cut-out-wailing-wall-3318602[1]The Western Wall is what remains of the Temple of Solomon. The first temple was built by Solomon in the tenth century BC and was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC. Then, it was rebuilt upon the return of the Jews from Babylonian exile in the fifth century BC. This second temple was remodeled and enlarged by King Herod and finally destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD.
In front of the Western Wall, there is a wide square. The combined wall and square were enchanting. The houses, which looked onto the square, didn’t spoil the environment. They fit in the urban context. Everything there was white from the Wall to the limestone of the houses. Entering the square, I noticed a fountain with many water taps. Plastic jars were tied to each faucet with strings. At first, I thought it was drinking water, but then I saw people washing their hands. In fact, they filled the jars and poured the water on their hands before and after they touched the Wailing Wall. I poured a jar of water on my hands too. I rubbed them and went to the wall.
On the external part of the wall there were some scattered bushes of wild herbs. They looked like capers. I saw only men praying in front of the wall. While they were praying, they shook their bodies back and forth, bending their heads. On the left side close to the wall, I noticed a wide table with many books on it. Upon reading the books, the Orthodox Jews besides shaking their bodies, uttered a kind of gibberish, but different from that I heard in India and in the Protestant Church. This gibberish was much shriller.
The square was divided into two by a barrier. I peeped through it and saw women praying in the other side of the wall. The part of the square reserved for them was smaller, so they crowded in front of the wall.
When I entered the square, there was a stand on my right. A man sitting behind the table gave me a white-colored kippah. He said to me, “Talk with God! You have nothing to do but talk with God. Confine yourself to talking with God!”
I wore the kippah and headed for the wall. I took a seat on one of the many white chairs in the square, raised my head and admired that majestic wall that seemed to touch the sky. In my mind I relived its history and pictured the Temple of Solomon. How gorgeous it was! It had been built to house the Ark of the Covenant.
People prayed with one arm against the wall and their head against their arm. They were talking with God. I stood up, put my arm against the wall as well, and set my head against my arm according to Jewish custom. I talked with God, saying everything I felt at that moment. I loved that kind of prayer. Talking with the divinity is deeper than reciting an absent-minded prayer.
On the right side of the Wailing Wall, there were indoor vaults. I entered the hall beneath the vaults. I saw the original foundations through a glass floor. There were many shelves with plenty of books on them.
I went out and headed for the man from whom I had borrowed the kippah. He wanted to give me a leather black strap with a small leather black box in the middle of it.
“What is this for?” I asked him.
“Oh, you are not Jewish. Move on!”
I washed my hands one more time at the fountain and left the square for Jaffa Gate.

Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



In the London suburb of Southall, religiosity seemed to pervade everything. The Hindu temple was small and housed on the ground floor of a four-storied building. At the entrance, I took off my shoes and put them in a shoe rack. I entered the prayer room and sat down on the floor. Here, women and men were not separated, so everybody could sit wherever they liked. The walls of the temple were covered with typical Indian paintings. There was a very beautiful one representing Krishna in the act of driving Arjuna’s chariot during the battle of Kurukshetra. Many statues and portraits of Hindu deities stood in a semicircle, one close to another. I soon recognized the statue of Ganesh, the Hindu god of good luck with the body of a human being and the head of an elephant. This god was familiar to me because the statue of Ganesh was always set for the ceremony when I worked at the Empire Hotel getting the rooms ready for the weddings between the Indians. Once, I asked one of the wedding guests to tell me something about Ganesh. He said that Ganesh is one of the most important gods in the Hindu pantheon. His name means ‘Lord of all beings.’ He is the firstborn child of Siva and Parvati. He is short, big bellied, and has four arms. The elephant head has only one tusk. Close to Ganesh there is a little mouse, which symbolizes moderation in eating. It means to leave a small amount of food for the mouse.
Ganesh is considered the god who removes hindrances and brings good luck. He is invoked at the beginning of every job, enterprise, marriage, travel, and so on.
In that temple, the ceremony was performed by chanting. Now and then, they chanted before one of the statues of the gods. A table with fruit and typical sweets was laid at the exit. Before going out, I asked the man behind the table whether there was a guru in that temple.
“What kind of guru?”
“A guru with exceptional powers like Sai Baba,” I answered.
“If you want to see Sai Baba, come here at nine o’clock in the evening next Wednesday.”
“Okay, I’ll come.”
I said goodbye to that man, with the intention of returning for the meeting with the guru.
A week later, I stepped aboard the usual number 105 bus and went to the Hindu temple for the appointment with Sai Baba.
In the middle of the room, a big portrait of Sai Baba stood, surrounded by a flower garland. The Hindus chanted in front of the portrait for a few hours. Was Sai Baba with us in the room? Was his spirit, besides his portrait, among us? Honestly, I don’t know. I can say that not only verbal communication exists, but also non-verbal communication exists, which doesn’t need a physical presence. A few people, with regard to the saints of Catholicism, affirmed that they saw the same figure, at the same moment, but in different places thousands of kilometers away.
When I went back to the Empire Hotel, I talked about this topic with Alexander, a friend of mine from Ukraine, who worked there as a kitchen porter. He was a dear friend, but unfortunately, I lost contact even with him. He was tall with cropped hair and always smiling. Often, I could see him reading a book or a magazine in the canteen. He was proud of having been a seaman in the Soviet Navy. We often talked about spiritual topics. He was well-educated and had read many books about hermits.
“Do you think,” he said, “that the hermits who withdraw from the mundane world to live in the high mountains are really alone?”
“I don’t know.”
“They are not alone indeed. They communicate with other hermits, even if they are a thousand miles away from each other.”
“Maybe the contact with another living being does not need the use of senses. It may happen through the soul, the spirit, the mind…”

