On the beach of a town near Nyali the sand is so white it's blinding and the Indian Ocean is as clear as a spring; every day, after work, Kamau passes by, everyone knows him but no one truly knows him; he is fifty years old, on his face he has three scars that look like they were made with a sharp knife and they were; Kamau never smiles, he walks with his head down, if a woman approaches him he avoids her, if a man offers him a beer he refuses, his colleagues at first tried to invite him but then they stopped, talking to this man is like talking to a breathing wall, if a dog runs toward him wagging its tail he looks ahead as if it were air, when he sees two lovers kissing he turns his face away, when he crosses a group of friends laughing together he looks elsewhere.
Kamau always sits in the same spot, at the southern end, where the beach is almost deserted and he stays there motionless staring at the sea for hours, at sunset sometimes a few tears run down his cheeks, he wipes them with the back of his hand thinking it is due to the reflection of the Sun on the water but it is not the Sun; this man has stopped loving, he no longer feels the energy of the Goddess Aphrodite, the one they call Pepo here in Kenya, the warm breath that rises from your chest when you hug a friend, the jolt you feel when you kiss a woman, that pleasant sensation you feel when your family members caress you; Kamau has lost all of this and he knows it.
The fishermen repairing their nets under the palm trees, the students and workers who allow themselves a few hours of leisure look at him furtively, they exchange glances full of questions but no one has ever had the courage to go and ask him what happened to him.
One afternoon a tall and robust girl with long hair tied up in a red headscarf arrives on the beach, her name is Ayanna and she has just moved to the city with her family; while walking together with a group of young local anarchists a skinny boy with sunglasses points to Kamau with a movement of his chin and says: "We see that man every day, he is always alone and doesn't talk to anyone, who knows what happened to him." Ayanna looks at him more closely then recognizes him. "That is the man I saw on moving day when I was in the car with my father," she says in a low voice. "Kito, my father, knows everything, he was with him on the day a tragic event turned his life upside down."
The boys approach, Ayanna sits on the sand and begins to tell. "That man's name is Kamau and thirty years ago he wasn't like this." Ayanna has a calm voice, the wind rises carrying with it the taste of salt. "He was full of life, he laughed like a firework, he had two friends glued to his shadow, they were called Ruto and Zahara, they had known each other since they were three years old, as children they played among the market stalls chasing each other among the sacks of rice and spices but what kept them together, more than the neighboring houses, was their aversion to bullies; in elementary school they defended the smaller ones from bullies, in middle school they were suspended because they had overturned the desk of a teacher who insulted the students, in high school they organized a petition to have a corrupt teacher fired."
Ayanna, in a low voice, continues to tell: "Over the years Kamau fell in love with Zahara, she was beautiful, with amber-colored eyes, she was always serene, she wore her hair tied in long braids that reached her knees but what made her special in Kamau's eyes was her altruism, her heart, in middle school she gave half of her sandwich to the kids whom the bullies left without a snack, once she helped a friend who had escaped an arranged marriage to find a job, another time, during a demonstration, she defended an elderly man who was being beaten by a man from a violent militia; when Kamau looked at her he felt love, he felt Pepo's energy vibrating throughout his body."
Kamau's grandfather was a poor anarchist fisherman, he had taught him that no man should have the power to command another man; when he died Kamau was twenty years old, the old man left him the two old rooms where he lived while to the other grandchildren he left his savings; Kamau, Ruto and Zahara decided to turn that house into an anarchist cultural center; the rooms were in bad shape but the three friends worked hard, they fixed the roof, plastered, repaired the windows and built bookcases and tables with recycled planks, Zahara, who had beautiful handwriting, painted a mural on a wall with the words long live freedom."
"It must have been a beautiful place, like our cultural center" said a young man from the group. "And it was" said Ayanna. "That center was a point of reference for those at the bottom, twice a week assemblies were held in which everyone could participate, there no one was the boss, there was an empty chair in the center of the room, whoever wanted to speak sat there and had their say, they talked about neocolonialism, the exploitation of the land, the shame of arranged marriages, poverty and the inhuman lifestyle imposed by society.
After the meetings, when the city fell asleep and the sky filled with stars, the three friends went up to the roof, brought something to eat, cold drinks and a guitar then they sat cross-legged, had dinner and played in turn; Zahara called Kamau K. Junior but only she could do it, if someone else did it he would get angry but he was only pretending, they were happy."
