You devil, you monster dwelling inside of me!!!

You devil, you monster dwelling inside of me!!!

How could you do this to me?

when my heart burns,

my table turns.

How could you let me look in anger

to the tomorrow days,

I might have never lived,

when life itself is not just a mere gift,

How could you show me all the bad landscapes,

and never reminding me of the might emitted from the rainbows,

that even when the sun aches,

and the rain fakes,

they look like a bright you,

conquering the world with that unsmiling smile of yours,

you try to take me, my heart, my soul,

my all, my life,

literally everything I have since built,

you only manage to show me my guilt,

and sometimes you win,

and in my despair,

I seem not to care for all those who love me,

and wish me well,

for all those that in their lives,

want me to be there,

for them as they are for me,

to set my heart on fire,

burning with desire,

never more you bloody liar.

So yes, now, today, vanish from my inside,

let me live alone without you and free,

Let me show you the bright side of life you lost,

you devil, you monster dwelling inside of me.

Today's post

Till there's breath, till there's love, till there's all involved living, till there's a hope for today - there is always a better chance for you to live a brighter tomorrow - Jack Vella (dedicated to the person that inspired me)

An angel came to visit

The smell of the cigarette as he exhaled it and breathed in at the same time

was strong. He somehow felt he was being watched. This was the first time in

years that he stood there on the door step leading to the flat. It was the

first time that he went out for a fag.

And a series of events led to this one.

A couple of minutes before he was making love to his woman. He could still

feel the intensity of that love making session and he felt proud that his

member (as he used to call him) did not let him down this time round. Yes, this

time round because Theodore was the same guy who after a decade of non love

making sessions went into the wildest days that not even his dreams had catered

for before. There he was, back at that time with a sort of an extra part (since

it was not being used) on his body, a part that he was not well to say the

least proud of.His marriage days were boring to say but the least as regards to

his sexual pleasures. His then wife was not yet to be considered the Mata Hara

of the bed times. Well that is up till now. A couple of months had passed since

he met his current girlfriend and he so foolishly was here on this doorstep

where a miniature papal like chimney was showing him that a new day was on the

verge of kissing the previous one goodbye. A new dawn. In fact that whitish

smoke that he, like an expert inhaled and then exhaled out of his body produced

what looked like the papal smoke, every time that there is a papal election and

the flock waits for to see coming up the Sistine's chapel chimney. This time

round though it was abruptly swept away by the sheer breeze that accompanied

the stars and the moon as he sat there alone on his door step.

Once again he could feel that he was being watched from the distance.

But he was too lost in this little brain he had filled with these many

thoughts of his, at this early hour of the morning. For countless times, he was

recalling his escapades - his treasures - women. He loved to pick up women,

entice them, lure them to his den and then vanish from their life like thin

air. He thought that he was doing nothing wrong. The list that filled his mind

was never ending. Futile was his attempt to remember the names of the one who

were, that ones that not, the ones he did it with. He tried hard to remember

why he found himself in this position, here, now, alone. Where were they? Where

in hell was he?

His beautiful princess laid on the king sized bed, exhausted after that one

hour long love making session. He was physically there, yet his mind was

elsewhere. Not in pure ecstasy, but in sincere melancholy, where every time the

clarified becomes doubt, the real becomes a lie, the genius becomes stupid and

that what takes years to built, is destroyed in a couple of seconds. He was

confused. Was it him? Was it her?

He thought of the times he used to laugh so hard, he could shake any

mountain top with his laughter. He thought of the many times when everyone

circled him to hear his stories, bravery and countless jokes that made you

laugh long before the first word was even said.

"I had all these women and now I am all alone on this doorstep" he thought.

Once again he felt he was being watched.

Apart from dogs barking every now and then, far away, you could barely hear

any other noise except some cars passing by. For a moment, he looked to his

left and saw a young blonde lad moving his lips. But he was not there with his

mind and therefore he could not register what was being said to him. He

motioned his head from the left to the right as if to tell the other guy 'can

you please repeat' and the guy made a sign as if he was switching on the

lighter. He then understood, stood up walked closely to this young guy that was

just experiencing his first nights out, so much that he locked himself up and

was waiting for his friends to come with the keys. Without saying a word, he

then turned around and sat back on his doorstep while he exhaled the last breath

from the cigarette. It is time for another one he said to himself. He was not a

chain smoker, yet in circumstances like these when everything filled his mind;

he found refuge in these 6cm deadly inhale/exhale puffs.

He looked towards the blonde guy and once again threw himself into his dream

world and then as if by magic a white shining light appeared to his right. He

looked at the blonde guy again to see if he was seeing the same thing but the

lad was playing with a small stone that he found under the pavement. The light

was getting brighter and there was no way that blondie locks could not see it.

He inserted his right hand into his right pocket of the newly bought

bermudas, to fetch for the lighter and light another cigarette. So he did and

while he looked again to his right, he saw a white male figure with a celestial

kind of relaxed face.

He looked to the blonde guy again.

"Do not worry" this sort of angel (without wings though) said.

"He can't see me, only you can! Tell me what is troubling you?” Theodore

just thought about what he was to answer, and here he was being given a reply

that was to fulfill all his thirst for his worries.

"Do not worry, for all the things you are passing through were meant to

be. You do love humans, but remember since time immemorial they have betrayed

themselves, killed each other and they will keep on doing so. I was sent to

give you a short message of life and hope. In a few hours you will see a new

sunrise. But is it not the same sun as yesterdays? Indeed and that is the

message my fellow friend. God is giving you the same choices as he gave others.

God is giving you the same benefits as he gave others. Maybe, somehow, somewhat

differently but he will give you the moments of pain so you can measure joy,

the moments of sadness so that you can appreciate the ones during which you are

happy. God will allow that people hate you because they will never be capable

to see you are unique. But as the sun will rise and sets, no matter what, so

will God. And like the sand in the desert he will then cover all your pain,

like when the wind settles the sand there where till a few moments before steps

of camel filled the golden path. That is to show you he is still there and every

day, he wants you to start afresh. Now I tell you, go, put yourself inside the

bed with your loved one and do not fill yourself with the guilt on the mistakes

you did but dream about all that what you are going to do. Behold your fears

and tears but hold to your heart. That is a sign that God still has a pulse in

you".

Suddenly the man started to disappear and all that Theodore could see was

the whitish smoke exhaled from his mouth as it caressed the thin air and vanish

in the nothingness of the night. Once again it reminded him of the pope and he

suddenly looked at the carpet of stars above. He marveled at all that.

