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Nowadays life is overloaded with words. Everyone talks, writes, comunicates.
There is always an aim behind every used word. Spoken words have no aims.
Poets and children and gypsyes and wanderers and fools and wizards and shamans speak just out of love .
Love for the sounds. Their words are like seeds .
Listening to them ,letting them to enter and to grow , to be watered and to grow up makes life a immense stream .
We are all immersed deep into this stream .
It happens that , when one of these minstrels talk without aim , the counterpart stays silent .
When we talk to and for someone just for love and to pour some seeds on his desert life the person in need of love opposes to this seeds a wall.
A wall of his fears and hidden nightmares.
We talk and talk , full of enthusiasm and delicacy and they show us eyes , mouth and ears of walls.
The small seeds then fly above and above .The more thy are rejected the more they fly.
A poet , a minstrel, a child, a gypsy, a wanderer, a fool , a shaman , a wizard are then infinitely sad because no one seems to listen and to see .
Then this sadness , unbearable and beared by its own force , transfigure itself , become love , and wings , and highness and light to the darkness .
The minstrel dies for his pronounced words.
But the darkness of a Culture or a Religion hasn't hindered the power of Nature because the Nature transforms the hugest sorrow and loneliness into its opposite and again into itself .
Look around you . It is full of seeds .And Love still makes Nature flowing.