"And then what happened?" asked a boy drinking his drink. Ayanna's face became serious. "The center bothered the bullies, one night someone wrote the word crazy with black spray paint on the wall then they started finding little notes with hate-filled phrases in the mailbox; no one paid too much attention to it but they were wrong; that day my father was there, it was a Friday."
Ayanna stops for a moment and takes a sip of orange soda. "There were about twenty people in the center, Zahara was speaking, she had just finished explaining the relationship between political corruption and land concessions to multinationals, suddenly about fifteen men entered through the door, they had long beards, their faces partially covered by cloths and they wore white tunics, in their hands they had truncheons and iron bars, they were Islamic fundamentalists, they had been sent by the imam of the mosque in the neighboring neighborhood, perhaps they had burst in without even knowing what was being said in that place; those criminals began to shout, they said that everyone in there was an infidel, one of them, the leader, ordered everything to be destroyed, some began to tear the pages of the books from the small library but Ruto opposed, shouted swear words at them and spat in the leader's face, a few seconds later he took a truncheon blow to the back, the second blow hit him in the back of the head killing him."
A girl from the group murmured: "That imam was truly a violent and cowardly man, he hid behind a religion to vent his cruelty." Ayanna continued: "Kamau saw his friend fall, he wanted to run to him but three men blocked him, they began to kick him in the back, on his ribs and on his legs, he could only see their black boots rising and falling like mechanical hammers then the fundamentalists attacked Zahara, perhaps it was the skirt that in their eyes was too short, perhaps it was the fact that a woman was speaking in an assembly, the fact is that they began to insult her saying she was a prostitute, the woman asked Kamau for help but he was on the ground with three men stomping on his ribs, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything." The silence among the boys is total, Ayanna with a sad expression whispers: "They threw her to the ground and cut off her head with an axe while Kamau watched helplessly."
The faces of some boys turn pale, a girl covers her mouth with her hand, someone coughs. "Kamau screamed so loudly" says Ayanna "that people came out into the street thinking a bomb had exploded but instead it was Kamau shouting Zahara's name while the head of the woman he would marry a few days later rolled on the floor; a few seconds passed and the squad members approached him, they told him he was a friend of prostitutes and while two held him still the third cut his face with three slashes but Kamau did not scream, he did not feel the pain, he was too far away, lost in a remote point of his consciousness, the blood ran down his neck, onto his shirt, onto his hands but he didn't notice anything."
A boy murmurs: "Oh poor man, that's why he has those marks on his face, now I understand why he is so cold, such a traumatic experience must have marked him in his heart as well." Ayanna nods her head and continues: "At that moment two men who ten minutes earlier had managed to escape through a window returned with rifles, shot at the ceiling and the fundamentalists, frightened, ran away dropping their truncheons on the ground; Kamau was taken to the hospital by two friends, as they carried him out of the cultural center, near the door, he saw Ruto's lifeless body with his mouth open, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and a pool of blood around his head, Kamau screamed again, another desperate and deep cry spread throughout the city.
At the hospital the doctors treated him with a drug to stop the bleeding and with twenty stitches but on his face he was left with three scars and on his heart scars deeper than the visible ones; the authorities had the cultural center closed the next day, they said it was dangerous for public order, no one was arrested for the death of Ruto and Zahara, only useless inconclusive interrogations, the imam denied his involvement and the authorities believed him." "It is very likely that they pretended to believe him," a girl interrupts him. Some nod. "Right words," they murmur.
Ayanna nods and continues: "Kamau left the hospital, his parents hugged him but he remained inert, with his arms at his sides and his eyes fixed on the wall; that evening his brothers tried to stay close to him, one brought him tea, another put a blanket over his shoulders, his younger sister asked him to tell her a fairy tale but Kamau looked at them as if he didn't see them; from that day he stopped speaking to his family and friends, he stopped feeling their caresses and their hugs, he stopped feeling love, Pepo's energy."
Ayanna, with a choked voice, finishes by saying: "My father and the others tried everything, they went to visit him every day, they brought him newspapers, they told him the news but nothing, Kamau listened, nodded, sometimes he answered with monosyllables, he was always polite, never grumpy, but inside he was extinguished; a year later he moved to another city without saying where he was going, he didn't say goodbye to anyone, no one ever heard anything more about him, he lost love," comments Ayanna. "He no longer feels love for friends, nor for family, nor for women, it is as if something inside him broke on the day Zahara and Ruto died."