And suddenly he heard "Be blessed my friend, for I was sent today to

show you that you inhaled sadness, but I am exhaling your heart out to give

your life through your love"

Xtaqt

Xtaqt

Xtaqt li kieku nurik,

U forsi mhux l-imrar ta dil-hajja nisqik,

Xtaqt li tkun tieghi minn dejjem,

W’tibqa mieghi ghal dejjem,

Xtaqt li nkun l-ewwel zifna tieghek,

L-ewwel bewsa li taghti ,

l-ewwel diskors li jsir,

l-ewwel imhabba ta’ zewg namrati,

xtaqt li wahdi nihdok fix-xaghri ,

fejn il-haxix jitbewwes mar-rih,

fejn l-ghasafar itiru,

u jiftahru b’dal globu u kull ma fih,

xtaqt li hekk - hekk wahdi u flimkien mieghek,

immiss is-saqaf tas-sema,

xtaqt li ghal kull xewqa li ghandek,

jien quddiem artal nixel ix-xema,

li tibqa tixghel ghal dejjem,

u ma tintefa qatt,

bhal kelma dejjiema,

li int ghedt lil ewwel namrat,

xtaqt li kieku kont inkun tieghek mill-ghodwa,

meta f’hajtek xtaqt il wens,

w’ghalik niggieled nikkumbatti,

w’nitqabad jien, ghalik, ma’ kull gens,

xtaqt li jekk forsi int ridt xi hadd,

u dan li tarah mhux biss fil kliem,

kont tara kollox fija,

ghax dak li naghmel ghalik hu dejjiem,

xtaqt li nkun ghalik ix-xemx tizreg,

jew l-istilel ta filghaxija,

xtaqt jin noffrilek hajti u zmieni,

hudha, dik tieghek b’kull ma fiha,

xtaqt li kieku nkejjel imhabbti,

bir-ramel ta’ fuq il-bajja,

li nkun ghalik skultur,

li jispicca jtik in-nifs, il-hajja,

xtaqt li kull meta thares il-fuq,

f’dak il-pajsagg, hemm fis-sema,

tara dejjem lili nitbissem,

b’imhabba lesta li ghalik tintrema,

ghax qabel mad-destin tani lilek,

jien kont ga habejtek,

qabel mal-genituri rawmuk f’mara sabiha,

jien b’imhabbti kont ga sqejtek,

u hekk illum ma narax iktar mara wehidha,

tibki, tolfoq ghax thossha mwarrba,

imma tara lili gej bil-mod lejha w’ghal dejjem,

sa mal munitira tektek l-ahhar darba.

Jack Vella
05.VI.XI

Once again I suggest that you listen to this latest poem with Ennio Morricone's the Mission soundtrack!!! - this is the link...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fC58MjYDp64

il-Miraklu ma' hamest' ahwa

1.

L-atmosfera fil-kuritur kienet wahda ta' swied il-qalb. U kien hemm diversi ragunijiet ghal dan. Imdawrin maghha kien hemm uliedha, erba' minn hamsa, bil-hames wahda kienet mistennija tasal minn mument ghal iehor. Il-mobile tal-kbira, dik li kienet ghadha ma waslitx beda jdoqq fuq is-seat tal-passigier tal-karozza taghha, hi u sejra lejn L-Ingieret. Mohhha kien mimli memorji, sbieh u koroh tal-mumenti li sa minn tfulita kienet qattet m'ommha. Peress li kienet l-ewwel wahda minn dejjem kien hemm dik il-gibda, dik in-naqra mhabba aktar lejn dik li wellditha.

Il-hin fuq id-daxxbord kien juri l-hamsa u ghaxra.

F'nofsinhar kienet irceviet dik it-telefonata, li ghalkemm minhabba l-eta t'ommha kienet qed tistenniha, meta waslet xorta ma' kinitx preparata ghaliha. Dik it-telefonata bidlitilha il-gurnata. Ghal maghmul m'hemmx kunsill, biss it-toroq t'Alla huma twal u sakemm tasal taf idur kollox. Imma dawk huma t-toroq tieghu u dawn jafhom Hu biss.

"Il-mama qeghda hazin" kien jghid il-lehen fuq in-naha l-ohra tal-linja, dak tal-fustanija. U min hemm bdew sighat t'agunija shiha kemm ghat-tfal u kemm ghal omm, imma dak il-hin wicc il-kbira jien juri l-kuluri kollha li kien hemm fil-qawsalla u anke dak l-kulur pur, l-abjad. U dan il-kulur tista tghid akkumpanja lil ahwa kollha matul dik il-gurnata. Bid-differenzi kollha taghhom, dik l-omm li taghthom il-hajja irnexxilha taghmel dak li kien ilju ma jitwettaq snin, tghaqqadhom mill-gdid f'kamra wahda.

2.

"...dik ma tahmilnix u ma nafx ghalxiex, sahansitra tghir forsi xi naqra ghalija, imma jiena anke jekk forsi stajt weggajtha, jiena miniex lesta li nitlobha skuza", qalet Sofija lil Julia.

Sofija kienet tigi ir-raba wahda mill-ulied. Julia kienet il-fustanija u dik li hadet hsieb li ccempel lil hutha kollha biex tavzahom li ommhom wahdanija u l'unika genitur li kienet ghadha hajja, kienet waslet lejn l-ahhar ta'hajjitha, f'xifer il-mewt. Qabel Julia kien hemm Tessa, il-kbira dik li kienet ghadha ma waslitx u Vonnie jew Yvonne, it-tieni wahda. Wara Sofija kien hemm imbaghad Guditta, li bhal fil-karattru li jinsab fil-Bibbja kienet dejjem lesta li tahsad l-irjus u galadarba ma tiehux grazzja mieghek kienet taghmel minn kollox biex tkunta'ostaklu anke ghal min kien ikun diga mghaffeg f'dan il-wied tad-dmugh.

Julia mejlet rasha u alavolja kienet taf li ohtha ghnda ragun ma ridietx li d-differenzi u l-pika li eziztiet tul dawn l-ahhar snin tkompli u sahansitra tittiehed anke fuq is-sodda tal-mewt t'ommhom. Tista tghid li l-iktar tnejn fuq tagghom u l-inkwiet kien jigri warajhom - jew jigru warajh huma - kienu Vonnie u z-zghira Guditta.

"Ghalkemm naqbel mieghek oht, irridu naraw li dawn l-affarijiet jintesew ghal ftit, allinqas sakemm jigu rrangati l-pjanijiet ta' l-ahhar vjagg t'ommna!!" temmet tghidilha Julia.

" U dan filfatt huwa l-inkwiet tieghi Julia, ghax tinsiex li waqt li dan ser ikun l-ahhar vjagg taghha u hi tispicca sitt piedi taht l-art, ahna ser nibdew il-vjagg taghna lejn il-martirju u dan taf li huwa habba l-wirt". Filwaqt li Sofija qalet hekk, hi tmejlet il-quddiem fuq is-siggu tal-kuritur u l-boghod minn kollox u miz-zewgt' ahwa l-ohra, intefghet timmagina x'seta' jigri lilhom wara l-mewt t'ommhom li huma kollha kienu qed jistennew minn mument ghal iehor.

3.

Peress li ma kienx possibli li huma kollha ikunu fl-istess hin hdejn ommhom dak il-hin, kien hemm biss Vonnie u Guditta, hdejn dik l-mara qsajra mimduda li kienet qed tiggieled man-nifs. Gisimha li kien diga qed jibdel il-kulur, beda jiehu lewn ikhal. Sinjal li verament kienet waslet fl-ahhar.

"Guditta, ara ma jfettilekx tkellimhom lil dawk il-hodor" qalet f'daqqa wahda hdejn is-sodda t'ommha Vonnie b'lehen awtoritattiv.

"Jekk ghandiex wara dak kollu li ghamluli" temmet tejdilha l-ohra. U kif jghidu, bhal ma taghmel jaghmlulek u allura din it-tradizzjoni mhux ser niksirha jiena!!".

