THE ROLLING STONE
Imagine this guy...
Father said. He was seated on the stone. The earth was rolling around the sun, across the cosmos, and we were sitting on her back and we were rolling with her. Like the horses, father was whispering into my ear, when I had a tank of his bike between my legs and his arms around me were closing with the handlebars of the steering the circle of the control. And the winds pushed the long shouts to synchronize with the solar implosions. The rocks of the mountains were approaching with the ramdam of the eighty powerful horses...eighty powerfull horses. The fathers boots were stinky desolate. But he loved them. Imagine this guy...he is somewhere in the world now. Imagine, this guy? ! Nobody knows his name, or where he comes from, or where is he going, or where does he live...? But the news about his arrival is preceding him. The people of the cities and villages are spreading around a message concerning the incoming of this anonymous guy.
The guy like everyone, you see? One rolling stone like your Pa...but to him, all the doors were opened. He could enter any bar, restaurant, club, institution without being troubled . He was simply asking to be permitted of entrance. And nobody refused his demand. Nobody actually knows when and how and why this ordinary guy has become a holy person, an intime personage that everybody knew, but nobody ever asked who he was. Maybe his tranquil universe was concentrating the attention of the societies and folks. He was appearing suddenly in the suburbs streets of the towns, and caught by the eye from behind the kitchen window the image of his silhouette passing by in the street activated a message instantly transmitted from mouth to the ears, and the message was faster than the walk of the guy... And imagine that suddenly, when he was in the quarter of the town, the crossing by citizens, workers, travelers were saluting him, some guy who didn't have any pretension to get respected.
But, finally, someone asked him a question... naturally and curiously a question didn't concern an ordinary guy who was probably hanging around the globe. And who's name nobody known...!? A question was about the trouble that someone, also totally anonymous , was carrying on him. "What should I do? " he asked. The ordinary guy had an anonymous person in front of him. A face without any name. He watched that face for an instant after what he asked to approach so close that he could whisper to the ear. When he finished, the other guy just moved away saying only "Thank you". Many people did come to the ordinary guy, without oppressing him, with no any rush, everyone Had his time to ask " what should I do? ". When the first did ask and got a whispering in his ear, his friends interrogated him about what happened, and his answer was very simply " he said to me a poem ". Many people had listened to the poems whispered to their ears. The thing was, and the thing is, because this ordinary guy is walking still around somewhere there in the world, that everyone who asked about what to do, who did got a whispered poem in to the ear, everyone soon or a later did leave a life he or she had driven till some crucial understanding moment. After that everyone who had listened to the poem of the ordinary guy had made his or her dreams become a reality. And the ordinary guy was disappearing from the streets of the towns and villages, like a ghost. He walked away and nobody ever asked about his name, or anything concerning his person. ... Father did open a little marble box where he got out one cigarette and had fired it up while sitting on the stone. The quantity of the stories he told me, was just like a never ending torrent of beautiful words, meanings and emotions. All of them cristaline clears excited my imagination, activating images I've never seen before. I couldn't see them before, because I did them instantly while listening to the words of my father.