to me, an incredible journey and I must admit that His presence had been the best companion I could ever had. No lover, friend and family can ever bring you to the rich satisfaction of the longing to be in His arms.
Today that longing has melted a part of my heart that was hurting and for some delicate moments which felt like eternity, time stopped and I tasted paradise.

Heaven on earth, heaven on top of Mt. Luco.

My soul was kissed
and God danced with me
in the small place in my chest.
Oh how sweet is the taste of gratitude
which transforms the most bitter tears
in holy water,
purifying each thought
in a feast of sacredness,
a bridal banquet
where the loved one
disappears in the Beloved

and the rapture continues.

A breathtaking view towards the Maddalene chain-the little Tibet -

In each step

2009-10-14T11:30:00.000-07:00

I was walking along the beach in Zandvoort aan Zee the other day, with the sun, a gentle breeze and my own company. I realized a simple mystery.

I will always let go in the vastness of the ocean.

Have you ever tried to walk again
on your own footprint
on an empty long beach?

Each of our step is unique
full of its own individuality and life.
It cannot be duplicated.

Like the rise and fall of each wave
bringing with itself a new end and a new beginning
continuing its journey of letting go
into water

I decided long ago
to live my life to its fullness
emptying myself of the unnecessary
tuning the essential in the divine music of His presence

I will always let go in the vastness of the ocean

Milena Oct. 09

St. Francis of Assisi and my wedding

2009-10-04T05:57:00.000-07:00

Today, the 4th of October, I celebrate St Francis, my most beloved Saint, inspiring source of simple living, humble giving, merciful help, love of God, brother of all Creatures.

He never fails to answer me. His presence and example are deeply embedded in my heart, and take my soul to flights of deep longing.
Who knows, maybe, in one of my past lives, I was a simple friar following his step and praying with him. Or perhaps I was one of the sisters of St Clare, his beloved companion- in the purest sense- and founder of the Order of the Poor Ladies (commonly referred as the Poor Clares), the monastic religious order for woman in the Franciscan tradition.
It doesn't really matter, because the soul never dies and St. Francesco is here and now beating and filling my heart with tears of love.

My wedding anniversary

On the 15th of September I celebrated with my beloved Driek our second wedding anniversary. This poem is for us and all the lovers of God.

A wedding gift

I hear you singing, dear, inviting me to your limb,

I am coming, for all that we do

is a preparation for love.

I hear you singing, my Lord, inviting me to your throne.

We are coming, dear for all the toil we have blessed us with

is a preparation to know and hold the sacred.

I hear you singing, my soul, but can it be

that God's voice

has now become my own?

"That is just a wedding gift

for our

Divine Union,"

my Beloved

said.

St. Francis of Assisi (1182-1226)

Happy Birthday sweet one

2009-09-27T01:32:00.000-07:00

My Birthday cake 2009 recipe

One heart
no fear of breaking it

salty tears
tons of smiles

trust in the Above
sinking down Below
silent time

joy of living
endless gratitude

determination and endurance
peace of mind
bleeding sorrow

patience of the saints
devotion to the Loved One
Hope

St Francis' prayer everyday
spark of creativity
a rocking Life
full
of His presence

I wouldn't want any other one.
It tastes
just
fine

Thousand thanks to my wonderful guests and friends and to my beloved husband.

This time dedicated to me

When the holy thaws

A woman's body, like the earth, has seasons;
when the mountain stream flows,
when the holy
thaws,

when I am most fragile and in need,
it was then, it seemed,
God came
closest.

God, like a medic on a field, is tending our souls.
Our horns get locked with desires, but don't hold yourself
too accountable; for all desires are
really innocent. That is what
the compassion in His
eyes tell me.

Why this great war between the countries -- the countries --
inside of us?

What are all these insane borders we protect?
What are all these different names for the same church of love
we kneel in together? For it is true, together we live; and only
at that shrine where all are welcome will God sing
loud enough to be heard.

Our horns got locked with the earth and sky in some odd
marriage ritual; so what, don't worry. We should be proud of
ourselves for everything we helped create in this
magic world.

And God is always there, if you feel wounded. He kneels
over this earth like
a divine medic,

and His love thaws
the holy in us.

~ St. Teresa of Avila ~

(Love Poems From God versions by Daniel Ladinsky)

Solitude in a Carmelite monastery

2009-09-20T21:26:00.000-07:00

What a better way to dedicate yourself a silent and prayerful time then entering a monastery.
I always wanted to do that, and being faraway from my adorable mountain and my sweet little alpine hut I felt pull to join for a week the silence of a Carmelite monastery in Brugge Belgium.