Imma l-omm alavolja f'xifer il-mewt kienet qeghda tisma kollox. U dan huma ma kienux jafuh. Go mohhha beda ghaddej x'sar minn dawn it-tfal li hi u zewgha Gejtu rrawmu u tellghu f'tant ghozza w'imhabba. Xtaqet li kieku tista tghajjat u twiddibhom. Xtaqet li kieku thabtilhom rashom u turihom il-hsara li qed jaghmlu lil xulxin. Xtaqet li titlaq minghajr rimors, iktar u iktar ghax kienet taf li dan kollu sa certu punt kienet bdietu hi bil- preferenzi lil tnejn minn hamsa. U ta' dan iddispjaciha, talbet mahfra lil Mulej.

Il-Mulej kellu izda, pjanijiet differenti. Xi kultant ruh li taghmel il-hsara tispicca quddiemu minghajr ic-cans li tirranga l-affarijiet u dan ukoll kien ser jidher li ha jkun il-kaz. Imma t-toroq tal-Mulej hadd ma jafhom. U fil-hin li l-fannijiet tal-kurituri kienu qeghdin jzeffnu bil-mod il-gwienah taghhom, jfarfru t-trab li kien ingemgha kemm ilhom mhux mixghulin u jibdew melodija retorika li ddamdam il-kurituri u flimkien mal-inhor tax-xjuh ikunu l-unika hsejjes li jidwhu matul il-lejl, instema l-pum tal-bieb principali jinfetah. U hekk kif il-bieb tbexxaq, intlemhet persuna mdaqqsa liebsa libsa twila sewda. Minn idejh - bhal qisu kollox kien mixi bil-mod - iddendlet il-kuruna tar-ruzarju li sa dak il-hin kienet marbuta mas-swaba kollha. Tnejn minnhom izda tilfu l-kuntatt w'ghalekk il-kuruna filwaqt li kienet ghadha mdendla bhal qabzet minn idu u nizlet pied taht il-palma u bdiet titbandal l'hemm u l'hawn maz-ziffa tar-rih falz mormi mill-fan ta' fuqu.

Bil-minuti ghadejjin in-nifs tax-xiha hiereg min sidirha u tiela l-fuq sakemm jiltaqa mal- kumplament tal-arja ta' barra, beda jbatti. Il-qassis, Dun Gorg kien jidher li wasal fil-hin. Anni, 'zda - l'omm - kienet ghadha mhiex lesta li titlaq - ma setghetx turi wiccha quddiem il-krejatur. Ma setghatx titlaq hekk. Kien ghad baqa forsi ftit sekondi li ghaliha dehru bhal jiem twal mudlama.

F'daqqa wahda waqt li Dun Gorg kien rehilha, wara li ghalaq il-bieb lejn il-kamra numru hamsa instema ghajjat li damdam lil hitan. Anni kienet ghamelt sforz u bdiet tghajjat u xxejjer idejha bla razan u bla kontrol.

"Ejja, Ejja"

Ftit qabel l-ahwa kienu mwiddba minn nersis biex ma joqghodux kollha hdejn ommhom ghax kien hemm wisq nies flimkien mal-kumplament tal-familja. B'hekk l-irgiel ta' l-ahwa flimkien ma-neputijiet u l-gharajjes taghhom intalbu johorgu barra jew jerhulha lura lejn id-dar.

Il-Mulej irattab il-qalb. il-Mulej juri t-triq. Il-Mulej huwa l-unika salvazzjoni anke ghal dawk li jkunu qeghdin jahsbu li huma salvati imma filfatt ikunu mitlufa. U lil dawn il-Mulej iridhom lura. Din hija l-glieda eterna bejn it-tajjeb u l-hazin!!

L-ahwa li kienu fil-kuritur, wara rmew is-sigarett gol-ashtray u sellmu lil Dun Gorg mill-bod, harbu jigru lejn ommhom wara li semghu dak l-ghajjat. Dun Gorg kif rahom jigru lebbet ghal warajhom b'kemm setghu ituh is-saqajn ta' sitta w'sebghin sena li kellu. Lil Anni u l'Gejtu kien ilu jafhom sew u kien ghalekk li ghall-grizma Sofija kienet qalet lilu. Sewwasew seba snin qabel kien hu li ta' l-ahhar sagramenti lil Gejtu meta ghalaq ghajnejh fl-eta sabiha ta' disghin sena.

Tessa kienet sadanittant lahqet waslet u kienet magenb ommha wkoll wara li dahlet mil-bieb tan-nofs li kien iwassal ezatt magenb il-kamra t'ommha.

Issa fil-kamra kien hemm Vonnie u Guditta fuq in-naha tal-lemin t'ommhom, Dun Gorg fin-nofs, filwaqt li Sofija, Tessa u Julia kienu fuq ix-xellug. L- omm pruvat tqum izda ma kelliex sahha taghmel dan. Tessa indunat u pruvat tghina izda Anni ghalkemm agitata, warbitilha idha min wara darha u poggitha fuq l-istonku taghha. Kienet stejqret sew u kienet f'sensiha alavolja bla sahha. Imma dan il-mument kien dak li kienet ilha tohlom snin. Quddiemha kienet hemm uliedha li ma kienux jithamlu bejniethom u dan ghal bosta ragunijiet. Tessa harset lejn ommha u wara lejn in-naha l'ohra tas-sodda lejn Guditta u Vonnie. Anni bil-mod zelqet idejha l-leminija lejn Vonnie u bis-sahha li kien ghad baqalha zammitha u mexxietha bil-mod ghal fuq l-istonku, sewwasew fuq id Tessa. L-ahwa harsu lejn xulxin issummati. Kien dan il-messagg li ommhom ippruvat tghaddilhom. Riedet tghaqqadhom fuq is-sodda tal-mewt qabel titlaq ghal dan l-ahhar vjagg, vjagg li ghalih kienet ser tkun wehidha flimkien mal-hin kollu li kienet uzat f'hajjitha u dan kienet ser tipprezentah quddiem il-Mulej. Imma dan il-hin kien bhal donnu ghadu ma wasalx. Ommhom wara din il-mossa, baqghet izomm idejhom fuq xulxin b'sahha 'zda kienet tidher hafna iktar kalma u wiccha bhal kien ha d-dawl. Dun Gorg kien diga beda jlissen minn taht l-ilsien l-ewwel posta tar-ruzarju. L-omm dehret rassenjata u ghajnejha bdew jitbexxqu bil-mod. In-nifs beda jbatti. L-ahwa bdew jghannqu lil xulxin u wahda wahda, jitolbu mahfra filwaqt li jibku lil ommhom u lihom infushom. L- omm bhal tbissmet u hadet l'ahhar nifs u sidirha tela u nizel ghal ahhar darba.

Dak il-hin id-dawl bhal tbatta u rega xeghel.

Il-kuruna ta' Dun Gorg kienet bdiet tixxengel mill-gdid taht il-fan tal-kamra. Dun Gorg kien diga qed imiss is-seba zibga tal-kuruna dak il-hin. Huwa stieden lil ahwa kollha biex jghidu r-ruzarju mieghu. Minn man-nuccali imtappan bil-frame ohxon dehret demgha niezla. Kien ghadu kif kien xhud ta' miraklu. Miraklu ma' hamest' ahwa.

