Parca e un facut: toate intamplarile si toate sentimentele ma fac sa realizez cum e universul nostru, al oamenilor. Noi traim aici, impreuna, dar suntem atat de diferiti... N-ai observat cum, de multe ori, oamenii de 30 de ani, spre exemplu, sunt foarte diferiti intre ei? Atat ca aparenta, cat si in esenta. Timpul interior... face diferenta.
Am simtit pe pielea mea atatea lucruri triste in ultima vreme... De ce, oare, nu ma intristeaza nimic? De ce nu ma poate schimba? Sunt la varsta la care realizezi cat de diferit esti de ceilalti. De parca acum incepem sa ne separam, sa ne individualizam, sa ne instrainam... Poate ca, intr-o oarecare masura, fiecare isi spune ca viata merge inainte chiar si fara ceilalti, sau oricare ar fi ceilalti, sau ca ceilalti sunt mereu aici deci nu trebuie sa-si faca griji in legatura cu ei... Parca, intr-un fel, preocuparea cade asupra sinelui. Lumea se schimba... eu ma schimb. Viata mi-a scos in cale un nou obstacol: evolutia. Simt cat de diferite sunt directiile spre care ne indreptam, si cat de inaccesibil imi esti tu, cat de infima este puterea mea asupra ta, prin cuvinte. Daca nu vei deschide un ochi, spre sufletul tau, sa-mi urmaresti ideile, m-ai ucis inca de la-nceput.
In timp ce incercam sa ajut pe cineva am observat cat de greu e sa-i comunici ceea ce vrei. Poate ca la asta se referea si dirigina noastra: cuvintele sunt dusmanul. Dar nu un dusman cum te-ai astepta, ci unul pe care trebuie si esti fortat sa-l combati cu el insusi. Am crescut si starile, sentimentele sunt tot mai complexe si mai subiri in consistenta lor pentru a intra intr-o categorie stabila. Ca si cum ceea ce simti este un intreg univers, si trebuie sa-l comunici cumva prin simple litere succedate. Nu stiu sigur, prin cunoastere, dar simt ca nu poti impartasi cuiva o lume intreaga fara sa impartasesti cu adevarat; sa oferi, sa te oferi prin sufletul tau si sa-i deschizi poarta pentru ca el sa poata a patrunde in lumea ta interioara.
Ieri incercam sa descifrez la ce folosesc formele acelea de plastic gri-metalic plasate in tramvaie si autobuze, pe barele verticale. Nu par sa aiba nici un sens... Chiar atunci se apropie de mine un domn foarte in varsta care ma intreaba, direct si observandu-ma dinainte: "Ai idee la ce folosesc?". Si era bucuros. Incantat chiar. Faptul ca eu eram curios il multumea, ii dadea speranta intr-un fel. E drept ca avea acelasi of pe care il au toti oamenii in varsta - ca lumea asta se duce de rapa, ca lucrurile "nu mai sunt cum erau". Dar era deschis. Avea o sansa, o salvare, o portita... Asta incerc eu sa ating la fiecare. N-am sa reusesc, fireste, prea curand, deoarece in esenta noastra, preferintele si atitudinea de atragere spre o idee, mai ales spre aceste paragrafe ale mele fara sens bine determinat, variaza extrem de mult. Nu ti se pare ca foarte multi adulti nu mai au nimic interesant de spus? Trateaza viata ca pe ceva obisnuit... de parca sa traiesti, sa-ti bata inima, n-ar fi mare lucru.
Este o tendinta umana sa stocam ceea ce stim si sa intrebuintam totul ca sigur pentru a ajunge mai departe si, cu siguranta ca, pentru a va scrie ceea ce va scriu acum, eu insumi fac asta. Dar o calatorie sufleteasca nu trebuie niciodata negata. Daca viata este ceva sigur, cert si nu-ti mai ramane nimic interesant de descoperit in lumea exterioara in care traiesti, sau a ta, interioara, atunci toata succesiunea de evenimente asa-numita viata isi pierde farmecul, fiecare eveniment se plafoneaza, si nimic nu rascoleste sufletul tau asa cum ar putea, poate, sa o faca. Altfel, daca te vei uita cu atentie (si mai ales la noi in Romania) in fiecare zi ti se intampla ceva demn de mentionat si de luat in seama.
Imi dau seama ca sunt subiectiv, ca nu reusesc sa comunic astfel incat tu sa nu ai nimic de obiectat. Dar poate nici nu urmaresc acest lucru. Sigur, imi doresc sa fii de acord cu mine, dar si mai mult conteaza pentru mine ca tu sa simti ceva, sa te pui fata-n fata cu opinia mea si sa-ti formezi si tu una.
Einstein spunea: "Când vreau sa comunic ceva unei persoane traduc ceea ce simt în cuvinte". Asta e si definita comunicarii pana la urma. Mie imi place foarte mult Marin Preda. De ce? Pentru ca il simt. Simt ca mi se adreseaza. Orice literatura care ma face sa comunic cu mine, sa ma vad pe mine prin prisma a ceea ce citesc, sa urmaresc personajele si sa imi simt mintea intervenind, devine o pasiune, si o apreciez cu cat mai multa neliniste, deci cunoastere, imi aduce. Citeam prefata Jurnalului sau intim, fragmente adunate si stranse intr-o carte suficient de cuprinzatoare. Eugen Simion, autorul acestei prefete, ofera o precizare si o judecata sa proprie la fiecare eveniment in legatura cu Preda. E frumos. E ca o introspectie, in care el te ajuta sa vezi ceea ce vede el. Si nu te simti obligat, esti liber sa crezi diferit. O spune intr-un asa fel, si vorbeste despre viata altuia cu o asa usurinta si judecata limpede (un alt atu al omului, care poate deveni defect), incat te simti pus fata in fata cu critica respectiva.
De ce nu esti liber? Pentru ca esti constrans. Poate zici ca nu esti constrans, desi sper ca pana acum ti-ai dat seama ca nu ai cum sa nu fii... Noi spunem ca suntem liberi. Dar suferim, de cele mai multe ori, de cea mai cruda subjugare pe care o putem simti, fara sa o constientizam de fapt: autocontrolul, auto-impunerea: Am primit zilele trecute raspunsuri de la aplicatiile mele spre facultati, si mi-am dat seama ca imi doresc, nu numai din nerabdarea de a afla decizia, ci si din starea pe care mi-o dadea acest act de a citi, ca vreau sa descifrez informatia intr-un timp cat mai scurt. Eram pur si simplu intr-o stare in care satierea de cuvinte si, mai ales litere, atinsese un punct critic. "Isi spunea cuvantul". Am realizat si ca tot ceea ce mi se comunica, mai ales in fata calculatorului, dar si in general, s-a transformat in scris, in alfabet. Sunt constrans de alfabet, de atatea cuvinte! Si sunt constrans de mine, prin ce gandesc uneori... Dar se poate si mult mai rau. Sunt nespus de fericit cu viata mea de acum pentru ca ma simt liber in cea mai mare masura (in masura care conteaza cel mai mult pentru mine): in viata mea poate interveni orice, ma poate surprinde si ma poate schimba, pot percepe ceva oricand ca fiind nou si nemaiatins: ca nu sunt completat de mine insumi. Pentru ca, in final, individualismul de astazi la aceasta conduce. Ca si cum avem nevoie decat de capacitatile proprii pentru a face orice... avem senzatia ca am evoluat intr-atat incat suntem completi de unul singur. Ei bine, nici nu ne-am putea insela mai tare: de la inceputul omenirii si pana acum, nu a fost nici o alta lume, nici o alta epoca in care individul sa fie atat de incomplet. De ce asta, de ce acum? Pentru ca plenitudinea se stabileste relativ, functie de ceea ce exista. Si, dupa cate stim in prezent, niciodata nu a existat mai multa informatie in lume decat acum, aici. Asa ca sa nu ne bucuram: suntem mai mult decat incompleti: suntem niste fiinte firave si fara putere in marele si gigantul univers din care facem parte. Dar, atunci, ce mai conteaza? Cu ce mai sunt eu insemnat? poate ai sa te intrebi.
Tu contezi. Tu faci diferenta. Sunt atatea argumente ca nici nu are rost sa incep - risc sa nu mai termin. Dar esenta scopului de a trai nu consta in scop, in sine, ci in felul de a privi acest scop. Da tuturor (nu numai oamenilor, tuturor in general...) o sansa. Gandeste-te cum te-ai simti tu sa nu primesti una. Traieste fiecare zi ca si cum ar fi ultima zi din viata ta. Si tine minte ca, dintre toate aceste "tuturor", iubirea merita cele mai multe sanse...
