Reluctantly, in a new juggle with the ephemeral, this Wednesday the almanac is planted on Christmas Eve. And the one who is already getting old ends up having no other choice but to think about all that, about the fleetingness of … life, but in the way that Christmas in particular and human relationships in general have changed, intoxicated by individualism, competitiveness, intolerance, haste and that kind of vital exhaustion linked to the demands (or worse, the demands of oneself) of work and the technological bombardment to which everyone is mercilessly subjected. With the exception of the smallest, fortunately sheltered by the solid walls of illusion, ordinary mortals wander among the consumerist excesses and unhealthy appearances that have transformed the scenario to the exact opposite of what it should be.
Easter is generally seen today as a moment absolutely removed from the essential. Not about religious feelings, which we don’t even talk about, but about the simple human brotherhood that they propose, theoretically, these days; even if it was only a hypocritical parenthesis. Not even that. At this point, not even that. It’s hard to hide the boredom with the overwhelming commercialization of these dates, the collapse of the streets with arms raised holding cell phones to catch the last flash of each colored bulb, the saturation of innocuous franchises, the traffic jams of every bar counter, the fake hugs and the WhatsApp Generic online congratulations to the community gardener and lifelong friend. Global wickedness equals. The uniformity of thought destroys all traces of originality, which now resides in the simplest, in the most natural, in the most animal. Something that almost everyone forgets.
Nobody stops. Nobody looks at the others. Nobody hears. They prefer to take the lead, take the photo, be there and be right as if it were an untransferable treasure. And perhaps what we should strive for these days, with the aspiration of making it the norm, is simply that we look each other in the eye. May we stop to attend, to listen to the other. Or even more. Perhaps what is truly revolutionary and Christmassy is the interior, doing nothing, being quiet, calm, without this almost physiological need to remain active so that no one accuses us of being lazy or passive. To be in silence, in contemplation, alone or surrounded by those who really need to be there, those who contribute, without exposing oneself by decree so that the world looks with pretended interest at what interests no one. Stop looking for some kind of depth, meaning, transcendence, or at least a burst of self-love and also love of others. Unpretentious. Silent. Without ego. In peace. In a long silent night it reminds us how small we are. Which is a lot.
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