A Pirate Named Gianni Cobalto • Part 1

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Picture by unknown

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The sharp saltiness of the ocean flutters in the lazy afternoon breeze. A clavichord is giggling from the inside, beyond the wooden porch. It’s a tune from Domenico, the Neapolitan. Gianni is carried away by the melody. His memories at sea are intertwined with his future – very likely at sea. The Old World looks so precious now that it’s kept in the gilded casket of the past. But the pirate knows about the illusory nature of this coffer. “Memories are tricks of the little you, designed to hold you back from experiencing the wonders of the larger You,” said the Indian guy in Pulau Ujong. “The little you likes to be right. Rigid in its beliefs, it likes to provide you with a sense of identity.” All these esoteric ideas resonated with Gianni in a strange manner. His Christian upbringing taught him that God was up there, ready to judge you after your final step. The Indian guy, instead, told him that God is within and is free of judgement.

“What do you like?” asked the man in orange robes.

“I like… What do I like…”

“Yes, is there any form of beauty you can appreciate?”

“I like music. In Venice, we have great music. Antonio Vivaldi.”

“So. The next time you listen to a beautiful sonata, let it become one with you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Listen to it with your whole body, not with your brain. Don’t listen to your parrot mind, let it fly away. Listen to the music!” he lifted and shook his palms with intensity.

Gianni is now in the New World, a land of great uncertainty and even greater opportunity. He promptly applies the method suggested by the guru to the sonata coming from inside the house. The clavichord melody, note after note, flows through the banks of his awareness like a river. The course of this river is initially twisty and restless. Then he expands his focus on the harmony: left and right hand, white and delicate, dance on the keyboard in the dimly lit room. The river is approaching the sea. It finally surrenders into the infinite waters of the ocean. The pirate has never experienced such a sense of peace. Of fullness and emptiness at the same time.

“Cobalto!” a voice pops in the background. “Cobalto!” It sounds farther than it is. He does not react to the desperate vibration of those shouts. The music stops. A gentle drumming of steps follows, out of the porch. A fresh hand touches his neck: he feels the love of a lifetime piercing his skin-shell through those fingers. “Jean…” The female French-coloured voice chimes in like a timid violin. “The Spaniards…” He lifts up his gaze and her features astound him. She radiates a soft golden light. Her dark hair balances with the pale blue eyes and face. “You have to go…” He caresses her tender cheek. Thus, he calmly gets up from the creaking wooden chair. Gianni smiles confidently to her. The green palms idly wave in the maritime breeze throughout the bay. The sun is hiding behind the clouds. The pirate doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t mind, as if he was guided by something smarter than him. Jacmel Bay is as gorgeous as a dream, including the small Spanish frigate at the horizon. He turns to the French angel who’d accidentally fallen on his lap. One kiss. He’s swiftly off to the stable, where Troussard and Cantley were shouting his name. “Hurry up, Venetian!” said his English comrade. They gallop away at once. They cross the forest and villages and face a dilemma.

“Port-au-Prince lies a day away,” says Troussard.

“Too late to join any ship…” answers Gianni.

“But the filibusters will protect us for the night.”

“Of course they would, the Spaniards wouldn’t dare lift a finger there.”

“Why you’re so doubtful then?”

“Cause it’s what the Spaniards expect from us. They’re not only coming after us. They’re surely ahead of us.”

“We need an alternative plan, vénitien.” Agrees with him the French pirate.

They’re heading north, towards the coast. Gianni listens to the hoofs knocking on the bare soil; the air gets fresher and fresher as they climb up the road through the mountains. The forest is alive. He closes his eyes for an apparently infinite moment. No parrot is chatting in his head. His mind is clear like the water of the Caribbean. He’s listening to everything with his body like the Indian man suggested. Suddenly he knows. He knows what? He just knows.

“Are we fucked up, Venetian?” genuinely asks Cantley.

“We could be. But we’re not. The Spanish head-hunters are probably waiting for us at Carrefour. We go to Gonâve Island. And leave tomorrow with the first filibuster ship stopping for supplies.”

“How do we reach l’Île de la Gonâve?” asks Troussard.

“Even if we steal or buy a boat on the coast, what makes you think we’ll cross the Canal du Sud alive? That is the most dangerous place in the whole New World for a pirate now that the French want to kick the filibusters out of Port-au-Prince. Dutch, English, French and Spanish ships swarm in the area – untouched by the retreating pirates.” Cantley emphasizes the facts opening his arms wide.

“God will bring us there.”

They’re both silent, in shock, for a minute. “Cobalto, do you suddenly miss catholic school? What the hell. We’re bloody pirates. Murderers and thieves! What makes you think that God would help us?”

Gianni bursts into laughter and the horse responds neighing as if it could get the irony of Cantley’s reaction. Troussard, renowned atheist, doesn’t speak. “You, silly Briton. I’m not talking about the God of the Bible. I was just using a word you could understand. The Divine is not an old bearded man hanging around on a cloud. The Divine is all around you and inside of you!”

“You’ve gone insane, Venetian…”

Je lui crois. I trust his plan.” Asserts the French pirate. “Even though I’m still quite sceptical about the mystical stuff,” he grins through his sharp moustache.

Jack Cantley is stunned on the back of his black horse.

Perfetto.” Gianni turns to the English man. “At worse, we’ll die blowing some brains… And drinking the good stuff,” he winks, “I have a bottle of cognac from Maxine.”

“Right…” he mumbles, totally spaced out.

