Looking back, to find the moment I first met Costion Nicolescu, I realize that he had long been in the magnetic field of a world consonant with mine, so much so that the affinities of a shared spiritual ambiance preceded our friendship.
In the 90s, we both attended the launch of a volume of poems by my colleague, Luminiţa Niculescu, and that's when we met, although at the time, I had the impression that we had known each other forever. The delicacy, kindness, discretion, and tenderness of this chosen man, his presence, bringing hope and fervor, became indispensable to those around him. I soon learned that he was close to the painter Horia Paştina, as well as to Cristian Mandeal and his wife, Livia, Ionel and Lili Teodoreanu's granddaughter, people with whom I shared a deep friendship. We often met at the Ateneu or Sala Radio, at concerts conducted by Cristian, and exchanged knowing glances of enthusiasm and admiration for our friend's musical performances.
Later, in 2014, we reunited around the poetry book "Loc ferit" at Sophia Bookstore, to talk about Liliana Ursu, the author of the volume, to whom we were both deeply attached. In 2018, we met again to commemorate Luminiţa, who had recently passed away, and on that occasion, my husband, Nicolae Săulescu, invited us to the garden of the House of Scientists, where, like at a small memorial feast, Costion recounted his memories of our beloved departed friend. Around 2022, we met publicly at the Romanian Opera, at a conference held there by Horia Roman Patapievici, who had specially invited us, and then I had the joy of meeting Maria, Costion's wonderful wife.
I wanted to specify some dates, to outline the circle of closeness to this extraordinary man, through dear people who, over time, never ceased to build bridges for us. What has happened, however, from 2020 onwards, belongs to a second concentric circle that, for me, lies under the sign of mystery and miracle. I started sending Costion a poem, written spontaneously, to his phone in electronic format, and he, with an entirely unique receptiveness, responded either with words or with images, thus forming an almost metaphysical correspondence between us. In response to my verses, for example, he would send me a video of the wind rustling the grass, or a fresco detail from a country church, or the shadow of a harp. His written comments had the same openness to the ineffable. I had come to eagerly await his verdict for each new poem and, when I received it, with affectionate promptness, I felt the joy of a student learning they had passed.
During this privileged time, Costion would send me his books of mystic meditation and spiritual reflections, written in the light of the faith that animated his mind and heart. Our last and most moving encounter took place at Humanitas Cişmigiu Bookstore, in December 2023, at the launch of my small volume of "Carols and Vigil Gifts," published by Spandugino Publishing House, when Costion, after speaking with growing emotion about the book, gave me a small pouch with walnuts, a quince, and a homemade loaf of bread, made by Maria. He trembled with a secret joy, and the state of grace he transmitted to us, those around him, transformed the event in that bookstore into an epiphany.
But the peak of our spiritual closeness was reached when, after I sent Costion a poem about the separation of soul from body, his daughter wrote to me: "Dad asks me to reply, I embrace you, but now I'm unable to respond." He was in the hospital, next to Costion who was dying. I hadn't known how ill he was, but I was watching over him without realizing it. Similarly, I now think that love alone lifts us above fleeting fate and keeps us together, beyond space and time.
Monica Pillat