When Diego and I met, at the end of 1995, I was living in Paris and he was in Milan.
During the first months of 1996, before I moved back to Milan, Diego was regularly sending me music tapes. He called them Utopia Entropy Radio. It was his way to build a bridge across the physical distance, to know each other through the sharing of sounds, rhythms and emotions.
Those tapes don’t exist anymore, but I remember they featured, among others, Suns of Arqa, Spiral Tribe, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Holger Czukay, Anne Clark, Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois, Aphex Twin, Zion Train, Ozric Tentacles, Kraftwerk, The Residents, CCCP, Nirvana, Sonic Youth… and Franco Battiato.
Listening to his wonderful song La cura (The Care) has become painful , but there are others that remind me of us. I am sharing three of them.
Sharing music is like sharing space. An open space to be, feel, imagine, create, share, dance, watch a sunset on the beach of Gavdos, and grieve.
A year ago, during an adaptive yoga training with Matthew Sanford, he said something that I keep going back to. I can’t remember the exact words, I wrote them down and can’t find them today, but here’s they resonate in me: grief is one of the experiences with the greatest potential to transform the human experience.
When I lost Diego, I got lost in pain (it still happens some days) and my perception got altered. The unbearable “never again” is a global experience.
Here’s how I would describe it today. The heart and mind are caught in the grip of an impossible desire to connect and embrace, the back isn’t able to offer protection, or support, it is exposed and vulnerable and its skin is hypersensitive, breath is suspended, even the sound of crying and the tears seem to contribute to an upward vibrating tension that says: wherevere you are, take me with you.
It’s not a path I wanted to walk. It’s been hard to not just let the vortex carry me away. I still feel like losing grip and boundaries and sense, some days.
But in time I have realized that there are moments in which the quality of that cascade of feelings changes. When I stop clenching, when I am able to not get lost into the labyrinth of guilt and of what could have been but hasn’t, doors open, on a different dimension.
In his book Waking, Matthew talks about the difference between fighting against and being in the room that has become dark, in that silence. Taking the time and waiting to see what happens when we slow down and stop pushing. He is speaking about the rehabilitation system, but I think the metaphor can work here too.
When I am able to open, listen to the silence and stand in the darkness, then, for a moment, I get glimpses into infinite space and limitless possibilities. Loss turns into a half-open door, and if I look through it, I breathe, because in the world I see, everything, including Diego, is, everywhere.
The Ocean of Silence – Franco Battiato[very approximate translation]
An ocean of silence flows, slowly, without a centre or a beginning. What would I have seen of the world without this light that illuminates my dark thoughts? The pain, the stagnation make time seem too long. So much peace does the soul find within. Slowly flows the time ruled by other laws, of another dimension. And I sink into an ocean of silence, always calm. And it almost feels that an obscure remembrance tells me that in long gone times I have lived either above, or in water.