Chiar si daca nu suferi de "dilema scopului in viata" esti binevenit sa citesti aceste randuri: de-a lungul existentei noastre au existat, exista si vor exista intotdeauna "cele ce nu se invechec niciodata". Sentimentele, copilaria, viata privita ca trairi, ganduri... Acum ma simt departe de tine. As fi placut surprins sa simti cuvintele ce vor urma in sensul in care le-am asezat si eu aici... E trist sa iti doresti sa-mparti ceva cu lumea, si lumea sa nu iti ofere nici macar un deget, daramite bratele deschise. Ca un copil mic, atunci cand a descoperit ce face un lucru si te trage entuziasmat de mana sa-ti spuna, si sa-ti impartaseasca minunata lui descoperire... De ce, Doamne, de ce? Parca dragostea mea pentru fiinta umana primeste mereu acelasi raspuns: eu nu am timp acum, eu vreau altceva. Simt ca nu reusesc sa-ti comunic. Simt ca nu pot sa-ti destainui interiorul meu. Nu ai rabdare cu mine... sunt doar o foaie de hartie. Ce pot face eu mai mult decat sa-ti ofer cuvintele mele? Uneori imi doresc sa fiu un film, sa fiu un sunet. Sa trec prin capul tau si sa-mi las ... un cuvant. Sa-ti las o amintire... Citeste-ma. Gandeste-ma. Ai timp, nu te grabeste nimeni... ai timp mereu sa simti, sa te aduni... Daca nu te cunosti deja, intoarce-te cu spatele in fata ta si priveste-ti reflexia pana te vei recunoaste, stand asa, si-ti vei da seama ca ma aflu si eu acolo, gata sa-ti trimit un mesaj, de undeva, din lumea cuiva; sa-ti deschid sufletul spre ceea ce tu, poate, te vei indrepta candva. Dar eu nu ma dau batuta; stiu ca sunt doar o foaie de hartie, stiu ca nu am putere in fata ta. Dar am existat si fara tine, pana acum. Daca si doar un singur om imi va citi cuvintele, si va intelege ce s-a varsat pe mine, eu voi fi o foaie care si-a implinit destinul.
Si lumea mea este o floare,/Ce se deschide si tresare,/Si este-a ta, sa o privesti/S-o intelegi, nu s-o iubesti. - End of chapter thirteen
Monday, May 29, 2006
[New story] Chapter thirteen - "Everything's changing when I turn around/I'm out of my control/I'm a mobile" - Avril Lavigne - Mobile lyrics
Monday, May 22, 2006
[The beggar] Behind the scenes
Go To:
Part onePart two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Behind the scenes!
A few readers asked for clarifications, and details about "The beggar", so I thought you might want to know more about this story, including interesting facts about how I came to write it.
Outline of the epic line and additional info:
The prologue is temporally equivalent to the epilogue.
Prologue & epilogue: Susan enters her father's room but doesn't know it at first. The reader learns only that she (not impersonated until the epilogue) has decided to buy the room, and has found a notebook. The notebook proves to be her own, written while she was raised by her idealistic parents (who believe love is the most important part of our lives) and lost during her desperate wandering.
Plot: She eventually ends up on a bench, exhausted and suffering, and the next morning Andrew finds her.
I wont reenter their parents' lives and stories, but the main point is that of love, life and communication: Susan is a special person, mainly due to the love of her parents, while Andrew and his father are somehow strangers. Meanwhile, the life of a beggar emerges...
Ending: Andrew and Susan fall in love and live together, finally getting married. The surprise, revealed in the epilogue is that they have lived next to her father for ten years and weren't aware of it. The ending illustrates the artistic behavior of love, and the world of a "beggar".
Extra facts:
When she becomes eighteen, her parents explain that Susan is now capable of watching out for herself, so she somehow understood the accident, and she thought they might have sacrificed their lives for somebody.
Although the summary may be simple and easy to comprehend, the "inside" of people's hearts and minds never is. Think of that when you ponder about yourself and others: you have to see it every way to get it right... and there's always a way you don't see (but at least you get pretty close to the real thing!).
The accident: Turns out that her father DID survive the accident. Her mother saved Andrew's father's life, and got stuck under a vehicle and killed. So, not knowing that her dad lived, Susan does not return home, and her father has no way of finding her.
The idealism of characters: Sometimes, when people abandon a sad life, and endure into a happy one, they tend to run away from their sufferince. Susan and Andrew have a magical way of communicating which puts every feeling of despair second, making them seem less desperate at the loss of each one's father.
Fun facts:
The title of the story, and the idea of the beggar himself was inspired by a real fact I have witnessed: a poor man wishing to sell a cheap watch for money to the tram driver, who invited him to his tram cabin for a chat that lasted... more than just a few stops (I got off before the beggar did).
The actual epic of the story I developed along the way, and I confess that the other five characters (Susan and her mom, Andrew and his dad and sister) were not known until mentioned.
I'm most fascinated by the beggar's life and his room, and his interpretation of life and the many paintings of his daughter, but Andrew and Susan will remain as the first love couple I thought of placing in a story.
At one point I had thought of including two other (real) facts:
- One time, the tram I took was being checked by the ticket collector (I don't ever have a ticket and there's a big fine for that) and he checked other people for tickets, but not me - how lucky! I was scared and took the next tram from the first stop. But, unluckily, that had 3 other ticket collectors in it - oops. As the doors was closing, some guy (accompanied by his girlfriend) yelled out, right in front of the door: "Who's got no ticket better get off now!"... and I did, at the last moment, because I didn't see them myself.
- One day I went to my driving lessons by tram, and returned 2 hours later with the same tram, and I had that strange sense of deja vu, realized along the way, not when I got in... The tram was driven by an old lady, and had particular signs and posters, compared to other trams.
Hope you've enjoyed this "Behind the scenes"!
Sunday, May 21, 2006
[The beggar] Part six (and final)
Go To:
Part onePart two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Behind the scenes!
* * * Part six * * *
'<<... and I want you to know that I've saved some things for you. I know I haven't been the best father in the world, nor such a pleasant company. But I have always been proud of you and Lilith. I love you both more than anything. No matter what I did, our lives went on, and you were always growing up, better, stronger, ready for life. How can a father not be proud of his children? I haven't told you much about me, and you don't know why I couldn't get over your mother. And even now, I don't know either. My last words for you are these: Love, dream and live.>>', she paused reading and sighed.
'I think he meant them in that order, Andrew. I've always thought when people write their last words, each letter is an enormous part of their heart. It's like... they set their life on paper, for one final time, you know what I mean? Andrew?'
There were tears in his eyes. He was not sad, nor did he regret the life he had enjoyed so far. The tears were not his, they were his father's.
'The world is a projection of your minds, isn't that true?' he told Susan
'It really is.' There was not much to be said, she thought.
'I love you', Susan leaned toward him, 'You're always here for me, I'm always here for you - we don't need each other, but we are a part of each other. Just as your father is a part of you. He'll always be, really. Are you sad?'
'No, no I'm not. How strange that you only know a person by what you experience, isn't it? You always think you know because it's there, but, in fact, nothing's there. It's just you, and the world. And the world is in you', he wiped his few tears. 'I was gonna meet him tomorrow. I'm not even asking myself why he didn't tell me he was dying - it's his way of being.' he said.
'What's a man's life, really? We are all here, in this world. Everyone has his/her own piece of it, and everyone things that's the real thing. You know what the real thing is? The real thing is that it is. There's nothing more to it. My world can be a sphere, yours maybe a prism, Lilith's - a spire; some can even be shapeless. Everything's possible. We know many but understand little. We want to understand what we already know, but there's always something we think we don't know that keeps us from understanding. Susan, what are people in search for?'
Susan could feel everbody. Ever since she was a child, she loved to put herself in other people's shoes. She wanted to feel more, understand more. She wondered how it is like to be someone else - would that person feel the same as she did? What would her mind and heart be like in another body? Or perhaps just the heart.
'I imagine they wake up into the life they've got. A few moments pass, and the feeling of something missing arises:
'And the way to do it is in you. The modern man feels he is lost because he's not aware of his being. We are human beings, aren't we? We are born with instincts and not thoughts. Our world comes from nothing, but is everything. What we are in search for is only the most basic feeling in the human being - happiness. There are a million ways to look at the world. And, sometimes, only one of these ways brings happiness. But it is not that far. Actually, all paths lead to the same feeling. Some are just too bumpy to see the end... '
'What are we, more than animals? We are survivors. The key to happiness is you. It's that simple. We are born a way, but alter ourselves so much from that day, that we find a lot of questions with very few answers. But the answer is found at the beginning (what answer isn't?). We are alive. Somehow, maybe for one man in a billion, that is enough a reason to be happy. Isn't that amazing?', Susan's eyes were shining.
Their life together has been a dream. The love they shared brought them upwards. However high they were, the didn't move from that apartment. The world changed, and they changed with it. But, somehow, they remained the same. Andrew was amazed. He was always fascinated by the way the world exists. For every action, there was a reaction, cause and effect, time and space - those were all just a few pictures of it. He understood that, in order to do something for certain, you have to understand or feel what it is. And for that to happen, you had to assign a shape to it, somehow... everything's about perception, in a way. Perception is about everything. Happiness... the same. He noticed that for something to be meaningful, it had to neglect every other point of view, and react on one of them. But insight into a world meant insight into every other, because the same truth was present everywhere.
They married a few years after he moved in. Lilith bought the place next door, and let them live in this one - 'for memories' sake', she said. They lived at the ground floor: two apartments and the former janitor's room, now a small place where a poor man lead his life. Susan still didn't know how come they connected that well, but she guessed they were just waiting for each other - like everyone's waiting for something. Susan was twenty-eight, and she was pregnant with their first child. She was happy, they both were. Life had been generous: Susan and Andrew had interesting jobs - she was a painter and he was a teacher, both successful due to their devotion to the art of it.
