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On the way to my hotel for the last night before leaving this old beloved town, the more I walked the more I felt .... how so solitary every one of my steps sounded.

The noise of my soles on the asphalt was heartbreaking. In that moment I realized of being truly alone. I had no friends, acquaintances, or more or less someone to exchange a few words with.

I was feeling in me a sense of abandonment, I had left on a trip in search of the self.

This trip, this town, this house, it was all part of a sphere in which I had entered. A glass sphere_ where on its reflection _ I was seeing 'distorted' views of the old days and stories I was abandoning; the casual friends of the 'streets', the walks by the sparkling sea, and nights overlooking the stars in good company.

By now, it was all past...and all this, only a distant reflection of so many memories.

And the 'sphere' in which I now was? I did not perceive but an absolute void.

Only a beautiful and enchanting town ....that was a scenography to an empty stage. You wonder, when would the actors begin to enter?

I went to bed, setup my alarm clock for an early rise, and sure enough I had a dream.

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Van

In the dream... I was alone in my grandparents' house...a dark halo surrounding all things on the inside _ dousing every possible color.

It seemed to be an entirely different house than the one I had been in the day before. Where was the light, where was the sun? I was feeling the darkness as a second skin, I was seeing the open doors of the rooms that gave the illusion of wanting to enter but not being possible.

I was now intent in thinking of and looking at every detail before me.

Stumbling forward, my hands fell upon old dusty furniture deeply shadowed, yet looking like attempting to tell me something.

There was _ that missing fragment completing the picture_

That house was _ devoid of soul.

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Van

There are times in life when things seem to lose all meaning. Ever since my grandfather and other members of my immediate family died, the world has gotten heavier on my back, life unfolds in different strange ways, new doubts are born, as if portending new anxieties ahead.

Anxieties that even though may be the same as to so many others, none the less _ personal vicissitudes are what send me spiraling down the inquietude that tags along with days and nights.

I can't even say this without feeling a sense of total loss... and of fear also. Sadness is maybe the last grazing feeling...giving way to copious tears acceding mounds of nostalgia and regrets.

In the mean time there has been a sense of desolation and abandon that continue to wear out the soul.

Whether we admit it or not_ life is like a train trip, a continuous 'pass by' and 'leave behind'_a continuous loss of persons and things, that are so dear to us and that remain in our memory as chimeras suspended in time.

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Van

In the dream you walk into what seems to be an abandoned building, dusty, old furniture, and grey …strewn about in the atrium, strange sounds.

Looking for a way out you find some stone steps up a way, where will they lead?

You climb __ how fatiguing those steps_

reaching an old, antique gateway door _ you push it open with resistance as if wanting to keep you out.

Just beyond this door now_ in the atrium of a new building _ modern_ apartments with windows of colored glass.

Climbing the stairs, at the very top there are two doors…certainly there will be someone home.

One door is new, dark, elegant, clean and lustrous; it seems of Baroque style…much different than the one next to it.

After the ringing of the bell, it opens into a large and welcoming sunroom. Only women in this house curious as to this unexpected visit.

The women listen to your befuddled story as to why you are there_they seem indifferent to your words…to them you are an unknown person ringing their door bell and then entering their home. They look at you strangely.

Then another woman enters the room. She is young and beautiful; she has a baby boy by the hand with a blue pacifier in his mouth. This baby looks at you and is fascinated…he reaches out wanting to be picked up, and you do take him in your arms …he clings to you as if he already knows who you are.

The beautiful woman, his mother, looks at you with a smile not saying a word. It is so wonderful to hold this baby in your arms…he is so handsome you think…such an innocent little boy.

The other women in the room look on not interfering… then the notes, sweet and melancholy of a song never heard before, but one you continue to listen repetitively in an assailing and even obsessing way.

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Van

And now I find myself outside again...

Slowly the sun has set below the horizon, evening shadows darkening all…trees, houses; the clouds in the sky the ultimate master of the moment… ominously black and full of rain. Drops begin to fall wetting the road surface.
The orange trees in the boulevard sway in unexpected synchronism; the movement is now rotating and now inclined, stretching shadows of fear all around: there is no living soul anywhere on the street_ silence feels like an enveloping dark cape cutting the breath.


Now and then, the noise of waves smashing on the rocks reaches my ears.

A voice, a calling …comes out of a window probably left open absent mindedly …this voice I recognize…can it really be?

