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Ciàpel kè ’l gh’è (LII)

a nadàl tìret vià ‘l skossal!

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Nelle mie mani dure...

In the presence of the ridge we are small and insignificant. We overlook gigantic wedge of rock, gigantic trees, twisted skeletons. Plaques in sloping large cracks open like wounds never healed, do not bleed more, like dark mouths open wide to us. The atmosphere is mysterious. Taciamo. In the silence of the wind continue to rise. We take the space between rock and hard snow. We slip, we must be careful. Fortunately, the rock offers many handles most of the hold times. Focused on our dance steps. We part, "lost" everyone to find their own way, in the immensity of this ridge is now threatening, now friend.

With your hands off my frozen snow to find a foothold, the wet rock causes me some concern. A hand, then the other, with the foot seeking a safe place, here, I'm going to go up to joy. I settles well. The icy hands pluck, they almost lose the sensitivity. I'm in the middle of the rocky wall, slip now would be the end. The effort is Herculean, seconds seem forever. I focus looking di non pensare al freddo delle mani. Le muovo un po’. Con il calore del fiato cerco di dargli un po’ di coraggio, tutto va bene, in fondo grazie a loro oggi mi trovo in equilibrio precario tra cielo e terra. Una folata di vento mi costringe ad appiattirmi contro la roccia. Un piccolo traverso mi aiuta ad aggirare un liscio masso strapiombante che mi sbarra la strada. Mi avvolge l’ombra, il freddo si fa torvo. Alzo la testa. Sono sovrastato da un cielo di pietra, ad una quindicina di metri di altezza intravedo la luce. Lassù c’è la vita. Riparto cercando nella roccia increspature amiche. Ne trovo. A volte grandi da aggrapparcisi con tutta la mano, a volte solo con due dita, quanto basta per ergermi su a cercare Dio.

Salvatore joins me. We are surrounded by the embrace of the mountains. The sun warms us. Happy smile.

We leave behind the rock. The key passage is exceeded. We move through stately pine specimens loricati while an endless ups and downs give us the exact measurement of the beauty of this ridge. We come to the end of the plateau, the plateau of the summit of the Serra Ciavole.

Salvatore kisses the top of the heap of stones, I imitated him. Ci abbracciamo. Ringrazio gli spiriti dell’aria. Ringrazio questa cima, da sempre per me crocevia di sangue e cuore.

Il vento soffia impetuoso. Ci ripariamo. Da occidente nubi foriere di tempesta ribollono minacciose.

Lasciamo la cima ed appena usciti dal costone spire gelide ci avvolgono. Scendiamo in un’atmosfera incantata, il sole ci ha abbandonato coperto da un velo di nubi che a stento lasciano intravedere cupi bagliori di luce. Sulla Piana del Pollino mi lascio andare all’emozione, attratto da questa natura rude e sincera, oggi, nelle mie mani dure ho sentito la forza di una passione che riempie di senso il viaggio della vita.

Mentre cammino i miei passi disegnano una scia sottile e sinuosa. Tra poco sparirà coperta dal vento e da altra neve. Non svanirà la linea dell’Amore e dell’Amicizia che ho disegnato nei cuori delle persone che amo e che mi vogliono bene.

Oggi non tornerò a casa a mani vuote. Ho imparato ad apprezzare le cose semplici: la bellezza della neve sulle vette, l’amicizia, il coraggio e la saggezza di un Grande Amico, anzi “Fratello”, l’Amore di una Donna meravigliosa, il sapore dolce del vino che scende in me come una preghiera e mi fa bene, il tepore caldo di una ciotola di ceci che ritempra il mio corpo infreddolito…questi sono i tesori che porto con me, nelle mie mani dure, sono l’uomo più ricco del mondo.

Il Vecchio Bianco ormai è alle porte. Tra poco, con il suo mantello, coprirà di silenzio per molti mesi questo angolo incontaminato di natura. Solo il vento, con i suoi turbini e le sue spire conoscerà le storie meravigliose e terribili di questi spazi.

Gli amanti del limite e dell’ignoto che abita dentro di loro sono pronti a varcare le porte di questo confine. Ma questa è un’altra storia…

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Ciàpel kè ’l gh’è (LI)

portem ké na braca dè patate, ke gò de fà ‘l püré

Wrecked Conversion Vans

I confini dell'anima

D fter the bridge of the cutting of the forest is an open wound on this mantle of branches that barely stretch into the sky. One step, another and another and still return the dense forest, the man is not here yet. As a thorn in the flesh so steeped in this valley.

I strongly feel this climb. A space within crop wild to me. The sore muscles, tension of the mystical solitude. At the end of the spur the forest thins out, leaving space for herbs, kidnapped from their scent I realize I'm alone.