'How did we get so lucky, Andrew?'
'There's just something... in this world, for every single person. And when you find it, you know; because it clicks, it trembles, it sings - like a chord, maybe. Like a drop of water in the ocean, you can't even realize it's different, but the feeling of it remains forever', he said.
'Imagine how it must be to be the ocean... a new passion every moment, a new drop of water.' Susan said
'I love you too, Susan.' They were used to late replies. Like the brain knows when it's forgot something, but not what that something is, inner traveling is also a natural course for human beings.
The accident was left behind, it was ten years ago. That month after the accident, Andrew moved with her, and they spent all their spare time talking. She didn't know much about the accident, but the questions were always fading when he was around. He felt lonely and lost, but never when she was next to him. They vowed to live together, and naturally fell in love.
'Yes, it was a dream. It is!', Andrew thought.
'You wanna go see what your dad left?'
'Sure', he said.
After an hour, Susan and Andrew arrived. They went in and found the place almost empty. There was a note on the table.
'I know this will make you smile.
Check the closet.
Love,
Dad', Andrew read.
'He left me a fishing rod! Made by himself. A handmade fishing rod!' Andrew repeated, his smile was wide and honest. 'Maybe he wants me to understand his passion for fishing. But I did, already, from his letter. Love, dream, live - that's how he could do it all. Love me, dream mom, and live eating fish, hehe. And I've always misjudged fishing as his passion only, how silly of me!'
'We live to be remembered, I guess', Susan thought about her dad. It's been long since the last time she thought about him. She wished she knew more, but there was nothing more to do...
---
I went inside, while Andrew left his new handmade fishing rod at home. I saw a notebook, and headed for it; right when I turned around, I saw something that blew my mind off.
It was me: my face was painted on every wall of the room, in indefinite circumstances. There was something familiar about those paintings, they made sense in the order they were painted. Who lived here?
I stared at the cover of the notebook: 'A life of a teenager', by Susan! This was the notebook I had lost when I ran from that accident.
I opened the notebook, and read...
---
The final passage of the notebook said:
<<...Somehow, I see it in every human being. I walk the streets, and see people like her everywhere - everyone has it's path, and every path has it's shape. Any shape. Love is the sun, and we are the world. And as the sun spins upwards, the world circles around it. Is it in search for something, like we are? No. But it is spinning, amazingly quick, and seems unstable, as a life of a teenager; in fact, that life is the most certain life we will ever have. What is the sun heading for? Nowhere, he's circling around the galaxy, and the galaxy around the universe, and the universe... God is the center of everything. Love circles around God, and although human life seems to be circling too, it is not. Life is not like an orbit - it is like the line of a tram, or a roller coaster: it has its bumps, it has the same basic path for everyone, but what's around it when you pass by is always different. What remains is what lasts, the line itself - love, and what changes is the driver and the tram - life, and the person who benefits of it.>>
I read it all. Half of it was my own writing, the other half - my father's. He lived here for ten years, and I didn't know: Oh, sweet ignorance! He wrote he can't paint anything else but his daughter's face. But the paintings show me like I am right now, not like I was when I was young!, I told Andrew.
'No. You haven't changed much, but you look like you were back then; I remember you very well. Are you alright?'
I don't know. It's amazing. He paints every feeling I ever had, and so well... Look, here I have that "I lost my dollie" face, and here I'm telling him I love him, and here...
From birth to 18 years, everything I have felt lies in this room, in these paintings. I am living in my father's ten year life with ... me. You know, somehow, things in this world have always happened similarly to us. Our parents are full of surprises, aren't they?
'Yes, I can't believe it! Look, he even left a note, I think.'
I was so shocked, I asked him to read it to me...
'I am thought of as a poor beggar, but there's a "beggar" in all of us, just like there's a Susan in there, too'.
Love is the sun, and we are the world... My mind was looking for the sense of it all, but that was just a point of view. From another perspective, it already made perfect sense.
Friday, May 19, 2006
[New story] Chapter twelve - "Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see." - Arthur Schopenhauer
[Written: about 2 months ago]
A mai trecut timpul, am mai cules idei. Sunt fericit ca am timp sa scriu, sa ma exprim. Imi face placere sa ma exprim. Ma uitam la hainele mele, in timp ce mancam, si-mi dadeam seama cat de putin conteaza daca le-as murdari sau nu. Chiar si daca le-as spala eu, nu ar conta suficient. Imagineaza-ti o intalnire intre omul din prezent si un altul de acum cateva secole, presupunand ca ar vorbi aceeasi limba:
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La inceput, omul avea probleme cu supravietuirea in mediul natural, era amenintat de atatea alte specii...
Apoi, cu timpul, a urcat in lantul trofic deasupra tuturor animalelor, si a devenit stapanul planetei. Facand asta, pentru o scurta perioada s-a bucurat si si-a apreciat straduinta si victoria, intelegandu-se cu semenii sai, poate. Cu timpul insa a observat ca ceilalti ii obstructioneaza viata, asa ca au aparut sclavia, puterea, puterea divina in mainile unui om. Cand omul are timp, se gandeste sa-i fie cat mai bine...
Iata, deci, ca a ajuns societatea dezvoltata, fie prin mijloace tiranice, fie democratic, din Antichitate, prin imperialitate, comunism, etc. Astfel ca acum o inventie e mai complicat de desenat si de imaginat decat de facut, in cea mai mare parte. O haina nu necesita decat niste materiale textile, prelucrate si trase in fire, de tot felul de masini, ce fabrica milioane de kilometri de fire intr-un timp foarte scurt.
Un om din trecut, adus in prezent si vazant tot ce s-a schimbat, ar aprecia cu siguranta mult mai mult posesia atator minunatii. Dar noi, nu. Pentru noi e important sa avem cutare haina care are cine stie ce decoratii, un apartament fancy, o colectie de obiecte de ultima tehnologie, etc. In loc sa apreciem ce inseamna fiecare obiect, si mijloacele extraordinare prin care a ajuns omul sa-l conceapa, il percepem ca si cum ar fi ceva banal, si asta de multe ori pentru ca "toti ceilalti au", deci nu e nimic special. De parca ceva special inseamna sa fie unic.
Diferenta colosala intre ce am eu si ce are altul consta mai degraba in felul cum percep si tratez posesiunile mele decat acea persoana. In satul nostru traditional, (dupa cum se observa si in Marin Preda, Cel mai iubit dintre pamanteni), femeile apreciau foarte mult o simpla cana, si se purtau cu obiectele dandu-le astfel o incarcatura pe care omul modern a uitat-o.
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Cred ca ceea ce vreau sa spun este ca omul subapreciaza lumea, intreaga lume. Si ca are falsa senzatie ca sufletul se epuizeaza. Dar cu totii stim ca niciodata nu exista drum cu bariere in fata inimii, ca nu oboseste si ca intotdeauna gasim puterea sa ne avantam din nou in lume. Creierul este problema, desi poate suna amuzant! Mult mai multe realizezi daca simti fiecare lucru. Pana si atunci cand inveti ceva. Cu creierul memorezi si uiti, insa daca-ti folosesti inima, daca simti ceea ce faci, n-o sa uiti niciodata ce-ai simtit atunci, daca a fost ceva deosebit. Si multe pot fi deosebite... E un secret al vietii, pe care-l stim cu totii, dar, in cele din urma, il aplicam foarte putin: iubirea.
Am avut norocul sa dau peste niste pasaje interesante de Marin Preda, in Imposibila intoarcere, astfel ca o sa citez acum, in dezamagirea celor care voiau sa ma citeasca mai mult pe mine, si ii/le enerveaza citatele :)
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Mai degraba oamenii de rand au avut presentimentul viitorului deszastru. Prin ce? Prin nelinistea morala provocata, poate, de sentimentul pacatului, al insuficientei credinte, al culpei: nu traim bine, viata noastra nu e curata, nu e frumoasa, o sa platim pentru asta.>>
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In al doilea rand, cimitirul e mai aproape de vederea omului, si perspectiva lui il face pe om mai senin, fiindca stie ce-l asteapta. Cu alte cuvinte, omul imi pare intr-o astfel de colectivitate mai liber, in timp ce in marile aglomerari se crede nemuritor. Or, cine nu-si cunoaste conditia e mai robit de ea, mai captiv, prins cum e intr-un program de ucidere a timpului care il abate fara gres de la reflectie si castigarea unui echilibru biruitor. Ma feresc sa var in toate acestea soarele si spatiul, zapezile si alte elemente, in mijlocul carora copii nostri ar creste apropiati de natura si bine pregatiti in lupta cu mediul. Argumentatia mea tinteste numai la individualismul feroce, care se hraneste nestingherit din inimile unora din noi, in singuratatea blocurilor confortabile sau nu, in care ne refugiem zilnic, si din care zadarnic navalim tot zilnic deambuland pe strazi si bulevarte, in cautarea, cine stie, a unei fraternitati, dupa care tanjim! Acolo, omul e acasa pe orice ulita, il gasesti peste tot: ce faci, Ilie, ce faci, Gheorghe? Si nu se poate sa nu simti o cumplita invidie cand te uiti si le vezi privirile licarind de o mare si mereu proaspata incantare, intensa si aproape inexplicabila, secret, poate, al dezvaluirii sufletului, al deschiderii usilor lui ascunse, eliberand spiritul de patimi si oferindu-i satisfactia contemplarii. Asa zis-a disimulare, de care s-a vorbit, e o observatie adevarata, dar dinafara. Ei intre ei nu cunosc aceste ziduri ale incomunicabilitatii. Omul se uita la om si se bucura, iata o descoperire pe care uitasem s-o mai fac! Si sa nu redeti ca in acest sentiment nu intra sau se ignora ceea ce a cucerit omul care traieste in marile aglomerari, gravitatea pe care o da lupta pentru existenta, ironia in observarea moravurilor, conversatia sclipitoare, curiozitatea avida pentru viata planete. Au televizoare si aparate de radio.
