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 Scarlatti, the Neapolitan. Gianni is carried away by the melody. His memories at sea are intertwined with his future projections – 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 such coffer. “Memories are tricks of the little you, designed to hold you back from experiencing the wonders of the larger You,” said the bearded 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 strangely resonated with Gianni. His Christian upbringing taught him that God was up there, ready to judge you after your final breath. The Indian guy, instead, told him that God is within and is free of judgment.

“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 fully?”

“I like music. In Italy, we have great music. Corelli, Vivaldi, Scarlatti, Pietro Boni, Albinoni… Poi ci sono i Tedeschi,” he inadvertently switched to Italian, his eyes shining, “Bach, Telemann…”

“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. “Imagine yourself as a biscuit, soaking in milk.”

The voice of the swami fades away. 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 playful 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 finally approaching the sea. It 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 male voice pops in the background. “Cobalto!” It sounds farther than it really 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 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, Jean…” He caresses her tender cheek. Thus, he calmly gets up from the creaking chair and inhales the last puff of smoke from his pipe. Gianni turns to the girl and smiles confidently. The green, tall palms behind her 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 were guided by something smarter than himself. Jacmel Bay is as gorgeous as a dream, including the small Spanish frigate at the horizon. He turns to the French angel who had accidentally fallen on his lap. One kiss. He’s swiftly off to the stable, where Troussard and Cantley have been 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 in his strong french accent.

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

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

“Of course, Jack, 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 sound of hoofs knocking on 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. He’s a soaked savoiardi biscuit. 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 straight to Gonâve Island. And leave tomorrow on 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 his words opening his arms wide.

“God will bring us there.”

Gianni’s companions are 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, does not 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 chilling 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 man. “Even though I’m still quite skeptical about the mystical stuff,” he grins through his sharp mustache.

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

Perfetto.” Gianni turns to the English man. “At worse, we’ll die with the saber in one had the bottle in the other,” he winks, “I have a bottle of cognac from Maxine.”

“Right…” he mumbles, totally spaced out. So he thinks about the half-empty bottle of smoky scotch whisky he’s jealously keeping in his bag for special occasions – to die fighting looks like a special occasion indeed.

The sun suddenly escapes the clouds and the forest radiates all its gorgeous colours. None of them was expecting such a sight on the mountain causeway to Leogâne: a kid, brown like syrup, appears in the middle of the road. Nine years old or something, he holds a weird carved stick on his shoulders; he stoically gazes at the three riders as they approach him on their horses.

 

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

 

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

Dancing Madman

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Picture: Greek Dancer by Jean Groberg

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Dancing madman on the street,

As free as the wind on his bare chest.

Dancing madman on the street,

Living in the moment,

Happier than the shop-owners

Peering out of the window at the ordinary miracle;

Happier than the police,

Came to extinguish his smile,

Laughter of the eternal child.

Dancing madman on the street,

His house’s a backpack,

His home, the whole world.

He has no riches nor gold

But he’s richer than most,

He’s richer than we’re told.

Dancing madman on the street,

You bestow me a tune

From the beginning of the century,

From the beginning of time,

Or is it from the end?

How?

I don’t mind, for both of them

Can only be conceived Now.

 

Herons

We Are Among You: Episode 4

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Picture: Starbound Hylotl by Aleltg

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A seagull lands in the middle of the empty sidewalk. It scampers, carefree, around the corner of a 19th-century red-brick building. The air gets sparkling and a man with a brow top hat comes out of the same corner. Juma is eating her pies on a bench in Nicholson Square throwing bits and scrambles to the crowd of crows, pigeons an gulls. She perceives the vibrational shift happened in front of her. The man is staring at her with a grin on his face. He’s tall, probably in his sixties; he has a beard stubble, grey sideburns and a pair of blue eyes on his skinny long face. He’s wearing an old dark green leather jacket and other rags. Juma connects with the guy on a fourth-dimensional plane. He’s suddenly sitting beside her: “Glad you’re here, Juma.” She instantly recognizes the frequency of his voice, as if coming from lightyears away. “Gabor.” She gasps.

“Gabor, you picked up my Atlantean name. My other famous name is Gabriel – it’s been a hell of a night with my Mary, haha!  What humans don’t know is that on a higher plane it felt like a whole lifetime. Then she naturally gained access to the 4th and 5th dimension, appearing to people in different forms for fun – that adorable silly woman. Enough tripping on memory lane. Watch this.” He snaps his fingers and, in the blink of an eye, she sees the man in all his other forms. “Now, you know more about me than anyone else currently alive on earth, haha!”

