Stocking Akiba Online

Suggestions

(from "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" by Jean-Dominique Bauby)

Good or bad it is, in the pages of the dictionary there is considerable truth in very few words for the classification of human emotions. We are so lost in the isolated silence of our soul, unable to communicate, that few are fortunate if during the entire notice their existence, they gain awareness, even for a few moments, the great miracle of life and the immense and boundless reality as we see, reflected in the pond of our minds.
Try to imagine what it means to be a human being completely still for days and months with the mind perfectly polished, but without the ability to communicate if not slamming the lid of an eye. After hours of captivity in the body triggered a desperate stretch reflex movement that reduces the pain of their limbs, moving arms and legs a few millimeters, and all inclination to run, the desire for freedom, to feel in my heart throat and the cool air flowing down her face and lungs heaving concentrated in that small subtle shot at third, but immense and boundless for those who created it.

The diving bell becomes less oppressive, and the mind is free to roam like a butterfly in space and time on the endless plateau of the Deccan, the Eastern Ghats and then on from there follow the sacred waters of the Godavari to the Bay of Bengal and Indian Ocean dive with them to learn the century-old wisdom of the whales and dugongs ride up the coast the Arabian Peninsula.
A cough suddenly brings us back into the room, angry helpless prisoners of the flesh. Suddenly you realize that the doors of perception are wide open and a new stage of consciousness we can hear and understand those around us in an unrecognized way. Occurs at night and we're alone, catarrh pneumonia prevents us to breathe and time of a prayer we understand that there is nothing else to do but to resume our journey to never come back. To continue the journey is no longer the mind, subject to the limits of our nature, but the soul that knows no barriers or limits, and so everything looks like it really is, finally, just as William Blake and other poets could only imagine ... Dedicated to

Mauro Morisco