Someone says that the collective conscience is like the sea: the conscience of all the human being are the waves that compose the sea, are part of it and, piling up, they blend together without prevailing on each other; without ever squashing, but interacting each other to create currents and tides. That means that our individuality is part of a larger pattern and that our conscience has an ancient historical memories.

Waves, streams of consciousness.


We, people on Earth, often forget, there is a tiny island somewhere in the cosmos that live in the awareness of this kind of conscience. In this island there are not government or laws and everyone follows the natural archetype; all the people, here, perceive disasters and danger before they happen. People know that all the material things that around them are the result of their dreams: dreams localized in their space and time. For this reason for them the objects are not so important and they have no sense of ownership, neither towards their similar.

They all are following their conscience and their rules; in the relationship among the citizens of the island there are not communication problems and the sense of commiseration and compassion towards men helps not to raise hate and violence.

This island has experienced only one war in its history. This episode, with all the other, is never forgotten, but it is protected in the awareness of the memory; for this reason it will never happen again.


Twak is a philosopher, he is only three and a half years old. He's been living on this islandfor 745 years and every morning, at dawn, he runs towards the sea to taste the water. It is salty. Twak is a philosopher because as every child and every philosopher he is surprised by everything; in the morning when he walks with his mother he laughs at the cats that play together or with some bugs, looking up he points at the seagulls that scream flying over the palm trees and the cliffs of the island and he wonders if he will find again, the day after,  his localized dreams that he sees and hear there and in that moment, unchanged like the day before. He looks back at his mother who, instead, is not surprised by this movements, neither by the behavior of his son, and he wonders if that mother is the same of hundred, two hundred years before and also if it is important wondering or if, at the end, was irrelevant which one is his mother, as long as she is a mother.

Twak reaches the beach and, leaving the hand of his mother who goes bored with him, runs towards the shore. He bends over, and is surprised:

«Even today the water is salty»

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