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



Near Chiswick Square, I stopped for a while to look at a board in front of the entrance to an Anglican church. There was an advertisement for tai chi chuan. While I was standing in front of the board, a man about thirty years old with an athletic body came up behind my shoulders. He reached me and I assumed he was probably about to talk to me of tai chi chuan.

“No, thanks.” I said, anticipating his words. “Sorry, I am not interested.”
“Come up with me, I want to talk with you.”
We went to the upper floor and entered a room equipped as a gymnasium. It was a traditional gymnasium, that is, without apparatuses for bodybuilding. On one of the sides, there was a step. We sat down on that step. The light was very dim, but I could see him clearly. I cannot forget his face, his eyes, and everything of him. He left an indelible imprint in my heart and mind.
The young guy was a bit taller than me and wore brown running trousers, a green T-shirt, and white training shoes. His hair was light brown and his eyes green. He had a small scar in his large forehead. His nose was a little bit snubby and his lips were very thin. His arms and legs were so stout and beefy that they made him seem capable of knocking a bull down, but his smile was the sweetest I had ever seen. As soon as we sat down, I went to the core of my issue one more time.
“I would like to know whether everything ends, or there is something that survives the decay of our body after death.”
The young English athlete stared into my eyes for a short while. All of a sudden, he stood up and bent his right arm.
“Stand up! Push my arm hard with all your strength!”
I stood up, too. For a while, I had the sensation of being in another world. That unexpected action of the young athlete, the half-light in the gymnasium, that chance meeting in London in a country different from mine, all these made me think that I was daydreaming or I was in an unreal place. I couldn’t feel like I was living in this world.
I had an instant of confusion, and then I decided to follow the instructions given me by the athlete. So, I put my hand on his arm and pushed it hard, with all the strength I could muster. The athlete went back markedly.
“Now you are strong!” he exclaimed.
Soon after, he recovered and pushed my arm back. Even though I tried hard to withstand him, I couldn’t help stepping back.
“Now you are weak! What’s happening?” he said to me.
We kept doing this exercise for a while, and the smile appeared on my face. Just that smile that I had lost for many, too many, years!
“What happened to you? When we entered the gymnasium, you were pale, pensive, and tied up with your question about death. Now you are smiling. How is it possible?”
“You are an angel, aren’t you? How can I thank you for the smile you’ve brought back to me!”
He seemed to appreciate my praise, with a big smile.
“Thank you! Today, I gave you a small amount of fire. It’s a fire that you will pass to others later!”
Then, he explained the meaning of the exercise we had done.
“You must never permit yourself to be conditioned by the result. Never ever act, work, study, fight, love, and so on only for the sake of a good outcome. The good action is important, not the result! You shouldn’t stop any action only because you haven’t achieved good results. In other words, you must be authentic to yourself regardless of success or failure. Success doesn’t give you strength or energy, nor can failure deprive you of your good qualities. So, remember this: Don’t depend upon anything outside yourself, but only rely on your inner energy! It is possible to apply this principle to sports as well. If a football team wins a match, it doesn’t mean that it is a strong team, and if a boxer wins a fight, it doesn’t mean that he is a champion. Both the football team and the boxer are really true champions only when they have a real autonomous, inner strength, regardless of winning…”

