Contributions and Attendances
A dinner with the devil
There was a small town girl who fell in love with someone from Petersburg. One of those handsome types, always bored and indifferent. Thinking about him drove her crazy and made her sweat all over at night: from her hair to the tip of her toes. Just like the njanja had told her to do, to find out if he loved her too, she asked magic, straightforward black magic. Which meant to the water, the wax and the embroideries, that together, water and wax, form inside a vase. But that wasn’t enough. Therefore, still following the njanja’s indications, once again she turned to more black magic. So she prepared a dinner for two. And that is for the devil, who always knows everything, and for her, to whom the devil, in a dream, would have revealed what she wanted to know. And she had set up that dinner right in her bathroom, because, being the devil, there weren’t any icons with saints in that bathroom. But that wasn’t enough either. The njanja then told her to use the mirror to find out if he loved her too. So on a freezing cold Russian night, on the tip of her shoes with only her open dress on, she went out into the large courtyard with a mirror in her hand. She turned it to the moon, waited a while, then looked inside to see if his face appeared, Onegin’s. But inside, in that mirror, everything stayed the same, nothing had happened: there was only darkness, the moon, the stars, and then nothing else..
Smell of Sanctity
A stàrec had died and people expected that a scent of celestiality would immediately emanate from the corpse of a monk priest like him. But it wasn’t like that. Not a day had passed and his body had begun to give off the fetid odor typical of putrefaction. ‘He didn’t care much for fasting’. ‘He was crazy for the sugared almonds brought by devoted ladies,’ the detractors of his holiness said. So many poisons came out of people’s mouths. But with the scandal, the stàrec, that day, had brought into the ascetary even those who would have never set foot there. God, therefore, in his own way, had given a sign, and the stàrec, perhaps, could really say that he really died in the smell of sanctity.
The raft of Vesalius
If the divine spirit can become flesh, meaning man, then I believe that, in the Raft of Vesalius, the anatomist and the murderer, proceeding backwards, scrutinize the human body, in search of the same immortal embodied principle, soul or pneuma.
They penetrate the body like an unknown land or a temple. They penetrate the body like an unknown land or a temple. Fold after fold, fiber after fiber, they search its secrets in order to unearth a deep and remote treasure, the mystery of the origins that lies imprisoned, under the armor of flesh and bone, in the darkness of matter.