I believe that this love story is also a metaphor, allegory of the story of an experience of consciousness, experienced by Angelo Francesco Nardelli.

Who falls in love, but also those who start on a path of knowledge begins a journey of excitement, a process ascenzionale, which feeds on a steady inner fire. How do you say? Today more than yesterday, less than tomorrow. As if the path of love can be a dead end, as if we are given to his own life and death, intoxicated by a sense of fullness mysterious.

But if the tension to the infinite then it encounters a point, a moment of equilibrium, if it does not take into account that our nature is finite and insecurity, then it becomes necessary and inevitable fall from the illusion in the perception of disappointment and failure .

You can also aspire to love to claim the full merger in the drive, but the figure of otherness is not eliminated and it may happen that the identities of the two lovers are manifested confused, distant, separate, hostile. I read some verses of poetry I put myself a mask of wax.

I will get myself a mask of wax
I will have his eyes hidden behind a face
not mine.

...

and I regret no more tears
because my face is now as your
his mask of wax.

But after this poem we are then in the end? We are at the end of a love? We are at discidium, legal separation? We raise the white flag? No, far from it!

If I tell you in a poem, a poem, which the publishers have wisely placed at the end of the second section, it rekindles the hope, the will of the resumption of the relationship.

Shoot, or loved one, your ardor
boundless: it is your the world you see
curl lights ed'ombre
morning

...

is yours the glory of the dead
love

live along the roads and ports.
The lamps clung to memories
or supervising the dark dreams
of your heart.

The glory of the dead ... happy expressive density that! The glory of the dead is the story, the whole story of humanity, from its origins, the glory of its evolution, the sum of experiences and knowledge accumulated over the millennia so far.

And as the love lives? Along the roads and ports, says Nardelli, ie the places of transit and metaphorically link the past to the present, the future. From where you are, where you are, where you go. And love is supervised by the street lamps in the dark, ie light that heralds the return of sunshine in the morning, the love that you could find for now is ripe, because conscious.

Here's the third phase entitled trysts aware. Recognizing the meantime, this seems to capture the poetry of Angelo Francesco Nardelli, the unknowable essence of love itself, the boundaries that nature imposes on all that exists.

The love we live, love, fulfillment, love is all and you can live as a whole, but on the condition of being aware of the inevitable necessity of the limit. I quote a few lines of poetry Dawn found us still united.

Dawn found us still united
but incapable of seeing a sign
new light, a guiding star.

...

Perhaps it will herald the angel
another story or the last messiah

...

Meanwhile we wait because we ignore
the secrets of our lives
his mysterious entelechy.

Maybe there will be a last messiah who will bring us the final truth, but for now we note without scandal, and no arrogant pride, so calmly contented, our fundamental ignorance of the secrets of life. So the only way, accepting and aware of the mystery of the inadequacy of our knowledge, will be granted to us our entelechy, ie the maximum possible implementation, but in the perfect imperfection of our state of nature. So life is all about a love of both a vocation to knowledge is possible only within the confines of bias that are all human beings.

Then we could also say with the poet's last poem of the book, during the act of love, a happy and seeming contradiction: Life has no more mysteries, and you no request to make.

Section introduction of Prof. Mauro De Pasquale, who has managed the presentation February 14, 2009, on the feast of St. Valentine.

Articles:

• I will get myself a mask of wax
• Love story in verse
• As in a dream I live my life
• The senses become pure perceptual functions of the soul

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