Last Saturday was one of those days you remember for a very long time, even though I then forgot everything. Leaving Milan Friday evening heading for Lake Maggiore we got to the enchanting, snow-filled village of Stresa.
We have the whole troop onboard: besides me and Fulvia, there are our own three children, and two others, slightly more grown-up, following us in a Smart car. Snow and lights shine in everyone’s eyes, making the atmosphere really Christmassy. After losing ourselves along with the GPS through the narrow little streets of the village, we find the perfect B&B for us: “The Squirrel and the Nut”.
The owner gives us a warm welcome (though, like us, he must have been half frozen)and he leads us in the dark to the flat that overlooks the garden. We leave our stuff and go and meet Daniele at the huge Conference Centre: 11 halls, one of which is massive and looks like a real theatre. Darkness, snow and silence all around, and an empty theatre to the delight of the children who are running to and fro, playing hide-and-seek, popping up all over the place.
The lights go out and all together in the front row we watch some evocative videos Max is downloading from YouTube. It’s great fun. 9 o’clock is long gone and we’re feeling a bit hungry. We call a nearby Runner Pizza delivery which, they say is 20 km away, and negotiate for a large number of pizzas to be delivered right to the door. They beg us to go and get them ourselves and not play these stupid tricks of giving false addresses, like a cinema, a theatre or a conference hall.
We are adamant and an hour later a half frozen guy arrives on a scooter. Under a melting layer of frost, his face is getting back some expression. He looks at me and says: “It’s my first day, you know, but I’m not sure it’s the thing for me.” I answer with absolute certainty: “Yes it is. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.” Confused he looks at me. As well as the usual tip, I feel like giving him something more and say: “Would you like a different job?” His eyes tell me that yes, he would. “Well, the best way to stop doing what you’re doing is to do it well. If you do it well, someone will soon ask you to do something else.” This time the boy looks at me disconcerted, quickly gathers up the change and escapes slowly without running from this weird group of fanatics.
We have no knives and the pizzas aren’t cut up: a job done without care, that pizza maker will continue to do just that for a long time and with no great success. We start rolling up the pizzas and biting into them animal style. Mozzarella cheese is everywhere. The children are swimming in olive oil up to their elbows, their faces covered with a strange tomato-flavored suntan cream. Fulvia arrives with a pair of scissors and cuts through the red tomato tape, making it easier for us. There’s nothing to drink. We are tempted to call back the boy who will have got back to base by now, but we have pity on him and all go to the toilets, to drink water from the tap, as we used to at school.
Fulvia and the girls are preparing the book stall for tomorrow and the children are helping (to make it a much more challenging task). We are ready! We go back to the flat, PJ’s, teeth, and everyone to bed.
It’s seven o’clock in the morning and we are all awake and out of bed for the seminar. The children are excited because there’s a special event in another part of the conference centre, for them to develop their talents (and best of all to play with other children!).
I go out into the garden and there’s that clear sharp cold that cleans the energies. It’s the right day for transformations. I look at the lake and I see the sunlight making its way down from the mountains as far as the darkness of the water. The sky is clear, giving me the feeling I can do everything without having to do anything.
We have our breakfast in the midst of chocolate, cornflakes and funny toy squirrels the children talk to. In a flash we are at the event. Hundreds of people are arriving and I am lost in the flow of greetings and ideas. Every now and then one of the children pops up, laughing and all sweaty.:-) There’s Daniele on the stage talking fast and furious. His determination is tangible.
It’s my turn and as usual I’m curious to hear what I am going to say. Behind me there’s a slide saying that I am number one in conversational hypnosis in the whole of the solar system, and even beyond, the responsibility is weighty. So as not to get anything wrong, I talk about everything except hypnosis. Particularly, it seems to me I’m speaking about money and its bizarre connection with the divine. One or two rightly get up and go, believing me mad. Most people stay and from their faces I sense I’m saying something grand. As this happens I feel like laughing and I continue to let myself be traversed by these strange ideas coming from I don’t know where. A part of me listens astounded at what I’m saying. The final applause is sincere and excited.
As I take the first step down from the stage it all disappears. I’ve no idea of what I’ve just spoken about. Fulvia comes towards me and says to me: ”Jolly gosh, what happened to you? It’s one of the most beautiful speeches I’ve ever heard.”
After a while Riccardo, my son, comes over and says to me: “Daddy, at the end I was there too and I heard you. If you want to meet God you have to spend all your money and always keep the window open, even in winter, that’s right isn’t it?”. Well, more or less…
















ence in front of me participating in the conversation with silent, intensely profound attention. Then the music and the affection of the people I know and the compliments of those I am meeting for the first time.