Imi vine in minte ideea sa fac o statistica simpla si sa intreb pe unul de-acolo si pe unul de-aici, cati oameni cunoaste fiecare. Cati oameni "cunoaste" si nu cate "cunostinte" are. Ma tem ca lista omului marilor aglomerari va fi mai mica in oameni pe care i-ar cunoaste si s-ar bucura sa-i vada zilnic, si lunga de tot felul de cunostinte pe care nu doreste sa le vada decat din cand in cand. Si dimpotriva la cel de acolo, a carui lista ma tem ca ar fi mai bogata in oameni pe care chiar daca nu doreste sa-i vada zilnic ii vede totusi prin forta lucrurilor si reuseste sa faca din aceasta conditie, de care multi fug ingroziti, o mare victorie. Iar lista cunostintelor ar fi alba.>>
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Eroii lui Tolstoi si Dostoievski porneau deci zardarnic in cautarea inocentei pierdute. Nu voiau sa accepte maladia mortala, turmentati de banuiala ca daca renuntam la divinitate atunci vom ajunge sa gandim ca totul ne este permis.
Nu s-ar putea spune ca omul secolului nostru n-a gandit si astfel, dovada atrocitatile si ignominiile pe care le-a comis, crezand deci ca poate infaptui orice nelegiuire fara sa dea socoteala. Totusi, din calau a ajuns repede victima, si astfel a expiat, si sa speram ca am tras cu totii din asta destule invataminte ca sa ne treaca cheful de a le mai comite cel putin pentru o lunga perioada de timp. Fiindca a gandi ca totul ne este permis, in absenta unei divinitati care ne-ar pedepsi, nu inseamna ca scapam de pedeapsa. Pierim prim propriile noastre fapte, care declanseaza in lume, fara a le mai putea opri, dezordini colosale, care navalesc apoi asupra noastra cu forta implacabila a catastrofelor naturale. Sa ne purtam deci bine ca sa nu zdruncinam un echilibru (creat cu truda de civilizatia noastra), intre instincte si ratiune {Comentez: care, deja e intr-un proces rapid de dezechilibrare}. Si sa nu exaltam puterea nici a instinctelor, nici a ratiunii, sau sa le negam pe rand.>>
- - -
Am reusit, sper, cu ajutorul autorului, sa exprim o parte din ceea ce doresc. Simt ca lumea o ia razna din cauza atatei informatii care se perinda prin jur, si din aceasta cauza multi oameni ajung sa aiba diverse probleme psihice, sau sa coboare spre a gandi fara sa simta. Oameni buni, a simti e omeneste, si, in plus, instinctele sunt ceea ce te tin in viata! Chiar daca nu crezi, studiile arata ca daca ar trebui sa gandesti ca sa-ti retragi mana cand te arzi, ar putea fi prea tarziu. Deci fi recunoscator si valorifica-ti, multumeste-ti aceste instincte.
Imi pare rau ca nu am reusit sa mai citesc in ultima vreme, mi-as fi dorit sa pot exprima ceva nou si simtit puternic de mine. Acum tot ceea ce simt e ca viata se intoarce incet spre viitor. Ca si cum pana in momentul de fata am stat cu capul in pamant si mi-am vazut doar picioarele, desi constientizam ca am capul astfel. Diferenta intre asta si copilarie, e ca in copilarie nu vezi mai departe decat atat, si nu constientizezi ca existenta ta inseamna ceva. Totul e simplu, totul e frumos.
Exista un secret al tineretii interioare, si exista acelasi secret care iti ofera si fericire in viata: sa simti totul si sa gandesti totul ca si cum ar fi pentru prima data. Tot ce faci e sa acumulezi cat mai multe puncte de vedere, sa simti, sa vezi totul din toate perspectivele, sau dintr-una noua. Sa reanalizezi totul, sa te consulti, si aici fac precum Coelho: sa-ti intrebi inima. Atunci cand iei o decizie, cand suporti un fapt, daca reusesti sa privesti totul din nou, ca si la matematica, ca si intr-un eseu: sa o iei de la capat functioneaza numai daca uiti ce ai scris anterior. Exact la fel ca o mancare: hai ca o mai dreg cu niste sare, nu se mai simte ca-i amara; sau ca o haina: cos peste asta si nu se vede ca-i defect materialul. Dar nu-i asa. Picatura cu picatura ajungem intr-o lume intoarsa pe dos. Ce inseamna sa fii tanar? Nu stiu exact, dar se poate spune ca esti tanar atunci cand nu se vede ca a trecut viata peste tine, cand timpul nu si-a lasat amprenta. Oamenii cu sufletul tanar sunt de multe ori cei care sufera mult. Nu cat sa innebuneasca, dar uneori suferinta e buna, mentine in viata inima, simtirea. Trairile, de orice fel, tulbura monotonia vietii. Si de asta sunt bune.
Am ajuns sa fiu obosit, asa ca trebuie sa ma dorm mult in zilele urmatoare. E foarte ciudat faptul ca dimineata ma scol cu o stare putin apasatoare, inconjurat parca de o slaba mohorare, posibil si din cauza ca e intuneric, si mi-e dor de soare. Si pe parcursul vietii simt atat de multe, ca si cum am o viata aglomerata. Seara sunt fericit. Si atunci imi dau seama ca am folosit timpul prea mult pentru a ma gandi la sarcini, la ce-am de facut si la probleme, si prea putin la fericirea pe care o aduc in viata mea prietenii, ocupatiile, si relatiile cu oamenii si lumea in general.
Mi s-a spus ca sunt prea nemultumit de mine, deseori. Recunosc asta, insa am tendinta sa ma indrept spre anumite drumuri. Fiindca am multe decizii de facut in fiecare zi. Asa e viata acum, mai ales fiind atat de multi oameni. Si mi-e foarte usor, la varsta asta, sa alunec pe un drum mai mult decat pe altul. Plus ca de multe ori simt nevoia sa iau o pauza de la atata informatie si sa contemplu lumea si pe mine. Sau sa fac mai mult din ceva desi stiu ca ar trebui sa fac altceva, ambelel la fel de utile, poate. Nu patesti la fel?
Inchei aici, timpul mi-o cere, dar te las cu inca o adunatura de citate, mai putine dar, sper eu, mai dragute.
Truly great madness cannot be achieved without significant intelligence.
-- Henrik Tikkanen
Daca nu o dovedeste suficient literatura, pentru mine este clar ca prea multa cunoastere si prea putina putere si vointa in suflet (si nu numai) te determina sa renunti la viata aceasta "lumeasca" si sa cazi in altceva. Si cu cat esti mai inteligent cu atat poti scorni o nebunie mai autentica, originala, adevarata.
Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.
-- Sidney J. Harris
Este mult mai usor sa-ti accepti greselile, decat sa eviti sa le faci si astfel sa pierzi nu numai experienta de a gresi, dar si cea de a reusi. Iar toate greselile din lume merita in fata unui drum dificil, pentru ca recompensa este deseori cunoastere si iubire. Si stim cat de greu este sa fii singur, sa nu fi iubit.
It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.
- Epictetus
Geniale cuvintele. Sa privesti ca un necunoscator ceva iti aduce o impresie adevarata asupra acelui eveniment, te caracterizeaza. Si atunci cand crezi ca stii ceva anume, nu inveti la fel de bine, percepi mai putin, pentru ca ti se pare inutil sa mai inveti o data...
Man is the only creature that strives to surpass himself, and yearns for the impossible.
- Eric Hoffer, 1902 - 1983
In lunga noastra existenta, ne-am aventurat in depasirea a ceea ce stim, si in perceperea noastra si a intregii lumi in adevaratul ei sens. Pana si literatura face parte din om, la fel ca orice alta incursiune in cautarea adevarului...
Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.
-- Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love, 1963
Exact asa simt si eu, ca am ramas in urma cu moralul, cu sentimentele. Totul e la fel de posibil acum precum era si inainte, doar ca a crescut prea mult o parte, cea stiintifica, in timp ce spiritualul a ramas mic.
Nothing is said that has not been said before.
-- Terence
Nu cauta sa spui ceva nou. Cauta sa fii original in alt fel. Insasi existenta ta e originala, deci ai o parte din problema rezolvata. Diferenta intre ce spui tu si ce-a fost spus inainte poate fi foarte mica, dar, chiar daca posibilitatile par finite, nimeni nu a reusit sa imite pe altcineva in totalitate.
Only reason can convince us of those three fundamental truths without a recognition of which there can be no effective liberty: that what we believe is not necessarily true; that what we like is not necessarily good; and that all questions are open.
