This book moves in waves of thought.
Just like the waves, it starts off by a small motus, it grows and flows into the peak wave that digs the bottom of the lagoon; then as a gift, it pours it back.
If at that time you are lucky enough to be on the water, you budge.
This essay is itself a metaphor.
Fm. Carolina Migli Bateson preamble
From the first chapter
Who knows weather St. Francis of Assisi understood that his reality, his religion of things, was nothing but an extraordinary sequence of metaphors.
Going back in thought to the highest metaphor, the divinity one, man is forced to reinvent colours , seasons and the acts that condition our life and make it fruitful.
Metaphor is like an act, like a gesture of will power, it's a research, in the end, for freedom.