It is late night when I come back home and lay on the carpet where the strands cross one another and make up fantastic imaginary figures. These days I am always depressed when I come back, as I can feel the air full of tension down in the streets and sometimes I don’t recognize the eyes of the people anymore. It’s a time of hate now, there in the real world that waits for me down the stairs. I feel more and more the tendency of enclosing myself in the perfectness of my conscious dreams, and each time I wake up I have to confront with what’s beneath.
One day I led my way through the consumed papers spread all around the biggest room of my apartment and paused just in the middle of them, allowing myself to take a colorful nap in the middle of that black and white crowd. I fell asleep once again, trapped in the complex net of the carpet, and there new dreams came visit me.
In the last one I did the carpet had became a huge sea, and the strands had grouped in so many islands and rocks, shaped by the flow in so different and variable ways. As a sculptor does with its marble, the sea had detailed the rocks in little holes, inhabited by crabs and shells and multiple forms of life.
There were many islands all around me, and I was swimming right in the centre of this dreamful archipelago: islands and hopes, threats and rocks intertwined in a strange amalgam, probably due to an extra beer which I shouldn’t have drunk at the bar earlier.
I suddenly realized the magic and uniqueness of the archipelago: the sea that divided the islands and gave them such different and precise shapes, at the same time collected them all. There was the possibility, in that square of nature, that individuality and collectivity rejoined for some time lapse. The archipelago was the solution to the problem of independence and loneliness. That would have been my new philosophy. I won’t think of myself as a person anymore, but as an archipelago.
I left that dream with the conscience that the archipelago would be a good way to think about society as well, to go down in the street and give color to the grey papers I have. An archipelago is what I need, as big as possible, even as big as the whole world. A place where one shouldn’t be afraid of showing his own identity, but where that identity is just functional to the integrated whole of society. An archipelago would teach us to share our tradition and culture, and not to retain it as a precious merchandise that might go lost in any way.
Maybe I am not the only one who needs an archipelago. It is probably the whole world that needs to fill the distances with waters and turn its emptiness into a sea.
“What interests me is living and dying for what one loves.” (Albert Camus)
What I love is telling stories about beauty, about courage, about fear. I hope you can appreciate them and then write your own ones.