Τhe day starts wonderfully with two unexpected surprises.
1. In the apartment next door they are renovating. 

It’s already quite a luxurious space but that’s what happens when “Human boredom” replaces reason for being.  

Well-dressed crews of workmen take down the kitchen and bathroom. 

Of course, the owner has made sure he is not there. 

He can’t stand the noise and the hassle. 

He’s gone on a skiing holiday with his family up in the mountains and doesn’t give a damn about his neighbors who work from home. 

2. A strange envelope arrives in my mailbox and I open it with horror. The Zurich police inform me that I have to pay a fine of 200 euros because on my last trip from Amsterdam I forgot to fill in a form proving my vaccination. 

The little child in me is about to cry. He wants to call his parents on the phone and complain. 

The 49-year-old man pays the fine immediately online. Later he criticizes himself. 

The booming noise on the next wall is like: hammers falling on his head. 

The conversation about our responsibilities, obligations, and mistakes will never end.

The imperative question now is how do you survive today?

How do you save the day from grief? 

I look at the bouquet of mimosas next to me. 

 I touch them. 

It’s a little rescue shelter. 

The harsh trial of myself and the awful noises of reality don’t fit in this shelter. 

Flowers have always been in times of trouble, a breath of relief.

The reason we choose to have a little bit of beauty in a corner of the window is just to give us hope in hard times.

A lightning thought flashes through my mind and I run like a shot to the library.

I am looking for one of the two volumes. 

I think it is on the top shelf on the right with the Russian poets. 

I pick up the white book and find the crumpled page with that famous and timeless phrase uttered by Prince Mishkin, the sensitive and benevolent prince in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s famous play entitled 

“The Idiot”.

“ Beauty gives me a sense of completeness, moderation, peace and a pulsating religious identification with the essence of life (…) 

Beauty will save the world”.

As I try to book an urgent appointment with my psychotherapist I notice the yellow balls and green leaves of this surrealistic plant. 

I want to hide in the fuzzy bouquet and become invisible. 

My friends always ask me. Why do you spend so much money on fresh flowers?

Why do you run long distances and half marathons? Why are you in psychotherapy?

And the answer is again only one.

To understand who I am.

An embrace of colorful tulips is enough to protect the fragile child I have inside me. 

Half marathon and any kind of training will always bring me in touch with my resilience. With my flexibility.

Psychotherapy will heal the wounds of the past and help me pay the fines for my mistakes without crying. 

Ιt places the mirror of the responsible adult across from me. 

It relieves me of my burdens and transforms them into knowledge. 

I think most blogs, websites, newspapers magazines and almost all kinds of social media have a common goal.

The sharing of information.

The presentation of an experience, the promotion of a review, the advertising of a product. 

On this page, I feel the need to start a dialogue with you & if I wanna do this successfully,  I must become more personal. 

A short trip, a visit to an art gallery, a lunch in a café, or the lyrics of a song will always be the occasion for a conversation. 

Every Saturday morning my friends or maybe later in the week, I want to be able to imagine you in your favorite place. 

Next to a small vase full of seasonal flowers. 

Enjoying your coffee, your tea, or why not, a good quality whisky reading a short article from this page. 

I know the time you have is short. 

The internet is running like a river and the twitter feeds the news like snowflakes.

 It’s up to us to change the flow of time.

Oh, and one more thing.

I think it’s time to be more honest with you.  

When I was about to spend my day whining about my neighbor and his choice in noise. 

When like a  little immature child I started complaining about the “unfair”  fine that was imposed on me, a photo miraculously passed in front of me. 

A picture that was obviously not taken by me.

This picture is called “Mother” and was taken in Homs, Syria by the brave talented photographer Hassan Ghaedi. 

After the relentless bombing, a mom returns home to pick up her son’s plastic colored car.

My friends…. when at the dawn of the day, with the opening of your eyes, difficult moments come and you find no motivation to get up, I invite you to bring this image to mind.

Can you see the power of love and beauty in the ruins of terror? 

Can you? please?

Beauty, perhaps along with love, are the most abused words these days. 

Let us give them back the power they deserve.