Powerful words from the heart. I believe that there is a reason for everything. Some words and beliefs resonate with some more than others. I believe in the unity and community inside us. I believe in the elements. I believe in the other side of the veil. I seen it I felt it. I believe in humanity.
I believe that love brings the most power on earth.
I believe you 100 percent, Gabriella. Otherwise, there would not be such a concerted effort to try and erode the power of love. Keep the light burning.
Such strong writing and powerful use of words and images. This piece compels your readers to slow down the scroll and really take in the thoughts. I loved it.
Beautiful, Gael. Such a beautiful piece. Maybe it feels so beautiful because it really resonates with me, which often happens when you let the pen go where it wants.
I’ve thought a lot about these themes, and I’ve gone looking for murals, been drawn to them. Places of resistance, places where people join for the time of a breath and maybe never cross paths again. Walls where you can leave a piece of yourself that usually stays unseen — the need, the desire, the impulse to leave a trace.
When I was in Turin I saw this one. On a forgotten wall. I took my pen and wrote It down. I send it in Italian and then translate It (sorry for my English 😌😊) because It reminds me a lot your words:
Quando la stanza si fa silenziosa e le risposte svaniscono,
tu allacci ancora la speranza come fosse memoria del corpo.
Il sole è in muto, l’amore fuori rete, Dio non risponde,
ma tu tieni vivo il segnale lo stesso.
Credere non è negare, è presentarsi stanchi.
È dire “so che è buio” e andare avanti.
Il silenzio non vuol dire vuoto, solo attesa.
Alcune verità non chiedono prove, respirano.
Tieni la linea perché qualcuno l’ha fatto prima di te.
E in qualche modo, questo basta per continuare
When the room goes quiet and answers ghost you,
you still lace up hope like it’s muscle memory.
Sun’s on mute, love’s off-grid, God left you on read,
but you keep the signal alive anyway.
Belief ain’t denial, it’s showing up tired.
It’s saying “I know it’s dark” and walking forward.
Silence doesn’t mean empty, just waiting.
Some truths don’t flex for proof, they just breathe.
You hold the line because someone once did.
And somehow, that’s enough to keep going.
I Hope the translation gives at least an idea. The original has a fixed place in my heart
Even though I don't speak Italian, I felt the weight of the words in my bones. And your translation confirmed what I was feeling. And yes, we 'hold the line because someone once did.' The words give me hope. Thank you for holding the line with me. 💕
To believe in the Sun even when it is not shining is practice for believing in love. To believe in love even when it is not is love. As for God, I will just keep putting one foot in front of the other and let others decide about God.
Two out of three ain’t bad :) I would have to agree, Katharine, the Judeo-Christian God, the Almighty, is not a vision I can connect to. But a universal energy that we are all part of makes some sense to me. Like the stars in the sky. Just there, no greater purpose. No divine plan. Only self-responsibility.
Most timely, clear, thoughtful and richly grounded in the indivisible Power of One—whose thoughts, hopes, and refusal to die unremarked are lanterns guiding those suffering this season’s dark night of the soul toward a dawn of reason that refuses to surrender.
Beautiful, Gael. The story of your grandmother gives your postulations on the poem? from the cellar a greater depth. Like your grandmother, perhaps the person in the cellar chose to set aside their own suffering for the sake of building a better life for the next generation...and the invitation to believe, "even when" was the gift the person in the cellar left for the next generation. Your words are a gift, too! Thank you for sharing them.
I wish I had the strength of that person in the cellar, to see the light where none was shining, Patty. I can’t imagine what it was like. But the words and the music give me hope that love will prevail.
Gael, when I read what you write and the way you go about it, I wonder why I try. You use language as though you invented it, and I'm as inspired as much by your use of it as by what you have to say.
My favorite piece in all this: "Maybe that’s what faith is, finally. Not knowledge. Not even hope. Just the insistence that absence is not proof of nonexistence. That the sun behind clouds is still the sun."
My battle with faith is long and confounding. I sometimes think we have created the concept of God so we could create a belief in an afterlife for ourselves. The notion of moving first slowly and now with more speed toward nothingness is not easy to handle. So why not create a story that will at the end of this existence open us to something much grander. And when I go down that path, I think how foolish the trip. It's an illusion. You have no proof.
Powerful words from the heart. I believe that there is a reason for everything. Some words and beliefs resonate with some more than others. I believe in the unity and community inside us. I believe in the elements. I believe in the other side of the veil. I seen it I felt it. I believe in humanity.
I believe that love brings the most power on earth.
I believe you 100 percent, Gabriella. Otherwise, there would not be such a concerted effort to try and erode the power of love. Keep the light burning.