I don't know where to go. I only need to go, to walk, to unload _ to ground all the tensions bottled up inside. I wish I could shear the world apart…I have such a repressed anger not knowing how to vent. And I walk; continue to walk without a destination, a precise purpose.

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Van

The wind continues to gust and the trees by now bend to an incredible angle, I can't understand how thee trees can return to their original position and then recline so steeply under the tempest's fury.

The shadows increase and run as crazed in all directions_ but even crazier is the run of the full moon that every so often peeps out from behind the swirling dark clouds.

By now the rain coming down in buckets and as punishing as the cracking of a whip.

I am drenched to the bones and the falling rain and my shoes' squishing sounds are the only noises keeping me company.

The voice from the window has stopped. I must have walked a lot; I am going downhill and headed towards the harbor. I look up towards the signs of big hotels…I see shuttered homes…the signs are cold and violet in color…between the great slapping of the pouring rain …they form strange figures and seem as phantoms of the night populating my bewilderment.

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Van

Out there…a ferry-boat appears in difficulty, it doesn't look like it will reach the waters of the harbor that is deep in a maelstrom.

The siren of the harbor master sounds in hiccups… like a suffering soul reaching out for deliverance. A clipped harrowing shouting of unending sorrow.

Now soaked from head to foot, I have arrived at the front of the harbor_ the huge breaking waves are raging, one hits me dead center…I note the difference in these hits from the sea being of heavier water than the rain.

My heart is in my throat…heart beat irregular and precipitous …I feel being suffocated…don't know what is going to happen…only one nagging loud thought in my head…WHY_WHY_WHY_? It continues to hammer…hammer…

That door got slammed shut so suddenly, leaving such empty desolation and freezing cold behind. Never have I felt so alone.

And now? Where are you now?

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Van

The rain continues to crush down anew; the wind picks up, the ferry dances in the waves as my heart thumps in my chest. I am full of fear and anxieties_ where are you, how are you? I am looking, I am alone, nobody hears the torment_ the wind shouts with a vengeance_ the sea rages…it shouts…I shout…where are you? Where are you?

A wave taller than the rest hits me square throwing me to the ground…I see so much water to fill a whole planet…I say to myself…finally my hour has come…I turn my eyes to the sky but I see nothing…I only feel water from all sides…is this death?

A familiar voice calls me, I hear it far away, sweet and tender, it calls me 'daddy' and I feel a hand caressing my forehead…wet yes but of sweat…

The voice is now closer, more distinguishable, loving and calming…" Dad…have no fear…I am here…you only had a bad dream, a nightmare…it is over Dad…all bad things are past …look behind you…what beautiful sunlight and warmth coming your way 'Dad'…let's go home.

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Van

Writing is a passion, a very tough road to get on, because hidden in the leaves, a treasure difficult to unveil_ reveals itself in the growing exploration and in the learning to love words amidst the confusion that sometimes can be all pervasive.

Before the writing comes the learning of the reading, the keeping tied to stories through the mind; read in diverse situations or ways of thinking in chain of emotions that structure our days.

The significance of the sometimes play on words _is given by the individual reader, as in all readings, wholly dependent on personal culture that attributes the sense of the words _and how they connect metaphors, with which one may find the self in a field full of intersecting ways where a road can be taken to a deserted place and never before explored finding wonderment.

It is good to find that in writing and reading _often the random thoughts ride the saddle of real life and even in remembering the past_ they might reveal the finding of a better present or perhaps future, going to proper decision making…the realization of perhaps having made all the right ones.

Reading and writing open horizons _as if you cannot explain certain things or events, you may happen upon elements that before you may have missed_ thus re-writing life day by day, you will notice something more that will result in savoring to extreme.

"The written words will talk _if you read them" transmitting their meaning making you enter 'their world' ….

It is really true that writing and reading live in symbiosis and help even in those 'dead moments' when not knowing what to do, you begin to read or write taking you away from mental lethargy…thus becoming safety anchors.

It is more compelling to me late at night when silence falls and all prepares to be rocked by the tranquility and magic of the darkness.

It is always thanks to the quiet reflective moments that we are able to make some sense of certain events that manifest in the course of our existence.

The night separates us_ for an instant_ from the world, and in that solitude_ turning our reveries into prose makes us understand aspects of life we never comprehended.

The night models the mind and makes it more accessible to deep thinking, remembering and writing.

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Van

''Let’s go home dad'' my boy had said….

