Silvio, I'm amazed at this beautiful ode to your dad, and to life in general.
The paragraph about the certainty of how life should be lived hit me so hard. It perfectly encapsulates what I've been feeling lately, where I was certain how life should be lived and slowly realizing I really have no clue, and LESS clue as time goes by... reassuring to know it's normal, and grateful that you put into words this abstract feeling.
Thank you for gifting us this story and musings, all us readers are graced by them!
“[Personal evolution] is about abandoning dogma and having the courage to ask stupid questions and an infinite number of why’s and feeling lost in uncertainty and finally accepting all this as the normal state of living a human life.”
Such a beautiful sentiment I’ve been trying to grasp in my own writing these last few weeks, Silvio. And thank you for sharing those moments about your father with us. He sounds like he was lovely - and what a beautiful last conversation you had with him. Another great piece! 🙏🏼
Such an amazing reflection Silvio. What stands out to me is the look at what's good for the living vs what's good for the dying. As always, you capture so many beautiful nuances in your writing. Bravo!
A beautiful story and experience of loss in your life, thank you for sharing.
I recently had a conversation with a college undergrad and asking for life advice. I will be sending him this article, and highlighting this sentence in particular.
‘Now I can proudly and comfortably and freely say that I don’t know anything.’
Silvio, if I wasn't in a restaurant bar reading this I would have shed a tear. What a moving piece. Eerily enough, I had a conversation about my father's ashes with a family friend who asked me where we kept them. I believe they are in my brother's house living room, and they were as perplexed as you were. Your irony was so cutting that it makes me wonder whether they need a new place.
How much more can I appreciate you, Silvio? The answer is "always more" :D Sorry for your loss, and I appreciate that you share your thoughts, reflections, and stories. I share your sentiment about evolution means to shed strong opinions strongly held: once a firebrand very sure of my beliefs and ideas, I modulated and mellowed over the years. The allure of certainty is real and we are drawn to strong personalities with strong ideas, but lots of times, life is more complicated than that.
Again, I can't appreciate enough how deep and personal you go in the direction -- it always brings me delight, more thoughts, and even better vibes! :D
Apr 7, 2023·edited Apr 7, 2023Liked by Silvio Castelletti
Thank you for sharing your beautifully intimate memories of your father. I'm struck by what you said about how our nature is to attach ourselves to some material expression of our loved ones. I look around my apartment and see mementos from my grandma's apartment -- vases, books, photographs. These material things remind me of her, and I feel her immaterial spirit with me.
"He believed in the eternity of the spirit without being devout of anything." This soothed me. My grandma became more devout as she aged. I suppose becoming less certain about things as we age is at the same time, embracing uncertainty. And in the face of uncertainty, the choice is ours to have faith in eternity and the divine. It's difficult for me to put this into words. Thanks for always making me think deeply.
In this piece I was left at the end lingering more with the mood of who your dad was than anything else. This one line was the sentence that really hooked me in to him. "He believed in the eternity of the spirit without being devout of anything." That speaks volumes to me. I feel like a "know" him through that one line. Of course you had other doorways into his character, which just makes me really like him. No surprise that a model of yours would be likeable. I also resonated with your comments about knowing less and less. I really think it's an aging think, as I think we're in the same zone. I am actually so relieved to be less of a know it all every day, not that there's a lot more to unravel in that department.
Simply stunning. Captivating. Especially the painting of the array rainbow of emotions you and your sister experienced.
And this is a life lesson so beautifully distilled to its essence: “ I think there’s beauty in realizing that this is something that happens naturally with time, and that maybe we have to go through certainty and dogma to be able to finally accept uncertainty and volatility.”
“My sister clung to the urn so tightly they had to literally tear it away from her.”
This is the detail with which it all begins, and which stays with you throughout your wonderful story. And it ends (as the story must end) with your father's words, which are also an answer. An amazing story, but I do not need to be the one to tell it.
It's strange to talk about death in order to talk about life, about what's left and what you have: an urn that you don't know where to put and that you wouldn't keep in your living room anyway.
Today I met my sister (another sister!). She had been to the town hall to get her identity card renewed. Beyond the incomprehensible bureaucratic requirements, she told me something that made me think. She said: "You have no idea how many people don't want to be organ donors. But what do they do with them when they die? Who are you, Anubis?" I laughed, but thought that eventually, when you go to a public office to apply for an ID card, a lot of people will say they don't want to donate organs. Maybe they think of them as the most intimate things they have, and in a final act of selfishness they want to take them with them forever.
Forgive me if I go on and on, I'm almost finished. I read these words by Carlo Emilio Gadda. Sometimes there are things that penetrate your brain more than others. Gadda wrote in "Acquainted with Grief": "I, I!... the dirtiest of all pronouns!... The pronouns! They are the lice of thought.”
So I thought: Not knowing the answers, not knowing anything, and thinking that it's okay, is a form of wisdom. It sounds like a paradox, but I think it is a sublime form of knowledge: to disappear for ourselves, to forget the pronoun 'I'. Getting rid of this unbearable master, this "I" that demands to be constantly reassured that it exists in spite of everything. So selfish that it does so in joy and pain, just to believe that it exists.
We are what we leave behind, not what we think we are.
Silvio, I'm amazed at this beautiful ode to your dad, and to life in general.
