Those from the inside, there existed in Rome an underground basilica at Porta Maggiore, frequented by the people from the inside, Neoplatonists breaking away from the absence of perspective of certain humans charged with frequenting the mysteries of infinity, of life in the afterlife. Like the soldiers, different from the others, being monotheists, frequented the temple of Mithras which is found hidden beneath the Basilica of Saint Clement, refitted within an ancient court of justice. Those from the inside, who remained standing through the centuries, like the Cathar knights, their hearts filled with compassion for their fellow beings, defending house by house, county seat by county seat, before being hurled in turn into the fires of Dominic’s first crusade. They can still be recognized today. They bear offices and responsibilities and carry within them a sadness born of a deep wound, dating back to early childhood, which acts as such like a thin partition masking griefs and renunciations that have crossed several millennia. When Cain killed his brother Abel out of pure jealousy, when Peter Abelard was castrated for his love for Heloise. You meet them every day in the street, gentle, affable, polite, always ready to help and bearing a profound sorrow, with that same smile of humility, of those who know and would have far too much to say but think no less. Of those who, discouraged by the decline of the Empire, by the use of the forces of war, by overconsumption, hold the fort of tenderness and sharing. You will never hear them complain. They are trustworthy confidants, and by phosphorescence their hearts are filled with an infinite sadness that mingles with the oxygen of the Earth’s atmosphere to create a symphony of blue under the action of the sun’s rays. They are the ones: those from the inside, who, like marine plankton, constitute the lungs of the Earth, those who endure everything and who support. Fathers, mothers of families, children brutalized at school for their difference: those from the inside. You will never hear them speak of the madness of the world. They listen and absorb. They are blotters of the shadow, which sometimes gives them dark circles around the eyes. The people from the inside, like mysterious saline springs that give life. They leave one day, as everyone must leave, and take with them the sorrow of an entire century. The people from the inside, true healers of the human soul. The people from the inside, the people of the in, the people of lin, the people of the people of the people of the in, the people from the inside ouuuuuuuuuuu ouuuuuuuuuuuu ouuuuuuuuuuuu the people of lin, the people from the inside.
