Summary: Nature of the Soul
This text explores the unyielding nature of the human soul, its struggles, and its defiance in the face of darkness and oppression. By embracing one’s true nature, the narrative highlights personal transformation and the complexities of rebellion against fate and injustice. The motif of nature serves as a key element in understanding the internal journey of both the speaker and the figures within the text.
The magic of a unique bond
I still remember the magic. It happened every time you told me a joke: anguish and anxiety would vanish. It was a sleight of hand, a trick of light. Of course, the shadows would always return, but for a fleeting moment, they would retreat. I was adrift, lost in my perpetual tempest. Alone, even when surrounded by others. Alone and unaware of myself.
We were meant to be so many things together. I believe you and I made every conceivable mistake: we became everything we were never meant to be, demanding the impossible from ourselves. I was alone before I met you, but after you entered my life, I was no longer so. Even after you left, you never truly disappeared—I searched for you everywhere. When you vanished, I demanded of myself to become something else entirely. When such bonds are forged, it is as though nature itself intertwines two souls.
Facing inner darkness
Now, whenever night falls and the darkness wraps itself around my soul, something within me trembles. It feels as if it were the first time: a part of me breaks away and descends, straight into hell, to find rest. I understand it now. I know what happens and what I need to endure it. Yet it frightens me each time, as if it were always the first. There is no longer anything in this world that truly terrifies me—nothing capable of defeating me. I have already lost everything. Everything that once kept me standing.
I’ve lost the arrogance of youth, the envy of a prima donna, the pretense of being the best, even the solace of helping others. And yet, if psychiatry has taught me anything, it’s that those who have lost everything are invincible. Stripped of every defense, their souls remain impenetrable.
Rebellion: both a curse and a strength
Into hell itself I ventured, seeking her—and there she was, waiting for me. My soul. She is not beautiful. She is the soul of an eternal rebel, the soul of Lucifer himself, unyielding to the first injustice he ever encountered.
If you know all and can do all, you cannot be Infinite Goodness. Only a profoundly unjust God would allow evil to exist. And yet, every time I sense it coming, I tremble. It’s always like the first time, every cursed time. I know I am about to fall, and I fight with all my might to resist, until, inevitably, I collapse. Once again, I descend.
The burden of feeling others’ pain
There is nothing that can defeat someone born to lose, someone who could always win but chooses instead to dwell among the least. Because from there, the view is clearer. Because that is where home feels like home.
You’ve always had a gift, one that is also your burden: the ability to feel others. But you’ve dimmed so much that now you feel nothing at all. Reclaim your gifts, which are also your weight, and you will find yourself once more.
Like me, you chose a profession that demands you help others. It’s a path that, no matter where it leads, will ultimately help you, too. But never forget: it will also condemn you to forever inhabit the homes of others, to observe without being seen, to bear on your skin the weight of every single pain that belongs to others.
Embrace this nature of yours.
Reclaim your gifts. For the only choice you have is to fight against them or let them flourish. But they will act regardless, with or without your consent.
I have always found myself in the wrong place, no matter where I was. Not because of the place itself, but because of how I am. The other day, I stumbled into a room where a madman who’s always bothering everyone was sitting. That alone made me like him. The doctor stepped out of the room and said, “Do whatever you want.” And so, I did exactly what I wanted, precisely as I wanted.
The Restless Nature of the Soul
I have always done what I wanted because I’ve never cared what others thought. My worst mistakes were made with the absolute, unshakable conviction that they were the right things to do. And every cursed time, they were the worst decisions of all. Yet, while everyone else stood still, watching, I was the only one who acted.
My nature is powerful and stops at nothing. It never has, and it never will. What compels me? My nature. And that will never change.
I should have stayed silent in my family, but instead, I spoke. I pointed out all the contradictions, the absurdities visible to everyone. Every time, my mother would use my father to put me back in my place. And every time, I fought with him. I didn’t care—I fought anyway. And I always lost.
A past of rebellion and injustice
On December 25, 2009, it happened again. I told my father to do whatever he wanted, but never to lay a hand on my mother again. Every morning, I’d wake to their shouting, and when my father was angry, he seemed like a demon. Every single morning, venom poured from their mouths.
That morning, I woke up to see my father grabbing my mother’s head to slam it against the doorframe. I tried to stop him, and he, blinded by rage, turned on me as he always did. But this time, I immobilized him and threw him out of the house.
Five minutes later, my mother was already on the phone with him, ready to mend yet another truce, sealing what they called their “love story.”
I kept him out of the house for three months. I forced him into therapy. Three months. My older brother, Mirko, who had never done anything, simply vanished. In the end, my father came back home. And I left.
Choosing therapy: a new nature
By September 2010, after yet another failed “straight” relationship, I decided to start therapy. I used the money I’d saved from my doctorate to heal myself. And today, I find myself a close friend of the psychiatrist who was supposed to take care of my father. He tells me the only thing he can do for me is to be my friend.
And what do you expect from a goddamned borderline? That he wouldn’t challenge God Himself? And what compels him to do it? His damned nature, which will never change.
The fallen angel: a symbol of rebellion and justice
The emotion captured in the face of the fallen angel is only part of the painting’s power. The graceful pose in defeat, the perfection of the body, and the hint of horns peeking through the hair evoke the profoundly human rebellion and hunger for justice of the Angel of Light. Yes, exactly that—a hunger for justice that, however, can only be sated by committing further injustices.
The Lord’s favored one, nurtured from birth by His own pride, is finally cast down because he merely acted on the nature of the being who willed him into existence. The rancor, the blind and desperate rage, is literally consuming Lucifer, who will soon establish his dominion in the shadowlands. Yet, in this pose, nothing has happened yet—everything is still recoverable. But he is irredeemably alone now, likely mocked by the choir of angels above, angels he knows for certain are worth far less, and precisely for this reason, would never dare to cross such boundaries.
Embracing the Eternal Struggle
Here he is, the rebellious angel. The Angel of Light, they called him. The one who preferred to reign in hell rather than serve in heaven.
The Son of Man and the Son of God, born and risen on the third day. I have always believed they are the same person—but that is a thought I can entertain alone.
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