Beyond the Horizon-Oltre l'Orizzonte

wto-store inc

2009-06-23T09:59:00.001+02:00

Caro,
recentemente?
Ho scoperto vendite le buone dell'azienda, Gucci,Ugg boots,Abercrombie & Fitch,...
esso sono una buona idea di affari di shopping, prego tengo l'occasione
quando fate prego visitare il tempo libero
www.wto-store.com

TEST

2007-01-04T12:51:00.000+02:00

This is a test.

Yahoo! Mail: gratis 1GB per i messaggi, antispam, antivirus, POP3

Inoltra: Fwd: Please send back. This is neat.

2007-01-02T01:42:00.000+02:00

rosieanthony@aol.com ha scritto:

A: Mpetruccelli@rogers.com, Mariapia59it@yahoo.it, mdrozdowski@rogers.com,
joan_shollenberger@merck.com, jpirozzolo@seic.com, RADNST@aol.com,
angel_rose@hotmail.it, srothwell3@comcast.net
Oggetto: Fwd: Please send back. This is neat.
Data: Mon, 01 Jan 2007 15:59:44 -0500
Da: rosieanthony@aol.com

-----Original Message-----
From: spinglerdjwa@comcast.net
To: TRVALENTIN@aol.com; Testaejvc@cs.com; dpawloski928@comcast.net; Msg12281@aol.com; rosieanthony@aol.com; williamrdawson@aol.com; michaelpcostello@comcast.net
Sent: Wed, 27 Dec 2006 5:50 PM
Subject: FW: Please send back. This is neat.

-------------- Forwarded Message: --------------
From: "Michael P. Costello" <michaelpcostello@comcast.net>
To: "'Terri & Kurt Breitenstine'" <bkbreit@comcast.net>, <dpawloski928@comcast.net>, <hjkeating@verizon.net>, <jodan91@comcast.net>, "'J Jessurun'" <jessuruj@bellsouth.net>, "'Donna Spingler'" <spinglerdjwa@comcast.net>
Subject: FW: Please send back. This is neat.
Date: Wed, 27 Dec 2006 22:13:18 +0000

From: alice carr [mailto:anbcarr@westelcom.com]
Sent: Thursday, December 14, 2006 6:11 AM
To: linda hagar
Subject: Fw: Please send back. This is neat.

----- Original Message -----

From: hcook

To: helen cook ; edbo117@yahoo.com ; bflynn@plattscsd.org ; bdubray@plattsweb.plattscsd.org ; alice carr ; anne vanleeuwen

Sent: Tuesday, December 12, 2006 8:30 PM

Subject: Fw: Please send back. This is neat.

----- Original Message -----

From: Zapp, John

To: consuelajo@comcast.net ; ur4me247@comcast.net ; Mickey3471 ; Massaro, Theresa ; Novak, Karen ; Nunez, Sandra ; willardpearson@sbcglobal.net ; samiathome17@yaho o.com ; competition101@aol.com ; kelly.zapp@midamericabank.com ; thomasz@ev1.net

Sent: Tuesday, December 05, 2006 7:14 AM

Subject: FW: Please send back. This is neat.

From: Big Bob [mailto:bbski52@peoplepc.com]
Sent: Mon 12/4/2006 11:05 AM
To: Tom W.
Subject: Please send back. This is neat.

Subject: Please send back. This is neat.

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jifejfow

2006-07-27T19:16:00.000+02:00

Haven't had time to post between mornings at the beach and afternoons helping my dad work out the details of Uncle Don's 'transfer' to Italy (wouldn't be appropriate to say 'shipment', now would it...) . Would you believe he needs his passport and they can't find it?

And would you believe his body is still at the morgue and we have no idea when his funeral will be?

The other night I dreamed I saw him all tangled up in strips of cloth, like a half bound-up mummy. I can really feel how his soul longs for repose.

And as I write, life goes on. I've invited 15 people to dinner tonight. "Brodetto di pesce" (seafood stewed in tomato sauce) and corn on the cob from our field.

And best thing of all, my husband is cooking... :-)

Yahoo! Mail: gratis 1GB per i messaggi, antispam, antivirus, POP3

Love, Forgiveness, Divine Mercy

2006-07-21T23:36:00.000+02:00

My cousin Donato, Uncle Don, as I used to call him as a child, was another incredible person in our family. He, too was an artist. He lived in New Jersey, near Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary for many years, and he and his wife Rose were part of those childhood memories I so cherish. Aunt Rose used to play the piano and I loved to listen to the music float up the stairs as I waited for sleep to come. He was a very attractive, very well read and extremely creative man. Many people used to call him a ‘Renaissance Man’. He was a painter, a sculptor, an engineer, a cook, a carpenter, a philosopher. You name it, he could do it! There was only one ‘odd’ thing about him. He was an atheist. But it didn’t matter to us, we loved him very much in spite of it. We didn’t really know what it meant anyway. Whenever he used to travel for work, he would stop by our place for dinner on the way to wherever he was going. My mom would make home made pasta for him, which she never seemed to have time to do normally. So we considered it a really special occasion when he would surprise us.

He got divorced from his wife about 25 years ago and moved to Florida, to Anna Maria Island. He used to tell my mom he chose to live there because it reminded him of her (Anna Maria). He lived alone, and would live off the land, raising fruit and vegetables in his back yard, and throwing the nets out from his canal-side dock to catch some fish. He was very frugal (stingy) and had no tv. He had intellectually stimulating friends and seemingly needed no one.

On May 30th he sent my parents a 50th anniversary card. On June 2nd (my parents’ anniversary) he was found floating off the City Pier at Anna Maria. He had died of a massive heart attack. He remained unidentified until June 7th, when the sheriff’s investigation determined who he was. To this day, his body is still at the morgue. The sheriff tried contacting his ex wife, but to no avail. None of his neighbors knew how to contact his brother here in Italy. Turns out his wife is now living in Florida, although not close to him, where she is caring for her dying brother and is too ill herself to handle things.

A number of coincidences led us to discover what happened. At zia’s wake, a friend told me that Uncle Don’s brother had been looking for him for weeks. I then recalled that my dad had mentioned not being able to contact him to thank him for the card. I spoke to my dad right after the funeral and asked him to do a little snooping. That evening at 11:00 pm of the day of Zia’s funeral, we found out what happened and I informed Uncle Don’s brother. Uncle Don and his brother had done a few mean things through the years, against Zia and her sisters (Uncle Joe’s sisters). It’s very complicated, but suffice to say that he kicked zia and her sister out of the house they were born in when they were 90 and 92 years old! There had been a very long family feud over the house throughout the previous 50 years that ended up with unjust eviction for them, which is one of the reasons why zia had come to live with me.

It seems evident to us that Zia, in passing away, must have encountered his soul and helped free him, so he could finally have a proper burial. Sunday, the day zia died, was the feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, and my mom’s birthday. My mom was zia's favorite niece and Donato was the one who had made her suffer most. My mom really loved Uncle Don in spite of what he did. It’s incredible how the bonds of love can renew everything. And our Lord, in his infinite mercy chose to show His tenderness on that day.

I really believe that this bond of human love and forgiveness, united with and in Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, was Uncle Don’s salvation.He left no specific instructions not to have the Roman Catholic funeral rite, but I don’t know if his brother will organize this for him. I know he is making arrangements to bring his body back to Italy.