The last few weeks I encountered a struggle of the soul within myself. Needless to say that outside circumstance and people caused also an unbearable pain that literally I felt my heart turned apart.

I was undecided about joining for a week a retreat in Plum village the Buddhist Sangha of the Vietnamese monk Thich Naht Hanh or seclude myself in a solitary journey of prayer and contemplation surrounded by the amazing delicate and holy energy of the Carmeliten friars. As one of the aching pull in my heart had to do with my connection with Jesus and many of the saints that dedicated their life to prayer I felt I needed not to choose, but simply follow the inspiring example of two of the major figure of Carmelite devotion: the ecstatic and powerful St. Teresa of Avila and one of my most beloved mystic poet and austere friar St John of the Cross. ( Juan de la Cruz)

In each of us hides a monk, a nun , a sadhu an hermit. At least it is true for me. I am aware since long time of the simple need for solitude prayer and meditation. In reality since my early teenager time I sought in the silence of the mountain the inner peace and tranquility that comes in nature that helps to bring along a peace of mind.

In the years with Miracle of Love that need was manipulated, spoiled and abused for the purpose of the Mol sick group and their deluded leaders - Kalindi - The Lady- Scotti and so on. However damaging have been the effects of participation in the Miracle of love cult, nobody can take away your true simple spiritual longing to be in the presence of God, in the simple mindful act of breathing, in the devotion of a sufi mystic for his beloved, in the gratitude of each moment as it comes whether be happiness of sadness.
What a grace is when you can touch upon this divine longing and feed it with your prayers, the practice of silent meditation and a honest looking at your "mind formation" ( quoting Thich Naht Hanh) of maya or illusion whether is anger, pain, sorrow or even happiness.
And that is how I set up my days in the monastery with my own schedule from morning to night, including "the candle meditation" in the middle of the night. I desired so much to understand the deep call of my heart in the last year as I was helping a person in need.
Really what turned me on to enter for few days a carmelite monastery was reading some mystic poems from Teresa of Avila and St John of the Cross translated by Daniel Ladinsky in his book "Love poems from God". A book that has been on my bed site since months already.

From Wikipedia about the Carmelite
"Carmelite tradition traces the origin of the order to a community of hermits on Mount Carmel that succeeded the schools of the prophets in ancient Israel, although there are no certain records of hermits on this mountain before the 1190s. By this date a group of men had gathered at the well of Elijah on Mount Carmel. These men, who had gone to Palestine from Europe either as pilgrims or as crusaders, chose Mount Carmel in part because it was the traditional home of Elijah. It was natural that this community of Eastern hermits in the Holy Land should gain constant accessions from pilgrims, and between 1206 and 1214 they received a rule from the patriarch and Papal legate Albert of Jerusalem."

The main crux of this order is contemplative prayers and we can find some of the best expression
in the literaly works of St Teresa and St John of the Cross.

St Teresa of Avila

Teresa of Avila ( 1515- 1582) was an amazing woman and a beautiful one too, a reformist of the order and an absolute mystic in the true sense of the word. The stories of her visions, raptures, flight of the soul are somehow stunning. She describes them often as feeling totally pierced in her heart by the fire of God's love that leaves her in such an unbearable sweet pain that makes her long just for more. She was graced by many of these rapture, to the point they become her constant companion in her life. The famous work of sculpture of Bernini depicts her in one of her most famous ecstatic moment. The ecstasy of St. Teresa of Avila

G.Lorenzo Bernini ( 1647-1652) in Santa Maria della Vittoria Rome

At the same time Teresa suffered terribly in her body, of diseases that at the time nobody could figure it out why she had all those painful symptoms. Give it to the doctors of 21 century and to the psychologist she will be categorized under "hysterical personality". However I am glad Freud didn't exist back then. They had enough to deal with the Inquisition. Many books have been written about this incredible mighty woman, who became an icon for the feminist movement of our time. I was lucky to find some good books about her which the friars of Brugge lend me, and studied her life. Moreover I love her poems.
Anyway powerful and gifted as she was she was a woman who fought to bring back the Carmeliten order to its original austerity and she moved about her mission in total surrender to God, her Beloved, her only true Spouse, with wit, a very spirited sense of humor and skilled art in communication, let alone powerful and eminent friends that helped her along.

From St. Teresa of Avila

Desire in her soul

I wanted
to hold Him as an infant,
what woman would not find that desire
in her soul?

Yes I wanted to hold Him when He was so in need,
that He might cling to me with
all his strength for protection.
I never thought of the sun as being maternal
but is there anything that does not
nurse light?

