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Dear Don Giovanni,
I thank him for his words on Christmas night: they were the sign of a true and deep friendship; there is nothing more generous than the real interest in someone else’s soul. I have nothing to give her to reward her: there is no excuse for a gift that by its nature does not require it to be reciprocated. But I will always remember her heart that night. As for my sins. the biggest is to think only of my works at the bottom, which makes me a bit monstrous and can not do it
nothing; is an egotism that has found its iron alibi in a promise with myself and the others from which I can not dissolve, you could not have acted for this sin, because I could never really promise you that I would not commit it more. The other two sins she has perceived are my “public” sins: but as for blasphemy, I assure you, it is not true. I said harsh words against a given Church and a given Pope: but how many believers now do not agree with me?
The other sin I have so often confessed in my poems, and with so much clarity and terror that ended with living in me as a family ghost, to which I have become accustomed and for which I can no longer to see the real, objective entity. I’m “stuck,” dear Don Giovanni, in a way that only Grace could dissolve. My will and the other are helpless. And this can only be said by objectifying me, and looking at me from her point of view. Perhaps because I have always fallen from horseback: I have never been sleeplessly in the saddle (like many powerful in life or many slanderers): I have fallen forever, and my foot has been caught in the bracket so my race does not It is a ride, but a being dragged away, with its head blowing over dust and stones. I can neither go back to the horse of the Jews and Gentiles, nor fall forever on God’s land.
Thank you again, with all your affection, his
Pier Paolo Pasolini
