About
A researcher of consciousness. Someone who tries to build bridges between awareness and action, between the inner world and everyday life.
My story
My name is Giampiero Bartolini. I graduated in Philosophy with a thesis on G.I. Gurdjieff and, since my teenage years, I have pursued a direct, experiential inquiry into the workings of the mind and of human consciousness.
I was born in a small town in the hills of the Marche, in central Italy, and I have always woven philosophical reflection together with creativity and a deep wish to understand the human being as a whole.
My book
A fable that becomes a journey of understanding.
In a hyper-controlled future, on a planet where every emotion is mediated by an algorithm and everyone lives immersed in an artificial reality, a boy called Nefino makes a simple but revolutionary gesture: he takes off the Kahib, a device that filters reality. That gesture lights in him the spark of doubt, wonder and freedom.
Poised between poetic science fiction and secular spirituality, the novel is a contemporary parable about a humanity lost in comfort and control, and about the transforming power of genuine questions, simple gestures and deep listening.
In its second part the book becomes an experiential handbook, Nefino’s Notebook, with the P.R.O.C.E.D.O.© Method: a seven-stage path for anyone who wants not only to read a story, but to live it from within.
Translated by Neil Pennock
Press, events and recognition
Why I created the Method
The P.R.O.C.E.D.O.© Method distils decades of study and direct experience. I first presented it in the book Nefino's Journey, and today I bring it to research groups, one-to-one sessions and workshops.
The Method was developed in collaboration with Neil Pennock (NEC school), Victoria College of London and Logos University of Miami, under the supervision of Dr Stewart Thompson.
The book on the road
In the book, the Kahib is the filter that covers Nefino’s eyes. The name isn’t invented: it comes from the ancient Egyptian khaibit, the shadow of the soul.
In August 2026, in Egypt, I talked about it with my guide, Walid Elshaer. He told me the word sounded familiar: in today’s Egyptian Arabic people still say khabeit, from the verb khabba, meaning to hide, to cover, to put something where others cannot see it. Without any prompting from me, he described exactly the Kahib of my book.
It isn’t an Egyptologist’s proof, but it was an encounter that moved me. Thank you, Walid, whose name means “the newborn poet”.