- Arthur Clive Howard Bell, 1881 - 1964
Fara prejudecati. Fara preconceptii. Sa luam totul de la capat cu fiecare intrebare, cu fiecare intamplare.
Liberty is the possibility of doubting, the possibility of making a mistake, the possibility of searching and experimenting, the possibility of saying No to any authority - literary, artistic, philosophic, religious, social and even political.
- Ignazio Silone
Am ajuns sa facem din libertatea pe care o doreau cu ardoare stramosii nostri un act de disconsiderare fata de ceilalti si de natura, prin poluare, invective in limbaj, lipsa de respect, etc. Intr-adevar, cel mai important aspect al libertatii e posibilitatea de a te manifesta asa cum esti, si de a nu-ti fi frica ca vei fi pedepsit pentru orice ai face...
"Mistakes are a fact of life. It is the response to error that counts." - Nikki Giovanni (1943~) American Author, Poet
In cele din urma, diferenta fundamentala intre doi oameni care gresesc poate fi ca unul merge mai departe si celalalt nu.
"We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give." - Winston Churchill - End of Chapter twelve
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Libelula
Martin Page - Libelula
Fragment, flashback al lui Fio Regale:
Ea avea treisprezece ani. Un tanar adolescent venise spre ea, de foarte departe, pentru ca totul se intamplase demult. Ea privea copertile cartilor de la biblioteca municipala din Nantes, cu speranta ca vreuna ii va face cu ochiul. Baiatul era imbracat ca si cum n-ar fi facut-o intr-adins, camasa ii iesea de sub puloverul vechi, sireturile nu mai fusesera legate de vreo cateva furtuni incoace, iar pantalonii de catifea maro, prea largi, erau patati. Scena se petrecea intr-o sambata dimineata, in ziua cand ea uita intotdeauna drumul spre liceu si chiulea de la ora de muzica a unui profesor care avea o diploma ce il autoriza sa umileasca elevii mai putin convinsi de necesitatea de a canta mlodii de Joe Dassin la flaut. Biatul ii zise pardon si cu o voce dulce si un pic ezitanta o intreba daca biblioteca avea intre rafturile sale un locsor unde ar fi putut trai volumele de poeme ale lui S. In epoca aceea maduva spinarii lui Fio decisese deja ca S. va fi poetul ei favorit. Aceasta intalnire cu un baiat de varsta ei care ii impartasea pasiunea era atat de incredibila incat nici nu fusese surprinsa. Fio fusese mereu mult mai mirata de lucrurile banale si pe care ceilalti le gaseau normale, de acele intalniri prevazute, de destinele strabatute dinainte de frazele de-a gata care ieseau din frumoase capete durdulii. Il atrase catre fisierul alfabetic care dadea pe din afara de nume incepand cu toate literele alfabetului si a carui singura calitate era adesea chiar asta. Gasira ceea ce asteptau: in aceasta mare biblioteca municipala, cartile despre trompete si nave spatiale, romanele care cresc in temnite, eseurile despre exact toate subiectele... toate aceste carti prosperau. Dar nu era nici o carte de S. Baiatul si Fio nu fura dezamagiti sa descopera ca stiusera dinainte cat de sterila avea sa le fie cautarea. Dar se intalnisera datorita lui S., se intalnisera, si pentru Fio nu mai era important sa stie daca poemele lui existau, daca poetul acesta strabatuse el insusi malurile lacului Genevei. Discutara cateva clipe, clipe in care Pamantul se invarte de tot atatea ori in jurul Soarelui. Baiatul se inscrise la biblioteca, Fio ii auzi numele si il agata de o suvita a memoriei sale, ca pe un origami. O intreba daca venea des, ea raspunse da, o intreba ai sa fii aici sambata viitoare la aceeasi ora, ea raspunse da.
Sambata urmatoare, un profesor o retinu suficient ca sa ajunga la timp la destinul ei ratat. Il astepta pe baiat ore in sir, dar fara sa dea impresia ca o face, fara sa isi dea seama ea insai de asta. Numai dupa cativa ani isi dadu seama ea ca nu ramasese ca sa citeasca volumul acela gros dspre testoasele de mare. Poate ca era prea mandra ca sa astepte pe cineva, poate ca era prea individualista pentru a astepta ceva de la cineva, sau poate era prea lucida ca sa stie ca lucrurile astea nu exista, aceste intalniri reusite ale unor fiinte care nu mai sunt copii, dar nici nu sunt inca adulti. Constatase adesea ca viata stie mereu sa fie la inaltimea viselor sfaramate. Asemenea momente se nasc pentru a fi tradate de realitate si pentru a fauri fiinte care vor gasi in ele mai tarziu justificarea propriei lasitati.
In anii care au urmat, sfarsise prin a crede ca baiatul fusese un vis si ca, in fond, asta se potrivea cu obrajii lui palizi. In ziua celei de-a optsprezecea aniversari, FIo cauta nitelus distrata numarul de telefon al visului ei intr-o carte de telefoane reala. Ii scrise o scrisoare relatandu-i ziua intalnirii lor. El i raspunse ca isi amintea si ca ii va face placere sa o revada. Se reintalnire intr-un parc. Nu se cunosteau, dar se recunoscura de indata si isi vorbira ca si cum nu s-ar fi despartit decat ieri, ca si cum in acesti ani prietenia lor hibernase. Un tanar inalt, elegant, rodise si crescuse din vechiul baiat prost imbracat; timiditatea lui fusese zdrobita sub buldozerul relatiilor umane; anii ii pieptanasera parul si ii calcasera hainele; reusita ii alterase gesturile stangace, dandu-i maniere gratioase. Devenise vecinul de vizavi, prietenul fetei din randul al treilea, baiatul cu sortul rosu care marcheaza punctul decisiv intr-un turneu universitar de baschet... Adica devenise aproape un oricine.
Exista fiinte pe care le asasinezi obligandu-le sa existe. Uneori, nu trebuie sa li se permita oamenilor sa fie vii, chiar daca asta inseamna sa nu traiasca decat din mangaieri tesute cu partea cea mai taioasa a aerului. Nu ca Fio ar prefera visele fiintelor reale, dar gasea ca visele aveau o conversatie mai interesanta si mainile mai calde. Stia ca era o greseala sa le confunde, unele din amicele ei sparsesera destule lacrimi pe mirajul aceta. Fio nu gasise aproape niciodata destula realitate in persoanele reale. In general, i se pareau rau imaginate, ca niste fictiuni fotocopiate si decolorate la spalat. Baiatul nu mai semana cu o amintire. In noaptea de dupa noiembrie, era decembrie; desteptatorul pus pe podeaua camerei ei sunase si a fost iarna.
Monday, May 15, 2006
[The beggar] Part five
Go To:
Part onePart two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Behind the scenes!
* * * Part five * * *
He hadn't felt this lonely since he was eighteen. But why? What had happened? And what was the point of his wife's death, and his daughter being lost? He could not submit to all this, he did not wish to run away. His life so far had been such a blessing!
Every day, he sat around, thinking about his life. And during this, he was dreaming. He dreamt a lot - and, after all, what helps you dream more than love? He loved his wife and daughter.
'At least I should be happy I survived', he thought. His name was Thomas, but he was used to being called Tom.
Tom lived alone now, in a flat. It wasn't much of a living, actually, and he spent more time away than at home. His place had only one room and a small bathroom. He mostly spends his time out in the city - doing only he knows what. His neighbors don't know much about him. Thinking about this, he realized how much has changed since the accident: his whole life, apparently.
It took some time for the tragedy to sink in, but, eventually, he began to take walks, and think, and dream - like he used to, only now he was alone. He enjoyed thinking about the past; but, after some time, he felt it was wrong: Tom wanted to move on. He wished he could find a purpose for his leaving again. Why couldn't it be love?
'It's too painful to go back to my spiritual life. I can't face it, I'll never be as honest and calm as I was.' He could feel his heart wasn't beating as slowly and imperceptibly as it did in his happy, fullfilling past. Somehow, he still wished to be of use. And he wanted his use to express his inner self.
So he traveled much of his time. During days, or nights, Thomas wandered around the city looking for something - even he didn't know what that was. But during those times, he felt the city's heartbeat, and the hundreds of thousands (even millions) of human beings walking its paths. It was forever alive, never dead. How could he not survive? Life was all around him.
'To be fair, it's not the kind of life I'm interested in, but perhaps I can be.'
So he tried. He spent weeks around the city without coming back home, looking at people, trying to see what life is all about. Maybe this way he could understand more; and he was in no rush - Tom had nothing to lose. Nothing but his life.
After a while he enjoyed this traveling, and he thought he could show the world what he sees. He could show them the real city. But how? He couldn't be happy ever again, and that's how it felt.
'So, how about expressing it indirectly', he thought.
It was worth a chance, and Tom decided to be an artist. He did not wish to be succesful, he wished to see the world in his work, and maybe others could see it too!
So he began. Wandering the streets, in search for nothing but himself. The city was an infinite source.