The paragraph about the certainty of how life should be lived hit me so hard. It perfectly encapsulates what I've been feeling lately, where I was certain how life should be lived and slowly realizing I really have no clue, and LESS clue as time goes by... reassuring to know it's normal, and grateful that you put into words this abstract feeling.
Thank you for gifting us this story and musings, all us readers are graced by them!
“[Personal evolution] is about abandoning dogma and having the courage to ask stupid questions and an infinite number of why’s and feeling lost in uncertainty and finally accepting all this as the normal state of living a human life.”
Such a beautiful sentiment I’ve been trying to grasp in my own writing these last few weeks, Silvio. And thank you for sharing those moments about your father with us. He sounds like he was lovely - and what a beautiful last conversation you had with him. Another great piece! 🙏🏼
Such an amazing reflection Silvio. What stands out to me is the look at what's good for the living vs what's good for the dying. As always, you capture so many beautiful nuances in your writing. Bravo!
A beautiful story and experience of loss in your life, thank you for sharing.
I recently had a conversation with a college undergrad and asking for life advice. I will be sending him this article, and highlighting this sentence in particular.
‘Now I can proudly and comfortably and freely say that I don’t know anything.’
✨
Silvio, if I wasn't in a restaurant bar reading this I would have shed a tear. What a moving piece. Eerily enough, I had a conversation about my father's ashes with a family friend who asked me where we kept them. I believe they are in my brother's house living room, and they were as perplexed as you were. Your irony was so cutting that it makes me wonder whether they need a new place.
What a lovely piece. It's a treat to read you.
How much more can I appreciate you, Silvio? The answer is "always more" :D Sorry for your loss, and I appreciate that you share your thoughts, reflections, and stories. I share your sentiment about evolution means to shed strong opinions strongly held: once a firebrand very sure of my beliefs and ideas, I modulated and mellowed over the years. The allure of certainty is real and we are drawn to strong personalities with strong ideas, but lots of times, life is more complicated than that.
Again, I can't appreciate enough how deep and personal you go in the direction -- it always brings me delight, more thoughts, and even better vibes! :D
Thanks for sharing your riffs on life, growth and mortality. From a fellow member of the "Dead Dad's Club" to another, I see you. ♥️🙏
Thank you for sharing your beautifully intimate memories of your father. I'm struck by what you said about how our nature is to attach ourselves to some material expression of our loved ones. I look around my apartment and see mementos from my grandma's apartment -- vases, books, photographs. These material things remind me of her, and I feel her immaterial spirit with me.
"He believed in the eternity of the spirit without being devout of anything." This soothed me. My grandma became more devout as she aged. I suppose becoming less certain about things as we age is at the same time, embracing uncertainty. And in the face of uncertainty, the choice is ours to have faith in eternity and the divine. It's difficult for me to put this into words. Thanks for always making me think deeply.
In this piece I was left at the end lingering more with the mood of who your dad was than anything else. This one line was the sentence that really hooked me in to him. "He believed in the eternity of the spirit without being devout of anything." That speaks volumes to me. I feel like a "know" him through that one line. Of course you had other doorways into his character, which just makes me really like him. No surprise that a model of yours would be likeable. I also resonated with your comments about knowing less and less. I really think it's an aging think, as I think we're in the same zone. I am actually so relieved to be less of a know it all every day, not that there's a lot more to unravel in that department.
Such incredible writing ❤️
Simply stunning. Captivating. Especially the painting of the array rainbow of emotions you and your sister experienced.
And this is a life lesson so beautifully distilled to its essence: “ I think there’s beauty in realizing that this is something that happens naturally with time, and that maybe we have to go through certainty and dogma to be able to finally accept uncertainty and volatility.”
This was so inspiring, amazing read!💕
A magnificent Easter reflection--Cristo e' risorto!
“My sister clung to the urn so tightly they had to literally tear it away from her.”
This is the detail with which it all begins, and which stays with you throughout your wonderful story. And it ends (as the story must end) with your father's words, which are also an answer. An amazing story, but I do not need to be the one to tell it.
It's strange to talk about death in order to talk about life, about what's left and what you have: an urn that you don't know where to put and that you wouldn't keep in your living room anyway.
Today I met my sister (another sister!). She had been to the town hall to get her identity card renewed. Beyond the incomprehensible bureaucratic requirements, she told me something that made me think. She said: "You have no idea how many people don't want to be organ donors. But what do they do with them when they die? Who are you, Anubis?" I laughed, but thought that eventually, when you go to a public office to apply for an ID card, a lot of people will say they don't want to donate organs. Maybe they think of them as the most intimate things they have, and in a final act of selfishness they want to take them with them forever.
Forgive me if I go on and on, I'm almost finished. I read these words by Carlo Emilio Gadda. Sometimes there are things that penetrate your brain more than others. Gadda wrote in "Acquainted with Grief": "I, I!... the dirtiest of all pronouns!... The pronouns! They are the lice of thought.”
So I thought: Not knowing the answers, not knowing anything, and thinking that it's okay, is a form of wisdom. It sounds like a paradox, but I think it is a sublime form of knowledge: to disappear for ourselves, to forget the pronoun 'I'. Getting rid of this unbearable master, this "I" that demands to be constantly reassured that it exists in spite of everything. So selfish that it does so in joy and pain, just to believe that it exists.
We are what we leave behind, not what we think we are.