About me

Davide R. Scarenzio

I was born in Magenta on 05/22/1985 and I wish I could say I had a happy childhood, but that was not the case. I immediately had to face loneliness, silence and lies, a myriad of things unsaid that were like a millstone around my neck. A huge feeling, incapable of being expressed; so many questions left unanswered. Doubts covered by half-truths.

It is not that there have not been happy moments, quite the contrary. The sea, the friends, the readings and epic dreams typical of that age…but all in dim light, at dusk, as if you were condemned to never savour complete joy. A feeling that something was missing flowed in everything I did, nostalgia was the salt of my life.

I have a precise memory of when I was on the beach staring at Mount Circeo. Its low and elongated profile like a sleeping woman with long hair. I was leafing through a book of Greek mythology, looking at its illustrations. I was impressed by the image of Uranus: stocky, angry and dressed in stars, with a red cloak. I liked him. As I languished on that beach, staring at the water, I had a thirst for the Infinite.

This was up to the age of 15. Then I decided to cut it out. The tide was rising in me, the wind blowing. I wanted to understand, to know myself, to know how far I could push myself. I wanted to make up for lost time. I wanted to live.

I went to high school in the same way that I would take a short trip on the subway: distracted. I needed little to pass my exams, living in a parallel world of books, sports, seasonal work, gangs, girls and dreams. Common dreams of a quiet life: aperitifs along the lake, a wife, a good job and children. Even the second house by the sea, where I wanted it, on Monte Circeo.

At the end of the compulsory schooling, the reveries evaporated under the sun of life. An acute health crisis that hit my mother led me to visit the hospital. Doctors and nurses. I watched them in shock: I wanted to be like them. They had the answers to everything, ready, cold enough to move in dramatic circumstances and with ease; they knew their stuff.

‘How can you be useful?’ the phrase from ‘The Cider House’ Rules’ was running through my mind.

I concluded that doing that particular job could be a good way to invest myself, to earn a living, get out of the house and gain my freedom. Finding a meaning to life that I couldn’t find anywhere else.

At university, of course, I studied something else: research into consciousness and communication. Very insecure, I was looking for ways to interact with others without feeling bad. Self-taught, I tackled Nlp and Hypnosis. Fascinated by Julian Janes’ research on the bicameral mind, I sought the power inherent in the mind. Enraptured by Gurdjeff’s ‘Fragments of an Unknown Teaching’, I realised that true power springs from the depths of Being.

I completed my studies with a course on hypnotic communication for healthcare professionals. With that small luggage, I set off from Brescia to Milan, and from there into the world.

They were fantastic years, full of all kinds of good things. I did the job I loved no matter how hard it was, and I was the master of my life. In that period I took all the pleasures I wanted. And I have never stopped studying. Research, for me, is like hunger.

Nlp and Life Coaching, Non-Verbal Hypnosis and Mesmerism. At the same time, I was documenting the science of nutrition, fasting in particular: retaining the memory of mental and emotional deprivations, I wanted to try the most material ones, food, and see what happened. The meeting with Salvatore Simeone, a fasting therapist and spiritual friend, changed the course of my life.

‘The primary objective of fasting is to free oneself from conditioning’, affirming it by acting as an ancient priest of the mysteries. And I was thinking of taking a trip out of town to test myself. It was harder and more intriguing than expected.

There was a moment in those seven days of complete abstinence from food that I have never forgotten. I compare it to first love. Not that later loves are in any way less. Each love has its stages and its importance, but I think I understand why the first is said to be the first. A unique alchemy of elements, sensations and synchronicities that are fixed in the memory forever. Sitting on the balcony of a resort, I contemplated a green field with a few mounds in the distance. I was there all day, almost motionless, a day of infinite love.

In the meantime, I had become the nurse of my dreams, finding home care work. I was a presence that jumped from house to house in the city I adored, Milan. I collected tears and smiles, the lives of the patients I assisted. I treated the wounds, I interpreted their wishes. However, after the fast something happened that didn’t allow me to work with the same enthusiasm as before. I found myself asking: “Is that all?’

I no longer felt that principle of love I experienced during fasting, it was already a distant memory. More than 10 years of studies, effort and life dissolved like a mirage.

I collected my tears this time. I was conducting my research in the wrong way and in the wrong place. I sensed, at an embryonic level, that that love was in there, buried somewhere like a fossil under layers of fear and pain so ancient that I had lost my memory of it.