Somehow, he didn't know why, he always returned home by tram. He enjoyed the ride, and tram drivers were much more pleasant than any others. They were quiet people, relaxed, kind, and willing to talk to him. In doing this, he became friends with many, many people. Always, when a tram passed by him, the driver said 'hi', or 'hello', or 'good day', and he replied. On the road back, he showed them his work, and each of them had a different opinion from the others, and always encouraged him. He started to know a little bit about the lives of all of them, but one had it quite similar to his own.
His name was Bernard, but everyone called him Ben. He had two children - a boy and a girl, both had moved away some time ago, and he had lost his wife too, long before Tom did. They got along really well, and Tom saw that his presence always lifted Bernard's mood. He looked better then the day they had met.
'At first, I had thought you were a beggar', Ben confessed.
'I was a tram driver myself. But I'm not surprised that you thought so, honestly. I haven't worn different clothes since I lost my wife. I'm raising money to buy some, soon.'
Tom was poor. He had lost his job the day after the accident - he was so desperate he couldn't go to work. He was depressed. God only knows how many days passed until he could come back to his senses. Now he raised money by selling some of his work cheaply. It seems he had a gift for it, because people usually asked him for orders. He did decoratives to sell - all sorts of objects, and, of course, he could do something they asked for. But only if it didn't take much time. He was devoted to art, and he did not want to be paid for specific things. He wanted to work freely, like any artist would. And he didn't charge much: only as much as he needed to make a living.
---
'Was there anyone else involved in the accident?' he asked dad, hoping he'll get a useful answer. He didn't want his father to know why, he didn't want to trouble him. Not when he was just getting back on his feet. It's been a long time since their mom's death, and this is the first serious attempt to move on he had done.
'Not that I can remember. And I can't remember much.'
Andrew looked around their house. The place had changed. He bought some things, and it looked like he planned to do work at home as well. They sat and talked.
'What are all these for?' Andrew wondered.
'I'm trying to paint some things. I've got this friend, he gave me the idea. And I said why not? It'll give me something to do. So I'll give it a shot.'
'That's great. I'm really glad you have a preoccupation. You needed one.'
His son was sad, and he could see that. Bernard made the decision:
'Listen, son. I've been waiting to tell you this for quite some time: you can live on your own now. I think you should. You've been the best child I could ask for, but you need to move on. I'm much better, as you see, and I can handle living alone from now on.'
'Can I really?' Andrew had waited for this, somehow. He wished to move away, and he could come see his father at anytime. Maybe he'd move in with his sister and Susan for a while, he liked the idea.
'Of course! I'll be alright. I can even help you pack, when you're ready.'
'I'll let you know', spoke Andrew.
He thought he'll ask Lilith to share her room. 'What a great idea', he told himself; he felt this way he could spend more time with Susan. With school and his father, he wasn't able to meet her that often. Maybe this way he could be there when she was depressed, and he could help Susan get over her loss.
'Dad... Thanks!'
TO BE CONTINUED...
Sunday, May 14, 2006
[New story] "Orice mai bun" - Chapter eleven
Cate am aflat de-a lungul acestei indelungate perioade de tacere imi pare mai mult decat am invatat despre mine si despre viata in orice alt interval de timp, de cand m-am nascut. Am avut la un moment dat senzatia ca nu stiu ce fac. Ca ma indrept aiurea... Nu-mi place asta. De obicei cand se intampla, ma opresc si meditez asupra situatiei in care ma aflu, incerc sa-mi regasesc parti din mine si sa-mi intregesc persoana cu noi conceptii, noi simturi, noi realizari.
Nimic nu e mai presus decat simtirea. Sentimentele sunt cele ce ma readuc intotdeauna spre suprafata. In lumea asta intoarsa pe dos, in anumite momente catastrofala, apocaliptica, sa-i plangi de mila, numai inima te mai pastreaza om. Fie ea existenta sau nu. Iar inima simte cel mai mult prin dragoste si pasiune.
Sunt in clasa a 12a si nu m-am simtit prea stresat de bac. Problema nu e bacul... problema sunt eu. Eu si viitorul meu. Ma intreb ce se va intampla, cateodata. Imi place sa stiu la ce sa ma astept, chiar daca ma gandesc ca astept necunoscutul. Ma intreb daca tu simti ceva in textul meu, cand citesti. Eu simt. Cel putin asa cred. Adica simt.
Viata alaturi de clasa 12a nu e grea. E tensionata. De fapt, e mai usoara decat clasa a 11a, considerand faptele si numai faptele, pentru ca e un an recapitulativ. Insa sarcinile se inmultesc, responsabilitatea creste, si realizarea ca urmeaza o facultate imediat urmata de un job, poate chiar sincronizata cu unul, impreuna cu viata, in general, si timpul care s-a scurs, toate acestea forteaza o maturizare pe care noi, ca niste copii obisnuiti mai mult sau mai putin cu dificultatea vietii, cu atat mai mult in Romania, o resimtim adanc, socant, si indelung, pana cand iesim din transa si ne bucuram de facultate. Dar nu toti sunt stresati...
Insa, in opinia mea, anul acesta toti din clasa ne-am schimbat enorm. In general spre foarte bine... Am senzatia ca ne aparam de viitor printr-un sictir manifestat fata de profesori si scoala in general. Ca ne dorim sa treaca sau sa ne intoarcem, intr-un fel. Ca profitam si evitam. Ca ne schimbam sub presiune. Si trebuie sa ne descarcam... Eu asta mi-am propus pentru viitorul apropiat.
Ultimele luni au fost pline de documentare. Saptamanal ma uit la cate unul... Dupa ce am inceput cu seria How It's Made, de pe Discovery Channel, si am realizat cat de complex lucreaza o fabrica, si evolutia pe care a dat-o masina, electricitatea, omului, am ramas socat de descoperirile din chihlimbar si de nasterea prezentata pe viu, precum si de prabusirea clasicii genetici din biologia noastra de la scoala, m-am gandit foarte mult la viata, la ce se intampla. La general, si la mine si cei apropiati mie. Oriunde ma indrept, pana la urma, ma apropii de ceva si ma indepartez de altceva. In viata mea urmaresc sa inteleg ceea ce mi se intampla, si ceea ce imi doresc sa fac. Eu vreau sa simt mereu, sa nu imi pierd simtirea. Se poate. Si e rau.
Atatea impresii, atatea sentimente... am senzatia ca anul asta am evitat sa simt prea mult. Mi-a fost frica sa-mi fie frica, si m-am inchis putin in mine, iarasi. Dar am simtit iubire. Si caldura. Am primit si am incercat sa ofer ceea ce necesit eu si ce-i ajuta pe cei dragi. Dar asta nu a fost totul. Am realizat ca ma indrept spre viitorul meu. M-am gandit la ce urmeaza, la cate urmeaza. Sunt atatea de indeplinit, si totusi am curajul sa afirm ca nu mi-e teama de gandurile mele. Ma mai descurajez, dar entuziasmul unei vieti de vis, unei indepliniri de dorinte si urmarii unei cai pe care cred si simt ca am puterea sa mi-o creez, e minunat. Viata alaturi de lume e interesanta.
Imi displac profund oamenii care nu pretuiesc existenta celorlalte fiinte asa cum se cuvine. Fara discutie, fara ceilalti n-ai avea ce sa faci. Atunci de ce sa-i iei ca pe niste existente inerente, ca si cum ei nu merita recunostinta. Fiecare individ merita respect pentru ca exista. Umanitatea isi merita soarta si intamplarile, pentru ca se afla intr-o lume echilibrata. Daca s-ar fi dovedit ca, in absenta omului, lumea s-ar schimba mult de una singura, atunci nu mai puteam afirma acelasi lucru. Insa faptul ca omul aduce schimbarea acolo unde traieste implica responsabilitate si consecinte. Evolutia e si involutie. Oricum ar fi, totul se transforma si, pana la urma, va fi mereu si bine si rau. Modernismul doreste bine. Mijloacele sunt inca deplorabile, dar conditiile sunt imbunatatite. Sincer, singura mea ingrijorare majora este populatia. Prea multi oameni, si simt ca nu mai trebuie sa continuam cu construirea de zgarie nori. Nu e in regula sa ajungem 10-20 de miliarde de oameni pe planeta. E aberant. E exagerat. Am suge-o de resurse... Mila, oameni, mila! Nu permiteti asa ceva, va rog! (oricum in Romania nu tre sa ne facem griji. dar daca vin chinezii...)
Am strans, de cand nu am mai scris, o sumedenie de citate. Toate sunt incluse aici. Sper sa-ti placa, am selectat doar ceea ce mi-a trezit interes, doar ceea ce simt. Vreau sa simt, tot mai mult si mai mult. Si sper sa nu fie tristete... Apropos de care, e ciudat: atunci cand trece o perioada lunga cu fericire statica (adica fara sa-mi trezeasca nimic mai mult decat starea de liniste, calm, si bucurie ca totul este asa), parca senzatia se plafoneaza, parca ma intristez ca nu se intampla o schimbare; poate fiindca sunt adolescent. In orice caz, simt nevoia ca viata sa evolueze. Nu foarte repede, fiindca ma plictisesc greu. E frumos sa traiesti din plin fiecare eveniment. Pe cat mai multe parti. Apropos de care (gata, ma declar priceput in devieri de la subiect, si de la orice in general :D), in conceptia mea, omul nu este capabil sa inteleaga si expuna cu adevarat parerea despre ceva, sau mai bine formulat sa aiba o parere justa, decat atunci cand are la cunostinta foarte multe interpretari si puncte de vedere asupra aceluiasi subiect... Spre exemplu eu inca nu sunt in stare sa-mi exprim parerea despre religie, dar simt ca cunosc mult mai multe despre aceasta natura a omului pe masura ce confrunt istoria si observ ceea ce a manifestat omul de-a lungul veacurilor. Revenind... Asadar, confrutand atatea experiente si atatea idei, prin documentare, idei, colegi, pareri, decizii, si fel de fel de oportunitati, simt ca viata ma poarta iarasi spre salvarea sinelui. Ma bucur ca am in mine aceasta orientare, si multumesc intamplarilor si tuturor oamenilor care ma fac sa realizez greselile atunci cand ma indrept spre rau. In cele din urma, daca dragoste nu e, nimic nu e!