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



A desk for tourist information was on the ground floor of the Hounslow Library. I went there for information about Buddhist temples in the neighborhood. A middle-aged woman was sitting behind the desk, watching her computer. She was in her sixties with ash blond hair, and she seemed to be very precise and meticulous at her work. She wore glasses with a silver frame. As soon as I approached her, she looked up at me from the computer with her pale blue eyes.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, please. Do you know about a Buddhist temple to visit nearby?”
The lady looked carefully on the screen and then turned to me.
“The nearest Buddhist temple is in Chiswick. Here is the address. It’s about half an hour from Hounslow bus station.”
I thanked the lady and headed for the bus station. After about half an hour, I reached Chiswick. It was not so easy to find the Buddhist temple. People didn’t know about it, but after many attempts, I caught sight of the building, which was near a large square with trees.
I expected to find a big temple open to the public like those I had seen in Southall. Instead, this temple was in a private building. I knocked on the main door, and a short gentleman, who didn’t look like an Englishman at first glance, came and opened the gate. He was about a meter and sixty centimeters tall, maybe less, light-skinned with gray eyes. I thought he was too short to be an Englishman, but he spoke excellent English slowly, making it easy for me to understand. He wore a gray suit and a red tie. I was under the impression that he might be the owner of that mansion.
He sat me down in a small room by the corridor. From time to time, monks passed. Their habits were yellow, different from the crimson ones I had seen while watching the Dalai Lama on television.
“The color of the habit of your monks is different from that worn by the Dalai Lama. Why? Is not the Dalai Lama the head of all Buddhists?”
“Not at all. In Buddhism, there are no heads, but only many traditions, which originated from the founder Buddha Shakyamuni. Buddhism has developed horizontally, not vertically, as it happened in other religions like Catholicism.
“Usually, the laity talks about Buddhism as if it were one religion, but it is divided into many sects, each one with its own doctrine, practices, and scriptures. These sects are divided into numerous branches. Many of them blend with local religions, cultures, and traditions. However, how can I help you?”
His question perplexed me. I was hesitant about what to ask. Then, I decided to go straight to the core of my problem.
“I’d like to know whether everything ends, that is, we disappear into thin air, or something of us survives, after we die. I want to know whether the soul exists and whether it is immortal.”
He looked at me with his eyes full of surprise, but soon he recovered, and, speaking very slowly for me to understand, expressed his opinion about the subject.
“It’s possible to give different answers to such a question! There is an extreme conception called nihilism, according to which everything ends and nothing remains with our death. Nothing is immortal, eternal, and unchangeable. Everything passes, transforms itself, and ‘becomes.’ We are like blades of grass that will never grow again after having been pulled up. There is another idea. It believes that death is only the beginning of a new life. After death, human beings are resurrected or reborn. It is like taking off worn clothes and putting on new ones. Our Buddhist idea is a half way. For us, after death, there is neither nothingness nor resurrection. We think that there is a kind of immortal and indestructible energy inside every living being.”
“Can you make yourself clear? What do you call energy?”
“Energy is just our minds.”
“The brain, that is?”
“Not at all. The mind is different from the brain.”
“But how can the mind purify itself?”
“In order to get good results, it is important to practice meditation. Come with me. I will show you our meditation room.”
He walked me to a room with a hazel-colored carpet on the floor. There were many statues. Shakyamuni Buddha stood in the center. Other statues and portraits reproduced enlightened masters.
“Who is your God?”
“We have no God. In this sense, we are atheists. But we have our own spirituality.”
“Who is Buddha?”
“Buddha is an attribute of a general characteristic. It means ‘The Awakened One,’ that is, someone who awakened from the sleep of ignorance and sees things ‘as they really are.’ There were persons who became Buddha in the past, and others will become Buddha in the future. According to Buddhist teachings, one of the main causes of suffering is the excess of self-grasping and self-cherishing. The tendency to protect the ‘I’ leads to delusions and excessive attachment. What we call love toward others is love toward ourselves. Too much attachment is oppressive for families, friends, and partners. It has nothing to do with love.”
I treasured his words.
“May I come to meditate in this temple from time to time?”
“Yes, of course, you can come here anytime.”
I said goodbye to that man and left the temple.,,