Will it be in this life or in another?

I will return home_

Outside _ the trees will scream but will no longer scare me _
not even the red clouds or the mysterious circular dancing lights.

I will go back home, I will ask forgiveness for having betrayed her …I hear the voice of my alter ego "You abandoned me, and here I remained alone. And this is our aged cherry garden …the garden we loved so much. You betrayed your past; you were not able to defend these sacred walls keeping your memories alive."

At night my town has these dark, long streets, where others like me seek refuge.

I will walk in these streets swept by the wind and lighted by the moon, I will console the mother running and screaming into the night, I will listen to her grief, I will calm her down.

I will pick up some lost child in my arms remembering my own who has grown into a fine man _is well off and happy somewhere…I will caress him and will gift him with precious and glittering things and bring him home to his parents…

I will enter my dark, abandoned old house, I will be tired, and I will lie down on the bed, any bed…the window curtains will sway as the clouds in the sky.

And this is how the time will pass…and under my eyelids …will flow the images of that terrible tragedy in my life…but they will be kinder and gentler.

I will be in my old house, old and happy to see me back forever.

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Van

So it was early evening as I finally approached the last turn from ocean-side to the entrance of my old house.

I needed to climb the stairs from the ground floor, now inexplicably turned into habitable space from the once 'garaging' of family's transportation modes of the day.

Our house was now of three floors, our immediate family had retained the very large second floor with huge rooms to the left of a long corridor. So much space, the beloved playroom, dining room and kitchen at the very end of the L shaped floor plan.

The third floor had been sold to the 'De Rosa' family as all that space was no longer needed with the moving out of so many ancestors wanting their own private homes _

I crossed the street instinctively looking up to smile at those greeting sparkling lights in the living room window as the warmth of their welcoming home exuded through the windows of the house I loved so much. A gathering of non descript thoughts fleeting through my mind.

Had I been away for a long time or it was real to be coming back home to my family in wait? My mother happy in the kitchen singing while preparing supper?

I felt contentment in climbing those old stairs while reaching in my pockets for the house key. I chose the right one from the key ring and placed it into the front door lock. I tried to turn it but it would not.

I took it out and examined the key ring…car…desk…no…it was the right one. I put it back in the lock…it felt as though an obstacle kept it from a proper fit. I heard some light steps on the other side of my front door, and waited until it would be opened from the inside. Casually looking at the door tag over the doorbell I read 'Giovanni De Rosa _ CPA' …damn it…what gives…

I noticed a movement in the door spyglass and with a wry smile I knocked lightly on the door. Mrs. De Rosa opened the door …'I am terribly sorry Mrs. Derosa, I thought this was my floor'

"No problem…these things happen" she replied in good manners…at her shoulders appeared the old mother of the esteemed professional CPA. She smiled.

"Goodbye and again so very sorry"

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Van

So I must have trudged up to the third floor by mistake…can't understand why but oh well…

The stairway descent to the floor below seemed exceptionally long, but finally I arrived down to what I thought was the second floor. I still had my house key in my hands…I realized that again the key had difficulty entering smoothly into the lock.

'Giovanni De Rosa _ CPA' ….WTF?
Took out the key quickly hoping that inside nobody had heard the lock tampering. I was a bit shocked…I knew I had come down from the third floor.

The De Rosa front door reopened and I felt even more like an idiot. "Sorry but I don't understand, I thought this was my front door on the second floor…I am confused"

Mrs. De Rosa nodded but not entirely convinced, said goodbye again closing the door. This time the old matriarch remained in the shadows of the interior.

Damn it…I am looking like a total screwball or maybe something worse. I couldn't believe it…sure it can happen once to mistake a floor of your own house…but this was absurd.

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Van

So with extreme concentration down again I went, counting the steps this time, but a bit worried at myself. Finally there I was... right in front of my door on the second floor, or so I thought…so it had to be damn it.

It was so obvious that I did not even think of controlling the name tag on the door…there was no doubt in my mind this was my house door. When I inserted the key in the lock again I felt the unexplainable sticking.

An alarm bell went off in my head, and before attempting to push and turn the key, I looked at the name tag on the door… "Giovanni De Rosa CPA" I stiffened…WTF…I yelled out loud…again I noticed the movement on the door spyglass…and feeling mortified I withdrew the key and backed away. Looking around very carefully, again I realized I was on the third floor.