A phase which I refer to as ‘spiritual training’ began. I went to a Buddhist monastery to learn zazen and walking meditation. Then a Benedictine Christian monastery, rediscovering early Christianity, that of the desert fathers, Hesychasm. I was looking for someone to teach me the prayer of the heart, circular breathing. Circumstances led me to the Transformational Breath school.

With Transformational Breath, I made the leap by rediscovering and, in some ways restructuring, the nursing profession. I was able to assist not only the sick but also the healthy. To turn tears into sun-warmed dew. To direct a person’s effort towards life, rather than just employing this effort in trying to escape the disease. I felt complete, or nearly so, because something was calling me.

A barely perceptible call at the beginning, then gradually stronger: passion for music. At the experimental middle school in Padenghe sul Garda I played classical music for years. But now I was hearing a different kind of music. More intimate, wilder, more mythical.

I owe 50% of the training I received to Valeria Boari’s Cradle of Sound. Everyone else plays the rest. Not by amount of hours or by importance, but by relevance to the soul. Fasting taught me to stay, breathing to live and sound to die, finding a way to colour my life with magic, to give a voice to the Infinite.

Drum and ancestral instruments, Tibetan bells, gongs, mantras, Reiki. At Valeria’s, I had a steady job and the Mantuan flatbreads of which I was fond. But that’s not all. There was a teaching, mixed with frequencies, which Valeria used like parsley:
The art of dying methodically, free from attachments.

It complemented the spiritual motivations of fasting but with a subtle difference: while conditioning is perceived as something imposed, a manipulation, attachment is something you choose. I realised that I personally contributed to the construction of the mental prison in which I lived. I felt like I was a Tibetan monk, one of those who see themselves composing a mandala for months and then casually destroying it in a few hours. And I had just started.

I fell deeply in love. Over time I have learned to recognise the degrees of intensity. I met her at a Transformational Breath seminar. I was already working with my breath, she was waiting to graduate. She lived in Poland, but with the ambition of leaving soon. I only hesitated about twenty days before flying off and moving there. Finishing my career as a clinical nurse, a vast horizon had opened up. I have always been fascinated by the stories of conquerors, merchants and colonisers, of those who go elsewhere taking with them a message.

Mine was a way of experiencing health understood also as salvation, namely, the integrity of the soul, and not just as a transitory fracture of the physical body. I travelled on the waves of sound and the rhythm of breathing. In Poland, I learned the art of Zen Shiatsu massage. There was a lack of a therapeutic approach based on the hands, on the pure technical gesture of a nursing mould.

The approach to knowledge has always been that of the sceptical, cynical materialist. Made up of doctors and health professionals, the vague explanations of the spiritualoid environments I passed through, or the cryptic and refined talk of certain theologians made me sick. All based on ‘feeling’ and ‘intuition’ ‘on the love of God’, they always left that aura of mystery that unnerved me.

And not because you don’t appreciate mystery but because, even the most intuitive I’ve seen slip on the classic banana peel: discernment. Namely, to distinguish when it is intuited and when it is a ghost of the mind clothed with good reasons. It also takes method in exploring the invisible to limit subjectivity. At least that is what I think.

The principles of Chinese medicine, energy pathophysiology and biorhythms expanded the understanding of other practices and everything was perfect… on the surface.

We worked together, the house, travelling, the projects of a couple born to last. The disagreements, normal in a couple, became magnified like the classic snowball with the arrival of Emanuel.

We have done everything to patch things up: couple psychotherapy, tantrism, family constellations, shamans, mediums. Nothing helped, on the contrary: all the disciplines did was to distance us. The misunderstandings had become real quarrels, profound malice. I was never enough, she was never honest.

She wanted to leave Poland, not me to end up there, those were not the agreements. I stamped my feet on the floor screaming with clenched fists against the sky, like a capricious child. When I understood the underlying deception, something in me was shattered. There comes a time when you are alone with yourself. There is no one to save you, no technique, no drugs, no rhetoric, no God.

Locked up in a foreign country, far from my roots, language, food and sun, overburdened with work and responsibility, sick, a couple perfectly shattered into pieces and a small child, darkness had fallen over me. I reacted by praying for the first time. An unspoken prayer, a continuous wailing, a cry of despair.

Surrounded by darkness, I closed my eyes even though in my head it was broad daylight. I went to the doctor. Crossing the waiting room I saw some patients warning me about him. ‘He is rude!’ ‘He is bad’. I entered the studio with my envelope. He was kind in spite of everything.
‘Have a seat, what is wrong with you?’
‘Doctor, I think I fractured my right foot. I have the x-rays if you want to take a look.’
‘Try to move it..in my opinion there is nothing wrong, the foot moves well, you can go’
But when saying this, he suddenly looked up waving the envelope in front of me.
‘Eh!’ and his eyes sharpened like two burning pins.

