PARADISE

 The blue sea is dotted by oil puddles left by the boats of fake captains. In them are floating bodies of dead dolphins; sea horses are already extinct, in their place one can see only plastic dishes. It is not advisable to swim in the sea during the summer. Luckily, everything changes when arrives Aeolus, with a single breeze getting rid of the rich invaders.

In accordance with tradition there is also the Serpent, its massive body wrapping the island from the sea to the very top. Serpent’s “body”: terraces made ​​of huge volcanic stones. Egyptian pyramids grow pale in front of the incredible skill and perseverance of slaves who have raised these walls centuries ago using primitive tools.

Who knows what secrets and treasures are still hidden within the rocks?
A few foreign archeologists have excavated close to the surface one place, and now the museum on the neighboring island is filled with ancient objects, but everything ended there: renowned archeologists today prefer to explore sweet life of the Italian Capital, they don’t venture so far.

Paradise is a ten meters long rock, lost at sea: trees are blooming, birds are singing, air is pure, but one can barely breathe, so beautiful is the landscape.

Paradise is a sleeping volcano located between volcanoes which are wide awake.

Paradise is a metaphor that expresses fragility of existence. The island is a drowsing volcano located between volcanoes which are wide awake. Its enormous body is composed of compact granite layers, resting on a crack loosely filled with medium sized stones;  top of the mountain is dotted with rolling stones which are menacing to destroy the village below at the slightest earthquake. Everything here is an unstable miracle, it can disappear any moment.

Here lives a hermit in a beautiful cave dug high in the cliff. He explains: "I am just passing through, on vacation since three decades.”
-Do you fly here?
-No, you slip. Do not look for safe supports, they will deceive you. One can pass through danger only by dancing. Do not look down into the abyss, look at your destination; remember-nothing wrong will happen, everything is in one’s head.
-But what is the destination?
-Happiness of feeling fully alive at every moment.
-Happiness as one’s only support? Sounds slippery.

One has to invent movements and characters here at every step…you are a lizard, then a bird, then a mountain goat, then a stream…
The roads have been cancelled by time, only barely visible suggestions remain here and there, the passages are created by walking, and one has to improvise continuously-the movements, the rhythm, the next support...

There is no gap between fantasy and reality: they both need each other, complement each other. Imagination is to be applied to real life situations at every instance; this is the law of survival. If one keeps in mind constant danger of falling into the abyss, existence becomes a course in applied philosophy ... differently from the philosophy festival in the Auditorium, here “ticket” is the risk of life’s loss; when one makes a mistake, one pays hefty fine: death. Whoever remains alive calls helicopter to recuperate dead body from blooming bushes down below.

“Not only happiness can serve as support, memory can do so too.” And he begins to train me to walk in the darkness on slippery roads, turning on the flash light for a second every ten steps so as to give me some idea of where we are. Little by little I get accustomed to sense the road in darkness, learning that seeing with eyes is one out of many ways of receiving knowledge.
What a marvelous breakneck riddle is this Paradise!

How can one not remain enchanted by all that? And so Adam has got his Eve.

On the cliff grows wild fennel. With all its slender body, with all its being it is projected into nothingness, to the other side of the sea.
-And you, why do you look there with nostalgia? What do you miss?
- I was thinking of those ships in the distance, wondering who are the travelers?
-What do you care? Here's a fairy tale for you to browse through.

It's not a book, not even a story; it is the most surreal reality in the world: it’s a cave house full of light situated high on the cliff. There are no paintings, just a crescent moon painted above the bed, a guitar, a candle. During stormy weather the cave sounds like a sea shell. Above the door grows a creeping plant that covers entering visitor with a rain of flowers at the slightest whiff of wind. Here one’s hair is always "bejeweled”. There is also a clock without numbers in the shape of the mirror: its turning hands are showing only the undisturbed blue of the sea and the sky reflected in the mirror.

