04 July 2011


in eur, the part of rome built under mussolini to embody fascism, music is played from the headset of a young finn updating the crm of a given global software corporation, typing away while staring at the ceiling and in doing so catching the eye of the ceo from her glass walled office. spending time in it just a few hours per week, merely to show her presence, she sits there hoping her native italian hr manager would spare her the joy of hearing his chauvinist jokes.

across the penthouse space, from another glass walled office, the statistics team emails their monthly report to team leaders, managers and executives. delighted for having something worthy to read through when in front of a wide screen instead of just her blackberry, she focuses on it. summer months are the toughest for b2b, creating a difficult time to reach true decision makers. yet, from all the teams one stands out from the others in regards to its overall lead count - scandinavia.

after some data mining she learns that there is a single individual accountable for the result, so she emails him to come to her office after lunch.

later, at the terrace of the restaurant downstairs she picks on her cesar salad, pushing the croutons with a fork to the edge of the plate. enjoying the smell of grana padano, she reads her favorite blog.

I was sitting between a man and a woman, crowding a couch of a familiar apartment. I could not concentrate on what they were speaking about, because I was almost passing out as I tried to sit up straight. my muscles were tired of all the cycling I had done around the city, and my mind was weary from all the sensory stimuli I had had. but, passing out in company before it is appropriate does not belong to my way of being.

I sat down onto the floor to feel more comfortable, having my back against the two on the couch. he, who I admit loving, touched my shoulder and said, 

“you can lean onto my knee.” 

as I began to drift away from my consciousness I felt myself filled with joy of being able to relax, especially so after realizing that with the back of my head and neck I was really leaning onto his knee. I still could not hear what was the conversation continued on the couch, but I could sense from the tone of his voice that he was comfortable. he was ok with me leaning onto his knee.  

for some reason after my body had relaxed my mind became more alert, and I had to ask myself several times without finding an answer how had I gotten there. I could not remember. as far as I knew I was banned from his company, from that apartment of his. without moving a muscle on my body or making a sound, I began to realize that there was love in the air, that there was love in between us. I guess he realized it simultaneously with me, because at that moment he wrapped his arms around me, pressing his chin to my forehead. 

there were no distractions, no issues, no questions, no nothing but the love I felt, so I had to open my tired eyes to look at the hair hanging on his face as he crouched over me, just to be sure of his reality. I looked at him and I looked at the ceiling behind him for a long time, and I could not have been more sure of what I saw was real. I was sure I was not dreaming, and that very certainty drove over me like a train and I knew everything was right. I was happy in a way one is expected to be in the moment of “the end.”

before letting myself fall asleep I knew I had to use the toilet, so I got up to walk through a corridor, knocking down some empty beer bottles on the way. as I looked at myself from the bathroom mirror I gazed into my eyes, and that very moment I began to see what my eyes really saw - the empty bed I was laying in.

she sips the last drops of her merlot and lights a cigarette. from a table filled with men in suits across the patio a man of seventy catches her eyes, and winks his left. decisively, she gets up to return to the office.

sitting on her saddle chair, she waits to see an unfamiliar man enter her office from the  flow of people coming and going to lunch or wherever. instead, a woman wearing stylized equestrian apparel walks in and seats herself to the chair across her desk. she has a pair of startlingly observant, dark blue eyes.

oh, her, sighs her mind silently at the sight of the long blond hair which makes her realize her to be the same girl who did the typing without looking at the keyboard earlier today. this is not the first time her first language's weird habit of dividing nouns into gender categories causes confusion - she had thought the name aino was a man's.

“I think we have not been formally introduced.”
“I know your name and position, miss ferraci.”
“well we are all set then, aren't we. according to last month's statistics you have done amazingly well. almost more leads than the whole scandinavian team combined if excluding you from the count. now tell me, what is it in you that appears to be lacking from all other lead generators in regards to overcoming the challenges we have during summer months?”
“I am aryan.”

without giving out anything in the form of expressions the unmarried thirty-something miss ferraci hesitates for a second, but realizes quickly that there was a hint of irony in the voice lacking an accent.

“I think you have a point there. during a holiday in india some years ago, I got to rest my gaze in call centers reaching as far as the eye could see.”
“wow, I never thought I would be lucky enough to work under someone who knew what I am on about. I am sure I am not educating you about anything new when I step it up a little, and maybe our current context will help you form an opinion of what makes me be what others are not based on what I will say. may I quote from the chapter the aryan-ness of the doctrine of awakening from your country man julius evola's book the doctrine of awakening with the subtitle the attainment of self-mastery according to the earliest buddhist texts from my memory without the further references?”
“you may.”
“the man who was later known as the awakened one, that is, the buddha, was the prince siddhattha. according to some, he was the son of a king; according to others, he was of the most ancient warrior nobility of the śākiya race, proverbial for its pride: there was a saying, proud as a “śākiya.” this race claimed descent, like the most illustrious and ancient hindu dynasties, from the so-called solar race, and from the very ancient king ikṣvāku. “he, of the solar race,” one reads of the buddha. he says so himself: “I am descended from the solar dynasty and I was born a śākiya,” and by becoming an ascetic who has renounced the world he vindicates his royal dignity, the dignity of an aryan king. tradition has it that his person appears as “a form adorned with all the signs of beauty and surrounded by radiant aureole.” to a sovereign who meets him and does not know who he is, he immediately gives the impression of an equal: “thou hast a perfect body, thou art resplendent, well born, of noble aspect, thou hast a golden colour and white teeth, thou art strong. all the signs that thou art noble birth are in thy form, all the marks of a superior man.” the most fearsome bandit, meeting him, asks himself in amazement who might be “this ascetic who comes along with no companions, like a conqueror.” 

not only do we find in his body and bearing the characteristics of a khattiya, of a noble warrior of high lineage, but tradition has it that he was endowed with the “thirty-two attributes” that according to an ancient brahmatical doctrine were the mark of the “superior man” for whom “exists only two possibilities, not a third:” either, to remain in the world and become a cakkavatti, that is, a king of kings, a “universal sovereign,” the aryan prototype of the “lord of the earth,” or else to renounce the world and become perfectly awakened, the sambuddha, “one who removes the veil.” 

legend tells us that in a prophetic vision of a whirling wheel an imperial destiny was foretold for prince siddattha; a destiny that, however, he rejected in favor of the other path. it is equally significant that, according to tradition, the buddha directed that his funeral rite should not be that of an ascetic, but of an imperial sovereign, a cakkavatti. 

the awakened one is “a proud saint who has climbed the most sublime mountain peaks, who has penetrated the remotest forests, who has descended into profound abysses.” he himself said, “I serve no man. I have no need to serve any man;” an idea that recalls the “autonomous and immaterial races,” the race “without a king” - being itself kingly - a race that is also mentioned in the west. he is “ascetic, pure, the knower, free sovereign.”

these, which are frequent even in the oldest texts, are some of the attributes, not only of the buddha, but also of those who travel along the same path. the natural exaggeration of some of these attributes does not alter their significance at least as symbols and indications of the nature of the path and ideal indicated by prince siddhattha, and of his spiritual race.”

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