Tassew it-toroq t'Alla huma misterjuzi w'ma jafhom hadd, haseb bejnu u bejn ruhu dan il-qassis.

TMIEM

Jack Vella

6.VI.XI.

Shining star...wherever you are...

Galaxies of love,

take me there,

just live the outside,

travel the distance,

and I'll be the one to care,

and the trail you're leaving,

everytime I hear you,

all the shining stars kissing,

in a milky way so blue,

of what is a lie,

and that what is true.

I hear two stars conversing,

and the skies that embrace,

wish more than once to hold you,

to run my fingers on your face,

to feel your hair and fond it,

to carry you everywhere,

If you need me just call my name,

and I'll promise you I'll be there,

let the drums in heaven roll noisily,

so our love will be heard,

because everyone will hear of two persons,

that the saints in heaven preferred.

If love is calling you,

then just answer don't be afraid,

cause what you're afraid of saying,

you might never get another chance,

and if you do it will be late,

so let me fly with you,

and carry you on my wings,

you the star that is shining,

up there, the one that blinks.

Be the one to answer,

when I call, or when I knock,

cause if you are there beside me,

rather than flying I prefer to walk,

cause if I walk I will be slower,

I will have you for more minutes,

for an eternity mine,

and you will at the end look back and tell me,

Jack you loved me till the end of time.

The Landscape of life from my window

I

Going to Alabama had always been my dream since my childhood. My parents used to tell me that one day we'll manage to go there. So I was always dreaming!! We used to live in Paso Robles in California and to go to the other side of the States required not only a lot of time but a lot of money and I was at that age fully dependable on my parents.

My dad used to tell me about his days in the army and I was always fascinated by the discipline and all that stuff. I had had decided back then that I wanted to be a soldier. Somehow somewhere though another plan was being laid down, by someone that I did not know back then.

My mum was an Indian and I was therefore the final product in between a mixture of cultures. My dad had emigrated from Canada and during one of his duties that took him to the Crazy Horse gathering in South Dakota. The Crazy Horse Memorial is a mountain monument that is currently under construction in the Black Hills of South Dakota, in the form of Crazy Horse, an Oglala Lakota warrior, riding a horse and pointing into the distance. The memorial was commissioned by Lakota Chief Henry Standing Bear to be sculpted by Korczak Ziółkowski, a Polish sculpturor.

The memorial consists of the mountain carving (monument), the Indian Museum of North America and the Native American cultural Center. The monument is being carved out of Thunderhead Mountain on land considered sacred by some Native Americans, between Custer and Hill City, roughly 17 miles away from Mount Rushmore.

The sculpture's final dimensions are planned to be 641 feet (195 m) wide and 563 feet (172 m) high. The head of Crazy Horse will be 87 feet (27 m) high; by comparison, the heads of the four U.S. Presidents at Mount Rushmore are each 60 feet (18 m) high.

The Native Americans (better known to Europeans as Indians) were against this whole project and they used to gather in hundreds to oppose this idea, even though it would finally commemorate one of their 'sons'. For them that land was sacred and that was it. Therefore the Army was sent as a protégé of those working on the project and my dad was stationed there for three years. It was during one of these gatherings that mum and dad met. It was love at first sight.

"All I needed was just a glance and in seeing your mum I became a crazy horse", he used to joke.

But my mum never liked these kinds of jokes. Church was not something I knew of at the time and afterwards. God was someone distant and we grew up worshipping everything that was brought to us from Mother Nature.

II

Finally I was there!! I was in Alabama. Coincidentally while attending college I had befriended a couple from Alabama and here I was now, at their home in Orange Beach and I was over looking the amusement park that there was right in front of their house. The serenity of all the natural sounds in the harbour reminded me of what my mum used to describe as her childhood area, near the Black Hills, where during the endless summer days, they used to roam around forests, lakes, rivers and enjoy the innocence of their lives.

I opened my eyes and looked to the ceiling of the attic, the place I was to live in for the coming two summer months, July & August. The Church clock rang four little sounds that echoed on the whole village near the beach. It was four in the morning. Even though still early, the first rays of the sun were calling on a new day. In the distance I could hear the seagulls singing in harmony and in unison thanking the bigger spirit. I could hear the muffled sound of the sea as it collided with the sand and made a splashing sound that was being amplified and echoing to such a point, that even from the distance it was tickling my ears. I could hear the fishermen as they prepared for their daily journey of the unknown. Their breadwinner. Some old people were already down by the beach enjoying the cool breeze that caresses their faces at such an early time of the day. All these were sounds of curiosity to such an extent that I just had to wake up and like a painter preparing his board while seeking for the next tip, of what to paint. I just had to look out of the window and stare dumbfounded. What I was seeing was all the work of the biggest painter, the biggest spirit. A landscape that transpired before my eyes and made me wanting just more. And at that time it dawned me. It came to me automatically. At that very time and for the first time in my life, I made the sign of the cross.

III

Years had passed since that time in Alabama. Since then the couple I had fore mentioned, Claire & Roberto - who was half Italian got married and had two kids, two little princesses, Tamara and Aurora. And I was ordained priest five years ago, three years of which as a spiritual leader in the Church of St. Thomas by the sea, yes a catholic one. I had renounced my faith I was brought up in and had since then found God. Since seeing that beautiful landscape that I nowadays call - the Landscape of my calling.

Before me were a part of the 16% of the people that formed part of the catholic community of Orange beach. I was saying the Sunday mass. It was my farewell mass, but I had to give these people, I had to give Alabama, what Orange Beach gave to me. And once again I looked at the ceiling and it reminded me of that first night in Alabama, long time ago. And so I started to retell that story to the people of God. I told them about my childhood, my dad and my mum and my bringing up. The fight during my adolescence to know what is right and wrong and to do what is right and sometimes wrong.

"...and I lift my eyes and hands to the ceiling, not the one that we are all under, but the one that tops our everyday, sees our every sorrow, breathes in to see our daily tomorrow. I lift myself in spirit and in soul to thank God for these years that he gave me here".

I didn't need to search for words, for I felt like God was beside me. God was breathing air in my lungs. God was putting the words on my tongue right before I said them. It was an eulogy for life.

"We are all masterpieces, no matter if we are ugly or beautiful, tall or short, old and sick and even with wrinkles or just saw the first day of our lives. There is a saying opposite attracts and I today bound myself to that saying and like on Mount Hebron I tell you..."

"Look in the eyes of the blind and you will see infinity".

"Look to the stars in the sky and you will see countless opportunities to thank God daily".

"Look to the disabled part of the disabled person and you will see nothing but love".

"Look towards all that what was ugly before and you will see what is now beautiful".

"For we might be blind but we see, we might be disabled but we breathe, we might be heartbroken but we can still love and we might live in sin, a lot of sin but there is someone that loves us into eternity. If you look towards these people with a different eye, you will see a different view. If you will paint with a different brush, you might come up with a different landscape. That landscape can be changed daily. The landscape is called life and we don't need to be painters to paint our landscape. We just need to breathe and believe. All the rest will find its place"

I inhaled and looked at God behind me. He seemed to smile back. Then l looked to the ceiling once more and once again I could see myself in that room, the attic of Claire & Roberto, long time ago. That day when I decided to paint my landscape. In the church for my last sermon, unbeknown to me Claire & Roberto were there. So were mum and dad. They looked in awe towards me. Stared dumbfounded.