 

Herons

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Willow Mirror

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Picture by Debra Bucci

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Flexibility.

In my plans, I learn to grow flexible, like you do.

Energy in motion.

In my feeling, I learn to dance with the storms, like you do.

Nourishment.

In my thirst, I learn to drink from the River, like you do.

 

Riding my bicycle like a knight-errant,

By the breeze of a late-summer evening,

I look and behold.

Shades unfold,

Sunset lights burst, evening

The surfaces of creation’s night errand.

 

I notice your perfect portrait,

Painted on the river…

Maybe, reality is a mirror as well.

Maybe, you can choose to feel well,

Attuning to energies that quiver

At higher frequencies, by Nature’s portrait.

 

Willow tree, beloved, native kindred,

With common oaks, white poplars and linden,

You fill my heart and teach me by example

To be brave, resilient and humble.

 

Herons

Italian Stone Pine

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Picture by J. M. W. Turner

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Tears flow before my speechless mind.

Before the vivid silhouette of a pine,

I choose to let go of my limited sight.

Beyond the noise of judgment,

Experience strips off its garment

Of labels and old patterns.

Stone pine, brother of mine,

In the land of cypress, hackberry, and lime,

Hold me tight in your branches,

Ground me so I can reach the sky.

 

Herons

 

Rowan Tree (罗恩树)

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Embroidery by Lili Jahilo

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Your children,  sleigh-bells,

Ring red, orange and sharp;

It’s Christmas every day.

You stand tall, my little friend;

Ash, beech and oak, your giant tribe folk,

Respect your trade and your grave.

Feasts of butterflies,

Busy bees and flies,

Loyal bird-midwives.

In essence,

The whole forest thrives.

 

When you stop trying to solve the mystery,

You become it.

Birds and butterflies,

Bees and flies,

Rain and trenches,

Leaves and branches.

In essence,

You become You,

One with everything.

Luō ēn shù.

 

Herons

Subconscious, Conscious And Superconscious

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Picture by Dimitry Belikov

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We all have a notion, at least intuitive, of what is the subconscious mind. It refers to all those pieces of information, all those energies of which we’re not aware in daily life. It’s basically the product of our upbringing, of our conditioning, more or less supported by the physiology of our growing little bodies.

The conscious mind, on the other hand, is all about what we can label and imagine, decision making, “logical” thinking. In most cases is only directed by the subconscious, by the past, printed in our body-mind ego structure. Good news is that we have the power to rewrite the subconscious in order to attract different circumstances in our lives. How so? By means of our innate ability to focus. Of the trillions of bits of information we can perceive, we choose only less than two million. To direct our focus we must use techniques like visualization, affirmations, physically active rituals involving yoga, dancing, acting. All of them are very powerful as long as they are charged with emotion – energy in motion. In this way, we tap into the vibrational aspect of reality, that some call the 4th dimension.

All good. It’s a very powerful state of consciousness, you can literally and metaphorically, do the magic in 4D. However, you can feel that we’re missing out something. What’s that? Yes, you got it. The superconscious. That is the realm of the essence. Beyond past conditioning, beyond conscious thinking. It’s amazing when you realize that you can tap into it right now. Actually, you can only access it now. The prerequisite to align to a 5th-dimensional state of consciousness, that, for the record, is your natural state, is being present to the moment. True presence connects you to the superconscious. Why? Because you let go of labeling your experience through past-conditioned reasoning. It’s all about real novelty. You let the wordless intelligence of nature, of pure consciousness, of the Universe, of God – however you feel more comfortable to call it – flow through you.

From a 3D and 4D perspective, connecting to the divine is a process that takes time. The research of God, some say. Nonetheless, by realizing time is an ego-generated illusion anyways, you can fully tap into presence. Here and now. How to do that?

I’m going to mention some techniques you can research deeply by yourself after reading this article. We have that of  Proprioception, namely perceiving the aliveness in your physical body. We have Mindfulness Meditation, that mainly focuses on the five senses, separately and simultaneously. And we have more, I assure you. However, what really helped me in my experience, as a beginner and forward, is observing my thoughts and emotions neutrally. A non-judgemental attitude really makes a difference when it comes to awareness. You really let nature do its thing.

 

Herons

Mulberry Tree (桑树)

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Picture by Vincent Van Gogh

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So sweet are your children,

So far is your image

In the past, in the future…

Here and now I summon you,

Mulberry tree.

Some might not see it,

Some might not admit it.

Some might not taste

The texture, mild flavour, and aftertaste

Of those red, lilac, purple and black

Jewels, dangling from your canopy-rack,

Mulberry tree.

But I do,

You know, I do.

And so do you.

Sāngshù.

 

Herons

 

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By the way check out this amazing song by Dylan Ryche.

 

Let Them Pass

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Picture by Artem Chebokha

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Clouds swimming fast in the sky,

Where will you take me?

To the open mouth of a river screaming loud?

To the aching limbs of drastic doubt?

Clouds swimming fast in the sky,

What will you show me?

The skeleton of the human race?

A Chinese Buddha with his big fat face?

Clouds in the sky, screeching tires of white,

Where do you run to?

I don’t care.

Because

I’m smelling the breeze on my arms,

I’m listening to the circular saw synth-waves,

I’m feeling the warmth of this body,

Through which I experience the waves.

But my essence lies on the lakebed,

From where I quietly observe the tempests of the mind.

Let them pass,

Like clouds swimming fast in the sky.

 

Herons