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



I stood in front of the gilded dome for a short while and then entered the temple. At the entrance, a man asked me to take my shoes off and wash my feet. He picked up a reddish headscarf from a large basket and wrapped it around my head. At last, I was allowed to go in. There were two prayer rooms; the floors were covered with white sheets and no chairs. I noticed that the best places to sit down were by the pillars because I could lean my back against the pillar while sitting on the floor. I chose one of those places and sat down. I turned my head slowly to one side and then to the other side to see what kind of people were sitting there. The women were on the left side; the men on the right. Between the two groups, a long central space was left clear. Opposite me, on the left side, there was a window divided into three smaller ones. Three women, each in one of the small windows, seemed to be reading a book. At the center, I saw a lectern with a book on it. (Later, I knew it was the holy book of the Sikhs.) Standing behind the lectern, a man slowly waved a fan made of feathers over the holy book. Every about ten minutes, the person behind the lectern alternated. On the right side, there was a wooden platform with a small harmonium and a man was playing it.
Close to me, there was an olive-skinned man with a white turban and a graying, long beard. He looked quite relaxed while waiting for the ceremony to start. From time to time, he turned to me and looked at me in the eyes. Obviously, he wanted me to ask him something.
“In which town are we?” I asked.
“Is this a Hindu temple?”
“No, we are Sikhs.”
“Our religion was revealed to Guru Nanak Dev by God; then, the precepts were handed down to other gurus and collected in our holy book.”
“I am looking for a guru, a spiritual master. Can I find a guru in this temple?”
“Why do you think a guru is helpful to you?”
“I would like to progress in my spiritual path and know whether everything ends or whether there is something that survives the annihilation of the body when a living being dies.”
“To know the answer there is only one way. You have to ask God for help. Our religion is based on praising God and calling for his help. Do you expect that the human being can progress in his life without God’s protection and guidance? Reflect upon it for an instant! There is only one guru indeed. Life itself is the real guru or master. Live your life intensely. It will be your best guru. No guru is greater than life. Who taught you the way to arrive at this Sikh temple?”
“Circumstances, chance, fate!”
“In a sense, it is true. Man deceives himself about having his own willpower. One believes he is capable of making decisions, but actually the individual has no decision-making power. Only circumstances take the lead. We are like flags blown by every wind. Everything is fortuitous — to be born in that town and not in another place, to have those parents, families, and friends, not others. Even the encounters we make in the course of the day depend upon fortuitousness. You can make all the efforts you can and read as many books as those kept in the Library of Alexandria, but if the circumstances are not favorable for you, your efforts and knowledge will remain a dead letter. It is up to you to establish if there is mere chance or something else, some entity behind the happenings. In my opinion, the one who creates the circumstances is only God. Since God is the one who controls the events, it is natural that we invoke Him. But you, as a Christian, can invoke your master, Jesus. The result is the same.”
At the end of the ceremony, everyone was handed a bit of sweet, purplish pastry. Then, in a little procession, the holy book was carried along the central aisle and placed in an adjacent room. The man whom I had talked to before busied himself in tidying up the prayer room, folding the sheets, and cleaning the area where the holy book had been exposed.
When I was about to leave the temple, a man came up to me and asked me to accept the food that was being offered in the dining room. So, I entered a room where there were a few long carpets for people to sit down and eat the meal offered by the community. The food was vegetarian, abundant, and tasty. Each one took his own metal tray, which had four or five sections, and got in line to receive his ration. When my turn came, they put yogurt, some well-seasoned rice, and other spicy, Indian specialties, typical of the cooking of the Sikhs, in each section of my tray. Moreover, they gave me some soft bread similar to our dough for pizza.
I took my tray full of food and sat down at one side of those carpets to eat my meal. A man close to me talked about the meaning of that food, which was so abundant and free.
“Sikhism,” he said, “has eliminated castes and discriminations among the people who belong to different social levels or classes. We are equal before God. Eating together strengthens the feeling of equality.”…