And once again but this time with hundreds of others, I made the sign of the cross.

Jack Vella

29.IV.XI

Quote of the day from my mental institution 5

Time is a continuous, unresting and never ending lesson between what is right and what is wrong - Jack Vella

Why me?

Why do you keep on asking yourself this question many times a day? Is it something psychological? Is it something that we inherit? Is it really pre-destined?

If it is then, why does God give us the freedom to do what we want? To do how we feel?

Is that really celled freedom? For freedom cannot be given when there is a plan of something that is pre-meditated. Freedom is the liberty of the word, the liberty of the thought and that of the deed. And instead of asking why me, sometimes we even become heroes, those who know all and ask...

Is God keeping his promise?

Then again, who am I to judge Him who cannot be judged?

Who am I to speak about what others might feel?

Who am I to be the one to throw the first stone?

Who am I to take what is not mine?

As well as...

Who are you to tell me what I need to wear?

And what I need to do?

Or how I need to live?

Who gave you the permission to say what you want, even if that is to the detriment of others, just for the sake of being a person that wants to show off? A person that wants to give to others, but expecting everything in return of your nothing.

We are all citizens of Heaven, Ladies & Gentlemen. That is a prize that we have to work hard for. I want to start that with me. And I would like that you start from you before moving to those you. Forgiveness is a hard thing to ask. It's even harder to feel inside. But it leaves an internal peace that nothing can ever give you except the love for/of God. We might live now for moments of pleasure as we are all humans. We might live for moments where we might gamble on an earthly triumph but we forget that far away there is another prize awaiting us. We forget that we have to feel it deep inside. Sometimes we ask ourselves why me? But we don’t look above, and see a young adult that gave His Life for us. We don't see this young adult asking for forgiveness to His father. Not His but ours. Let the first word that was said on the cross 2000 years ago, echo in eternity. Let it not be in vain - for one day you will hear it again along with other statements that you might have overheard again and again throughout your life and never gave the much needed attention to...

Let these echoes echo now and then and when the appropriate time will come, you have to echo positively with the deeds and actions that you did…

I needed clothes and you clothed me...

I was sick and you looked after me...

I was in prison and you came to visit me...

I was thirsty and you gave me what to drink...

I was hungry and you gave me food...

And then you will solemnly reply...

Oh Lord, Oh Lord - Love of Love itself...Quench for the eternal thirst that I have for your heart...here on my knees and with all my humbleness, I proclaim you King of Kings...You my Lord...for I was blind and you gave me Light...

I am no priest Ladies and Gentlemen. I am no saint either. And yes I did my mistakes. But I want to get down on my knees if needed and ask you, each and everyone that I did hurt in the past, for forgiveness. I have sinned against the Lord and I have hurt you, maybe you are reading this!! I ask you that I did not give you my hand when you needed it, I did not support you when you wanted to rest on my shoulder, did not help you when you shouted out for SOS....yes SOS...save our souls. I did hurt, but I was as well...I did sin but let us look beneath. I might never be able to ask for forgiveness directly because the circumstances in life won't allow it. But know, just know that deep inside, I feel peace that I want to share with you, because I know that you will one day feel it too...if you forgive…

Before asking Why me? - Think and Thank the Lord for He has chosen you to carry the cross, instead of Simon of Cyrene. Hence you might not be trained but God will always give you the appropriate equipment so that you can carry the load not with ease but safely to its place and instead of nailing Christ to the cross once more, we will nail Love into our eternal life and write a gospel where somehow we will all be part of, because yes We are all indeed CITIZENS OF HEAVEN.

"Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends". (John 15:13)

Today I have found Jesus again. Jesus came knocking on my door. Jesus came to me. And I that maybe did not believe that if I get lost he comes looking for me, because maybe I thought I was no one, was facing Him. Not only I felt His presence, but I also felt an internal peace, if you consider that during this week, we will commemorate His death and resurrection. And all that because of us!!

To me Jesus came in the form of a priest. A foreign one, who visited me from afar. I felt just like the Italians did when John Paul II was elected as pope back in 1978. A foreigner from a land that is far away. He came to lead the flock of people he was entrusted with. Christians and not. To many, Jesus was never so close to the humans as back then during his pontificate. There was never a leader that visited so many countries, in which millions gathered not in his name but in Christ's name. I felt just like that. A tiny piece of wood floating in the immensity of the ocean. An ocean of love. Of someone who seeks nothing but to love with love being immensity.

I looked in two blue shining eyes of a father that was just ordained 3 weeks ago, and here he was doing his first mission. The mission entrusted to him. He came to renew me, to show me God.

In the past 4 weeks God knocked twice on my door. And twice I let him in. Twice I spoke with him. For two times I had him a couple of centimetres away. But maybe I still don't understand his message. Maybe I still don't understand what he wants from me. Maybe I am still an explorer discovering Him. He first saved my mum’s life and today came to me. He was Fr.Giles.

God spoke.

God loved.

God always does.

Sometimes when we least expect to. Sometimes the normal routine for us becomes the unnatural moment in which God Himself becomes an explorer, looking for us. Once again God becomes a shepherd seeking his lost sheep.

And now ask yourself…Do I want to listen? Do I want to forgive? Do I want to forget what bad people might have done to me? Through his son's arms, he is opening His to tell us, that once again after 2000 years, he still waits, still needs to be listened to. He still breaths in each and every one of us. He might give us different tasks. Tasks that are normally difficult but are always achievable because he is always there. In us. He gave us though, the same air, so that we breathe in one, cause we are finally one. One with Him. Or that is how He wants us to be!

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16)

So during this week, ask yourself before expecting an answer. Do not pretend not to hear when you are summoned. Believe, for if you won't you will one day be called and need to answer to all the whys asked. Repent for what you did and ask for forgiveness. Do not look to the outside of a person. See internally. What people do have to offer sometimes might not be visible to the naked eye. Some people are prisoners of their own body, and with us pointing fingers, their life will be more difficult and unbearable. Do not be the ones to be mentioned for the wrong deeds. Do not seek immortality and you will get it. For the ones that have the biggest slams are the ones that aim high without preparation. People that might think they are the ones that the world cannot stand without. Cannot move without. That the world cannot rotate within the orbit, if they cease to exist. And sometimes the Them becomes We and the we are Me and You.

We all want to point fingers to others, but we are never able to point them to ourselves. We want to find that one tiny hair in the pastry, like we say in Maltese, in what others say, what others do. Sometimes we even pretend that we are given the power to infiltrate their thoughts, command their feelings. Looking at the mirror sometimes is not enough!!

We need to see the internal US!! We need to feel where we are wrong but that, again, is not enough. We need not to use weeks like the current week or Christmas week or the New Year’s. Usually we use this excuse to feel empathy and switch to the kind hearted mode and then as soon as the next sun will rise, as soon as the people we were playing the cool with - are gone, we forget all the promises we made, all the steps we took and all the actions we did.

Yes, sometimes, the death of the Christ is just another excuse for us.