I have no idea what will happen to his art work, as I don’t think his brother would understand its value. And that is more food for thought. Even things of wondrous beauty can be totally and mysteriously void of significance if they are not created on the basis of a higher form of love.

On Extended Families

2006-07-20T20:00:00.000+02:00

We buried Zia Ernesta on Monday. During her funeral the tears I’d held back for so long finally came, abundant, bittersweet. The poison that was still in my heart (not as much as I thought there would be) was washed out by those tears. I felt waves of forgiveness come over me and go back to her as I gazed at her casket through the tears. I still missed her after all these years, but I realize that now she is beyond the limits of time and space, so in some way, she is with me again.

Ever since I came to Italy, my aunt, who had no children, had started hinting that she wanted me to take care of her when she got too old to handle things on her own. I was only 23 the first time she said that to me and I must admit it terrified me, because of the responsibility this entailed. It didn’t help that my aunt was very demanding and I was only a spineless jellyfish with no experience and who did not know how to say NO. When she and Zio got too old to fend for themselves we decided to have them come to live at my mom’s place next door to my house, which in reality was a part of my grandmother’s (zia E’s sister) home that had been split up between my mom and her two sisters. She was an integral part of our lives from October of 92 until October of 97 when she went to live in Milan with her sister.

I guess I should explain that extended families are quite common in our area of Italy. At one time, there were 4 generations of my husband’s family living under one roof. Back then, our home was divided into 3 living quarters: a 2 bedroom apartment for us, a one bedroom apartment for my inlaws, and a bedroom, stairway and bath room for my husband’s grandparents who shared our floor with us but had a separate entrance. My in-laws built this house one room at a time, starting with the oldest part which dated back to the late 1700’s. So here we were, all living under one roof, leading separate enough lives, although there were (and still are) frequent invasions of each other’s privacy because we do not lock the doors leading to each other’s apartments. So if I run out of sugar or soda, and it’s too late to go to the store, my kids ‘raid’ their grandma’s cupboard or fridge. And my mother in law (although her husband would never think of doing this) feels free to come up whenever she wants, on her TIPTOES mind you! You have no idea how many times she has sneaked up on me and I ended up dropping the eggs or whatever…There have also been some embarrassing moments…but I diverge…

In any case, I have to admit it wasn’t easy. Not at all. But that’s the way it was and is, so I ended up accepting it to save my sanity. It does have its advantages…she hangs out my clothes, will load the dishwasher if I don’t have time before I go to work. On the other hand, I take her to the doctor’s (she’s a hypochondriac, so you can imagine…) and to visit family and friends who live out of town, and other things. My father in law is a very sweet man. And he is great for my boys. He is writing his memoirs about the war and his childhood and is leaving this wonderful heritage to his grandchildren.

When my husband’s grandparents got sick (first Nonna Fiora, bedridden for 3 years and then Nonno Giovanni, bedridden for 3 months), my mother in law took care of them. They rarely spent any time in the hospital and were very well cared for, although this continuous assistance took its toll on my mother in law. However, the positive thing was that my children interacted with everyone very well and were given a wonderful example of selflessness and sacrifice. I used to watch them on Sunday afternoons so my m-in-l could get out for a bit.

A couple of months after my aunt and uncle came to live at my mom’s place, her husband became ill. He was confused and irascible. My aunt would not accept that he needed special care that neither she nor I could give him, because I was pregnant and she was too frail. The stressful situation got me hospitalized for a week just before Christmas. The doctor’s orders when I went home were to avoid stress, so I tried to limit my visits to my aunt. I saw her on Christmas and then I went on New Years Day. But I skipped her birthday, December 29th. When I went over on Jan 1, she verbally attacked me when I walked in the door. Let’s just say I didn’t take that very well…

A couple days later zio developed pneumonia and ended up in the hospital. Zia demanded that we buy him a hospital bed and bring him home as soon as he got better. We did what she asked, got the bed set up, but were very worried. When zio got better, my husband went to the hospital to pick him up, but miraculously the doctors told him he could not be sent home because he had a fever of 101°. This fever lasted a week and on January 27th, he died. The Lord had taken matters into His own hands. Zia was devastated but she realized that it was God’s doing and resigned herself to His will. That was another miracle.

Lorenzo was born 3 weeks later and the first person to come and visit me was Zia. One day, about 2 months later, as Zia held Lorenzo in her arms, she looked at me and said, “You know, I was the first person to come and visit you because I needed to make sure the baby was ok. I was afraid I had caused him some kind of damage.” That’s when we began having a real relationship. She was an extremely intelligent person, and we talked about everything. She was very interested in religion and I would read pages of St. Theresa of Lisieux’s diary or Maria Valtorta’s writings aloud to her. She was good company, but she could not accept that she was living in my house. She had always considered herself of a higher caste than my husband’s family. She was an artisan and they were farmers. She could not adapt, and wanted to go back to my mother’s apartment. But she kept getting sick from going back and forth to have meals with me. I couldn’t take care of two houses and it was best she spend the evenings with us in front of the fireplace and then go right to bed without going outside. Zia left my house in December of 97, saying she wanted to spend some time with her sister. She never came back.

The Gospel reading on the day of her funeral was Matthew 10:42 :
“And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water
because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you,
he will by no means lose his reward."

Save the Lebanese Civilians-Salvare i Civili Libanesi

2006-07-19T20:20:00.000+02:00

Sign the petition here

It's in 4 languages

Firmate la petizione qui
E' scritta in 4 lingue

Sorrowful Moment

2006-07-16T20:45:00.000+02:00

Last night at 1:20 am I got a phone call from my cousin telling me our great aunt had passed away. 'Zia Ernesta' was 100 years old. She lived with me for about 5 years (extended families are common here and I will be posting about this soon) and then 'things' happened, like my brother's death and her deciding to leave me to go live with her sister (who had also reached 100 years of age before passing away) and my cousin.
I've never been able to understand what happened, some ugly accusations (not by her) were going on and we were estranged for a while. It was awful for me, I felt so isolated, especially in the wake of Mario's death!
After a couple of years I decided to start going to visit them again, to try to put the past behind us and re-establish some kind of relationship (in particular with my cousin), even though we never clarified matters. She used to always say, when I could be alone with her, 'accept this mortification'. I did. Now she's gone. I'm so glad I went to visit her last Friday. I brought her some melons and tomatoes from my garden. My cousin said she enjoyed the melon very much.

She was an artist, just like her brother Joe , only she embroidered her intricate designs on sheets, pillowcases, linen towels and tablecloths. She had an artist's temperament and at times was incredibly self-centered, as many artists can be. She had no diseases, her mind was clear as a whistle and she was a feisty one at times. Like the time I ended up in the hospital, almost losing my baby because she had gotten me so upset. She had never spent a day in a hospital. She took only some vitamins and some blood pressure drops (every other day). She prayed Jesus all her life for a good death. He listened.

Now she is with God and knows everything I am feeling. She knows that I did my best while she lived with me. She knows that even though we had our differences, I loved her. And in her own peculiar way I know she loved me.

Desert Dreamer

2006-07-15T10:27:00.000+02:00

A visit here will be worth your while.

Prayers for a Person in Need

2006-07-15T10:11:00.000+02:00

Friends, there is a person in need of comfort and prayers here.

