him a dense fear. Did they look for him/it for the story of the tamponamento and the aggression to the man? It withdrew the hand and it turned him of release, suffered the panic to arrive to his/her shoulders of a dark auto of big capacity. Gone down by the place an elegant man it drives, grizzled, that came him in against scrutinizing him/it suspicious.
"Good evening, is doctor Mosa, intimate friend of the family Monteghini, her who would be?"
Saint tried to stutter something, acknowledging instantly himself/herself/itself the incomprehensibility of what had just said. So embarrassed, the throat cleared him and with voice that betrayed an unpleasant tremor, it began:
"I am looking for the butler of the villa, it is one dear friend of mine of infancy."
The doctor struck by lightning him/it with a glacial look.
"There is not any servitude anymore in this house. The owner is ago dead days, mysteriously. Tell me the name of the gentleman that looks for, I can immediately handle to recover the address whether to track him/it down."
Saint became stiff in front of that application. Curse to his/her bashful nature! In that three years you/he/she was never interested in the complete name of that shade that so devotedly served the house. It knew only the name of baptism of that man, that could quietly be known to whatever merchant from which he had passed to make purchases for the countess. And then he/she didn't even know from what place of Italy originated. Substantially for him it was to the stregua of the person what time he/she spoke ahead to him. Of this last knew the last name, of the other solo the name. Saint owe fake not to be sorry in front of the confirmation of the happened death of the countess, it shone through too much rather perhaps from its face the suffering for that story, increasing sinister suspicions on its presence there.
You brusquely dismissed.
"Oh my God, didn't know about this tragedy. I/you/they are passed from I simply wanted here casually to greet one old companion of mine of district. Don't disturb, I will look for him/it in common through friends. Good evening."
Said this, didn't wait even that the doctor answered him. You fell to long footsteps toward the taxi. While the auto surpassed the gate of the villa Monteghini, Saint it noticed, from the back car window, the physician that discussed with the policemen making ample gestures in the direction in which a little before he was started. Fortunately they didn't make case to the taxi that darted in front of them. The physician had probably supposed that the sinister appeared individual had come him afoot. Saint thanked the little perspicacity of the group of men that he left to the shoulders. Sat in the most total, apparent impassibility, left that inside of him a lake of it washes it erupted from its soul to lacerate him the bowel. The only possibility to be able to concretely confirm the real experience of that memoirs was inexorably fallen through. As soon as the white auto estranged from that magic place, Saint warned a deadly sense of void that demolished every breath of the past that remembered still sadly. His/her cynicism him riappropriò tyrant of his/her lucubrations.
"What importance does it have if has been real or no? What difference does it make to know to really have lived or only deceptively with that woman?"
Its shiny rationality the sleeves was turned up for reconstructing a solid explanation that preserved the mental safety of Saint. Another nth, stupendous and at the same time terrible astral trip? Yes, it convinced more always observing the lights in his/her Milan that flowed through the car window. You/he/she had spent the night to free the Spirit of Dafne from his/her body. Together with her that apodittico trip had lived, so much intense to risk to definitely mine its mental health. You/he/she was perhaps growing old, or he was pushing over, it was the explanation that was given for the you bream empty of memory that had returning from an astral experience together with the Spirit of a dead person. But to well to think of us, had been always this way. You/he/she had dared so so much always to risk every time everything and to put so much to hard test his/her senses and his/her intuitions to go out every time of it almost killed. Yes, it is really this way, the intuitions. All know to have five senses, but few realize to have many more intuitions that you/they work from the inside for our internal world. Difference is that the body, being ended, quantizzabile and measurable, it has well evident its five senses to be been able to sharpen more always, also with all the limits that characterize the subject, while when it moves us in the field of the interiorità , the mere confinements of the terrestrial existence fade away and in front of the being endless intuitions are set that, as the concrete immanent senses, use him to widen the horizons of the self. Only the ferryman of the souls succeeded now in establishing a picture of the lived experience, if not clear, at least more logical than you/he/she didn't appear him before. You surprised enormously of the clarity with which Prometeo, during that interview in his/her house, it was already conscious of to be a deceptive fruit of the Spirit of Dafne. All of a sudden the head of the village had launched a look extremely aware to the address of Dafne that the man had reciprocated with a tacit expression of agreement. A mere illusion was as unbelievable as an imaginary creation of the spirituality projected by the unconscious, you/he/she could reach one autonomous conscience of his however, able to realize its narrowness and the lying condition of living being. Who knows, every human being is perhaps a thought, an image that emerges from the infinitezza of God or simply from the ideas of one of the so many superior beings, destined to totally disappear together with its body. If it were so, if we really were immortal, we could come to hypothesize that every thought of ours, idea or any image, created once also, you detach him from ourselves to proceed independent its existence to the endless one, its autonomy making in front of the creator definitive. If we accepted these axioms as truths:
The mind it creates.
The man distinguishes him from the other living beings as to be thinking endowed with ratiocination.
The man, really because of the intellect, it is responsible of his/her actions, therefore it is subject to the free will.
The man is a creation of God.
The ideas and the images created by the man are composed of the same substance of the intellect from which you/they spring, constitutes that is of rationality.
If the man, because of his/her rationality, it is subject to the free will, he/she logically deduces that also the thoughts and the images that he creates, constituted them also of rationality, is subject to the free will.
How many people would they burst in a roaring laughter denying as absurd thing the possibility that the ideas and the images given birth by the human mind, are them more refined, can develop one autonomy of theirs freeing himself/herself/itself from their creator and promoting theirs subordinate passive condition to living being endowed with free will?
Well, for the same principle, the whole humanity should laugh in front of the responsibility that someone would want to impose to every human being, whose actions are subject to the free will and every consequence of theirs you burden on their present and future as a serious guilt.
XLV
What times were you/they?
You/he/she had remained rather sat on the bench of that stop of bus for a quantity of puzzling time. Behind the severe outlines of the enormous skyscrapers that composed the monotony of that metropolitan tear, it already dawned. The rays of the sun him timid and undecided stiracchiavano around the bossy forms of the human talent. Around everything was there work of the man. The contours of the nature were confined to a pair of files of solitary trees, methodically prepared to the same distance the one from the other, that the underlying road ploughed with their spaurites shades. Saint didn't know as it was still possible, but thanks to the sky, only in that particular moment of the day, the sound of the city was above all last song stray, of the last free beings, not submitted the birds to the laws of the city bureaucracy. The ferryman of the souls, from when you/he/she had gone down from the taxi quite a lot times before, you/he/she had needed a certain weary of time to observe and to scr
utinize to fund the surrounding environment to verify that you/they were not you are mistaken or traps, hidden inside some angle of that apparent family landscape. You/he/she had never passed so much time under his/her house to observe the palazzone where he resided and his anonymous surrounded, so now the myriad of details that for the first time it noticed, they became in his/her mind possible sinister traps of one diverted reality that made an attempt to his/her person. Smiled at to think that only the masters of the dogs know out really the world that it surrounds them. Thanks to their quadruped companions they also learn to smell the air to count every thread of grass and gram of asphalt that it protects him in front of their walk. Saint considered to its house native, to when it walked its dog. The roads that you/he/she had crossed to that time were the only ones that it really knew. He/she knew how to count to closed eyes every single hole, every ripple or patch of the asphalt.
It was time to get up and to face what would be found ahead crossing the threshold of his/her studio apartment, if really it possessed one of it. For the most part attends him it doesn't benefit at all to make things clear on the choices, rather, the choices are important