So I tell you, let this year be different. Do not limit yourself to any resolution in mid year. Un-limit yourself to the love of God.

Daily we can see that the long lists of people getting longer. Lists that fill up our minds, nowadays. Youngsters dying because of overdoses or drug abuse, families being destroyed, people diagnosed with cancer or any other terminal illnesses, disabled persons and old people not being taken care of, sometimes even left alone, others having accidents that happen because of negligence, wars, earthquakes, killings, hatred and so on so forth.

We are letting a piece of the tail of the devil ruining our lives and taking away the happiness that took years for us to build.

Do not let it be so. Be winners of the best victory you can ever triumph in. This year start and don't stop. Lift yourself up and walk. Take the hand of someone and fly. Love and live. Begin today what will one day be eternal - what you will live for, die with and resurrect by.

Give love and never stop. Redeem and forgive. Forget and start afresh. Where it seems to be impossible, use but do not abuse the love of God. Look at Christ's hands on the cross. At his head filled with thorns leaned to right. Christ that died for us. But then resurrected so that we can live in peace and into eternity. And to love, the same way he loved us...so much that his hands lay across and nailed to a rotten piece of wood to show us that.

Just because....

"Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends". (John 15:13)

From around the world - The death of Peacemaker Vittorio Arrigoni

Shocked. That is how I felt early this morning, when like usual I have checked www.corriere.it, the italian online newspaper that I reckon is one of the best in the world.

Like many that knew Vittorio, I think that what he was doing was unique in the sense that he was alone fighting and struggling there, where daily the danger was being felt, was being lived. I feel that Vittorio is like the Jesus of our times. A tatooed Jesus though!! He didn't do miracles or seek fame. He fought for values and ideals. He was truly the one who led by example and helping our brothers that need so much support daily.

May that, what he did will echo in the ears of those who killed him. His yells for peace through his agony, will inflict more agony in the heart of hundreds that were helped and supported by Vittorio. His agony during his last minutes in this valley of sorrow witnessed a greater entity as he died for the cause, he so much believed in. He like Jesus died for LOVE.

RIP Vittorio - May those who killed you will reunite with you when they will be forgiven for the biggest mistake they've ever did.

Jack Vella
16.iv.xi

Quote of the day from my mental institution 4

Money might be countable but LOVE has a definition of being an uncountable noun. You can never measure LOVE but you know that it can always increase - Jack Vella

Quote of the day from my mental institution 3

Sometimes saying sorry is just not enough, sometimes being honest might put you in trouble and sometimes not being sincere might open a road to the abyss you might never be able to return from - Jack Vella

Quote of the day from my mental institution 2

Relationships break up mostly because of the hug not given, the words not said and the love not shared!

Quote of the day from my mental institution 1

Gos is not a messenger but He is the true message that lies within.

Lghabt loghba futbol mal-Mulej (dedika lil fr. Joe Galea 1951 - 2007)

Tqabadna flimkien,

int u jien Mulej,

min-naha ghal ohra ta dinja,

u beda ghaddej il-hin,

imma l-loghba damet hafna,

u spiccajt jien Turin.

Hdimt b'hena fost iz-zaghzagh,

tajthom tal-hajja it-taghlim,

lghabt il-futbol maghom,

u int f'nofsna,

w'hekk nghaddu l-hin.

L-oratorju li ghamilt maghhom,

kemm zlaqt jien fuq il-haxix,

u int fis-silenzju kont tilghab maghna,

u kif qatt ma kellek brix?

Kemm konna ahna nitqabdu,

u kemm jghidu li mhux sportivi t-taljani,

imma jien kont niehu pjacir bil-bosta,

waqt l'huma jtennu,

int ikbar minnha Padre Jo,

u qaluli tant li ma kienx hemm bhali.

U ftahna imbaghad centru Don Bosco,

biex bhal dal-qassis,

inrawwem it-tfal,

halli jikbru huma xempju tieghek,

biex b'hekk jghixu hajj'ahjar.

Indum kont nghallem jien lilhom,

sa ma int kont ittina d-dawl,

u bil-qamar tieghek jiddi fuq wiccui,

nirrakonta storja w'l-isbah qawl.

Imma kollox li kien jibda,

xi darba jkollu t-tmiem,

u ghalik ridtni int nahdem,

imma meta HI hakmitni,

ghidt ghalfejn jien?

Il-marda li jien kelli,

infirxet ma kullimkien,

bhan-narcis fil-gimgha l-kbira,

kif jinfirex mal-widien.

U bl-imhabba li int ftaht idejk,

bhal biex tilqa dan ix-xutt,

ridt lili biex nilghablek,

u mis-sema nghajjat zut.

Imma hej ma kelliex sahha,

b'din l-imbierka barka li int bghattli,

ma stajtx nghajjar b'pulmun taljan,

xorta kburi li jien Malti.

Imma naf li waqt li l-ahhar demgha tinxef,

u l-pulmun tieghi qed isir xott,

u l-ahhar bikja tat-tfal tieghi,

issa nista' nitlaq u nigi hdejk,

ghax int bija zrajt sigra li ghamlet il-frott.

Mulej lghabna loghba mieghek,

mhux dik ta' disghin minuta biss,

u kemm pruvajn'ahna nizgicawlek,

u niskurjawlek,

inkiss inkiss.

Imma issa qed nitbissem,

ghax il-logbha waslet fit-tmiem,

hallini naraha ghal ahhar darba,

u niskorja il-gowl tal-qawmien.

Ghax int Mulej bil-marda tieghi,

ghaqqadt poplu bhala wiehed,

u naf jien li b'dak l'ghidt b'fommi,

issa hadd minnhom ma jibqa' sieket.

Ghax huma se jfahhru lilek,

w'tieghek ixxandru l-Evangelju,

sakemm fit-tim taghna jighaqdu,

u jgawdu mieghi LILEK, l-aqwa premju.

Grazzi mill-qalb Father Joe...dak li ghamilt int ma jintesa' qatt.

And counting

I am looking around me in the morning,

it's raining out of the window and I here glance,

and thought of many but many people,

how many lived, died or had a late night romance.

How many started a day,

that unbeknown to them they will never finish,

no matter if they are Maltese or Italian,

living in Japan or calling themselves British.

And I thought of them so eagerly,

as I imagined their yesterday and what they've gone through,

as they looked up to the skies and never but never,

thought that this would be their last sky blue.

I looked at thousands of cars,

passing by me like in a queue,

but I know the way I'm seeing them,

or imagining that their days are countable, true.

I imagined all the people shouting,

or yelling what they need in the early morning,

and with all the hurry that there is,

they have no chance to realise their life's boring.

Then I looked to the people cleaning,

roofs, gardens and the streets below,

I thank God that I am curious,

for the more I learn, the more I want to know.

I heard the sounds of people that woke up before me,

as they make their way to work, they can't stop to rumble,

and I know now so clearly,

the more I listen, the more it seems like a jungle.

I have seen men, women, children,

and for a second I just thought,

we all outlived our yesterday,

but did we really but really thank God?

For no matter what cycle you take,

no path through that pilgrimage,

I might be the Alchemist in life,

but after all I am His image.

And he is blessing me every morning,

with the rays of sun or the drops of rain,

and I know that there might be another tomorrow,

but it will never ever be the same.