I woke up suddenly with two things very clear in my head. The first was that I could go and the second, less verbally but equally insightful, that I had to be careful of one thing: my son.

I packed my bags and went up to my room. I look at her and then at my son who was just waking up at that moment. He turned to me stretching, his eyes very sweet and sly, happy to see me, looking forward to a day playing with his dad. However, it would not be like that. It is as though I killed him that day and myself with him. Part of me definitively left that morning.

Prior to that moment, the despair was further aggravated by a myriad of opinions. Psychologists and psychotherapists, astrologers, friends, therapists of all sorts who were trying to convince us to separate or stay together. Then came the time for ‘hindsight’, to take stock.
‘It was not love, but addiction, a relationship based on need’
‘You were hasty. You understood from the beginning’
‘You were used’
’You lied to her’
‘The blame is hers, but here the fault is yours’
‘You could have thought about it before. With a child, you have to sacrifice yourself. Irresponsible’
And so on. They all had clear ideas. With hindsight we are all experts about others.

I don’t have much to say anymore. When you are alone in the midst of the reactions of a traditional Polish family who know you are leaving their daughter, the fear of judgement becomes very relativised.

I feel I can only say to those who have a quick tongue and wise certainties to be given so quickly, to stand up, show their relationships, describe what love is and then make me feel it. In that order. If you don’t get it, it’s best to sit quietly.

We loved each other and got burned, causing what we didn’t want to see about ourselves go up in smoke. Sold to each other, exactly the opposite of what we actually were. She, as an inveterate traveller, was shown to be more of a kind of Penelope. I, on the other hand, as a habitual and methodical person, a half-sailor.

We acted the parts of everyone, of our respective parents, relatives and friends, national history and culture, careful not to disappoint expectations. Everything I have always rejected, judged and condemned about my family and myself came out of the top hat. I put my hands in the bag and in the end, unexpectedly, I discovered my innocence.
I think I understand now when I was told that unconditional love, the real one, has a price. How can a Human, in fact, a conditioned and contradictory being by definition, love unconditionally?

Only Love counts beyond pettiness and cruelty. This, for me, has become a certainty. Emanuel, ‘God with us’, because at a certain point in my life I began to have Faith, despite everything. By choosing myself, I transcended myself.
I experienced the return to Italy as someone who had been shipwrecked. Surreal. The Mandala cancelled and instead of colours, nothing. Or almost

I had worked for years on the renovation of the family villa. An old house overlooking the lake, left to itself, full of junk and bad memories. Over time, the desire to make a clean sweep became a biological need, rather than an aesthetic one. A need also shared by the survivors of my family. The desire to see my grandmother happy with something beautiful before leaving, was the spring that allowed me to jump over all the obstacles, the delays, the hardships, the pandemic, the bitterness.

When the time came for the details, I imagined a coming and going of people enjoying the lake as I have never enjoyed it myself. So here is the green, the sofas, the barbecue, the terrace, the lights…transforming a messy mausoleum into a spartan and elegant environment, which has surpassed its original splendour.

Sole blu holiday home on Lake Garda is a launching pad to experience the lake and its fairytale landscapes, hidden stones, cycle paths and hermitages, good wine and sun-warmed water. Magic in the moonlight.

Now is the time to think about my happiness. Finally, after years of staring at the horizon, I see a glimmer of Peace. I am not saying I am at Peace, that would be pure hypocrisy but, when the sea is agitated, I know which way to go.

Some say he is a good person, others an incorrigible and restless selfish person. I am really not interested. If before, I thought I was carrying a specific message based on professional skills, now even that story no longer holds up. I carry myself around, to the best of my abilities, trying to push myself beyond personal baseness.
I know what the debts are that need to be paid, my duty and destiny. I quickly retraced my steps for a single higher reason: the relationship with my son.

Emanuel will have to be satisfied with a father who is a bit like that, a traveller. One that suddenly glides across Europe, when new teeth are about to appear, the first steps, days in the park and everything a child deserves. A presence as physical as it is ethereal.

And…the music! I love sound because I sing the Magic of Love and, giving voice to the Sacred, I transcend myself. Love, for me, is like a playground: it takes very little to ignite with wonder, access the power to feel surprise and amazement.