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



A long time ago, I thought that to solve my inner problems I should have a house in the countryside, live in the nature, and breathe fresh air. So, I purchased a plot of land and built a house on it, a big house with many rooms. At the beginning, it seemed that something was about to change in my life. I felt satisfied to have built such a big house. I became very diligent. I improved the soil and planted many young trees and grapevines. Nevertheless, little by little, I became aware that the new house couldn’t calm my inner discomfort. A few years later, I sold the house and moved to a luxurious apartment in town. There, I felt uncomfortable after one or two years. I wanted to spend my life near the sea, but I didn’t feel like moving anymore. Instead, I decided to travel somewhere.
In ancient Rome, there was a similar character who moved from one place to another all over the world. He hoped that a new environment would bring him good luck. Coming across him, the Latin poet Horatio said to him, ‘Caelum, non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.’ It means, ‘They change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.’ Although the place where we live changes, that is, the sky changes, our mind is the same. Therefore, the way to overcome our trouble comes from inside ourselves. We should rely on our inner strength and inner light without expecting any help from others…

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



London is a big city rather an ensemble of small towns joined together to form Greater London. To try to unravel the mysteries of the city, the best thing to do is to get on a red, double-decker bus and see the interesting places to visit from above. Following that idea, I waited for the first double-decker bus at the corner of Bath Road. It was the number 105.
The first stop was at Heathrow Airport. There were three terminals. On the upper floor of the terminal for international flights there was a waiting lounge flanked by shops. There were also rows of chairs for the passengers to sit while waiting for their flight.
I sat on one of those chairs and watched the people walking down the lounge and going in or out of the shops. There were people of all kinds of races. Many wore the traditional clothes of their homeland. I observed all those passengers and asked myself why I couldn’t travel by airplane. I thought about my absurd fear of flying. What was the cause? All those people around me were traveling by plane with no problems. Why not me?
I felt like a pigeon pushed away from its nest by the beak of its mother. Instead of opening its wings and flying, it hides in a bramble bush where it feels safe and from where it watches the other birds flying high.
While I was watching the crowd, a young couple came and sat close to me. He had Eastern features and wore a long, brightly colored robe and a fez on his head. Of the woman, I was able to see only her eyes; the rest of her body was covered with veils.
“Are you also waiting for your flight?” the man asked me.
“No, I am not. I’m just watching the passengers.”
“Are you a writer? Are you going to write a novel?” asked the veiled woman whose eyes looked like black quicksilver and flashed like those of a ferret. Her eyes reflected her gaiety.
“We got married just a short time ago,” said the man, “and we are going to Malaysia.”
“Where is Malaysia?”
“Near Thailand.”
“How long does it take to fly to Malaysia?”
“About fourteen hours, but we will transfer in Bangkok.”
“Aren’t you afraid that the airplane might fall?”
“There is no danger!” they both answered with one voice.
They said goodbye with great warmth, and I remained sitting there for a while, keeping watch of the continuous flow of people. At last, I decided that my abnormal situation should not last any longer; I had to finish being handicapped! I had to put a stop, once and for all, to my fear of flying. But what should I do? How could I do that? I had the sensation that, if I got onto an airplane, I would die of fear. I thought I would not be able to bear the changes in atmospheric pressure in my ears. Nevertheless, I was determined to win this battle. So, I started watching the airplanes during takeoffs and landings. In order to keep up my observations, I left the airport and went to a nearby two-story building.
On the ground floor, there was a permanent exhibition dedicated to civil aviation. On the walls, I saw pictures of famous figures when they got on or off an airplane. Among them there were Queen Elizabeth and her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, taken in the late fifties when they disembarked from a four-engine aircraft with propellers.
There was also a simulated flight deck. I vied with the children to get on that flight deck! Inside, everything looked real: the seats, the cockpit, the console full of electronic instruments, and the wide windscreen. I followed the stages of the flight: takeoff, flying at high altitude, and landing.
Everything was reproduced perfectly, even the conversations between the captain and the control tower. I listened to the instructions the control tower gave to the captain before landing. I often went back to that flight deck and focused my attention on those talks.
On the upper floor, there were large windows through which I was able to see two runways from a short distance, one for landing and the other for taking off. I noticed that most of the airplanes, after taking off, made a turn toward the right, and then went straight on their way. Nearing the airport, the airplanes descended slowly and landed smoothly. I admired the takeoff of a Concorde, which usually left for New York in the late afternoon. I was struck by the elegance of that supersonic airplane and noticed that its four engines emitted a red glow at sunset.
The following year, I was in London again, but this time as a volunteer of RSPB (Royal Society for Protection of Birds). I had conquered my fear of planes as a result of my experience with the simulated flight board the year before. I boarded a low-cost flight from Palermo to London Stansted Airport. It took three hours to go from Sicily to England. The previous year the journey had taken three days by train and I had spent nearly 300 percent more!…