Dominated by this piece of cloudless sky I get pierced by glittering swords. On a chair of stone contemplate a beautiful landscape and unique. There is a breath of wind. I get lost in this enchanted valley covered by far too long and now finally I'm here, sitting on the spur east of the Timpone Viggianello. It looks dramatically in the Valley of Caballa, but how much effort to get this far, and how much they still have to make, are just the beginning of my ascent.

Allocation to a sea of \u200b\u200bsky, this ridge rises steeply as to give battle to the sky. I climb up to seek God, my ascent is slow, my well-being pervades the soul. My body burns in the tension. For some time I wanted to be here in this corner of the mountain a little joke, I knew it would was a wonderful experience. Like all the way to the ridge, I was sure that this would give me strong emotions, and above all the soul stripped.

This air purifies my flesh, I realize with tears flowing down from the cheeks. How beautiful here! I would stay there forever. I ask God to let me stay. I ask forgiveness from the people I love and waiting for me.

The hard hands, knead the scent of the rock, injured by the thorns of the brambles, give me the opportunity to cross borders remote, I speak of those of the soul, I speak of inner boundaries that we are not always willing to pass. While I get I realize I'm made of earth and leaves. Meat and sky. They are made of rock, now brittle and now compact. I realize I'm just me, with my strengths and my weaknesses.

am 14:00, altimeter 1699 m marks, missing the top 80 meters. Creeps into my mind the most courageous act of every climber: the waiver.

I continue to climb. I want to dedicate this powerful experience to a friend who is gone. The summit is there. 1730 m I stop. The shadow of the crest is projected into the flank of Timpone della Capanna. Are small compared to such greatness. I collect all the forces, the division to look for a line that never meet. At 14:16 are on top. 1.779 m. A cold wind penetrates me with strength, tired, I can see the purity of the sky the eyes of loved ones who are gone, looks kept deep in my heart and never forget. I put the jacket. Hastily I opened my backpack and drink hot tea inevitable. I wonder what will become of me when I can not live these moments. I wonder if one day it will be only through my soul that I will live and remain for ever with my mountains. Who knows if another world or another life I can give so much joy.

Sitting behind a rocky ravine, I stop to think ...

Dear Raffaele today I dedicate this to you my experience so that in me to remain indelible moments spent together. I did not come to your funeral because they remind me an opportunity in life to think that I can still see you, who knows, thin blades of grass between which rest in the wind, branches of leaves that caress, read, and then fall off, the chirping a blackbird that sits on my backpack like to see me and then again ... hello Raffaè.

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Ciàpel kè ’l gh’è (L)

con töta la grègia kè ’l ga trinkat, èl ga ciapàt na gran ciuka

Congratulations On Having Son

Danzare tra le nuvole

D where I'll find the words to explain our thirst blind e bramosa che ci spinge a salire lungo crinali innervati di luce, persi ognuno nella propria fatica e nella propria gioia. Così vicini ed allo stesso tempo distanti.
Dove troverò le parole per spiegare certi luoghi da cui mancavo da molti anni. Tornarvi è come fare un viaggio a ritroso nella vita. Resta la fanciullezza di sempre che scruta curiosa l’apparente immutata ed immutabile eternità della montagna. Rovisto dentro di me, come scaglia di luce sottile entro nelle fessure più profonde.
Dove troverò le parole per spiegare che ho danzato nelle correnti ascensionali del mio cuore, tra ciuffi di nuvole come riccioli d’Angeli ho accarezzato il mio cielo. Schiuso nei colori cangianti di petali vivi, nel rumore cupo della roccia shattering, I danced in the raging vortex of my soul restless. I walked the fine line of insanity, including debris of rocks, clouds that hid the oblivion of emptiness, a soothing voice, the sick, made me want to go. I danced along the abyss of memories, knives and flowers along the thin line of life. In the bellows of gaping mouths with a firm step into the void I have reached the coveted top. Transparent in the balance, up there with the tears I watered burned roots.
I danced at sunset, the last light in the shadows, intoxicated by the aroma of the resin, the bitter sweetness of life I have planted a grain of wheat in this world of subtle breaths.

To my mother that I gave their lives in this life that I Cesira has completed, the new life which God willing will soon be the world and that will give me the opportunity to leave my insignificant existence in the most beautiful track. Dear friends: Salvatore "My Brother", Imma, Massimo Franco and fellow wonderful adventures that will see us again together toward worlds to explore. For these moments that will remain indelible in my heart, my sincere thanks.

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Ciàpel kè ’l gh’è (XLIX)

gom dè somlà sübet el furmintù, se de no ‘l kres mìa piö

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Ciàpel kè ’l gh’è (XLVIII)

el ga ransàt töta l’erba del càp gnanke ’ndè n’ura!

Beer Keg Cad Drawings

Quel mondo inesplorato

cque A sparkling crystal, butterflies in the air like confetti a, lush vines cover trunks and twisted branches that do not see the sky, vines are supported by other plants clinging with a dense network.