Thank you Gael
Such strong writing and powerful use of words and images. This piece compels your readers to slow down the scroll and really take in the thoughts. I loved it.
Much appreciated, Maryan. It still makes me cry. It is a tiny part of a much bigger, ongoing story.
Beautiful, Gael. Such a beautiful piece. Maybe it feels so beautiful because it really resonates with me, which often happens when you let the pen go where it wants.
I’ve thought a lot about these themes, and I’ve gone looking for murals, been drawn to them. Places of resistance, places where people join for the time of a breath and maybe never cross paths again. Walls where you can leave a piece of yourself that usually stays unseen — the need, the desire, the impulse to leave a trace.
When I was in Turin I saw this one. On a forgotten wall. I took my pen and wrote It down. I send it in Italian and then translate It (sorry for my English 😌😊) because It reminds me a lot your words:
Quando la stanza si fa silenziosa e le risposte svaniscono,
tu allacci ancora la speranza come fosse memoria del corpo.
Il sole è in muto, l’amore fuori rete, Dio non risponde,
ma tu tieni vivo il segnale lo stesso.
Credere non è negare, è presentarsi stanchi.
È dire “so che è buio” e andare avanti.
Il silenzio non vuol dire vuoto, solo attesa.
Alcune verità non chiedono prove, respirano.
Tieni la linea perché qualcuno l’ha fatto prima di te.
E in qualche modo, questo basta per continuare
When the room goes quiet and answers ghost you,
you still lace up hope like it’s muscle memory.
Sun’s on mute, love’s off-grid, God left you on read,
but you keep the signal alive anyway.
Belief ain’t denial, it’s showing up tired.
It’s saying “I know it’s dark” and walking forward.
Silence doesn’t mean empty, just waiting.
Some truths don’t flex for proof, they just breathe.
You hold the line because someone once did.
And somehow, that’s enough to keep going.
I Hope the translation gives at least an idea. The original has a fixed place in my heart
Take care ❤️
Even though I don't speak Italian, I felt the weight of the words in my bones. And your translation confirmed what I was feeling. And yes, we 'hold the line because someone once did.' The words give me hope. Thank you for holding the line with me. 💕
Thank you, Gael, for giving me your second thoughts. If the words gave you hope...I really feel happy
You give me hope, Renzo.
You too, Gael, give hope to me 🙏💙
Thank you, Renzo! 💕
Thank you, Gael 💕
This was the most beautiful piece I read today.
You have a real gift with language.
I took the liberty of quoting a few of your lines and sharing the piece because it moved me so deeply.
I appreciate hearing that, thank you.
To believe in the Sun even when it is not shining is practice for believing in love. To believe in love even when it is not is love. As for God, I will just keep putting one foot in front of the other and let others decide about God.
Two out of three ain’t bad :) I would have to agree, Katharine, the Judeo-Christian God, the Almighty, is not a vision I can connect to. But a universal energy that we are all part of makes some sense to me. Like the stars in the sky. Just there, no greater purpose. No divine plan. Only self-responsibility.
Most timely, clear, thoughtful and richly grounded in the indivisible Power of One—whose thoughts, hopes, and refusal to die unremarked are lanterns guiding those suffering this season’s dark night of the soul toward a dawn of reason that refuses to surrender.
Your words are inspiring, Susan, thank you.
Beautiful, Gael. The story of your grandmother gives your postulations on the poem? from the cellar a greater depth. Like your grandmother, perhaps the person in the cellar chose to set aside their own suffering for the sake of building a better life for the next generation...and the invitation to believe, "even when" was the gift the person in the cellar left for the next generation. Your words are a gift, too! Thank you for sharing them.
I wish I had the strength of that person in the cellar, to see the light where none was shining, Patty. I can’t imagine what it was like. But the words and the music give me hope that love will prevail.
Gael, when I read what you write and the way you go about it, I wonder why I try. You use language as though you invented it, and I'm as inspired as much by your use of it as by what you have to say.
My favorite piece in all this: "Maybe that’s what faith is, finally. Not knowledge. Not even hope. Just the insistence that absence is not proof of nonexistence. That the sun behind clouds is still the sun."
My battle with faith is long and confounding. I sometimes think we have created the concept of God so we could create a belief in an afterlife for ourselves. The notion of moving first slowly and now with more speed toward nothingness is not easy to handle. So why not create a story that will at the end of this existence open us to something much grander. And when I go down that path, I think how foolish the trip. It's an illusion. You have no proof.
And yet, absence is not proof of nonexistence.
Well done, Gael.
Nice to be connected, thank you, Michelle.
Absolutely
I agree, Mo, they are timeless words—as the inhumanity continues to play out in ‘detention’ centers around the world. Thank you.
We truly are in this together, Mo. Let our love reach those who feel unseen.