I've experienced that same devastating loss. Please let's not leave this sister alone.

A Whipped Cream Cloud

2006-07-14T18:20:00.000+02:00

Jan. 7 2005
Last night Lorenzo begged me not to send him back to school today, after his long Christmas vacation (schools are traditionally closed until the feast of the Epiphany here in Italy). He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve decided to grant him this one more day, because his anxiety reminded me so much of my childhood anguish at the thought of going back to school, especially after Christmas vacation, especially if we had spent our vacation at Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe’s house in New Jersey, right across the river from NYC.

That house was an oasis of happiness for me and my siblings. We used to go there for weekends and vacations. Uncle Joe was my grandmother’s brother, the only relative my mom had within a 2 hour drive. Lorenzo’s dilemma brought back a rush of good memories and I now find myself going back on the wings of time to those days of serenity.

Aunt Mary was more a grandmother to me than an aunt. She loved me dearly; she took care of me and spoiled me just a little, but she wouldn’t disdain scolding me if necessary. She had an old Cape Cod with lots of trees around it, in a nice neighborhood. Her home was small, as cape cods usually are, but in my memories it was a mansion. The house was full of neat things, like cast iron sculptures and decorations made by my uncle, who was truly an artist in his field. I remember the archway between the living room and the entranceway, with its intricately fashioned cascade of flowers and grapevines. So fragile and delicate was the design, it was similar to the embroidery work done by his sisters back in Italy.

I was convinced the house was inhabited by ghosts. The floors, doors, stairs and even the walls seemed to come alive, especially at night when every thump and creak was amplified by the silence of our repose. I used to sleep in Aunt Mary’s room, a sort of back-bedroom and sewing room with two single beds. I never thought much about it, but I realize now that aunt Mary and Uncle Joe didn’t sleep together. Come to think of it they were not very compatible. He was stern and very mean looking, whereas aunt Mary was unique and always a lot of fun. She had grayish hair cut in a short bob with bangs. I think she used to cut it herself because her bangs were vaguely similar to mine after she would get her hands on me. One of our ‘rituals’ the day after arriving was to cut my bangs, which to her mind were always much too long. “They hide your lovely eyes, dear”, she would say. So snip snip, off they were in an instant, but the results were awful! They were always too short and slanted at an awkward angle that would range between 15 and 45°!

All Aunt Mary’s windows were dressed in venetian blinds and lacy curtains, so at night the shadows of the trees dancing in the breeze would be magnified and projected onto the walls, adding to the already haunted atmosphere. The bedroom was populated by a couple of headless and limbless tailor’s mannequins, that would come to life in the shadows as I would bury myself further under the sheets, my eyes peeping out, wide as saucers. I was always uneasy at night, especially when Aunt Mary would come to bed, because I knew that after a few minutes she would start snoring like a bear in hibernation. Three, two, one….GROWL! But it was more a scary movie kind of fright, like when you know it isn’t for real. I knew full well how to distinguish real fear from apprehension…

My bed didn’t have a mattress- it was a linen sack full of goose down, a whipped cream cloud that would puff up and deflate, taking on the shape of my body as I would dive into it. I would end up almost enveloped by it, as it would come up around my sides. It was a warm nest, another safe haven to conceal myself in, even if for just a short time.

I’m sure you all have memories like this that you can pull out of your treasure chest of reminiscences when you feel tired or sad. It’s a good feeling, like returning to the womb, where we were nurtured before entering this complicated world.

The womb is the place where we lived in perfect symbiosis with our mothers, the safe passage that led us away from heaven and towards the beginning of the adventure of life. A place where there was no melancholy longing for God because we were still completely His, not yet part of the world.

From the moment we are born, the mysterious, wistful memory of our unity with God is imprinted in our souls. It is that restlessness that rises from the deepest recesses of our hearts and can be soothed only if we become like children, always searching, open to the signs of God’s presence in our lives… like when he wraps us in a whipped cream cloud of tenderness.

Carlo Carretto sulla Chiesa

2006-07-12T17:37:00.000+02:00

Quanto sei contestabile, Chiesa, eppure quanto ti amo! Quanto mi hai fatto soffrire, eppure quanto a te devo! Vorrei vederti distrutta, eppure ho bisogno della tua presenza. Mi hai dato tanti scandali, eppure mi hai fatto capire la santità! Nulla ho visto al mondo di più oscurantista, più compresso, più falso e nulla ho toccato di più puro, di più generoso, di più bello. Quante volte ho avuto la voglia di sbatterti in faccia la porte della mia anima, quante volte ho pregato di poter morire tra le tue braccia sicure. No, non posso liberarmi di te, perché sono te, pur non essendo completamente te. E poi, dove andrei? A costruirne un'altra? Ma non potrò costruirla se non con gli stessi difetti, perché sono i miei che porto dentro. E se la costruirò, sarà la mia Chiesa, non più quella di Cristo. Sono abbastanza vecchio per capire che non sono migliore degli altri.

...La Chiesa ha il potere di darmi la santità ed è fatta tutta quanta, dal primo all'ultimo, di soli peccatori, e che peccatori! Ha la fede onnipotente e invincibile di rinnovare il mistero eucaristico, ed è composta di uomini deboli che brancolano nel buio e che si battono ogni giorno contro la tentazione di perdere la fede. Porta un messaggio di pura trasparenza ed è incarnata in una pasta sporca, come è sporco il mondo. Parla della dolcezza del suo Maestro, della sua non-violenza, e nella storia ha mandato eserciti a sbudellare infedeli e torturare eresiarchi. Trasmette un messaggio di evangelica povertà, e non fa che cercare denaro e alleanze con i potenti. Coloro che sognano cose diverse da questa realtà non fanno che perdere tempo e ricominciare sempre da capo. E in più dimostrano di non aver capito l'uomo. Perché quello è l'uomo, proprio come lo vede visibile la Chiesa, nella sua cattiveria e nello stesso tempo nel suo coraggio invincibile che la fede in Cristo gli ha dato e la carità che il Cristo gli fa vivere. Quando ero giovane non capivo perché Gesù, nonostante il rinnegamento di Pietro, lo volle capo, suo successore, primo Papa- Ora non mi stupisco più e comprendo sempre meglio che avere fondato la Chiesa sulla tomba di un traditore, (…) era un avvertimento continuo per mantenere ognuno di noi nella umiltà e nella coscienza della propria fragilità. (…) E poi cosa contano le pietre? Ciò che conta è la promessa di Cristo, ciò che conta è il cemento che unisce le pietre, che è lo Spirito Santo. Solo lo Spirito Santo è capace di fare la Chiesa con delle pietre mai tagliate come siamo noi!...

