Andrea Modesto - Philosophical Practitioner
Lavorare sul pensiero per trasformare la vita
sabato 18 giugno 2022
LA PRATICA FILOSOFICA: ILLUSIONI, DEFORMAZIONI, ESERCIZI E POSSIBILITA'
domenica 19 dicembre 2021
Conoscersi e morire
domenica 12 dicembre 2021
A world of snipers
The world is full of snipers which means it is full of people hiding in the shadows but ready to shoot at those who expose themselves. The haters are virtual snipers who shoot without showing themselves. And since there are a lot of repressed people around, even the web is full of haters: people who need to vent their personal frustrations through virtual violence, convenient and immediate; today, in fact, to hurt others is easy and comfortable: often just one click is enough.
domenica 5 dicembre 2021
A crazy and emotional ship
There is a ship full of passengers. Everyone knows that the ship will sooner or later wreck. It won't happen immediately, however, but in a while. In the meantime the ship proceeds with people on board who spend their remaining time in many different ways: there are those who dive into the sea to cool off a bit, some to distract themselves, some to become the most fit of all and some even to drown. There are also those who prefer to lock themselves in the cabin to feel safe and to spend a bit of peaceful time in their own space; this kind of people aim to build their own ivory tower in order to isolate themselves from the infinite ocean they have below and all around them, and into which they are about to dissolve anyway.
lunedì 6 settembre 2021
The orphans of themselves
Many human beings have become parents only because they have never been able, not even once, to give birth to themselves.
domenica 18 luglio 2021
domenica 9 maggio 2021
A dying prisoner suspended between finite and infinite
I am a limited being made up of organs, muscles, tendons, cartilages, joints, blood and cells. I live by following ideals that orient my life, that give it meaning but at the same time constantly ruin it. I would like to be who I am not. I would like to do what I can't. I would like to achieve what I don't have. I am a tightrope between dung and salvation, between finite and infinite, between the fear of nothing and the longing for everything; and the more this rope is stretched, the more it risks breaking. And so, between an attempt to reach perfection and the need to mend the continuous tears resulting from this tension, I wear out daily and inexorably burn myself. And as I aim for the top, perfection crumbles in front of me: and the higher I aim, the more it shatters. Each step I take is an attempt on life. Each jump I take is a piece that detaches from the chaotic puzzle that makes up my life. Each stroke forward is the crumbling of a dream. Thus, as I climb daily towards heaven, I slip desperately towards the boundless nothingness which is the grave of every ideal and the cradle of all existence. Physical collapse. Inner shipwreck. Dying life. And I wake up cyclically all sweaty and panting from obsessive dreams and each time I see myself for what I really am: a limping beggar, on the edge of a sidewalk, dying out of an excess of desire.