M-am intrebat de multe ori daca nu sunt cam ipocrit. Sau ma insel pe mine. Am tendinta sa ma mint, sau sa actionez fara sa simt ceva, uneori, convins fiind ca ma voi descurca. Eu cred si simt ceea ce cred. Pe asta se bazeaza unele actiuni ale mele, si unele decizii. Daca imi doresc sa fac ceva, incep sa-l simt, dar uneori dupa ce-l fac. Si stiind asta, ma urmez pe mine inainte sa simt, si astfel mi se pare ca sunt intors pe dos. Dar realizez multe astfel, si reusesc sa imi indeplinesc telurile si sa inteleg si sa simt, si asta rascumpara, ma face sa-mi dau seama ca faptele si gandurile sunt mult mai strans legate intre ele. Principiile sunt principii, dar imbinate in asa fel incat imi permit sa-i ajut pe toti cat mai mult. Cel putin asa sper... Oricum, constientizez ca sunt inca incapabil sa dau tot ce pot pentru o durata prea mare.
Stiu si am observat ca daca tratezi ceva ca pe unu lucru deja realizat, daca ai senzatia ca ceea ce ai in fata de facut o sa faci, si te vezi facand, pornesti deja cu un pas in fata. Asta inseamna sa fii optimist, sa crezi in tine: sa faci ceva inainte sa ti se dea. Sa gandesti inaintea problemei. Si sa simti asta... pasiunea, iubirea, si cunoasterea. Sunt de pret, si viata e foarte frumoasa alaturi de ele.
In cele din urma, ceea ce ne dorim se afla in interiorul nostru. Curaj, si fericire. Esti o persoana buna, asa cred. Urmeaza-ti calea si asculta tot ce ti se intampla. Gandeste, simte, evalueaza, expune-ti parerea si convingerile. Iubeste cat mai mult. Si incearca sa eviti tristetea inutila...
Nu comentez niciunul (de la un prieten, conform noului indreptar, se scrie intr-un cuvant) din citatele urmatoare, dar multe au tangenta cu ceea ce cred eu. Enjoy!
"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." - Cyril Connolly
"Programming today is a race between software engineers striving to build bigger and better idiot-proof programs, and the Universe trying to produce bigger and better idiots. So far, the Universe is winning." - Rich Cook
"If you would be known, and not know, vegetate in a village; If you would know, and not be known, live in a city." - Charles Caleb Colton
"A preoccupation with the future not only prevents us from seeing the present as it is but often prompts us to rearrange the past." - Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind, 1954
"I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't think you can measure life in terms of years. I think longevity doesn't necessarily have anything to do with happiness. I mean happiness comes from facing challenges and going out on a limb and taking risks. If you're not willing to take a risk for something you really care about, you might as well be dead." - Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Northern Lights, 1993
"There's so much pollution in the air now that if it weren't for our lungs there'd be no place to put it all." - Robert Orben
"We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people." - Arthur Schopenhauer
"The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of matter and of the stars, but that within this prison we can draw from ourselves images powerful enough to deny our nothingness." - Andre Malraux
"Personality can open doors, but only character can keep them open." - Elmer G. Letterman
"I am where I am because I believe in all possibilities." - Whoopi Goldberg
"The greatest challenge in life is to find someone who knows all your flaws and differences and yet still willingly embraces you with so much love."
"There are painters who transform the sun to a yellow spot, but there are others who with the help of their art and their intelligence, transform a yellow spot into the sun." - Pablo Picasso
"I daresay one profits more by the mistakes one makes off one's own bat than by doing the right thing on somebody's else advice." - W. Somerset Maugham, 'Of Human Bondage', 191
"They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse." - Emily Dickinson
"Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons, and you will find that it is to the soul what the water bath is to the body." - Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here, as what you do after you arrive." - Lois McMaster Bujold, "Barrayar", 1991
"I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's mortality." - James Joyce (1882-1941) Irish Novelist, Poet, Playwright
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler." - Henry David Thoreau
"The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience." - Eleanor Roosevelt
"You know you’ve achieved perfection in design, not when you have nothing more to add, but when you have nothing more to take away." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
"Adventure isn't hanging on a rope off the side of a mountain. Adventure is an attitude that we must apply to the day-to-day obstacles of life: facing new challenges, seizing new opportunities, testing our resources against the unknown and, in the process, discovering our own unique potential."
- John Amatt
"I would rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief." - Gerry Spence, 'How to Argue and Win Every Time'
"Remember that nobody will ever get ahead of you as long as he is kicking you in the seat of the pants." - Walter Winchell
"Don't throw away the old bucket until you know whether the new one holds water." - Swedish Proverb
"Those who do not feel pain seldom think that it is felt. [The Rambler]" - Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) English Author, Lexicographer
"A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity." - Alexander Pope (1688-1744) English Satirical Poet, Critic, Translator
"The art is a lie that approaches us to the truth. [El arte es una mentira que nos acerca a la verdad.]" - Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) Spanish Painter, Sculptor
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved." - Victor Hugo
"Most people would rather be certain they're miserable than risk being happy." -- Robert Anthony
"If something anticipated arrives too late it finds us numb, wrung out from waiting, and we feel - nothing at all. The best things arrive on time." - Dorothy Gilman, A New Kind of Country, 1978
"Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity; so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand." - Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American Essayist, Poet, Naturalist
"A great many people think they are thinking when they are really rearranging their prejudices." - Edward R. Murrow
"Where do we come from? How did the universe begin? Why is the universe the way it is? How will it end?
"All my life, I have been fascinated by the big questions that face us, and have tried to find scientific answers to them. If, like me, you have looked at the stars, and tried to make sense of what you see, you too have started to wonder what makes the universe exist. The questions are clear, and deceptively simple. But the answers have always seemed well beyond our reach. Until now.
"The ideas which had grown over two thousand years of observation have had to be radically revised. In less than a hundred years, we have found a new way to think of ourselves. From sitting at the center of the universe, we now find ourselves orbiting an average-sized sun, which is just one of millions of stars in our own Milky Way galaxy. And our galaxy itself is just one of billions of galaxies, in a universe that is infinite and expanding. But this is far from the end of a long history of inquiry. Huge questions remain to be answered, before we can hope to have a complete picture of the universe we live in.
"I want you to share my excitement at the discoveries, past and present, which have revolutionized the way we think. From the Big Bang to black holes, from dark matter to a possible Big Crunch, our image of the universe today is full of strange sounding ideas, and remarkable truths. The story of how we arrived at this picture is the story of learning to understand what we see."
--STEPHEN HAWKING
A huge set of quotes, coming right up:
The word 'meaningful' when used today is nearly always meaningless.
-- Paul Johnson
If all the world's a stage, I want to operate the trap door.
-- Paul Beatty
Life is a zoo in a jungle.
-- Peter De Vries
I used to believe that marriage would diminish me, reduce my options. That you had to be someone less to live with someone else when, of course, you have to be someone more.
-- Candice Bergen
Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.
-- Robert Bresson
We can be sure that the greatest hope for maintaining equilibrium in the face of any situation rests within ourselves.
-- Francis J. Braceland, O Magazine, April 2003
A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her...but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account.
-- W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence
"All necessary truth is its own evidence." - Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) American Poet, Essayist
To me, old age is always 15 years older than I am.
-- Bernard M. Baruch, 1940
Whenever I hear, 'It can't be done,' I know I'm close to success.
-- Michael Flatley, (Lord of the Dance) quoted by Eric Celeste
There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia today, flesh and blood tomorrow.
-- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, 1862
All of us learn to write in the second grade. Most of us go on to greater things.
-- Bobby Knight
"As scarce as truth is, the supply has always been in excess of the demand." - Josh Billings (1818-1885) [Henry Wheeler Shaw] American Humorist
People seldom become famous for what they say until after they are famous for what they've done.
-- Cullen Hightower
Passion kept one fully in the present, so that time became a series of mutually exclusive 'nows.'
-- Sue Halpern, O Magazine, September 2003
Genius is one percent inspiration and ninty-nine percent perspiration.
Restlessness and discontent are the first necessities of progress.
Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.
- All from Thomas Alva Edison, 1847 - 1931
"Every normal person, in fact, is only normal on the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other and to a greater or lesser extent." - Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) Austrian Physician, Founder of Psychoanalysis
If you haven't found something strange during the day, it hasn't been much of a day.
-- John A. Wheeler
I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult.