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



“One day, I was walking on Portobello Road. I entered a small booth where some antique objects were exhibited. Rummaging in the bits and pieces, I found a scroll in a bronze case. I took it out. To my surprise, it was a copy of an ancient Chinese painting, The Vinegar Tasters. I unrolled the scroll and spread it out on a little table. I was very happy to find so excellent a copy with the colors still vivid and brilliant. Three different characters were portrayed in the act of licking their finger after dipping it into a pan containing vinegar. After tasting it, they showed a different expression on their faces. Obviously, the painting had an allegorical meaning. The three men were not common and ordinary tasters, but the masters of the most important schools of thought in China. Vinegar symbolized life itself in that painting. The three masters were Kung Fu (Confucius), Buddha, and Lao Tzu. This last is the author of the most ancient book about Tao. After tasting the vinegar, Confucius assumed a sour expression, Buddha showed a bitter look, and Lao Tzu had a smiling face. Apparently, each of them expressed a different way of intending life. For Confucius, life on this earth is sour and not up to heavenly life. According to Buddha, life is bitter because it brings suffering. For the third master, Lao Tzu, there exists a natural harmony between heaven and earth. According to him, life is an incomparable teacher. There is a paramount force over heaven and earth, called Tao (the way). This cosmic principle or force can’t be described correctly in words. But why is Lao Tzu smiling instead of assuming a sour or bitter countenance like the other two? Because Lao Tzu lives in harmony with the circumstances, without fighting or forcing the events. He thinks that unfavorable situations are a source of personal growth. In Taoism, the sourness and bitterness of life are not caused by life itself, but by our minds, which don’t know how to transform the unfavorable situations into favorable ones.”
“Who is right among them?” I asked.
“I think all of them are right. We can’t say which way is the best.”
“So far, you haven’t answered my question about life after death.”
“I can say once more that you have to find the answer by yourself, inside yourself. Even if I knew the right answer, I wouldn’t tell you. This is a path that each one has to cover individually. It is an inner journey that everybody has to experience alone!”
Then he took a leaflet about tai chi chuan out of his pocket and wrote the titles of four books in the corners. Two of them were about Tao, one was about the concept of time and space, and the last was about the search for mindfulness through breathing meditation.
In the meantime, it was getting late, very late. The conversation had lasted a long time, maybe more than two hours. I felt like time had stopped. The caretaker of the gymnasium hurried us to go out because he had to lock the room. We said goodbye to each other, and I have never seen that young man again…

This is an excerpt from Travels of the Mind
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind



Yesterday, I met an artist, a Korean calligrapher. He wrote poems in Chinese characters with a brush made of sheep hair and a special black ink, called muk. His writing was not conventional, for he added something of himself to it.
He also wrote something for me.

“What is the meaning of these letters?” I asked.
“They mean The sound of Autumn,” he answered.
A long time ago, my friend’s father used to work as a calligrapher in the state archives office of my hometown. Sometimes, he showed us his works of calligraphy. The characters he wrote had something artistic. It was as if he conveyed his spirit to them.
What is art? It is giving life to something that is inanimate.

Cooking is also an art. In Italy we call it Arte Culinaria (Culinary Art). Even making coffee latte can be a work of art. At a coffee shop of Daegu in Korea, I saw the shape of a heart drawn on the latte. The barista was also able to draw Jesus’s face on it.
When I learned a special martial art called Shintaido in Japan, the teacher used to write Chinese characters similar to those I saw in Korea yesterday. At that time, he said that writing by brush was like a meditation for him.
Not only music, poems, and writing but also life is an art. It depends on how you live, creatively or not. As for me, yesterday I learned something new about art and human heart.
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind