A cramp on my leg is something that used to work as the cruelest alarmclock for me a pretty long time ago. It’s been a while since I didn’t have to wake up screaming out loud anymore. This morning it happened, the pain wasn’t excruciating, but suddenly sharp enough to wake me up and take me back from time to time, feeling in just the fraction of a second the entire memory of all the times it used to happen when my body was seriously messed up, a pretty long time. Tears came a little a while later and they were not really tears of pain but something more like ice melting down from my brain, my heart kept on beating calm.

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.” – Kahlil Gibran

I clearly remember the last moments of the dream I was having before the moment in which this strong déjà vu urged me up. I was in a big hotel room, at the ground floor, together with some friends; it was winter time, outside of the large French door shined a limpid Sun on a tiny plain green garden. Someone knocked at the door and I went to take a look through the keyhole to see who was out there. The man was big and tall, kind of bulky, wearing a sort of entirely orange uniform. He looked restless and agitated. I slowly opened the door and he burst into the room making a bunch of steps and saying: “Hey guys, listen to me, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but all the water is going to be stored into the military containers, since Mick Jagger will be performing in a few days from now.” He then turned back to leave quickly the room, closing the door behind and leaving us astounded, also because we did never see him before. The time to react, talking with a friend in the garden about what happened, and I woke up.

“A dream is a microscope through which we look at the hidden occurrences in our soul.”  ~ Erich Fromm

Not much later, I was thinking of a photo of Vik I saw yesterday night, the one of him smiling and showing his tattoo to the camera: the word المقاومة that, in Arabic, means Resistance. I got into my car and turned the radio on: Bella Ciao began right away and my breath sank into my chest.

Ciao Vik, ciao!

Ilan Pappe, in his preface to “Stay Human“, wrote prophetic words. They still hurt as much as only a clear truth could. I wonder if Noam Chomsky sensed how prophetical those words were, since I have this feeling today that he surely did… And by the way, let’s say:

Restiamo Umani / Stay Human /  كُن إنساناً