“Wow…”

“Be present to your amazement. It’s precious.” He stays silent for a couple of minutes. “I’ve been on this planet for thousands of years and, still, I’d choose to be here. The flow of things is just poetic… But I feel it coming, my friend. I’ve chosen to transcend the fourth dimension as well. The ascension is happening. The one consciousness is becoming aware of itself faster than ever.”

“Yes, that’s why we’re here.” She thinks of Kimi and he catches her thought-form like a jumping salmon. “So, you’re here with Kimi. You’ve always been a good team, he?”

“Of course. He’s chosen to wait on a train to come here,” she chuckles.

“Such a devil, he wants to experience waiting… and in turn, you’re waiting for him I reckon,” he grins. “I don’t blame him, it’s sort of funny to wait. Very 3D though. What humans don’t know is that waiting is a choice – like most things.”

“Gosh, you’re right, I’m becoming intrigued by this 3D games.”

“It’s natural… Experiencing new stuff is a huge part of the Earth Experience. Think of food!”

He laughs out loud while she tusks her haggis pie.

Kimi hugs and kisses his train buddies goodbye. He’s out of Waverly. He smells the fragrance of the new environment and spots Juma’s energy. Kimi walks naturally in presence, witnessing the light unfolding on the ledges, in the pools, on the dancing hair of the people. The song of the seagulls greets him. A crow calls him from above and, for a second, the bird morphs into a man winking at him from the same roof-perch. He walks in Princes Street Gardens towards the colorful fountain, under the stately presence of the castle. He’s suddenly attracted by a circle of birch trees with a tombstone in the middle. Kimi feels dizzy, he has to lean on the papery bark of a tree, then… Nothing.

The sound of computers and complex machinery welcomes him in a blue-green room with bright, glossy metal walls. His eyes barely stay open.

“Get up, Kimi.” The voice and language are familiar. He tries but it’s too painful: he looks down at his blueish belly and sees an open wound bleeding green and thick. “You can do it, Kimi. Get up.”

“Master…”

The Master has long fleshy hair, three red eyes, no nose, and grey skin. He’s wearing a skirt with a sword tied to the belt. He’s standing, watching outside the window. Kimi painfully reaches the window: outside, a huge star is shining in the middle of its colorful planetary system. In the same system, the Master points at a dying planet. It’s dark,  dismal, with red glowing streaks.

“You’re still under the veil of forgetfulness they play with on Earth. You won’t be able to remember much…”

“But, I know you, Master…”

“Haha! That’s a glitch. Don’t mind. You’re here with me to see what’s happened to that lower vibrational planet. You’re in a 4th-dimensional state now. You can connect to other parallel lives of yours with some remnants of duality. Of sensory perception. It’s fun, actually.”

“What happened there?” Kimi points his long-nailed blue finger to the planet.

“You tell me.”

“Is it dead?”

“Or…”

“It’s being born. It really makes no difference…” gasps Kimi.

The Master smiles: “And so your life will finish in this existence of yours. But don’t worry, we’ll meet again. We always do.” He unsheathes the sword and makes it rotate in the air. Kimi is afraid for a second, then, he enters a state of inevitable peace. In one single cleavage, the Master beheads his interstellar companion and Kimi’s sight rolls all over the spaceship control deck, then… Nothing.

 

Herons

 

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To clarify the content of these stories you may want to click on the red words.

 

Water

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Picture: Glass Of Water by Evelina Dillon

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Pour a glass of water,

Witness the miracle of

Life hydrating all deserts.

Breathing bodies

Sliding boats

Dancing fish

Blissful rain…

Remember, toast with the trees on a rainy day.

Pour a glass of water,

Witness the fluidity of water

On your lips,

In your mouth,

Down your throat,

In your belly.

Pour a glass of water,

For a friend,

For an enemy,

For the people,

For yourself,

It doesn’t really matter…

Pour a glass of water,

As words fall away in the one river.

 

Herons

We Are Among You: Episode 3

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Picture by Insane Brain Products

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It’s Kimi’s turn for make-up. The new document reads “Oswald Finches”. He looks very shabby; his rock star clothes maintain some degree of style in spite of bruises and tears. “Let’s see what we can do with this handsome mess of  a man.”

