Begin Chapter 1

I could hear the music echoing at every street corner; the World was alive.

I do not know whether luck or misfortune are appropriate terms, or merely simple words used to remain within an alchemical language, but I allow myself to include them in a thought I now present in written form. This is nothing more than a scribbled presentation of a bed, seen and at times translated—yes, translated—because the image does not always appear “clear.” Gaining awareness of a future reality through broad-spectrum sensory stimuli may be perceived by most as “impossible,” “unthinkable,” and this places you squarely on the podium of “awkward strangeness.” After all, the motto “I only believe what I see” does little to help those who profess values invisible to the eyes of many but deeply perceived by the pure Soul of those who possess it.

To understand this essay, we should pause to carefully analyze the meaning of spirituality—contrary to the vegetative and sensitive soul, the human soul, which is spiritual, subsists in itself and is infused into suitably disposed matter; it is created by God and by its nature is incorruptible and immortal—where, and this is a personal view, this abstraction is placed beyond the religious aspect that many mistakenly assemble as the sole meaning of the word. It is expressed in its broadest sense, since man is spiritual by nature, as his Soul is spiritual; that is, it does not exhaust its reality in merely informing prime matter, the body, but has its own being, its own independent existence apart from matter, and like all substantial forms, it gives being to matter.

Thus, while in other bodies what exists—the substance—is only the composite of matter and form, in the human person what exists is certainly the composite, but existence belongs first and foremost and originally to the soul, which must therefore be considered a sui generis substantial form, a subsisting form.

If I may affirm this concept as true, then the possibility becomes true that some can see beyond the dimension in which we are accustomed to observing ourselves, comparing ourselves, positioning ourselves. One enters into something that, by “luck or misfortune,” by “gift or curse,” becomes part of your living, your being, your becoming—seeing, hearing, and attempting to understand. How, why, and when this dimensional bond arises finds no answer—at least not within me—but it happens, and its manifestation becomes tangible in a future instant: an immediate image that very rarely grants certainty about the exact moment of its realization, yet certainty remains in its fulfillment.

Years of images. Years of spoken words. Years of manifestations, punctual like the ticking of a pendulum clock marking the passage of time.

Each of us interprets spirituality in a different way. Some perceive it simply as believing in God and participating actively in organized religion for the sole purpose of appearing — [Stunning is the procession toward the cathedral, where multitudes of contradictions queue as a showcase of what is “expected,” displaying what objective reality loudly denies. Here one grasps, in the social portrait, the aridity of the soul I previously described, which I paint on my cover—likely to provoke the reader’s disdain, yet the objective fact remains tangible: even if unseen, it moves through daily life. One only needs to walk down the street to perceive it. From my book Life, Sport, and Its Stercus]
Others translate spirituality into experiences that help them connect with their spiritual self through quiet reflection, time in nature, private prayer, yoga, or meditation. Many identify as spiritual but not religious.

Whatever philosophy is adopted, the existence of an instinct toward spirituality remains certain—one that seems deeply rooted in human beings. We cannot help but ask big questions: research shows that even declared religious skeptics cannot suppress the feeling that there is something greater than the physical world they see. While the brain processes sensory experiences and naturally searches for patterns, our conscious self often seeks meaning within those patterns.

As in everything I live—understood in the broadest sense—I do not follow preconceived mental schemes, but allow the mind to remain free to create, to shape its own perception without needing to force an explanation. It simply is. It happens. It occurs. And all that remains for me is to savor the moment which, for reasons unknown to most, leads me by the hand into a subsequent time. A time that reads only myself and rarely accompanies those bound to my being. It reads the Soul and perfectly marks the path of tomorrow.

Thus, suddenly, without deadlines or apparent cause, I find myself in simple and sometimes complex images that reveal what will present itself to me, at some still undefined moment, along the path of life.

The Door of Knowing, the storytelling of an ever more pressing vision—uncritical and meant to remain so. The few who have been allowed to venture a little deeper into my Self have been able to “know” the spirituality of a Soul and its journey to this day. A path with many certainties, a confidence derived from having seen beyond, from having spoken with a world considered fantasy by many, yet profoundly concrete and real—if one could simply pull aside the dark curtain that hides the sign.

I narrate a special journey I have undertaken for a long time, both positively and negatively, unfortunately, yet unfailing in its lapidary realization. I see myself beyond time as commonly understood, and I sit waiting for the event that never fails to occur, without any possibility of intervention. But I believe this is because I am shown freedom, not happiness—and if we understood this as a core concept of earthly life, perhaps we would better grasp the meaning of life so often sought in words.

This is a reading suited to those with a certain mindset, as it requires a kind of spiritual surgery to enter a world of wonder where doors are merely passages between two lived realities—no barriers, only a half-step; one reality of clear and extremely simple expression, where the Soul smiles in light and clarity, the other extinguished in a narrative of arrogant certainty and moral prostitution.

I rise toward the light in the company of “Friends” from yesterday, exit the conventionally known dimension, and find myself at the edge of a blooming garden—green, radiant with intense light. I glimpse figures dressed in white speaking joyfully, and I ask… 'How does it work'?