blue light

blue lightblue light
color of the goddess,
dissolving all resistance,
indicating the way out,
toward victory.

the blue of the sky
saturated with imaginative stories,
a cultivated frequency
nourishing the flight of the birds,
flying in spirals and chasing the sun
in a synchronized flock.
moving together
is an instinct
faster than thought.

Sferathe color of the sphere
that illuminates the path,
along it, you find the answer,
not the one written in words
so simple to decode,
but those sung
by the imprints in the sand,
in the memories that align
in a synchronized dance.
the nocturnal light
growing from the deep of night
toward the dawn
in imperceptible increments,
the moon, the stars
from asleep to awakening.

luce azzurro
colore della dea… Continue reading


a poem about sewing

Quaglia in rossoI realize that I am a seamstress,
along with all the other things that I am, and I am many.
my favorite ones: artist, dancer
student of life almost as much as teacher
healer, traveler, lover and catalyst.

I sew with threads of light, words
threads of breath, movement, codes and colors.
I sew with a pair of wooden chopsticks instead of metallic needles…

with the heartbeat directing the orchestra of the hands.
I sew just one thing: a blanket.


This blanket grows, covers my entire bedroom
wrapping around and warming up who is there.
expanding to the nucleo, over the entire territory
caressing and nourishing every leaf and ant.

then, beyond, it covers Vidracco, over the gardens and grandmothers,
the streets and sculptures, the watermill and apparently solid mountain.
beyond…Piedmont, the Alps, all of italy.
to the west over the oceans until the California coast.
toward Asia, Turkey, all the way to Thailand.
the entire planet covered with subtle threads of pure love.

beyond! the solar system, galaxies, universes
that I can’t remember anymore or even imagine.
with all of space covered, it expands through time,
until the beginning, which is only and still an end.

even here, the end comes to an end
and rebirth brings me to the first woven thread,
going back to the complete potentiality of every moment, every cell
the potential of action, creation, weaving a fabric of gold.

una poesia per cucire

mi sono resa conto che sono una cucitrice.
insieme alle altre cose che io sono, e sono tante. Continue reading

Another memory of Gabbiano, living in the moment

piu' giallo di così...Once I was at Somachandra, passing through between Terrazzatura devotional work and food shopping at Tentaty, or an appointment to verify my Tecnarcato program and a work meeting, or my cooking and cleaning turn at the nucleo and Meditation practices … anyhow, I was in movement and in a bit of a rush, with the day’s schedule scrolling in front of my eyes while I exited through the glass door and passed in front of the tables. Gabbiano was sitting there, back after a long absence. I stopped to salute him.

He looked at me with the most brilliant eyes and a smile that emanated peace and happiness. Time stopped for a moment, and all the hurry that was fogging over my mind disappeared. From his eyes, I felt the heat from the light of absolute presence. Gabbiamo was delighting in being alive, as I should have been if i weren’t so behind on emails. Here again, just a few minutes together, so dense that they transmitted the world to me. A way of being, living every moment with joy, celebration … while we are here, while we are together, here and now.

Una volta ero al Somachandra di passaggio tra la Terrazzatura e le spese a Tentaty, o la verifica Tecnarcale ed un incontro di lavoro, o il turni di nucleo e le pratiche di Meditazione … Continue reading