He cleans up the unshaven face, grows a goatee at the bottom of his chin and a curly mustache above his cheeky grin. He moderately inflates shoulders, biceps, and pectorals of the otherwise cocaine-slim torso of his avatar body. He brightens its complexion and darkens its light brown eyes. The hair shortens in a neat and elegant chestnut wave. The devilish appearance fits his flippant humor. They both look at their mirrors and morph the picture in their passports with their index finger as if it was a portrait.

“Well, I can say you’re on the level, Oswald” comments Juma, visibly satisfied. “Before being interrupted, you were talking about the download from the Source…”

“Yes. There was a golden plate, a historical building and a seagull flying by.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s check if there are any clues here.” He starts fumbling about in the loft. He stops at the bookshelf, and the church bells ring from outside the window. He grasps the sign. “Ahhh, there you go. Going To The Big Something Out Of Skye. It’s a short story, says the author. And here, you find: ‘The salt is in the air, the seagulls guard the land…’ They must be coastal birds.”

“We’ve got to go to the seaside.”

“Yes, a seaside town with historical buildings.”

“Mmmm, could it be Skye?”

“Maybe… Oh! I saw humans satisfying their curious minds using tablets at the cafeteria. You’ve got a small one in your pocket I can see the bulge.”

“You eyed my pants very carefully, he?”

“We’re on a mission,” she slaps his bum where phone protrudes, “come on. Check.”

“No, it’s not Skye. The buildings are more like… ehm, it must be a city… one of these… Oh! Look, this one: Edinburgh.”

“Quite close to the sea. Good enough for me. Shall we teleport?”

“Nah, I will take the train. It’s only four hours away. You can teleport there if you wish. I will explore humanity a bit… and feel on my skin what they call ‘waiting’.”

“See you there. Hey,” she grasps his chin and stares at his eyes, ”don’t get sucked by the 3D. Remember: be present, stay centred in the heart.”

“You too.”

“I’ll check the place for us.” Juma’s skin sizzles impressively while her mouth makes funny barking noises. A second later she sparks away.

“Woah, this body feels different without Juma around… Anyways. Oh, what’s that?” He reaches out for the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall. He touches the strings and feels amazed by the harmonic effect: “Oooh. I must show this to Juma.”

Linda Harriesmouth – a.k.a. alien in disguise beyond suspicion – appears suddenly above a tree on the slope of Edinburgh Castle. She levitates for a second, then plummets in a maple canopy and rolls downhill spectacularly. Tourists run to her rescue. A middle-aged Chinese man with his camera croaks above her: “You good? You good? Call ambulance, call ambulance.”

“No, no it’s fine. No call. I’m good.” She lifts her butt up. “Edinburgh, right?”

“Yes, you hit your head miss?”

“Nope, thank you, my friend.” She produces a 20£ note and gives it to the Chinese man. He’s confused by the unnecessary generosity while the woman throws herself down the slope. Once in Grassmarket Square, she notices the seagulls flying idly above her: “This must be the place.” In the polyglot crowd, she glimpses a tall, old man wearing a brown top hat staring at her. He suddenly disappears: “Wait!” That guy must be a clue. She gathers all the stillness she can, then focuses on her third eye, but nothing. Time to eat; she smells food everywhere, her belly starts to sing like a whale. “Now I see why most of them are asleep… Overstimulation of the senses! It’s everywhere, in the sounds, in the colours, these delicious smells!”

“Pardon me, lady?” a middle-aged worker with an orange gilet is puzzled by her monologue.

“No, never mind,” she smiles and hands him a 20£ note.

“What the f…”

“Don’t worry, I have many of those, I find them there,” she points at an ATM, “get yourself some, you can get food with that,” she winks and walks away smiling. The man is speechless.

Juma finally finds a pie shop and have six of them – it’s worth trying them all, she figures.

Kimi’s on the train with his guitar case. Suddenly the guy in front of him starts socializing with the girl sitting beside him. He perceives a peculiar kind of energy: the fresh vibe of a new encounter. Kimi’s fascinated and spontaneously asks the guy interrupting them: “Do you play guitar?”

The guy didn’t expect Oswald to guess it. “Yes, I do,” he answers with his Spanish accent.

“Would you play something for us?”

“Here, on the train…”

“It would be amazing!” chimes in the blue-eyed French girl and the freckles on her face glow candidly.

“Ah-han,” winks Kimi handing him the guitar.

Fernando confidently holds the classical guitar and gradually becomes one with Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven before Kimi’s amazed eyes. “So this is… music.” He gasps.

 

Herons

 

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Click the title of the song to listen to the version of Moonlight Sonata by Ludvig Van Beethoven that has inspired this story.