So live, love, lovely and truly,

try it as if no one ever tried it before,

for you might know that death is coming,

but you might not be prepared for that knock on the door.

You might have richness, money and glory,

but remember nothing of which you will ever take,

when the Hour comes looking for you,

to take you to God sitting by the Heaven's lake.

So what you do today,

make sure you'll look at it tomorrow,

with head up high, chest up front,

for then it will be your yesterday and if you only want without sorrow.

Live life helping others,

and not trying to be the best,

for the dark shadow will be waiting,

and in peace if so, they won't allow you to rest.

You might not believe in hell and heaven,

or that the Below is the contrary of the Above,

but rest assure that your eyes will one day see it,

that there is only ONE GOD and He's full of love.

So mark my words and look at your actions,

and on others leave no scar, no bruise,

for one day you'll be called to answer,

and according to what today you choose, you will then win or lose.

JV

XVII.III.XI

In life as in death

I have flipped through many pages,

and in none, I have felt like this,

when flowers are dripping over,

everytime, you'd give me a kiss.


I have ran along the desert,

to see if there was a replica of you,

but all the nicest things however, remind me,

that because of you, all my canvases are blue.


You the sweat of what before was sorrow,

you the brighter sun of a better tomorrow.


And like the sailor, I have searched oceans,

to find the condor and the golden city,

and instead I found the greatest treasure,

that was in real life, a girl....so pretty.


And then like Verne's inspiration,

Nemo me impune lacessit,

No one will ever get out of this,

your love is only mine for me to get it.


And like all the history surrounding Pompei,

Your love is the strongest laying stone that I'll ever lay.


Now feel the love, thwirl and dance with the sounds of nature,

blossom on my heart's meadow,

for I need all that you can give,

and in my life to act as my shadow.


I need you to kiss the life that's in me,

the life with all the joy it brings and sorrow,

for with you I can now dream,

and build on yesterday, a better tomorrow.



I will love you always, in life as in death,

for my love is God and God is the biggest, lest you forget.

Labyrinths in question - It's not my fault

I

What a day it was. On a day like this, Rosie used to take little Samko (short in Slovak for Samuel) for long walks in the forest. The ones he enjoyed so much. The leaves were rattling in that little part in Bratislava on the way to the Devin Castle. Along the forest, at the start where the Danube kisses the Morava River, the same leaves were rolling one onto the other, reminding Rosie of the westerns she used to watch, as a child. Typical scenes in such westerns included the dry grass and hay that glided on the sand with the little blows of the wind. After that Clint Eastwood's shadow appeared at the threatening sound of Ennio Morricone's 'The good, the bad and the ugly'.

The only sounds that Rosie could hear were the two rivers bumping into each other along with the sound that the wheels of the wheel chair emitted as they touched the ground. The hair of the golden boy sitting on it was combed perfectly to the right.

Her history lessons as Samko used to call them and taunt her many times with, always started right there underneath the shadow of the historical Devin castle. Owing to its strategic position, the cliff above is at an altitude of 212 meters. Because of the confluence of the rivers Danube and Morava, this point was an ideal place for a fort. Whoever owned this place in the old times, could gain control of the important trade route along the Danube as well the branch of Amber Road. That is why the site above which Rosie and Samko were, had been settled since the Neolithic era and fortified since the Bronze and Iron Age. Later, both the Celts and the Romans built strong fortresses there. Several decades ago, the first Christian church was identified in the part where the Roman ruins were found, located north of the Danube. The castle shadowing them stands just inside the Slovak territory, at the border between Slovakia, till 1993 making part of a greater country Czechoslovakia and Austria. The border runs from west to east along the Morava River and subsequently the Danube.

Rosie worked as an accountant and as a house-wife. Most of the work, she did from home and that gave her ample time to be with Samko. Not only because he was her only child but also because he needed her help. He was dependant on her.

Samko was living his 11th year of his tormented life, but ever since he was born, Rosie - a single mother - unlike many chose to battle for her son. He was born with having the Ribose-5-phosphate isomerase deficiency which in itself is a human disorder caused by mutations in the pentose phosphate pathway enzyme ribose - 5 - phosphate isomerase. He was the only diagnosed patient in the world, thus making RPI deficiency the rarest disease in the world.

The mutations would cause severe contractions that in term caused unbearable pain lasting only few minutes. Until it subdued however, little Samko would see the Calvary, like they say. During one of the attacks, he also developed a permanent infection in the nerve joints, just below the pelvis, constraining him to live the rest of his life in a wheel chair.

II

Stanislav, Stano in short, fell in love with this woman - the blonde petite girl with big blue shining eyes that were always smiling - the first time he saw her.

Eternal love, he used to think.

She was a very nice woman, intelligent and caring. Yes, she was the ideal wife. But there was only one problem. She came from a distant village. It was during the first years of the pro-communist era. Life was difficult. Furthermore his father was the Primate of Bratislava, Dr. Rajnovy. His father was a conservative person. In vain, he tried several times to open the eyes of his son. He also believed in the distinction of classes. That is why he was only elected for one term. He forgot that he climbed the stairs with years of struggle in the post-war days. And when Stano, introduced him to her, he saw a frail woman that needed, not only to be guided but to put her socks up. He immediately refused a marriage between the two classes. A marriage like that was impossible and he subsequently would never give his blessing. She wasn't accepted. But Stano was determined to carry on. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. He renounced his family because of her. That was his one way ticket out of his family, to the dismay of his father. He reached a point of no return.

III

Samko always used to carry an HB size 4B and 6H graphite pencil together with an A3 paper. For even though his disease limited him from doing certain things like other children his age, it did not limit him from doing the thing he loved most. Painting. He was a bright student and very smart and intelligent. All the teachers used to praise him for his incredible effort to succeed.
His paintings were very detailed. He inherited this hobby from his father's side. His grandfather was an apprentice of Salvador Dali during the best of his Catalonia times. In fact Gregorii, his grandfather, had also grown and trimmed his moustache just like the renowned Dali's!

Rosie noticed that her son was painting. He looked distracted. She could see that one moment he was looking right and then he turned left abruptly, observed, absorbed and brushed with his beloved friends. His pencils.

You could see pain in her eyes. Pain that had accumulated throughout these years of sorrow. Life had never smiled to her. In fact she was always the black sheep of the family. And because to a certain extent it was with the death of her father, that she started to breathe again. She was not ready for what was to come.

IV

"I am sorry Pan (Mr) Rajnovy" Prof. Milka said. "We can say, with certainty, that the ultra sounds of your wife are not as positive as they look". He looked very serious at this young gentleman. He was observing his physique and how well built he was. He needed to treat him with respect. He knew well who his father was and certainly he needed to be careful.

"Take a seat please" the Professor continued. "Would you like a green tea or a coffee?"

"Ano (Yes), a green tea, please". And as soon as he said it, he lowered his head in his hands and what were before tear drops now became streams of sorrow gliding across his face.

"Vierka, please bring a green tea for Pan Rajnovy" the Professor ordered to his faithful 22 year old assistant.

He looked down at Stano again and put a fatherly hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"We all have to go through this in life" he said. "God's roads are unclear and never the same".

