Mediterraneo by Mario Javoran

“There have always been those who dreamed of unity on the Mediterranean: artists, philosophers, military leaders, clergy, merchants. Though religions covered it like a blanket, apostles do not give rise to apostles and thus, alas, their efforts were in vain each time. The torch of unity was lost, and the flame of the great idea started to grow dimmer. And then, just as it seemed that the flame had died out, a colony of dark limousines came by. Those in the back seats noticed a glimmer of light smouldering beside the road. The drivers stepped on the brakes, and the barely burning flame was picked up by - politicians.

“Scoundrels, literate only when it comes to the three or four letters in the name of their political party or bank, collectors of kitsch and election parades - they assumed on themselves the role of Prometheus and blew on the dying embers. And that’s all that we have left today!

“The Mediterranean that nursed our grandmothers and grandfathers has remained but a wound that we are licking while, through the centuries, figureheads with the faces of those who guided it and baptised it with the waters of their genius slowly disappear into the horizon - Khalil Gibran, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Lorca, Neruda, Leopardi, Fellini...

“This is the wound we speak of - a wrecked ship on Golgotha - the wondrous hill of the Mediterranean; the hill that has, more than any other mound on Earth, known - Sacrifice.” – Mario Javoran