Qui dove il mare luccica
e tira forte il vento
su una vecchia terrazza davanti al golfo di Sorrento
un uomo abbraccia una ragazza
dopo che aveva pianto
poi si schiarisce la voce e ricomincia il canto:

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e’ una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’ e’ vene sai…

Vide le luci in mezzo al mare
pensò alle notti la in America
ma erano solo le lampare
e la bianca scia di un’elica
sentì il dolore nella musica
si alzò dal Pianoforte
ma quando vide la luna uscire da una nuvola
gli sembrò più dolce anche la morte
Guardò negli occhi la ragazza
quegli occhi verdi come il mare
poi all’improvviso uscì una lacrima
e lui credette di affogare.

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e’ una catena ormai
e scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai…

Potenza della lirica
dove ogni dramma e’ un falso
che con un po’ di trucco e con la mimica
puoi diventare un altro
Ma due occhi che ti guardano
così vicini e veri
ti fanno scordare le parole
confondono i pensieri.

Così diventò tutto piccolo
anche le notti la in America
ti volti e vedi la tua vita
come la scia di un’elica.

Ah si, e’ la vita che finisce
ma lui non ci pensò poi tanto
anzi si sentiva felice
e ricominciò il suo canto:

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e’ una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai…

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e’ una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai…

I truly ask how this is a crutch, to detach yourself from things that are worldly (money, cars, houses) and to set your focus on something intangible (not to be confused with unattainable) is probably one of the hardest things to do. A response might be: why would you devote yourself to something you cannot see? my answer is that everyone does it; agnostic, atheist and religious alike.  Think about the idea of a promise, someone promises you something, but you can’t see it, yet you trust in the words. Though this is a drastic simplification, its the same concept. You can come to a logical understanding that, sure this promise will probably be fulfilled because this person has never let me down. Christianity works in the same way.

I dare anyone to challenge that Christianity is a cop-out in life. Not in an aggressive way, but in a honest and true sense of  challenge. I would hearty like to hear the reasons, and not the statement and what justifications there are. If you have any please do lay them down, I’m honestly curious because I hear it thrown around, but never reasons for it.

Hippocrates: And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul?
Socrates: Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul.

“There are some that say; ‘history is written by the victors,’ well if history was written by the victors then why are there so many different versions of the same history?” —Simon Rafe

Think of what is right and true.

Practice and cultivate the science.

Become acquainted with the arts.

Know the principles of the crafts.

Understand the harm and benefit in everything.

Learn to see everything accurately.

Become aware of what is not obvious.

Be careful even in small matters.

Do not do anything useless.

— Miyamoto Musashi

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was, “what Heaven is like.” “I wowed ‘em,” he later told his father, Bruce. It’s a killer. It’s the bomb, It’s the best thing I ever wrote.” It also was the last…

Brian’s parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager’s locker at Teays Valley High School in Pickaway County

Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen’s life. But it was only after Brian’s death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven.

It makes such an impact that people want to share it. “You feel like you are there,” Mr. Moore said.. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moore ’s framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. “I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,” Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. “I’m happy for Brian I know he’s in heaven. I know I’ll see him.

Here is Brian’s essay entitled:

” The Room..”

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I have liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I have betrayed.” The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed at.”

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger”, “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents Often there were many more cards than expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.

Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked “TV Shows I have watched,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards…
But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh

And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room.. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.

Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. “No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him… His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive.

The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

Don’t really buy their stuff, but I like the message, ha.

Make me a channel of your peace:
where there is hatred let me bring your love,
where there is injury, your pardon, Lord,
and where there’s doubt, true faith in you:
O Master grant that I may never seek
so much to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved, as to love with all my soul!
—St Francis of Assisi