Umbilicus Pop

Niente che possa aggiungere, non io.

"It would be superfluous to redraw the picture of the great systems of floral fertilization: the play of stamens and pistil, the seductiveness of scents, the appeal of harmonious and striking colors, the development of nectar, totally useless to the flower, and which it manufactures only to attract and hold the foreign liberator, the messenger of love, bee, bumblebee, fly, butterfly, moth, which must bring it the kiss of the distant, invisible, motionless lover...
We could truly say that ideas come to flowers in the same way they come to us. Flowers grope in the same darkness, encounter the same obstacles and the same ill will, in same unknown. They know the same laws, same disappointments, same slow and difficult triumphs. It seems they have our patience, our perseverance, our self-love; the same finely tuned and diversified intelligence, almost the same hopes and the same ideals. Like ourselves, they struggle against a vast indifferent force that ends by helping them.
(...)the plant strains its whole being in one single plan: to escape above ground from the fatality below; to elude and transgress the dark and weighty law, to free itself, to break the narrow sphere, to invent or invoke wings, to escape as far as possible, to conquer the space wherein fate encloses it, to approach another kingdom, to enter a moving, animated world.
(...)[W]e follow the same path as the soul of this great world."

           (The Intelligence of Flowers, Maurice Maeterlinck)

E se volete provare ad entrare in trance...

(All'ingresso del teatro, un piccolo uomo indiano con una rosa in mano. Lui così piccolo, mingherlino e piccolo, con una fila di denti bianchi; lui, abitante del suo microcosmos, così diverso e così uguale al mio; uomo tra gli uomini, più piccolo della rosa che voleva vendermi e che non ho potuto comprare.)