One day I was carrying my wash, one day i was carrying bread,
one day I was carrying a small goat,

and al of them became
my Lord.

I collapsed
on the ground the first time this happened,
the first time the universe suckled
me.

St. John of the Cross

Painting on the inside walls of the Carmeliten in Brugge

When Teresa was in her fifties she met Juan de la Cruz - John of the Cross ( 1542-1591) and it was through his help that the friars order was reformed. The foundation of the first reformed Carmelite priory reminds us of the great hope and small resources that the first hermitage founded by St. Francis of Assisi in the ruined chapel of the Portiuncola.
He was very different from Teresa of Avila. His whole bent was towards interiors prayers and contemplation and although he could be firm and clear-sighed where question of discipline and or principle were involved, he was so averse to all practical affairs that he even withdraw from his position of prior.
He just wanted to pray and be with God. He was often seen on his knees holding to the holy cross, that is why in many depiction of him you see him like that.
St John of the Cross experience in jail was crucial for his work. He was segregated for 9 month in a tiny dungeon in a cell in the Carmelite priory not reformed in Toledo. He was given hardly any food, that lead him to suffer from dysentery, never a change of clothes in the 9 months of imprisonment, consequently being literally eaten by lice. He slept on a board laid on teh floor with two rugs to cover him: he suffered tremendously in the cold winter of Toledo and later in teh extreme heat of summer. To add more injuries he regularly taken out to the refectory and beaten to bleed by the friars of the order, accusing him of having betrayed and dishonored the Order and that he wanted to reform the Calced in the Discalced only for his own sake and gratification.
He bared all of the scorching and insults in silence. The worst part of his suffering though didn't come through the physical ones but from the doubts and scruples that afflicted his mind. Out of this suffering comes most of his prose and poem: The ascent of mount Carmel and The Dark night of the soul.
He was to my eyes and heart a true man of God that help the Carmeliten of those days to think more of God then what they were wearing and eating. In fact the Carmeliten Order were in need to be reformed by someone "pure of heart."

I chose one of its poem translated by Linda Nicholson.

The living flame of love

(Songs of the soul in intimate union with God)

O living flame of love,
How tenderly you wound
And sear my soul's most inward centre!
No longer so elusive,
Now, if you will, conclude
And rend the veil from this most sweet encounter.

O cautery that heals!
O consumating wound!
o soothing hand ! O touch so fine and light
That savours of eternity
And satisfy all dues!
Slaying, you have converted death to life.

O lamps of burning
In whose translucent glow
The mind's profoundest caverns shine with splendor
Before in blindness and obscure,
With unearthly beauty now
Regale their love with heat and light together.

With what love and sweetness
You waken in my breast
Where in secrecy and solitude you move:
Suffused with joy and goodness
In the fragrance of your breath,
How delicately you kindle me with love!

I feel profoundly touched by his words. And if you can read Spanish the poem will deliver even more its deep meaning.
At last the soul that rests firmly in God found within, where His burning Light resides, where He always waits for us to fall in His gentle loving embrace.
Fire, the fire of love always present, fire as a purification process, fire of the pain one has to go through in order to resurrect in the healing water of His love. Fire, the burning fire of God's Love, that helps you to move mountain even when you can't see them because the horizon is wrapped in mist. Fire as a transformational process that wakes the mind to have a leap of consciousness and recognize itself in its pure essence of Love and Light in His Holy Presence.

A fire that silently has been burning in my heart since the last 10 months that left me wondering and in awe as I was conducting my day to day life.

The heart that breaks

2009-09-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

It is through the cracks of the heart
that Love strengthen you

Allow the agony of your soul
and you will hear
the song of the Beloved.

Gently welcome sorrow
to mold the path
you are walking,
the lotus can only blossom
from the mud.

The fragrance
of your sweet heart
will guide you
sometimes calmly, sometimes with tears
through the most
tumultuous time.

It is only in the
here
and it is only in the
now,

anyway,

that everything happens.

The light always shines
behind the clouds.

Milena sept '09

Interesting research: broken hearts really hurt

Beloved Friend

2009-08-21T22:59:00.000-07:00

I said it all

I said it with a rose
I said it with the thunder
I said it with the wind
I said it with the stars.

I said it through words
I said it through my tears
I said it with a smile
I said it in the silence of my prayers

I said it all
and
I said it,
in everything I am

God heard me.
And you?

Milena (Aug.2009)

Today the 12 Sept. '09 after my early morning meditation I felt pulled to add few lines to this entry.
The poem is dedicated to all those who touched my heart and then moved away, very faraway from me.