At night from the outside the cave looks like a spaceship: dozens of bottles placed inside the rock resemble small porthole-windows. At dawn, the sun paints walls of the cave with red.
There are a few rooms in the cave, to pass from one space to another one has to bend and patter along  low corridors. It is impossible to do so without laughter. It is also an exercise to remain always present “here and now”.
If you are distracted, you bang your head and remember that life is not just a fairy tale.

This is our dwelling, what else to desire?

It was not apple but critical thinking that was responsible for my downfall:
-You are confused, Love is Paradise. The rest are just backgrounds… less or more beautiful.
-Love? Let me show you what love is. Come here, look.

Three small branches huddle against each other, forming nucleus of the fireplace on the stone plate. It is mounted into an enormous ancient oven whose dome has been transformed into a kitchen. Above the fireplace, there is a window that frames Etna which is smoking a few kilometers away. It seems to say, “Everything you do here is a ritual with a deeper meaning”.

Our favorite past time is to explore caves.

I suggest:” Let’s make a house from that small hole in the rock and fill it with little things: a small fireplace, a small table. “
“Sure! You want a doll house?
“No, I’d like to turn it into a place where guests can relax and do anything they like.”
“If you bring all those city people here you will destroy this place as well.”

"Not all those who live in cities are bad. Many people don’t suspect that there is no need to die in order to live in Heaven, it’s not' their fault. I did not know it before coming here either.

Blue is everywhere. On the edge of the cliff, in the garden, there is a massive ancient bathtub. We wash here. On the island there is no water; in the past people used to collect it, now it is transported by boat from mainland. We use rainwater water seasoned with plants; one pot is enough for a shower.

Human landscape: here reins loyalty to devastating traditions. Stories of families: incest, eighteen year old girls "booked" by old uncles who "fix" the "damage" by leaving their considerable assets as an inheritance to their loved nieces.

Simplicity is in fashion among the rich elite. Here lives an Afghan princess. Her house is a precise copy of ancient peasant’s homes: there are no pictures on the walls, few wooden objects, braid of garlic is hanging over a wooden platter with tomatoes; angles created by the walls seem to be drawn with an uncertain pencil. She has just bought a ruined house so as to transform it into an elegant hotel for executives, where everything will be very "essential".

This fag for simplicity appears to me to be a most macabre, cruel mockery of simple people.

Not only the lords have cheated peasants by eradicating their memory and love for their roots, they also bought the houses of peasant's ancestors for pennies, transformed them into villas where now they enjoy holidays. Ex-farmers, parked in front of TV, do not sing or dance, nobody goes fishing, even bread is brought from the continent. Restaurants serve frozen fish exported from abroad. There are no houses for regular people here and it is prohibited to live in the caves.
Hunters of rabbits give every now and then fire to our garden of Eden. Burning half an island so as to catch some frightened beast, they do not worry: everything grows back better than before in a few weeks because of volcanic soil.
In the abandoned part of the island there is a beautiful ancient fountain: water drips down the wall covered with moss into the tank covered with indecipherable symbols, but only animals and birds are drinking it, the locals prefer to buy water brought from the mainland.

-Why does all this matter to you? This is none of your business. Instead, observe that cloud above neighboring island-that’s island’s breath.  Didn’t you know that islands form clouds?
-It matters because this Paradise of yours is occupied by Devils. If you look behind the appearance, this is just another fake Italian postcard. Let’s go away from here!
-Are you crazy? Nobody leaves this place of his own free will!
So I go away alone, as usual- having nowhere to go.

Paradise… There lives a hermit considered to be madman by local peasants. He is courted by celebrities who treat him as an exotic guru, journalists interview him willingly.
He lives in a beautiful cave on the cliff, he lives off the land.
What's Paradise for him is Hell for me.
Since a year he sends me text messages every Sunday that he does not miss me at all, that while I am suffocating in a polluted city, he's fine, that unlike us consumers he does not need money because he is 'learning to save more each day', that even if there is no one, loneliness in Paradise is beautiful.
He always adds at the end: "Greetings from Paradise"...
Is it Paradise or Hell? Hell: Paradise all to oneself, without Eve.

Why play with words- if we have danced through each other, we can dance through any danger...