Introduction to "The guide of how to shape the light"

In the beginning there was darkness.
Deep and true. Cold?
Not nesserily. There are times when darkness offers an unexpected warmness. It is a refuge and a house. And houses are always warm.

In the beginning there was un-light. Then light was made and darkness was lost from the known world and something else came, an illusion of darkness when the light cannot bath everything. This illusion we name shadow.
Shadow is a filter. It filters light and it presents it to us like something else. Shadow is not evil. Shadow is colour.

What is the real light then? Light has two natures. It can be approached as wave or as matter. In this handbook light has two different natures. The light that we see, that reflect on lakes and slips through the trees and dances on the sea's waves, the light that reveals things no matter if beautiful or ugly.

But there is another nature of light that we cannot see but we feel it inside us.
This light cannot be described with colors but with feelings. Pure, warm and hopeful.This light knows no obstacles cause it is immaterial, like a wave. This light comes to gently touch our souls' chords. Real light that sometimes is so bright that our soul cannot contain all this beauty and our eyes are brought to tears.

This light, that inspite of its complexity it can be captured by a simple photograph. The smile of a baby with its arms outstreched as his parent holds it in the air. The hand that helps someone who lost every hope of help. The rainbow that lies on the horizon to end every hardship.

The light, such a valuable thing that, without it we wouldn't be living and we would be traveling in the unknown world.
A travel to real darkness.

Ghosts

We all sit in a sofa
placed on a remote place
with a fantastic view
at the landscape surrounding us

This is our haven and our sojourn
we can see and we can listen
we can smell and we can taste
but we cannot touch

And if we ever find the strength
to get up from that sofa
we'll see that the space is too little
for we are surrounded by walls

Walls painted by ourselves
our relatives and maybe friends
and lovers and even by
all kind of teachers and mentors

And the only thing indicating
that there is a real world outside
is the ceiling..
The ceiling which is the sky itself

None can take the sky
away from us nor put
a concrete ceiling above our heads
cause then we would be living in a tomb

And nothing really lives in a tomb
Tombs are places of the dead
And dead people can't feel
or be felt; only their absense

There are few who would tear down
these walls and see the real landscape
Tear down these beautiful paintings
so lovingly -or not- offered by others

A real view at the surrounding world
is offered by none other than the world itself
Billions of humans workings like artists
on the canvas of your mind

And there are others who choose
to stay behind these walls
And their screams and fears
reach out in the night sky

But these people cannot touch, or be touched
they are like ghosts, projecting theirselves
out of the walls, to the sky
but ghosts are nothing else but cursed dead.

Of Travellers

Do travelers dream?
And if they do,
do they dream of the roads that they left behind
or of the roads that will follow?

Some of them travel on foot, some on thought and some on feelings.
But can u tell who travels the longest?
Or who sees the most?

The Rainbow Man

From the tears of the Sun
Because of War and Sadness
A glimmering Rainbow came to be
Shining defiant on the sky

And a million souls wished
things strange and things happy
and a Rainbow Man arrived
from the edge of the Rainbow

His clothes shiny and multicolored
his smile warm , his eyes sharp
And all the people sent him away
Cause their greatest fault was, their wish
not be seen as sad or needy

And the man left, without even speaking
his clothes tattered
his smile shattered
his eyes are blind
And he stands on a cliff

like a ragged flag of hope
that none pays honor

like a crusade that has been led astray
like parting lovers with nothing left to say

Circles

A chilling blue ray
of the purple morning
Yellow rain, silver trees
dance around a vortex
a fractal ascending

Oh, where does it lead?
Where does it lead?
I wanna go there

Confused the Sky looks down
And the Master of the Skies
shines out of curiosity
Sends down the Rainbow
to investigate

What kind of vortex is this?
Where does it lead?
Might be the timeless land?

None to ask
nothing to see or hear
Trapped in his dancing curiosity
The Sun descends to take a look

All the colours fade away
wither and die.
And shadows are no more

This is the time! This is it!
Hurry up dear Queen

And she arises from the
Eastern Sky
Naked, her skin pale
but glowing ghastly
In her fullest of power

The King is dead!
Long live the Queen!

The usurpation lasted until
The Queen saw the Vortex.
Curious those Kings and Queens

That's why empires
rise and fall
in a day or night

The circle of Life
forever and ever
till the vortex is
no more..

Children

So they left us here
in this beautiful landscape
of forest hills and lakes
and they went away to fight
"for a better world"

Children we were, innocent
and they were our parents, wise
so we accepted it and stayed
with our toys for company
and their promises
waiting for the better world.

weeks passed and none came back
we grew, along with our fears
broken toys and broken promises
we couldn't hold on to any of them
incapable of facing the world.

And with time the bright days were lost
And the starlit nights never came
And the moon stopped smiling on us
And the only that was left was a cold twilight
A herald of either night or day
But neither of them would come

Autumn came and our hopes
fell like rotten leaves
from our tree of youth
the way back was covered with those leaves
there was no way back

Winter now..the light in our eyes
the only warmth that is left
not enough..we die, we die alone
A small fire burns in the fireplace
fueled by our toys and their promises,
broken..
so long ago..