Perfumes primordial spreads in the air, flashes of light here and there reminiscent of the beginning of life with big leaves and burdock drink to be covered with moss dripping drops of pure. Along the deep and intricate throat smooth gigantic boulders and logs giants remain there to guard the river, each filled are moved by the fury of water, talk about incredible strength, raging currents and eddies terrifying and hostile.
The water is freezing. The aroma of herbs penetrate the thickened muscle from prolonged exercise. As an explorer I am thrown in another time and another place . When the throat narrows boiled sparkling crystals made of glittery fun dancing on big boulders, then the stream is open and placid valleys where light comes stealing pieces of sky blue.

I smell blood. I realize that one deep cut copious blood oozes from the elbow. No bad or too much Christmas helps me tighten around your arm a handkerchief to avoid some of the tasty flies vital fluid can joyously. My arms are covered with strips bleeding caused by the passing of traits from intricate brambles. Heal.

Those that have not healed the wounds inflicted on the heart of life from scratch. There are wounds that fail to heal. Remain forever, as marks on a cutting board.
Where will this water! How much progress still has to go to find peace in the sea of \u200b\u200beternity!? As our vita. Quanta strada ancora ci aspetta per arrivare (se arriveremo) al traguardo che ci attende. Sarà un traguardo? o un nuovo inizio? Sarà la fine di un dolore? o l’inizio di una nuova gioia? Quante domande!

L’ultimo respiro di questo luogo meraviglioso lo raccolgo tutto nel cuore. Il Presidente si avvicina al cospetto della cascata Fauzofìli, il suo sguardo è avvinto da un dolore e allo stesso tempo da una gioia. In quello specchio d’acqua, alcuni anni fa, un pezzo di vita ci ha lasciato. In questo momento, in quella conca, tanti ricordi come pietre ammassate sul fondo risalgono leggeri come goccioline finissime. La gioia è dovuta alle carezze del fresh wind caused by this waterfall at the same time wonderful and terrifying. While res
aliamo Timpone along the slopes of the hob, the clamor of the river valley of darkness dies. In the heart of the fragrance of the evening, the tension of red meat, in the heartbeat, in an effort of tired muscles, the breath of my soul, I, unlike the water back to my source, the Source of Love. Copious spurts his kisses quench my roots and make me live in this world ... yet unexplored.

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Seasons ...

Back in certain places, reliving the mind and heart certain moments and certain situations, I always created a strange effect. Some places have the power to make you put your life on the scale, to make you put the weights and measure your experience. On the one hand the experiences of the past, the other one today, this. On one hand, fears, inner slopes, the defeats and indifference. Across the courage, the lift, victories, love. I heard this game
strong checks and balances as I walked along the path of pilgrims cerchiaresi, with my feet that move the stones and dust, with sweat all over my body runoff. I've heard that balance strong emotions while tracing the signature of the path. The bright red color penetrated ripples in the rock, as I was careful not to smudge, not always succeeding in spite of the valuable and useful tips Pio.

The warm light filtered by the trees created a soft and pleasant. We go down. I thought a few years ago when we walked with the Savior for the first time this path. I meditated on the situation of that time: the storms of the heart, our soul empty, the uncertainties that life would still be confidential. If you are still with the years we continued to bathe our friendship the same sweat, experiencing the same feeling that has given us: the mountain. absorbed in these thoughts an intense aroma and kidnapped me, a myriad of butterflies turning around beautiful flowers created intermittence of extraordinary colors. That this is their night shelter? I thought. Imma, tried to catch one, but in the moment he was going to catch the light with a shutter bug has risen from the wall leaving his fingers covered with a thin layer of pigmented powder. It appears that the "fairy dust". Surely it is fairy the feeling that I've seen in recent months in the eyes of my "brother" Salvatore, a different look than a few years ago while following the same path, going through the same emotions.
As the nature of living our lives as the seasons. During the summer, we feel strong, our bark is resistant to pest attacks, vigorous branches of leaves spread out in the blue sky to look for the light. Then, in autumn, the branches mighty let go the leaves, break off one by one in the swirling wind, abandoning forever by what they were born. This is why we feel vulnerable. I wonder if we can overcome this moment of separation. In winter the snow covers everything, we indulge in the cold and dark without being able to see any possibility of rebirth. The doubts assail us. But the revival is there in that snow that protects and preserves what from here a few months reborn with renewed vigor. In this alternation of seasons, the tree of life scatters the seeds of memories. They give life to another life. Just believe that it is still on the move, to walk the path most important and difficult life, around which "rotate" the passions of all: friendship, grief, joy, life itself, death and desire that never runs in the conquest, the desire called LOVE ...

photos of this post appears courtesy of dear friend Imma Camodeca