Everyone is silent, someone has red eyes, a boy with glasses cleans his lenses with a handkerchief then another gets up saying: "We must help him." Ayanna looks at him. "How?" The young people decide to approach and speak to him, it is the only thing they can do; Kamau is sitting on the sand with his knees to his chest and his gaze fixed on the horizon, Ayanna sits next to him, he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, doesn't look at her, a boy tries to speak to him: "I see that you also have a necklace with a circled A, we frequent an anarchist center not far from here, we would like you to come and visit us." Kamau looks at him for a few seconds. "Anarchy is a thing of the past, I'm not interested anymore," he replies politely. Ayanna makes a second attempt: "My father says that love cannot be killed, it falls asleep but then it wakes up again" Kamau bursts out laughing but it is a fake laugh, it is a sad laugh. "Miss, your father doesn't know anything," he replies. Immediately afterwards he gets up and leaves along the beach.
That night Kamau cannot sleep, he falls asleep and wakes up continuously, outside he hears the crickets and the dogs barking in the distance, Ayanna's words spin in his head, he rejects them, he thinks they are stupid words but those words return, knock on the door of his consciousness like someone asking to enter; Kamau doesn't want to open and yet for the first time in thirty years he feels something in his chest, it is not a complete emotion, it is an embryo of emotion, a small and distant warmth then everything passes, the man returns to looking at the ceiling with empty eyes.
A few days later, in the late afternoon, Ayanna leaves the cultural center with a stack of flyers in her bag; after a few minutes she hears footsteps behind her, she turns and sees three malicious men with long beards and tunics following her. "Hey" shouts the shortest one "What's that junk you have in your bag?" The three approach her. "We were missing another element like you, wherever you anarchists are there's chaos." states another. The one who had been silent comes up beside her and shoves her. "Get out of my way, mosquito" says Ayanna as she grabs the man by an arm and throws him against a wall. Immediately the other two begin to punch her in the face and kick her legs, the fallen one gets up, the girl tries to defend herself but is overpowered and falls on the asphalt.
Kamau happens to pass by there, sees the scene, then recognizes the hair tied in the red headscarf, sees that the girl in danger is the one who had spoken to him a few days earlier, the one who had said the words that had remained imprinted in his head; something in him breaks, it is not only because what is happening reminds him of Zahara's death, also, but not only, it is the injustice; seeing that girl who wanted to help him beaten for no reason is unjust and Kamau, for the first time after thirty years, does not remain paralyzed, he feels an immense energy rise from his stomach, it is not anger, it is the energy of Aphrodite in her aspect of protective love; Kamau places himself between the three malicious men and Ayanna, he says nothing, he doesn't think, a strong kick to the rear hits the first man, a punch to the nose for the second and one to the stomach for the third, one of them hits him in the face but Kamau lifts him up by the collar of his tunic and throws him to the ground; the three, caught off guard, retreat, look at each other and then run away.
Ayanna is on the ground with a few scratches, Kamau bends down and helps her up, takes her hand, it is the first time after thirty years that he touches another human being feeling something; Ayanna's hand is warm, Kamau feels that hand as if it were the first he has touched in his life, the warmth rises from the palm, crosses the arm and reaches the chest, Aphrodite's energy expands inside him like a river in flood; Kamau begins to cry copious tears and while he cries he has a vision, he sees Zahara, she is not a ghost, it is her with her amber eyes and her long braids, she looks at him smiling, opens her mouth and says: "Love, finally you come back to life." The vision fades, Kamau finds himself in the street with Ayanna but after that crying his eyes have changed, they are no longer extinguished, they shine as they shone thirty years earlier, his heart was asleep, it was not dead.
"Let's go" says Kamau "I'll walk you home." The two head toward Ayanna's house, it is a small house of few rooms on the outskirts of the city, nearby there are other similar ones of different colors; Ayanna's mother opens the door and sees her daughter and Kamau with scratches on their faces, then she sees the anarchist symbol on the man's necklace. "You found some brawlers, huh?" Then she turns to Kamau. "Come in, a glass of cold soda is never refused." Kamau tries to refuse: "I don't want to disturb." "You don't disturb, we've just moved, my husband will be here soon, I'm sure we'll become friends" replies the woman. Kamau enters, sits down on a chair in front of the dining room table while the lady prepares the soda with some ice cubes; Ayanna knows that in a few minutes her father will arrive but she says nothing, she waits with her heart beating fast.