But as one of these friends used to say when he was still conversing with me, are we not all just One? So how is it possible to erase someone out of your system when the doors of your heart broke down to let the same presence entering in your world ?
Fact is that Love hurts, whether is a friend or a lover leaving you or someone dying and really leaving you. Time for grieving may varying according to the depth of the relationship. The soul has its own healing time, where a moment may morph in the infinite and the pain of the now may seem to never stop. But it will, I assure you, transform eventually, as the clouds becomes rain, which becomes flower, which gives food to the bee that produce honey.
And don't we all want our tears taste as sweet as honey?

Celebration for freedom

2009-08-18T10:55:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Thomas Heydel and his regained freedom. May he never forget his time in prison.

"Let it be plenty"

Freedom without love
is like a dry well
it won't fill your thirst.

So let it be plenty.

See your freedom in the pool of your tears,
kiss the Beloved like a gentle butterfly
free to rest
on the sweet scent of the lily.

Free to love and to choose to love everyone.

Let it be plenty

There is no end to the song of the heart,
once you found your voice,
tune the instrument with the divine.
He plays through you.
Just let it.

The soul is always free to fly.

Now let it be plenty,
carry your bucket
full of water
and chop the wood.

Milena (18 august '09)

Wishes to the world

2009-08-15T05:53:00.000-07:00

In the eternal moving of time ... I can wait

[Paris]

sometimes it is just ... a breath away

[Canarias]

...and sometimes you need strength,
to conquer each step of the way

[Maddalene mountain, by Milena, oil on canvas]

In the joy of the victory,
the spirit will fly free

[Crete]

This I wish you from the bottom of my heart

Fuerteventura

This poem was created for the Christmas wishes in 2005. I only changed now the last picture.
I was going through an important moment of my life, when I could clearly see my true self taking off in a flight of victory. Back then I chose those words to describe the way of my path to inner freedom.

Recently a beloved Friend of mine, in a very delicate situation, wrote to me a poem in which for divine intervention and distant memories he used those same words without consciously remembering the wishes I sent to him too so long ago.

How God plays with us,
He likes rocking the love swing
till only
Love remains.

Milena ( August 09)

Rest in here

2009-08-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

I will always let go in the magnitude of the mountain.

When the heart wears down
in an attempt to leap into more love
and the world outside is spinning without me

When the Beloved is taking a break
from meeting the Lover
and the soul is bouncing into a holy fire
burning through pain

The smile on my face reflects
the beauty of the One
in every leaves and in every clouds
whether I am in joy or in turmoil
the freedom to be
rest in the stillness of this moment

Let me than rest Here,
in the spirit of the sacred place
where the mountains touch the sky
and the Light reveals
the secret Call.

I will always let go in the magnitude of the mountain

Milena - August 09

This is one of my favorite place to meditate when I am in my village. On this beautiful opening that you see in pix above, last year I wrote those words dedicated to my valley 'Val di Non". No English translation.

"La Val di Non"

La maestosa bellezza del Gruppo Brenta
fa da scudo e regala forza
alla dolce vallata dai rivi abbondanti

Imponente verso il cielo
dona speranza ai cuori delusi
e insieme con il cordone delle Maddalene
crea i contori sensuali e soavi
della generosa valle

Nel silenzio dei boschi, sopra il paese di Fondo
ammiro indisturbata
quello che Dio ha baciato con la Sua grazia.

E il mio cuore si tuffa nella gioia
di essere nata
tra queste montagne
e cresciuta in questi boschi

Milena - July 08

Alleluja to the mountain

2009-07-16T23:42:00.000-07:00

In this last visit in Italy I spent few days on my own again in Paolo's hut. What can I say?
The miracle of my life repeats itself and gratitude fills my heart.

When I woke up and stood outside the little alpine hut that is what I saw and that is what I felt.

Just this Love

The sun keeps on kissing me
gently whispering words of secret tales
together with the wind, irresistible friend
they sing melody of enchanting places
they draw picture of ancient lovers
united after a very long time

There is nothing more that I desire
then hearing my heartbeat
pulsating in waves of sheer joy, of sweet Love
raising in silence,
dissolving in an ocean of tears

Yes, that is what Love does
it takes you by the hand as a Friend
and invites you to drink at His cup
you accept the divine wine
then you know
He won't leave you anymore.

Just like the sun is always raising
Love is always present
behind your eyelids, beyond your smile,
behind your wrinkles and your sorrow,
beyond the tears and your fragility,
what sustain you and moves you
is just Love.