The Crow is back, traveler, she caught the window to draw my eye, then he raised his voice hoarse of victory: I'm still here, do not you drop! But I know that you can not kill the crow, as you can not kill a ghost. It 's just that I happen to forget him, or look at him with tenderness, as something that helps me to be at the bottom. But even this is unwise to give in to goodness: for he is merciless, he knows all the masks, and a map of my wounds. He knows how to move inside of me to catch what is cooler or pull out the old follies as long worms from the soft ground.
The crow is all I had available: he and the ability to transform it. I do not want to kill him, but leave that to give birth, mature over time, my dove.
I glimpsed at the top, above all the clouds, move like a gentle breeze at altitudes that do not know the wind. Up there, the raven has no home, is the United White, adjourned the land par excellence, where Being sees herself on the throne of wisdom, and there's nothing else to do. Some in the past have stopped in that kingdom, when they felt the dove resting in their lap. It 's a happy place, after all, but certainly is only one step of the journey.
Fondling the dove in a precise point to root of his wings I am told that it is possible to detect a spark of fire, the first cry of the Phoenix, and sticking to its long tail to reach the Red Kingdom, the Kingdom of Love.
and the Phoenix, after all, is just the beginning of a new journey: perhaps unimaginable to man because it is a journey beyond the human.
Raven, Dove, Phoenix ... the egg white in my womb already has them, one inside the other, a mother of the other, all you need. 
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