E il mistero sta qui. Questo impasto di bene e di male, di grandezza e di miseria, di santità e di peccato che è la Chiesa, in fondo sono io...(…) Ognuno di noi può sentire che ciò che passa nel rapporto Dio-Chiesa è qualcosa che ci appartiene nell'intimo. (…). A Ognuno di noi Dio dice come alla Chiesa: "Io ti farò mia sposa per sempre" (Osea 2, 21), ma nello stesso tempo ci ricorda la nostra realtà: "La tua impurità è come la ruggine. Ho cercato di toglierla, fatica sprecata! E' così abbondante che non va via nemmeno col fuoco" (Ezechiele24,12). Ma poi c'è ancora un'altra cosa che forse è più bella. Lo Spirito Santo, che è l'Amore, è capace di vederci santi, immacolati, belli, anche se vestiti da mascalzoni e adulteri. (…) E' come se il male non avesse potuto toccare la profondità più intima dell'uomo. (…) Ecco, ci chiama "vergini" anche quando siamo di ritorno dall'ennesima prostituzione nel corpo, nello spirito e nel cuore. In questo, Dio è veramente Dio, cioè l'unico capace di fare le "cose nuove". Perché non m'importa tanto che Lui faccia i cieli e la terra nuovi, è più necessario che faccia "nuovi" i nostri cuori. E questo è il lavoro di Cristo. E questo è l'ambiente divino della Chiesa...

Calling all Contemplatives!

2006-07-11T22:44:00.000+02:00

Some strange happenings are going on over at Kathryn Therese's Exhaling blog. Besides reading some beautiful poetry and learning some wonderful things about faith and love, you may want to consider joining the "Cospirazione delle Contemplative", (it's in Italian because it sounds better, so they say.) Anyone who wants to join should bring something edible or drinkable, and be prepared to LOL (not while drinking, you may end up spewing it all over your computer!). Many thanks to Honora for her patient help in showing me the ropes of linking and hypertexting! Grazie mille!

Carlo Carretto on the Church

2006-07-11T18:55:00.000+02:00

"How baffling you are, oh Church, and yet how I love you! How you have made me suffer, and yet how much I owe you! I would like to see you destroyed, and yet I need your presence. You have given me so much scandal and yet you have made me understand what sanctity is. I have seen nothing in the world more devoted to obscurity, more compromised, more false, and yet I have touched nothing more pure, more generous, more beautiful. How often I have wanted to shut the doors of my soul in your face, and how often I have prayed to die in the safety of your arms. No, I cannot free myself from you, because I am you, though not completely. And besides, where would I go? Would I establish another? I would not be able to establish it without the same faults, for they are the same faults I carry in me. And if I did establish another, it would be my Church, not the Church of Christ. I am old enough to know that I am no better than anyone else. "(…)

"The Church has the power to make me holy but it is made up, from the first to the last, only of sinners. And what sinners! It has the omnipotent and invincible power to renew the Miracle of the Eucharist, but is made up of men who are stumbling in the dark, who fight every day against the temptation of losing their faith. It brings a message of pure transparency but it is incarnated in slime, such is the substance of the world. It speaks of the sweetness of its Master, of its non-violence, but there was a time in history when it sent out its armies to disembowel the infidels and torture the heretics. It proclaims the message of evangelical poverty, and yet it does nothing but look for money and alliances with the powerful. "

"Those who dream of something different from this are wasting their time and have to rethink it all. And this proves that they do not understand humanity. Because this is humanity, made visible by the Church, with all its flaws and its invincible courage, with the Faith that Christ has given it and with the love that Christ showers on it. When I was young, I did not understand why Jesus chose Peter as his successor, the first Pope, even though he abandoned Him. Now I am no longer surprised and I understand that by founding his church on the tomb of a traitor(…)He was warning each of us to remain humble, by making us aware of our fragility. (…) And what are bricks worth anyway? What matters is the promise of Christ, what matters is the cement that unites the bricks, which is the Holy Spirit. Only the Holy Spirit is capable of building the church with such poorly moulded bricks as are we. "

"And that is where the mystery lies. This mixture of good and bad, of greatness and misery, of holiness and sin that makes up the church…this in reality am I .(…) The deep bond between God and His Church, is an intimate part of each one of us. (…)To each of us God says, as he says to his church, “And I will betroth you to me forever” (Hosea 2,21). But at the same time he reminds us of reality: “Your lewdness is like rust. I have tried to remove it in vain. There is so much that not even a flame will take it away (Ezechiel 24, 12)” But then there is even something more beautiful. The Holy Spirit who is Love, sees us as holy, immaculate, beautiful under our guises of thieves and adulterers. (…) It’s as if evil cannot touch the deepest part of mankind." (FMN’s comment: again, Merton’s “Still Point”).

"He re-establishes our virginity no matter how many times we have prostituted our bodies, spirits and hearts. In this, God is truly God, the only one who can ‘make everything new again’. It is not so important that He will renew heaven and earth. What is most important is that He will renew our hearts. This is Christ’s work. This is the divine Spirit of the Church. "

Sui Sogni

2006-07-09T18:42:00.000+02:00

I miei sogni sono sempre stati vividi, rigorosamente in tecnicolor e certe volte, troppo veri. Io credo che i sogni rivelino davvero i nostri senitmenti, paure, amori più profondi. Quando sogniamo ci togliamo la maschera e lasciamo volare libere le nostre anime.

Quando i miei sogni diventano incubi, quando mi trovo ad affrontare i demoni che si nascondono negli angoli più bui del mio cuore, provo un terrore profondo, ma allo stesso tempo la mia forza si rivela. Più d'una volta ho combattuto contro il diavolo nei miei sogni, e semplicemente dicendo con voce sicura 'Ave Maria, piena di Grazia', egli si dileguava. Magari fosse così semplice nella realtà! Ma forse lo sarebbe, se io avessi una tale fede e fiducia e fortezza come quelle che possiedo nei miei sogni. E' solo un sogno, dico, ma perchè non dovrei credere che sia possibile?

Perchè non dovrei credere che il mio cuore è sincero e che la mia fede non è 'di facciata', quando anche nei momenti inconsci di bisogno, io prego? Perchè non dovrei credere che quando sogno di tendere le mani, desiderando con tutta me stessa di ricevere l'Eucaristia, questo significa che nel profondo, io HO quella fede che invece sembra svanire...quando sono sveglia, e a Messa...e ricevo Gesù nel mio cuore tiepido e distratto?

Una volta ho sognato la Madonna del Rosario. Avevo solo 5 o 6 anni e me lo ricordo come fosse ieri. Mentre camminavo sentii una voce femminile chiamarmi dall'alto. Alzai lo sguardo e eccola lì, con Gesù Bambino in braccio. Era come la buona vicina di casa che si affaccia alla finestra del salotto per guardare la bambina che gioca all'angolo della strada. Mi buttai in ginocchio, meravigliata, contemplando la bellezza indescrivibile di quella visione.

"Vuoi venire a vedere com'è il Paradiso? Puoi giocare con Gesù", mi disse. "Oh, sì" risposi felicemente...ma subito mi bloccai...Oh no!, pensai tra me e me, significa che devo morire?... Allora aggiunsi subito, "Mi lascerai tornare dalla mia mamma dopo?"--

"Ma certo bambina mia! Vieni!" rispose lei, con un cenno della mano, mentre il bambino Gesù tendeva le braccia verso di me, gioioso.

Il mio cuore batteva all'impazzata mentre salivo verso quello specchio di cielo tra le nubi soffici , ma subito mi resi conto che, un volta visto il Cielo, probabilmente non avrei più desiderato tornare. Iniziai a provare paura e tristezza... e mi svegliai. Ma fino ad oggi, ricordo ancora il la sensazione di aspettativa e gioia che provavo mentre il sogno si dipanava. Era solo un sogno, ma si è trattato di un dono necessario per un cuore già troppo provato.

On Dreams

2006-07-09T17:07:00.000+02:00

My dreams have always been vivid, strictly in technicolor and at times, all too real. I believe that dreams truly reveal our deepest wishes, or fears, or loves. When we dream we take off our masks and let our souls free to fly. When my dreams turn to nightmares, when I find myself facing the demons that lurk in the darkest corners of my heart, I feel a deep terror, but at the same time my unwavering strength is revealed to me.More than once I've battled with the devil in my dreams, and simply by saying 'Ave Maria, piena di Grazia', he would vanish. Would that it could be so simple in reality! But maybe it would be, if I had such faith and trust and fortitude as I possess in my dreams.

It's only a dream I say, but why should I not believe it is possible? Why should I not believe that my heart is true, that my faith is not a facade, when even in my subconscious moments of need, I pray?Why should I not believe that when I dream of extending my hands, desiring with my whole being to receive the Eucharist, it means that deep down I do have that faith that seems to vanish... when I am awake and at Mass... and I receive Jesus into my tepid, distracted heart?

I once dreamt of Our Lady of the Rosary. I was only 5 or 6 but I remember it as if it were yesterday. I heard a woman call my name from above. I looked up and there she was, with the Child Jesus in her arms, looking down as if she were a kind neighbor, looking out of her livingroom window at the little girl standing on the corner. I fell to my knees in wonder, contemplating the indescribable beauty of that vision."Would you like to come and see what heaven is like? You can come and play with Jesus", said she. "Oh, yes" I chirped happily... but I immediately bit my tongue... Oh no!, I thought to myself, what if that means I'm going to die?... So I quickly added , "Will you let me come back to my mommy afterwards?" -"Of course my child. Come!" she replied, beckoning to me, as the toddler Jesus reached out to me with joy.

My heart started racing as I began rising towards that patch of blue amidst the billowy clouds, and I realized that once I saw heaven, I probably would not want to come back. I began to feel afraid and sad... and I woke up. But to this day I still remember the exhilarating sense of anticipation and joy I felt as my dream unfolded. It was just a dream, but it was a much needed gift for an already too tested heart.

Preghiera Speciale

2006-07-05T23:28:00.000+02:00

“Signore, quando vieni nella Tua gloria,

non ricordarti solo degli uomini di buona volontà;

ricordati anche degli uomini di cattiva volontà.

E nel Giorno del Giudizio, non ricordarti solo della crudeltà,

la tortura e la violenza che hanno praticato:

ricordati anche dei frutti che abbiamo prodotto noi

a causa di ciò che ci hanno fatto.

Ricordati della pazienza, il coraggio, la solidarità,

l'umiltà, la grandezza di spirito e la fedeltà

che i nostri torturatori hanno suscitato nelle nostre anime.

"Signore, fa che i frutti che noi produciamo possano servire

a salvare le anime degli uomini di cattiva volontà".

Ho trovato questa preghiera in Internet e l'ho copiato subito perchè esprime perfettamente una cosa in cui credevo già ma che non avevo ancora avuto il coraggio di esprimere. Non so chi l'abbia scritto, era firmato solo "Preghiera di un sopravvissuto ad un campo di concentramento."

Special Prayer

2006-07-05T23:20:00.000+02:00

“Lord: when You come in Your glory,
do not remember just the men of good will;
remember also the men of bad will.
And on Judgement Day,
do not only remember the cruelty,
torture and violence that they practiced:
remember too the fruits
that we produced because of what they did to us.
Remember the patience, courage, solidarity,
humility, grandeur of spirit and fidelity
that our torturers aroused in our souls.

“Lord, grant that the fruits we produce
may serve to save the souls of men of bad will.”

I found this prayer on the Internet and copied it immediately because it perfectly expressed something I had come to believe and which I had not dared yet express. I don't know who wrote it, it was signed "Prayer written by a concentration camp survivor ".

European Humor

2006-07-02T22:38:00.000+02:00

The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5- year phase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English".

In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy.

The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.

Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.

Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.

By the 4th yer peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl.

Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza.

Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

If zis mad you smil, pleas pas on to oza pepl....:))

Fiori Calpestati

2006-07-01T11:21:00.000+02:00

Dedicata a Stacy 7 anni e Nathalie 10 anni, due sorelle, due bellissimi fiori strappati da questo mondo come erbaccia, in Belgio qualche giorno fa. Ma quando finirà?

IL MIO DONO

Sono qui, mio Dio, Mi cercavi?.
Cosa volevi da me? Non ho nulla da darti.
Ciò che avevo di più prezioso mi è stato rubato
e non ho più nulla in mano, ma...
La mia anima ferita sanguina ancora
e il mio cuore non smette di piangere
ciò che la bambina ha perduto.
Non ho nulla di meritevole da donarti oggi,
ma chiedo a te, il Signore del tempo e della vita,
di poter tornare indietro,
per donarti la mia innocenza e le mie ferite,
per donarti le mie lacrime di allora e soprattutto quelle di oggi.
Ti dono la mia solitudine dell’infanzia,
della mia adolescenza e della mia vita di adulta.
Ti dono le mie incongruenze e le mie debolezze,
le mie angosce,
il senso di vulnerabilità e di inadeguatezza
che mi accompagnano da sempre.
Ti chiedo solo questo: Guariscimi Gesù, tu che puoi tutto!
Solleva il mio cuore dall’oppressione

e dalla tentazione della disperazione,
e al loro posto dammi la gioia di sapere che tu mi ami,
che tu mi hai sempre amato.
Dimmi che tu eri lì insieme a me durante il mio supplizio,
che mi tenevi per mano,
che piangevi al mio fianco.
Dimmi che hai letto ogni parola
scritta e non scritta sul muro della mia stanza,
e nello scrigno del mio cuore.

Soprattutto, dammi la forza di amarmi,

aiutami a spezzare le catene che mi legano

in modo che possa diventare ME STESSA,

e che possa conoscerti ed amarti di più!

Questa poesia è stata scritta sulla base di una riflessione della poetessa francese Marie Noel intitolata 'Lo Straccivendolo'. La poetessa dice a Gesù che non ha nulla da dargli tranne la sua miseria, e lui risponde "allora dammi la tua miseria". "E cosa ci farai? E' come se tu fossi uno straccivendolo, che cosa ci vuoi fare?" "Il Regno dei Cieli" risponde Lui.

Two Fallen Flowers

2006-07-01T11:06:00.000+02:00

Dedicated to Stacy, age 7 and Nathalie, age 10, sisters. Two beautiful flowers pulled out of this world as if they were weeds, in Belgium a few days ago. Will it ever stop?

ALL I CAN GIVE

Here I am, my God. Were you looking for me?
Do you need something ?
My most precious possession was stolen from me
and I have nothing left to give, except....
My wounded soul is still bleeding
and my heart just can't stop grieving
the child I lost so long ago.
So I have no good deeds to offer you today,
but I ask you, Lord, who sacrificed your life for me,
to let me go back in time,
so I can offer you my innocence before they snatched it away
so I can give you my wounds,
the tears I cried then and
the tears I still weep.
I offer you my loneliness as a child,
as an adolescent and as an adult.
I offer you my inconsistencies and weaknesses,
my anxiety,
the feeling of vulnerability and inadequacy
that have long been my close companions.
This is all I can give you now.
I ask you only this one thing Lord: Heal me!
Remove the lead from my heart,
and the desperation,
and in their place give me the joy of knowing you love me,
and that you always have.
Tell me you were there while those horrible things were being done to me,
that you were holding my hand
and that you were crying with me.
Tell me that you read every word I scrawled on my bedroom wall
and the ones I haven't had the courage to express,
that are still locked away in my heart!
Most of all, give me the strength to love myself,
to help me break the chains that tie me down,
so that I may become ME

and that I may come to know and love you more.

This poem is based on a reflection written by the French poet Marie Noel, entitiled in Italian 'Lo Straccivendolo'. I don't know what the French term would be for that. It means 'the rag collector' or something like that. The poet tells Jesus she has nothing to give except her misery and He replies "give me your misery". "And what are you going to do with that? It's as if you are gathering rags, to do what? "To build the Kingdom of Heaven" He replied.

Mary's Hope - La Speranza di Maria

2006-07-01T10:19:00.000+02:00

Il brano che segue proviene dalla home page di Mary's Hope, un sito web molto speciale che potete raggiungere attraverso il link sul mio blogroll qui a destra. Dato che le statistiche parlano chiaro, Io spero che eventuali sopravvissuti o loro amici che visiteranno il mio blog, passeranno parola che esiste un'organizzazione di ispirazione cristiana che sta affrontando gli abusi sessuali dal punto di vista spirituale.
Altri scrittori ed esperti sono stati fondamentali per me, e scriverò qualcosa su di loro molto presto, ma il sito "Mary's Hope" my ha attratto in maniera particolare, perche Mary è: 'Maria di Nazareth, simbolo di tutte le mamme, che pregano che i loro figli si sentano amati da Dio'. Spero che Mary's Hope Workshops sarà la risposta alle preghiere di troppi uomini e donne che hanno vissuto questo tipo di trauma.

Oltre ad offrire workshop e materiale di lettura per gli sopravvissuti, un aspetto importante della loro organizzazione sono i workshop per operatori pastorali e il clero. Questo è un aspetto da non prendere alla leggera. Molte vittime cercano qualcuno che possa aiutarle a ristabilire il loro rapporto con Dio, e naturalmente cercano tra il clero, i religiosi e le religiose. Spesso essi non sanno come gestire le particolari esigenze e situazioni contingenti dei sopravvissuti (parlo per esperienza), e i danni possono essere veramente irreparabili. Inoltre, gli scandali che hanno investito i leader religiosi di praticamente tutte le denominazioni, non solo negli USA, ha solo peggiorato la situazione.

Sono sicura che molti leader religiosi hanno iniziato ad affrontare seriamente questo problema, di cui la guarigione spirituale dei sopravvissuti e la compartecipazione e il sostegno delle communità di appartenenza sono gli aspetti più salienti, e sono sicura che troveranno un valido aiuto in Mary's Hope Workshops. Avviso che il sito è in inglese, ma se qualcuno è interessato, potrei vedere di tradurre qualcosa.

Più di uno su tre donne e uno su cinque uomini sono sopravvissuti ad abusi in età infantile-psicologici, fisici, emotivi, o sessuali. Tutti gli abusi dell'infanzia lasciano delle ferite profonde allo spirito. Tali abusi possono distruggere il senso di completezza del bambino e il suo rapporto con Dio.
Se non vengono curate, queste ferite spirituali si possono infettare ed intensificare, lasciando l'adulto con un dolore profondo e sentimenti diimpotenza e disperazione. Gli abusi dell'infanzia possono lasciare delle ferite sull'anima di un bambino, che possono influenzare il suo modo di vedere se stesso in rapporto al Creatore.
Lasciate senza cure, queste ferite possono impedire la maturazione della fede del bambino e soprattutto, il rapporto dell'adulto con il suo creatore. Le esigenze spirituali delle vittima in passato sono state trascurate o dimenticate dalla nostra società.
Mary's Hope Workshops è dedicato alla formazione del pubblico riguardo alle ferite spiritualidegli abusi dell'infanzia, e offrono workshop per facilitare la guarigione di quelle ferite."

Mary's Hope

2006-07-01T09:16:00.000+02:00

The quote below is from the home page of Mary's Hope, a very special website that you can reach through the link on my blogroll. Since the statistics speak very clearly, I am hoping that any survivors or friends of survivors who visit my blog will pass the word that there is a Christian based organization that is addressing sexual abuse from the spiritual point of view.

Other writers and experts have been fundamental for me, and I will be posting about some of them soon, but the site "Mary's Hope" has a special appeal to me, because Mary is: 'Mary of Nazareth who symbolizes all loving mothers – who would pray that their children would feel beloved of God'. Hopefully Mary's Hope Workshops will be an answer to many prayers for all too many men and women who have been through this ordeal.

Besides offering workshops and reading material for survivors, an important aspect of their organization is their workshops for health and pastoral care providers and the clergy. This is not a topic to be taken lightly. Many victims search for someone who can help them re-establish their relationship with God, and they naturally search among the clergy and the religious. Often these spiritual care providers are not equipped to handle the special needs of survivors, (I speak from experience) and the damage can be truly irreparable. Furthermore, the scandals involving leaders of practically every religious denomination (not only in the US) has only made things more difficult.

I'm sure that religious leaders everywhere have begun to seriously address this issue, of which the spiritual healing of the survivors and the participation and support of the faith communities are the most important aspects, and I'm sure they will find important help in Mary's Hope Workshops.

"More than one out of three women and one out of five men are survivors of profound childhood abuses - psychological, physical, emotional, or sexual.
All profound childhood abuse leaves the spirit wounded. Such abuse can destroy the child’s sense of wholeness and connectedness to God. Unhealed, these spiritual wounds can fester and intensify leaving the adult with deep pain and feelings of powerlessness and hopelessness. Profound childhood abuse can leave spiritual wounds upon the soul of a child that may impact their view of themselves and their creator. Left untreated these wounds will impede the faith development of the child and ultimately the relationship of the adult with the creator.
The spiritual needs of victims have in the past been overlooked or forgotten by our society. Mary’s Hope Workshops is dedicated to educating the public about the spiritual wounds left in the wake of profound childhood abuses, and offering workshops to help facilitate the healing and recovery from those spiritual wounds."

Beyond the Horizon

2006-06-30T17:08:00.000+02:00

This is a view from the northern end of the portico that rises atop the bastion walls of the Basilica of St. Francis in Assisi. It's not open to tourists, only to students at the school of theology and of course, the friars. Last November I had the privelege of visiting this part of the monastery and the chapel where JP II celebrated privately with the friars. This has been my wallpaper since then...

Solo un Sogno?

2006-06-28T19:13:00.000+02:00

...Camminavo per una via polverosa di campagna, in un afoso pomeriggio d'estate, quando ho incontrato un frate vestito in maniera molto povera. Il suo abito e la sua stessa pelle erano immersi in una strana luce, tanto che il colore degli stracci che portava addosso aveva assunto una tonalità grigio-azzurra.

Era un ragazzo molto giovane, e ho intuito subito che si trattava di san Francesco d'Assisi. Lui conduceva per mano un bambino malato, e mi ha chiesto un’ elemosina. Io cercavo qualcosa da dargli ma non avevo niente, allora sono passati oltre, precedendomi di qualche passo sulla via. Io mi sentivo mortificata perchè non gli avevo dato niente, e li ho seguiti perchè volevo dirgli che me ne rammaricavo.

Quando si è accorto che l’avevo seguito, lui si è fermato, e girandosi, mi guardava negli occhi mentre diceva sorridendo: "Non ti preoccupare. Quando non puoi dare, prega. La Provvidenza penserà a noi."

All'improvviso eravamo al fresco, sotto un pergolato ricoperto con grappoli di fiori bianchi, dai quali gocciolava dell'acqua fresca. San Francesco e il suo compagno, tirando indietro la testa, bevevano con gusto, lasciando che l’acqua gli cadesse direttamente in bocca. Hanno invitato anche me a bere di quell' acqua. Aveva il sapore dolce del miele, ma era spumeggiante ed indescrivibilmente rinfrescante. Me sembrava di non voler smettere mai di berla.

Quando ho finito, San Francesco mi ha parlato di nuovo, dicendo "bisogna imparare a gustare con riconoscenza ciò che Dio ci manda con la Sua Provvidenza. La Provvidenza Divina è un dono”, continuò, “ma è anche frutto del nostro lavoro, della nostra preghiera e della nostra fiducia in Dio."

Just a Dream?

2006-06-28T18:50:00.000+02:00

...I was walking down a dusty country road on a hot, humid summer afternoon, when I encountered a poor friar. His robe and his whole body were immersed in a strange light, so much so that the rags he was wearing had taken on a greyish blue tone.

He was a very young man, and I realize right away that it was Saint Francis of Assisi. He was walking hand in hand with a sickly child and he asked me for an offering. I looked for something to give him but I had nothing, so they thanked me anyway and continued walking. I immediately decided to follow them because I felt ashamed that I didn’t give them anything, and I wanted to tell them I was sorry.

When he realized I was a few steps behind him, he stopped and turned around. He looked right into my eyes and upon hearing my stammered apology, he said, smiling: “Don’t worry about it. When you can’t offer anything, pray. Divine Providence will take care of us.”

Suddenly we were in a cool, shady place, under a trellis covered with dangling white flowers that dripped with fresh, cool water. Saint Francis and his companion tipped their heads back and drank with great pleasure, letting the water just drip into their mouths. They invited me to drink of that water too. It tasted like sweet honey but it was cool and indescribably refreshing. I felt like I could drink it forever.

When I finished St. Francis spoke to me again: “we must learn to gratefully partake and enjoy the gifts God gives us through His Providence. Divine Providence is a gift”, he continued, “but it is also the fruit of our labor, of our prayer and of our trust in God.”

La Gioia della Famiglia

2006-06-19T22:07:00.000+02:00

Circa 4 anni fa si è rotta la tv che avevamo in cucina. Mi sono opposta alla proposta della famiglia di comprarne una nuova. Da allora, pranzo e cena sono divenuti degli spazi di Zero TV, trasformandosi in 'tempo di qualità'. Non mi pentirò mai di questa scelta.

The Joys of Family Life

2006-06-19T22:00:00.000+02:00

About 4 years ago the tv that was in our kitchen broke. I adamantly refused the family's bid to get a new one. Since then mealtime (1:00 'pranzo' and 8:00 'cena') is tv free, and has become total 'quality time'. I'll never regret this decision.

L'Angelo della Fermata del Bus

2006-06-18T17:07:00.000+02:00

I segreti del mio cuore
si schiudono e Tu
m’illumini sui segni
della Tua presenza
discreta,
e m’accorgo che eri li
sempre, e che non
mi avevi abbandonata.

Nelle mattine gelide
aspettavamo
il scuola bus giallo,
sbilenco,
ammucchiati insieme
come i bisonti
della grande prateria
per condividere il nostro calore.

E Tu ci inviavi
il Tuo angelo che,
mossa a pietà
ci invitava nel calore
della sua casa.

Era un ritorno
nel grembo
o in paradiso,
in quel luogo sicuro
dove nessun male
ci poteva toccare.

E lì trovavamo
il conforto e la forza
per affrontare
la giornata che,
come un ragno
aspettava.

Bus Stop Angel

2006-06-18T16:47:00.000+02:00

As I unlock the
secrets of my heart,
You illuminate me
to the signs of Your
discrete presence,
and I realize You
were there all the time
and you did not
abandon me.

On freezing cold mornings
we’d wait
for the lumbering
yellow school bus,
huddled close together
like a herd of bison
in the great plains,
to share our warmth.

And You would send
Your Angel
who would take pity
and welcome us
into the warmth
of her abode.

It was a return
to the womb,
or to heaven-
to that safe place
where no harm
could come to us.

And there we found the
comfort and strength
to face the day that,
spiderlike,
awaited.

Dio ha Bisogno del Nostro Aiuto

2006-06-17T19:21:00.000+02:00

"Cercherò di aiutarti affinché tu non venga distrutto dentro di me, ma a priori non posso promettere nulla. Una cosa, però, diventa sempre più evidente per me, e cioè che tu non puoi aiutare noi, ma che siamo noi a dover aiutare te, e in questo modo aiutiamo noi stessi.

L’unica cosa che possiamo salvare di questi tempi, e anche l’unica che veramente conti, è un piccolo pezzo di te in noi stessi, mio Dio. Forse possiamo anche contribuire a disseppellirti dai cuori devastati di altri uomini.

Sì, mio Dio, sembra che tu non possa far molto per modificare le circostanze attuali ma anch’esse fanno parte di questa vita."
Etty Hillesum

God Needs our Help

2006-06-17T19:12:00.000+02:00

"I will help you, my God, so that you will not fail in me, but I cannot guarantee anything beforehand. But this is becoming more clear to me: that you cannot help us, but we need to help you and by that we can help ourselves.
And the only thing that we can save in this time and the only thing that matters is that part of you in us, God. And perhaps we can also help to dig up that part of you in the shattered hearts of others.
Yes, my God, you seem not able to do much about the circumstances nowadays, they just belong to this life." Etty Hillesum

ITALIA vs USA

2006-06-17T15:07:00.000+02:00

Bene, è arrivato il grande giorno, Italia vs Usa. So che dovrei essere un pò divisa tra le due squadre, ma sinceramente, io tiferò Italia al 100%. Ho sorriso quando ho sentito il commento di un giocatore Americano, in cui diceva che le due squadre sono in guerra. Oh no! ho pensato, come tante altre persone. Quindi il poveretto è stato sommerso dalle proteste e critiche da ogni direzione! Forse non vorrà mai più essere intervistato! Tutti sono cosi iper-sensibili riguardo alle parole, si vorrebbe pensare che magari i nostri politci dovrebbero scegliere meglio le loro parole durante le conferenze stampa o le interviste?!

ITALY vs USA

2006-06-17T14:54:00.000+02:00

Well, today is the big day, Italy vs USA! I know I should be torn between the two teams, but I honestly will be cheering Italy 100%. I chuckled when I heard the comment by one American player, where he said that the two teams are at war. Oh, come on!, I thought, as did a lot of other people. So the poor guy was barraged by protests and criticism from every direction! He may never want to give an interview again!
Everybody is just so hyper-sensitive about words, you'd think maybe our politicians would think twice about choosing them well during press conferences or interviews?!

Piccole Onde nello Stagno

2006-06-15T12:15:00.000+02:00

Io credo che per ogni gesto di odio, ci sono molti più gesti d’amore che sostengono e danno speranza a questo mondo tormentato. Un atto di odio può causare uno tsunami che distrugge tutto, ma un atto d’amore può andare altrettanto lontano, ed è più simile alle onde concentriche che si muovono dal mezzo di uno stagno in cui hai appena tirato un sassolino. Le onde delicate non finiscono mai fino a quando non raggiungono la riva.

Ho appena ricevuto una lettera dalla figlia (Marta) di una donna (Alfia), che mi ha molto aiutata duranti i miei primi anni qui in Italia, quando ero una giovane sposa che non parlava quasi affatto l’italiano. Vivevo a Foligno, molto vicino ad Assisi in quel periodo, ed Alfia mi invitava a telefonare alla mia famiglia da casa sua, lasciandomi pagare un po’ alla volta in modo che mio marito non se ne accorgesse. Non che mio marito non mi avrebbe permesso di telefonare (!), ma non avevamo un telefono e dovevamo fare 30 km per andare al telefono pubblico dove si poteva telefonare all’estero.

Non avevo più sentito Marta dal giorno che mi ha telefonato nel 1996, per dirmi che la mamma era morta, quindi qualche settimana fa le ho scritto per parlarle dei bei ricordi che avevo di Alfia e di quanto fossero importanti i suoi gesti d’amore per me. Oggi un’amicizia è stata riallacciata, e ne sono molto felice.

Ripples in the pond

2006-06-15T11:45:00.000+02:00

I believe that for every act of hatred perpetrated, there are many more acts of love that sustain and give hope to this tormented world. An act of hatred can cause a tsunami that leaves destruction in its wake, but an act of love can go just as far, and is more like the concentric ripples that move away from the middle of a pond where you have just thrown a little stone. The gentle waves never die out until they reach the shore.
I just received a letter from the daughter (Marta) of a woman (Alfia) who helped me during my first years here in Italy, when I was a newlywed and hardly spoke a word of Italian. I lived in Foligno, very close to Assisi at the time and Alfia used to let me call my family from her phone, and let me pay for it a little at a time so my husband wouldn't notice. Not that my husband wouldn't have let me call (!), but we didn't have a phone back then and would have to travel 30 kms to go to the public phone office where we could make international calls.
I hadn't heard from Marta since she called me in 1996 to tell me her mother had died, so a few weeks ago I dropped her a line to tell her what fond memories I had of Alfia and how important her loving gestures were for me. Today a friendship has been re-connected and it feels wonderful.

Un Sassolino nello Stagno

2006-06-15T10:50:00.000+02:00

“Quando posiamo lo sguardo sulle corolle dei non-ti-scordar-di-me, simili ad occhi con il loro centro dorato, siamo rassicurati che gli occhi di Maria, la nostra madre spirituale nel cielo, sono sempre rivolti su di noi nelle nostre necessità.”

Questa è una domanda che mi sono sempre posta e che oso scrivere qui, non per rattristare o per essere blasfema, ma per condividerla e forse ricevere qualche risposta. La mia domanda è questa: come può essere così bello il paradiso se, come ci hanno insegnato da bambini, le anime del paradiso possono vederci? Forse è perchè vedono tutto, anche gli orrori più atroci, attraverso gli occhi di Dio, e perciò ne capiscono il senso? So che non ci sono risposte a questa domanda, chiamiamola semplicemente un sassolino nello stagno...

Come possono
i santi e le anime
del paradiso,
vivere nella pace di Dio,
indisturbati
da ciò che accade
su questa terra?

Cuore immacolata di Maria
tu eri solo una statua
sul pianerottolo
delle scale a scuola?
O mi guardavi
veramente,
mntre scendevo
verso gli inferi
dove si consumava
il mio sacrificio,
ammutolita dal silenzio imposto
trascinata giù
dalle catene della paura?

Non hai versato una lacrima
e non è stata la tua pace
disturbata da questo?

A Stone in the Pond

2006-06-15T10:00:00.000+02:00

"As we gaze upon the eye-like flowers of forget-me-nots, with their golden centers, we are quickened to reassurance that the eyes of Mary, our Spiritual Mother in heaven, are always turned upon us and our needs."

This is a question that's always been in the back of my mind and which I dare put down to words here, not to sadden anyone or to be blasphemous, but to share it and maybe get some feedback. My question is, how can paradise be so blissful if, as we were taught as children, the heavenly souls can and do see us? Is it because they see everything, even the most unspeakable horrors, through God's eyes, and understand the meaning of it all? I know there are no answers to this question, let's just call it a stone in the pond...

How can the saints
and souls of paradise,
live in God's peace,
undisturbed
by what transpires
here on earth?

Immaculate Heart of Mary
were you just a statue
on the landing of the
stairwell at school?
Or were you
really watching
as I would go down
to the dungeon
where my sacrifice
was consumed,
gagged
by imposed silence
dragged down
by the chains of fear?

Did you not
shed a tear
and was
your peace
not disturbed
by this?

Una Bellissima Giornata

2006-06-14T09:59:00.000+02:00

Oggi è semplicemente favoloso dopo due settimane di tempo freddo (freddo VERO, della serie "tira fuori il pigiama di flannello"). Ora spero solo che non ci butteremo subito in una canicola senza precedenti!

Sono a casa dal lavoro, ma non in ferie. C'è poco da fare in ufficio e il futuro non si presenta molto bene. Probabilmente dovrò iniziare presto a cercare qualcos'altro. Non ne sono molto entusiasta però! Ma suppongo che il cambiamento sia inevitabile. Ho la sensazione che il Signore non mi vuole far abituare troppo in un solo posto...

In ogni caso, mi sto veramente divertendo a fare la casalinga, anche se sto molto indietro rispetto al solito (normalmente faccio tutto il sabato e la domenica) perche sto seduta qui a fissare questo aggeggio per troppo tempo! Mi invento delle scuse, per esempio, se non stessi facendo questo, probabilmente avrei il naso ficcato in qualche libro, oppure che "merito di avere tempo per me stessa". Penso di avere qualche sindrome di dipendenza da internet. Attenzione!

Glorious morning

2006-06-14T09:46:00.000+02:00

Today is just gorgeous, after two weeks of unusually cold (I mean COLD as in pull out the flannel pigiamas again) weather here. Now I just hope we don't dive right into a heat wave of unprecedented proportions!

I'm off from work this week, not on vacation though. Things are slow at the office and it doesn't look too good for the future. I'll probably have to start looking around for something else soon. I'm not too enthusiastic about that! But I suppose change is inevitable. I get the feeling God doesn't want me to get too comfy in any one place...

Anyway, I'm actually enjoying doing the housewifey things, although I'm far behind on it with respect to my usual routine (getting it all done on Saturday and Sunday) because I sit and stare at this contraption too much! I make up excuses for myself, like if I weren' t doing this I'd probably be reading a book or that I deserve to make time for myself. I think I've got some kind of Internet dependency syndrome. Gotta watch out!

Well, here I am finally

2006-06-09T11:09:00.000+02:00

I've been thinking about doing this for a while. Finally took a step in the right direction. Hope it works out. Ci sto pensando da un pò, finalmente ho fatto un passo nella giusta direzione. Speriamo bene.