The sound of the key turning in the lock is heard, the door opens, Kito enters, he still has long hair and sunglasses, now he has a few wrinkles on his forehead but he is always him, he sees Kamau sitting on the chair, he stops at the door, the keys fall from his hands, his breathing slows, the two men look at each other for the first time after thirty years; Kito has shining eyes, Kamau feels his chest contract, at the same moment they say: "Kamau, it's you." "Kito, it's you." Kito takes a few steps forward. "Wait," he says with a trembling voice, "I have something for you." He runs into the room, in front of the bed there is a desk with a long pile of diaries where he, since he was a boy, every day, writes what happened to him during the day, his thoughts or what happened in the world; Kito counts to thirty, takes that diary and leafs through it until he finds the page he had in mind; when he returns to the dining room his hands are trembling. "After you closed yourself off" he says "I and the others tried everything, then I wrote these things." Kamau takes the diary in his hands and reads: «Ruto, Zahara and Kamau: three heroes who did not bow to bullies.» Below there is another phrase written with a marker, as if Kito had wanted to carve it into the page: «Kamau, killing love is not possible, love is like an underground river, sometimes it disappears but it is always there.»
Kamau closes the diary, tears gush out of him like a fountain, now with his inner dialogue he no longer says that it is the Sun's fault, he gets up, takes a step toward Kito and hugs him. "I couldn't feel anything anymore" says Kamau through tears. "I couldn't feel love anymore, I tried to find it again but I couldn't feel it anymore; I apologize to everyone, to you, to the other friends, to my family and to everyone I pushed away, I apologize for how I behaved." Kito holds him tighter. "No, you don't have to apologize, it's not your fault, we can't turn love on and off like we do with the television remote." The two friends remain embraced for a long time then they all have dinner together; late in the evening Kamau returns to his apartment, this time with new eyes.
When Kamau has left, Kito leafs through his old diary, between the pages he finds a photo with him, Ruto, Zahara and Kamau sitting at the large table of the cultural center, all four appear smiling, the man shows the photo to his wife and Ayanna, the girl observes it curiously. "You know, dad" she says after a while "I recently got close to anarchy but inside me I have always felt anarchic, since I was a child I felt anger when I saw someone commanding someone else or people forced to beg, I can't explain it." Then she continues: "Until today I felt invincible, I thought I could beat all the bullies with force but today I found three guys who together were stronger than me." Kito puts the photo on the table, looks his daughter in the eyes and caresses her cheek. "The better world that we have in mind" says the man slowly "we will not achieve it with force, the bullies are stronger than us, they have truncheons, they have the laws on their side and in certain parts of the world for those at the bottom the laws are worth less than the paper they are written on." Ayanna listens with her chin resting on her hands. "The better world" continues Kito "we will achieve it with words, this world is now old, it is a world of masters and servants, of those who command and those who obey, of those who have everything and those who have nothing but with the passing of generations fewer and fewer young people tolerate it, fewer and fewer young people settle for the lifestyle imposed by society, for consuming life working from morning to night, for a plate of rice and three rooms to live in, they want a real life." Ayanna nods.
That evening, before falling asleep, the girl thinks back to her father's words, she understands that fists do not change the social structure, it will be words that will build the future world, not violence; from that day Ayanna in her free time sits with a computer, a notebook, a pen and prints flyers and notes, then she shows her writings to a friend who graduated in philosophy, the friend reads them, looks up with shining eyes and exclaims: "Not bad, these words could turn into a book, a book that touches people's hearts."
Kamau in the meantime has resumed living a real life, it is not easy, thirty years of habit cannot be erased in one night, sometimes he still wakes up with the feeling of emptiness in his heart but then his heart is filled by Kito's words, his wife, Ayanna and the new friends he manages to make in the city; now on the beach the man walks with a different step, he doesn't keep his head down, he walks straight with his eyes full of light and when a dog runs toward him wagging its tail he pets it; the workers, the fishermen and the students exchange astonished glances.
One Sunday Kamau takes a train and returns to the city where he was born to go and visit his parents; his mother opens the door and sees him with shining eyes, just like before that tragic day, he hugs her, it is a real hug, warm, full, the woman cries. "Kamau, you have become my Kamau again!" she shouts full of joy. His father is sitting on a chair listening to the radio, as soon as he sees his son he jumps up in disbelief, Kamau runs to him and hugs him, the old man caresses him and says: "Kamau, your hug is the most beautiful gift you could have given me before I die."
