…. Thus amidst this immensity lies my thought: and TO shipwreck is sweet to me in this sea.
Giacomo Leopardi’s twenty-one-year-old sea, however, was not water, it was the representation of that infinity that was the silence, the eternal, with which the poet measured the reasons and absurdities of life.
And if the sea of Ulysses may seem more true because it is made of water and storms, it is less its inhabitants: Sirens, Cyclops and Maghe. But Ulysses was unpopular to Juno and Venus because he had been the architect of the defeat of Troy and then again to Neptune, father of the Cyclops, whom he had mocked. And here, before reaching the beach of his Ithaca, the sea for Ulysses becomes a prison and expiation, a place of monsters and magic, of dangers and adventures, a measure of courage and wisdom.
Meanwhile Enea too, the defeated, wanders in search of a new homeland. And only after having passed the hard tests, will reach the new and deserved beach.
The beach, as a boundary between the land and the sea, as a place where the land embraces the sea, is the landing point to which those who have lived the adventure of the sea and the starting point to live it; the place of fear and hope of those awaiting an arrival from the sea; the place where your forehead is wrinkled and you put a hand over your eyes to scan the horizon even if you do not expect anyone, because that great mass of salt water will never cease to attract and intimidate us, to seduce us and scare us.