This is the English version of this article (and part of the book I’m writing on Robin Williams)
Questa è la versione inglese di questo articolo (e parte del mio libro su Robin Williams).
Flying together as one
So you’ve come into my dreams at last. I knew it was just a matter of time, although I seldom remember them, and when I do, lately, it’s usually in a vague, hazy way. Yet that night’s dream was so clear, one of those in which when you wake up you have to refocus for a moment, realize what’s actually reality, and what is not. A dream that was so gentle, so graceful, I might say, that I felt a touch sad when I woke up, but at the same time, it got across its sweet taste throughout my day, giving me more determination, stronger desire and passion for everything I’m doing and going to do.
It’s the sense of taking care of things; of walking, at the slow pace of the sun and of air, that very road you’ve been guiding me on for so long. It’s the feeling of your fingers wrapped around mine, the tenderness that protects me from cold weather, your making a home of any place, your being a haven for ships yet to come and for those that are going to leave again. It’s the ability to turn yourself into silence to listen to the world, and into words to understand it. It’s the hand that fills with a light but solid presence, the derangement of when you change your course so as not to betray the sea. It’s the shiver, given by fear, but not without a sort of secret happiness, of one who’s suspended on a wire, several meters above the earth, and now and then takes an acrobatic jump between the objective reality of things and the poetry of instants. Because for me, you’ve always been there, and always caught me in perfect time for the terror of the void to make way for the magic of flying together as one.