This was ridiculous…I looked over my shoulders to the stairway to see if there was some 'trick' to them, really hoping that someone would appear laughing out loud at my expense. Nothing…all was still…nobody was laughing, the stair steps were normal…and along those stairs there should be the front entrance door to my house as it had been for past generations and would continue to be for almost eternity.

My stomach was beginning to cramp, on top of it all I was now hungry, and I told myself to remain calm and to confront this problem rationally.

'Rationally'? Like hell…I had left the third floor, coming down to the second on foot very carefully…so the third floor could not be down on the second floor where I knew I should be. If logic is logic, and mathematics not an opinion, then if I were now on the third floor, as it appeared, the floor below should be the second floor, and the floor above, from where I was standing, should then be the fourth.

So, mathematically reasoning was sufficient to prod me to investigate the floor above.

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Van

Slowly I began to climb the stairway up…slowly and counting each stair step…finally I got to the fourth floor…

"What fourth floor" I swore...this is supposed to be a three story house/three floors including the ground floor...Oh well...lets see how far this dilemma travels...

Ok, so my count was right…it should be easy enough for me to now go down two floors very carefully and I should be home.

But when again I read the name tag on the door of what I thought was my entrance to my home and saw that damn name again 'Giovanni De Rosa CPA' …I finally had an inspiration ….I was dreaming…I was now certain of it…how stupid for not having realized it before…a nightmare, yes, but still a dream.

All I needed to do was to awaken, get up, go to the kitchen and fill that empty,cramping stomach with a huge breakfast. I slapped my face, the way to do it...I thought...

I closed my eyes, reopened them and…again I found myself before the door of 'Giovanni De Rosa' …Not still awake, I thought, another slap…this one hurt…as it did the third one…but the pain became unbearable when through the spyglass I saw someone observing me.

Ok…too much…the hell with it…I flew down the stairs having decided to flee that incubus…I needed air, people around, noises, even throwing myself under a car to obliterate that sign "Giovanni De Rosa"…

Flying down the stairs…second floor…maybe a stupid idea…but I could have someone accompany me and find the right door to my house, after all I had already acted like a Looney…but then it wasn't necessary to explain…I could say I wasn't feeling well…and it is probably the truth…

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Van

Ground floor now…strange, there was no gated entryway and the stairs continued down…well I may have again counted the floors wrong…

I continued to descend…not even the next floor down was opening out to the street…I stopped, resisted the impulse to read the name tags…continued to descend…sooner or later those damn stairs would end.

After a while I gave up on counting the ramps to check on the proper floors I knew…but this building seemed to have at least 15 floors instead of usual three…I continued to descend pushed by the certainty, the last one remaining, that I would never find the exit by going up the stairs…so the logical way was to go down…until I had to convince myself that by now I wouldn't reach the gateway out…not even in the down direction...what a damn mess...

Nothing left to do but to stop at a floor, knock on some door, and ask for help…I was going mad…there was no other explanation…unless I had drunk a couple dozen of whisky bottles I did not remember…

I asked myself 'what floor am I on…any floor…God please, any floor but the third' …my prayer was answered…

I was on the fourth floor and the beautiful name on the door tag was mine. I closed my eyes shaking my head…reopened them and re-read the name tag…it was mine…but on the fourth floor? A non existent floor?

I inserted my key in the lock, it went in nice and smooth…very promising…Turned the key and with indescribable emotion, I heard the lock click open.

I slowly opened the door and before stepping over the threshold I looked inside to investigate _ OK_ the usual clothes hanger and mirror on the left wall of the corridor…the umbrella stand in the corner…the beautiful locomotive painting, almost a reflection of the train station right outside the windows over the garden…

And my mother standing by the corridor looking at me with a tired and astonished expression…closing the door I wondered if I should recount what had happened…but decided to wait until later after the delicious supper my mother had waiting for me. On a full stomach I would have evaluated the situation much better.

I sat at the dinner table, my happy mother serving a delicious meal and sitting across from me, happy and with a beautiful smile…

In that moment the only thing of interest to me was to hear the happy clatter of the silverware, and the beautiful voice of my mother….who was singing a song… she could sing so well...but I shook my head in hearing a strange grating noise, something that did not originate inside the house.

My fork slipped out of my hand clipping the plate…My mother froze…the noise was coming from the front door and it sounded as though someone was trying to force the lock open. 'Who can it be'_ stammered my mother…when the slamming of someone against the door began, I got up to go look without a word…

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Van