Kamau stays a few hours in the living room with his parents then goes to the room he shared with his brothers, everything is the same, everything in order, with the blankets of the beds neatly folded by his mother; Kamau kneels in front of a piece of furniture, puts a hand under it, gropes for something but finds nothing; his father appears at the door with a smiling look: "Kamau, are you looking for this?" The man holds a statuette in his hand, a small sculpture, a stylized figure with open arms, a swollen chest and a gaze turned upward, it is Pepo, it is that statuette that Kamau, shortly before moving, had torn from the shelf, had thrown it to the ground, had kicked it dozens of times, he wanted it to break, he wanted Pepo's energy to die in him but incredibly it did not break, so with his foot he had pushed it under the furniture where he was now looking for it; Kamau takes the statuette in his hands, holds it to his chest and kisses it.
I am a polytheistic pagan and in my worldview the energy that Aphrodite gives to everyone for the simple fact that the Goddess is present in everything is that feeling of pleasure that we feel when we kiss a woman but also when we spend time with friends, when our family members hug us, when we pet a dog; Aphrodite can never abandon us because she is present everywhere, including us, no pain, no loss, no betrayal can erase Aphrodite from us; what can happen is that during our lives we feel this energy weaken or even disappear, we no longer feel love, in these cases it is as if a faucet has closed inside us but the water is still there, ready to flow.
Many people, in their journey on this Earth, realize that the world around them seems the same but inside themselves something has changed; affectionate gestures no longer warm them as before, the people they love are by their side as always but they feel distant, it is as if a thick glass had been placed between them and others; this feeling is not a fault, it does not mean that they are bad or heartless people, it means that something has altered their ability to feel.
Love, Aphrodite's energy, can weaken for various reasons, among these there is trauma blockage; when faced with too much pain some people may unconsciously decide that loving is dangerous and that in order not to suffer again they must stop loving but it is not a voluntary decision, it is a protection mechanism that they activate automatically like when we touch a hot pan and pull our hand away before even thinking about it.
This block in a certain sense saves lives, if the protagonist of the story I wrote while in the hospital had felt all the pain in full he would have gone mad or died; that pain was too great, then without him deciding anything, a deep part of himself, which we can call authentic self or source, to protect him sealed love in a safe and kept the keys himself; it is important to consider that the source, which is very strong, remembers the trauma even when the mind would like to forget it.
People with a trauma block feel nothing, not even sadness for not feeling anything, there is a total void and their mind begins to justify the decisions of the authentic self, they begin to tell themselves stories to protect the block itself such as thinking that love is something for wimps, that it is stuff for young people, that they have more urgent things to take care of or that all in all their life is beautiful even without love; these words are shields that the mind puts in front of them to keep them away from danger.
The block cannot be removed with thoughts, in the story Kamau tried to say "Now I will return to love." but he did not succeed because the source does not listen to words and is much stronger than the mind; you cannot force love to come out, you can instead create the conditions that allow love to come out on its own, to do this one must take into consideration that the block persists because the authentic self still believes it is in a dangerous situation; to get out of the block these people should first feel safe and approach love little by little but they should perform actions, not think about how to solve the situation with logical reasoning, they can for example frequent quiet places, frequent friends who do not judge, for a while do the same things every day; as for the actions that bring them closer to love one must not pretend that they fall in love tomorrow, they only need to start petting a dog, write a kind word on a note, send a supportive text message, small steps do not activate the source's alarm and meanwhile, inside them, the ice begins to crack.
For those who are experiencing a trauma block it is important that the people around them do not demand and do not force, that they continue to see them and love them because this block is not their decision, it is not a fault and it is not a Divine punishment, it is the way in which a deep part of themselves that they cannot control has protected them from a pain that would otherwise have destroyed or killed them.
Love can also dissolve or weaken because of wounds, this happens if we have loved someone but then those people hurt us with a betrayal, with a physical or emotional abandonment, or with coldness such as indifference, rejections or silences; a single dramatic event is not needed, many small disappointments repeated over time can weaken love until it seems to have disappeared; even in this circumstance one can have the sensation of not feeling anything anymore for anyone but the problem is a little less complex than the trauma block.
In this case love has not been put in a safe by the authentic self that holds the key, our mind has a certain control over it, the love inside us is still there but it is tired and wounded.
Regarding the symptoms, there is no total emotional void, one feels something such as sadness, nostalgia, disappointment, mistrust, fear of loving, it is as if we were in front of a fire that has burned us, we know that the fire can warm us but we are afraid to approach.
Even in this situation we create shields that protect us from the fear of suffering again, these thoughts are similar to those I mentioned above when I spoke about the trauma block but in this case they are not constructed by the authentic self, it is the mind that creates them so they are a little easier to remove because we hold the shield in our hands and we can decide to lower it, the positive thing is that inner dialogue can partly contribute to making us find love again.