"Yes, Professor" Stano said. "But my road seems to be quite difficult. You know that I have been always shadowed by my father and his share of mistakes in this bureaucracy". He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and continued "And now this". He couldn't speak anymore. Once again he started crying. The tall persona of the Professor was behind where Stano was sitting and recurrently the professor's both hands were now squeezing both shoulders.

"I know Stano. But we all have to be guided by someone and that is what I am doing".

He continued "What I can see is that are several dark spots all over the embryo and quite frankly I can say that I have never in my 37 years acting as a children's doctor seen something like this. I therefore cannot promise you anything but my prayers and all my experience. And I will use all that in order to save your child. I suggest that you don't tell anything to your wife, at this early stage".

Stano nodded. But his head remained down. Then suddenly, he felt the sun reflecting on his face. It was as if God was smiling to him. But God wasn't there. God left him alone. Or so he thought.

Why do you leave me, when I need you most? He whispered. But he was overwhelmed with the answer he heard in his conscience.

I never left you my child. I gave my son to show you the way and save you. But people did not listen to him and instead they killed him.

I have a mission for you and today is your first day. Yes, Stano, you have been chosen. You have been enrolled. But my ways aren't by-passes. My ways are far more difficult. But none of my roads are! The roads that I choose for you can get you a step closer to me, to be like me, to be with me, to live like me, but they indeed bring sorrow and pain in this earthly life but I will be there, right beside you.

The sound still echoed in his mind. Like tiny vibrations waiting to be released. But life, of course is not that easy!!

V

She was lost and like editing her own movie, she was trying constantly to remove the unwanted parts. The parts that brought her sorrow. There was no relief. There was no eagerness for a tomorrow. But all this needed one look. Just one look. In front of her. Her pale hands were holding the handles of the wheel chair and on that wheel chair was the reason for her struggle.

Yes, I need to fight. I need to get my strength. And fight for him. His life would be devastating without me by his side. He had already been deprived of his father by an act of selfishness.

All these thoughts were flowing in her mind. Only the tickling sound of her son's HB graphite pencil brought her back to reality.

He was now still. The thoughts in his mind were afloat like the two kissing rivers. He was scribbling or so it looked like and pausing. Scribbling and pausing. Rosie was now curios of what Samko was designing. She leaned onto his right and looked. On this A3 paper filled only with black and white were the lone figures and designs of one leaf, one rock, one branch, one tree, one window, one house in the backdrop, one little river that ended were it started, one lamp and one bus stop.

Very strange, she thought. But the inhibitions of a mother were put aside. And she let a stream of words flow, leave their brain, where before they transformed themselves from thoughts and from her thoughts became words by flowing deep into the magnified resonance air that surrounded them. The wind felt like whispers. In her head though it was as if another person was there.

No, it can't be possible, she thought.

VI

After visiting her at the hospital, Stano decided what was to become. He came to reconfirm his love. Or so he thought. But history would prove him wrong. His hand still ached from the big bunch of flowers that he bought, from Kamenne Namestie and carried with him, half an hour earlier. He walked towards the hospital.

Unbeknown to her, he knew all. Like the professor. The professor's last words still dangled in his mind.

"He will live but the life in front of him will be a difficult one. You both have to be there for him".

But all that Stano could think was that how of all possible people, he, Stano Rajnovy, the son of the ex-Primate of Bratislava, was going to tell everyone that he had a child but a disabled son.

He was already decided what the next step would be.

He imagined telling Rosie about aborting. But he knew that before, he had to explain the whole situation and that, would destroy her completely. The probable statement that would have come up from her mouth was echoing, no penetrating his mind...'What if not? What if not? What if not? What if they are wrong?'

He entered the room and found her sleeping. He placed her favorite flowers on the side table. Roses. The roses that bore her name. Rosie, like the rose in the hand of St. Rita. The patron saint of the impossible. Her parents named her so because she was born on the May the 22nd, just like the saint's death anniversary more than 5 centuries before.

He took out his pen. The pen she gave him for their first wedding anniversary. It was black with a golden rose and his name inscribed on it. He wrote some words.

Then he went out of the room, closed the door silently behind him. He looked towards the corridor and there was no one. He was on the 11th floor. He walked towards the lift. He pressed the button showing the arrow to go up.

Arriving on the roof he pushed the bar that ran along the door. Outside was overcast. Like the typical weather during the week of the mourning of the Christ. The helicopter bay was deserted.
The security yelled at him to move sideways from the H sign and gestured as if wanting to ask him why is he there. He obliged by moving aside and then he took out one cigarette and waved it towards the security. The security nodded. Stano made a sign that he needed a lighter. The security told him to wait and he went to pick his lighter from the guard room a couple of metres away.

Stano looked down. He was now on the 77th floor. He looked towards the security. Then suddenly he climbed above the railing and glanced once more towards the security. He threw the unlit cigarette 77 floors below. The security knew what was going to happen next and he started running to try to avoid the unavoidable. He was late though. Stano was gone. He had followed the cigarette.

VII

"Samko zlatko (dear), why aren't you using the space in between every drawing that you are doing? Why ruining all that space? Don't you know that the trees take years to grow and we need to make sure that we make the best out of the papers".

"Ja viem, Ja viem (I know, I know). He smiled.

"Mamka (nice way to say mum in Slovak), God created the space. God created the love. God is love. And if the space is love. Then all this space resembles my love for everything that I have painted inside. God gave us air, and the air that we breathe is our space. Now isn't that love?"

He smiled again.

“Everything that we see is unique and rare Mamka, just like my illness. Just everything. I designed one leaf, for it to resemble that God is light for he loves us and his anger every time we betray him is light and vanishes quickly. I did one rock, for it to resemble St. Peter. We are as strong as the rock the church was built upon. I painted one branch and one tree, because we all have to be one in the body of the Christ. I did one window, because we have to look towards the only destination that we have to walk towards, work for...heaven. I did one house in the backdrop, because it resembles that God might be invisible but still there. And one day, even though it might be far, we will finally meet him and use the place that no one ever took, because that place is ours to have. It has been reserved for us individually so when the appropriate time comes we use it. I did one little river that ended where it started, because the circle ends where it starts and the circle symbolizes perfection. And perfect is only God. I did one lamp symbolizing Jesus. The light we shall follow. The bulb we shall lit our heart with. And then finally I did one bus stop, it will be where Dad will be waiting for us, when we will finally meet again".

She was now sobbing. She didn't know if it was because these were the most beautiful words she'd ever heard or if it was because of her son's illness.

"God gave me the space I did not use. Because that space is dedicated to you. You are rare and unique like all the things we see. Like all the things I've painted. And the rare and unique you is taking care of a boy, her son who has a rare illness and is unique because his mum made him so".

He stopped and took a long deep breath and continued, "If I am like this, Mamka, it's not my fault. But I still love you". They both wept and the rivers of tears from both faces met when they hugged each other, and touched each other’s faces just like the Danube and Morava rivers, a couple of metres away.

He grabbed her face in his hands. He saw the tears of joy still running down her face. He smiled.

These last words he said entered like lightning in her brain. Suddenly she remembered of that night when she got and she read that letter. The letter his father wrote to her. His last words.

"Rosie, it's not your fault. But I still love you".

THE END

JV
VII.III.XI