Cicadas and drum ‘n’ bass compete, the cicadas drown out most of the drum ‘n’ bass. But then I notices the good strong voice, male voice, singing a Beatle’s song. I can’t think of the title and then there is the next Beatle’s song which I cannot recall of the title of either. I cannot see the singer, the voice seems to come from outside the garden, perhaps he’s busking on the steps that lead up to Piazzale Michelangelo. I am sitting in the shade of the trees, amongst the roses set in the grass of the Rose Garden, il giardino delle rose. It is late afternoon and the sun is still hot, the sky a cloudless blue.
How did the world become divided between good and evil, God and Satan? There are some good stories – but what happens when we shift from stories to claims of truth? How did that happen? And that is another story. One in which the lust for power is thrust on to the stage. Or is it a story of our need for leadership? The two sides: the one with the lust for power and our need for salvation and guidance.
If I cannot find my way out of the wilderness do I look for some other to show me the way? Did I, alternatively give up and accept that I cannot do anything with what this life of mine offers? What is on offer? A one way trip into slavery? A con-trick? A promise of needs met, board and lodging, cardboard and an old sleeping bag I found abandoned? Abandoned to scrounge. I suppose scrounging is a form of entrepreneurial behaviour much loved in our neo-liberal economic times.
How to claim ownership, I wonder. Ownership, precedence, entitlement? Talk fast and furious, like Irimias in Satantango. My name is Medici. I am the devil. And yet I slip through the crowds unnoticed, unremarked, unmet; a slippery eel. Did you see me? I think not!
And the large bronze statue catches my eye: L’envol crafted by Folon. Flight to where? To the distant hills. On tip toes, he can’t wait to be soaring up to the blue heavens. Or the blues angels that we listen to later in the old prison of Le Murate drinking martini cocktails. I am transported to someplace such as 1969, embracing those driving rhythms. My life still to open and evolve into what it has become.