To return to feeling Aphrodite's energy it is important to avoid generalizing, one must distinguish those who have harmed us from others therefore avoid repeating to ourselves, with our inner dialogue, that everyone cheats us, that everyone abandons, that no one listens to us, in this regard it can be useful to visualize those who have never hurt us, even if they are no longer among us; one must then give a chance to new people who want to approach us; in some cases it can be useful to cultivate a different type of love from the one that troubled us for example if we have been pierced in the soul by a family member we can seek a romantic love with a woman, if we have been harmed by a relationship with a partner we can seek new friends, even four-legged ones, then, over time, when our heart will be stronger, we can gradually return to the type of love that troubled us.
Love can also weaken when we give a lot without receiving, when we listen without being listened to, when we are always available to offer our help but when we need it everyone is busy, when we worry about others without anyone worrying about us, when we spontaneously hug everyone but no one hugs us without us asking.
Love is not only giving, it is also receiving and when we always give and never receive the heart falls asleep because it is tired of loving alone, one feels tiredness, disappointment, loneliness, all emotions that cover love like a blanket, emotions that make us think that we no longer feel anything for anyone even if it is not true, our feelings have only weakened.
In the case in which we think we give a lot of love but do not receive it we should start asking ourselves if it is an absolute truth, maybe we receive it but not as we would like, for example many people would like to hear I love you every day but this does not happen, this does not mean that the partner does not love them, perhaps they prefer to show their affection with a gesture, with a gift, with a kiss rather than with words, what matters is the feeling.
In some cases however it really happens that our love is not reciprocated and here the problems begin; many people grow up with the idea that loving is a duty and that loving is giving without ever asking for anything in return but true love, in my opinion, is an exchange, not a calculated give and take but a reciprocal movement and if for years a person has given without receiving they are living a situation of imbalance in their emotional relationships; to compensate for this imbalance they should start asking, they should not ask for large sums of money but small favors such as a ride in the car, help moving a heavy object; those who are used only to giving often do not know how to ask because saying thank you seems a weakness to them, asking for a favor seems a burden to others but it is not.
In some cases it is appropriate to distance oneself from people who demand without ever wanting to reciprocate especially when they are emotionally absent.
Another factor that weakens love is the inhuman lifestyle imposed by society, we live in a world that wants us productive and efficient, we are forced to dedicate twelve or fourteen hours a day to work and when we return home we look at a screen and fall asleep, then, the next day, we wake up and start all over again; it is not our fault, it is the system that designs our days so that there is no room for the lasting embrace, for the gaze that rests.
In some moments of our lives we have the sensation that the world in which we live is slowly draining us day after day, the fire that fuels love, little by little, we feel it weakening but this does not happen because we do not want to keep it burning, it happens because the conditions to do so are lacking.
To return to feeling love shine in the society in which we live we cannot change the world from one day to the next alone but we can steal small pieces of time from the system; in the morning, during lunch break and in the evening we can turn off computers, telephones, television and radio to dedicate half an hour, if possible even more, to being present, to doing something human, we can for example share time with friends, write a poem for a woman, take a romantic walk while observing the Moon, leave seeds on the balcony for the birds, have dinner together with the family instead of in the company of the smartphone.
Electronic devices are not the enemy but when they become the only companions of our days love has no space; it is the body that connects us, not the screens, I realize that in this digital era the words I have written may seem absurd but that is how it is, physical contact is nourishment for love, we must return to kissing with our mouths and hugging with our hands instead of with smiley faces on social media; the more time we spend in the physical world the more love regains strength because true love is made with skin, with breath, with presence.
I wanted to tell this story because in it I recognize a fragment of my own existence; it has also happened to me, in certain periods of life, to feel Aphrodite's energy weaken, it never completely turned off as instead happened to the protagonist of the story but it became faint, almost imperceptible.
Yet, while the warmth of love diminished, something unexpected happened: the energies of Polyhymnia and Apollo grew within me, the verses I composed, the lyrics I wrote in the evenings spent under the Moon, the lyrics of the songs I sang during pagan festivities, everything seemed better, more intense, more true.
Some would tell me that perhaps it was love that, unable to express itself through contact with others, found a different way to manifest itself; Aphrodite's energy, the one that makes us vibrate when we hug a friend or when our eyes meet those of someone we love had transformed, had changed channel, had hidden itself in the words and music that is born from breath, had put on a different dress, the one that my soul, in those moments, was able to welcome.
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