-- Rita Rudner
You know that children are growing up when they start asking questions that have answers.
-- John J. Plomp
If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?
-- Laurence J. Peter
The Religion that is afraid of science dishonors God and commits suicide.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803 - 1882
Technology is a gift of God. After the gift of life it is perhaps the greatest of God's gifts. It is the mother of civilizations, of arts and of sciences.
- Freeman John Dyson
"When you cease to dream you cease to live." - Malcolm S. Forbes (1919-1990) American Publisher,
Businessman
"Any technological advance can be dangerous. Fire was dangerous from the start, and so (even more
so) was speech - and both are still dangerous to this day - but human beings would not be human
without them." - Isaac Asimov (1920-1992) Russian-born American Biochemist, Science Fiction Writer
"The Image is more than an idea. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with
energy." - Ezra Pound (1885-1972) American Poet, Critic, Translator
Maybe this world is another planet's hell.
-- Aldous Huxley
If life was fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.
-- Johnny Carson
It is the passion that is in a kiss that gives to it its sweetness; it is the affection in a kiss that sanctifies it.
- Christian Nevell Bovee, 1820 - 1904
There is time for work. And there is time for love. That leaves no other time.
- Coco Chanel, 1883 - 1971
Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so.
- David Grayson
Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it.... It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.
- Erica Jong
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything.
- Katharine Hepburn, 1907 - 2003
There is the same difference in a person before and after he is in love, as there is in an unlighted lamp and one that is burning.
- Vincent van Gogh, 1853 - 1890
This one's so true!!! : There are no whole truths; all truths are half- truths. It is trying to treat them as whole truths that plays the devil.
-- Alfred North Whitehead
"We must not discriminate between things. Where things are concerned there are no class distinctions. We must pick out what is good for us where we can find it." - Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) Spanish Painter, Sculptor
The best effect of fine persons is felt after we have left their presence.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals, 1839
Love is the discovery of ourselves in others...
- Alexander Smith
Life is just a mirror, and what you see out there, you must first see inside of you.
-- Wally 'Famous' Amos
Your true value depends entirely on what you are compared with.
-- Bob Wells
Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience. Because of impatience we are driven out of Paradise; because of impatience we cannot return.
- Franz Kafka, 1883 - 1924
"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809-1894) American Poet, Wit, Essayist, Scholar
"Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in this life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from." - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (1926-2004) Swiss-born American Psychiatrist
Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth.
-- Katherine Mansfield
It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.
-- Agnes Repplier
"God will not look you over for medals, degrees, or diplomas, but for scars." - Elbert Green Hubbard (1856-1915) American Writer, Printer, Businessman
Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful.
-- Samuel Johnson
Life only demands from you the strength you possess. Only one feat is possible - not to have run away.
-- Dag Hammarskjold
Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.
-- Mark Twain
With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
-- Steven Weinberg, quoted in The New York Times, April 20, 1999
For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke
If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
-- Dorothy Parker
"How shall I be able to rule over others, that have not full power and command of myself?" -
Francois Rabelais (1495-1553) French Monk, Humorist, Satirist
When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.
-- Helen Keller
Remember that happiness is a way of travel - not a destination.
-- Roy M. Goodman
"In great countries, children are always trying to remain children, and the parents want to make them into adults. In vile countries, the children are always wanting to be adults and the parents want to keep them children." - John Ruskin (1819-1900) English Writer, Art Critic
If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time.
-- Edith Wharton
"People far prefer happiness to wisdom, but that is like wanting to be immortal without getting older." - Sydney J. Harris (1917-1986) Anglo-American Columnist, Journalist, Author
"My own experience and development deepen everyday my conviction that our moral progress may be measured by the degree in which we sympathize with individual suffering and individual joy." - George Eliot (1819-1880) [Mary Ann Evans] English Novelist, Poet
Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.
-- Harold Bloom, O Magazine, April 2003
Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
-- Iris Murdoch
What counts in making a happy marriage is not so much how compatible you are, but how you deal with incompatibility.
- George Levinger
We are here and it is now. Further than that all human knowledge is moonshine.
-- H. L. Mencken
The easiest kind of relationship for me is with ten thousand people. The hardest is with one.
-- Joan Baez
I never feel age...If you have creative work, you don't have age or time.
-- Louise Nevelson, 1980
Treat the other man's faith gently; it is all he has to believe with. His mind was created for his
own thoughts, not yours or mine.
-- Henry S. Haskins
When you reach for the stars you may not quite get one, but you won't come up with a handful of
mud either.
-- Leo Burnett
"Tot ce suntem noi sunt si ceilalti, intr-un fel sau altul. Dar si ceea ce ne deosebeste este totul." - End of Chapter eleven
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
[The beggar] Part four
Go To:
Part onePart two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part six
Behind the scenes!
The next morning Andrew was at the lake, with his dad.
'I want to ask you something. Here, look at this picture; do you know the guy?'
'I think I saw him before. But I remember he died in that accident, a couple of weeks ago', his father told him.
'Well... how do you know? You've seen him in the papers?', he asked, hopingly.
'Ahm, no. It wasn't in the news. I was there', spoke dad.
'Weren't you here? I was just going to meet you at the lake, when it happened, remember?'
'Of course, I remember. I was nearly killed too. All of a sudden someone pushed me out of the way. That was some accident...'
'Why didn't you tell me earlier, that you were almost killed?', he was a little upset.
'Because... I didn't want you to worry for nothing. I want you to be happy, you know. And I appreciate all this time you spent here with me, instead of moving away..."
He felt how real his father's care for him was. Inside him was now a warm, cozy feeling. 'There was still hope. It was worth it. I didn't stay with him for nothing. He really cares...' Andrew was no more upset, he felt appreciated, finally, by someone...
'Where have you been? We were supposed to meet at five, I was waiting for you... You got me worried. I thought you went in search for my father, instead of coming with nothing.', Susan told him, earnestly.
'I've got something interesting. I'm sorry I'm late, I just had a great time with my father. Wonderful, actually! He was much better than he usually is.'
Although he had spent more and more time with Susan for the past few weeks, he did meet his father every now and then. He could see he was changing, slightly. The talk he just had proved his suspicion. When he asked his father what lifted his moods, he told Andrew something about a beggar, poor guy who he had met during his job. That was the last thing they talked about, but then Andrew looked at the time and realized he was late. He ran back here, hoping she was still waiting.
'I've been waiting at this entrance for almost two hours.'
'I'm sorry. But I hope you'll forgive me, because, you see, I rarely have the chance to talk to my father like that. Time just ... flew by. I didn't realize it until the sun was really down... So, can we still go in?'
Forgive him? He was really nice, she thought. 'I've met nice boys before, but they never made me feel like this. And, judging by his breath, he really did run to meet me. He might actually think something of me. So, what's there to forgive?'
'Sure. But let's eat something, too. I'm a bit hungry with all this waiting...'
'Great! My treat. I'll tell you what my dad was like...'
So they ate, and talked, and she seemed livelier than usual. He might be able to ask her more, this time. She might accept his offer to help. She might get to like him, he thought. Time passed, as he told Susan what his father saw, what was he like, how great their time together was today. As he spoke, she realized how caring Andrew had to be, to spend time with his father like that, not leave him, nor push him in any manner. He was curious about the accident too, and his father told him things she didn't know about. For the first time in her life, she blushed easily at the thought of a boy being interested in her, and blushed even more when she thought he might have seen her. 'My God, things are happening really fast in my head. I mustn't hope too much. Even for a first love, I want to be certain', Susan told herself.
'Do you think you can tell me about the accident, and why you said it's not accidental?'
She pondered. Should she tell him? Why get anyone else involved? Wasn't it bad enough that she, Susan refused to let it go, when she should move on?
'I want to help you. Honestly.' he spoke again
'Okay, but this is a long story. We better get some more tea and biscuits.'
As Andrew went to the buffet, she couldn't figure out why she had said yes. Did she really want him in on this? But what's done is done. So he should know.... She knew, she felt he can understand. He can be with her. She might get over it, this way...
'No, I can't tell you everything yet. But I'll tell you some things', she spoke.
'Okay. First, how did you know about the accident before we did, that day?'
'I had found this note, from my dad.'
She pulled out a piece of paper, written by her dad. Mum was stuck under a car whose driver had lost control and crashed. It seems he was struggling to get her mother out of the way of the incoming truck, and left a note in case he didn't make it. There were few words written, but they were from the heart. He loved her more than anything, he said, and he'll never leave her unless it was called for.
'Seems like it was called for', Susan said, almost crying.
'So how'd you find it?'
'It was right there. I heard the explosion from the park, so I ran and saw this note flying through the air, hit me right in the face. It was moist, that's why it hadn't burnt, I guess.'
Andrew thought this was more than unusual, but he also saw the deep sadness in her eyes. After all, the girl lost her parents. And it seemed they had both died trying to save his father. Were there more people saved, not only him? That, he should ask his dad about. Maybe he remembers. Susan agreed with him.
'I hope you won't get caught into this. I don't want to make my parents' death a big deal for any other human being. I don't want to make people suffer.'
She was really hurt. And she had why...
'Really. Don't worry about it.', his heart was beating faster, 'I'm doing this for you, so you can move on. You deserve to...' he blushed.
There was a moment of silence. Susan couldn't say more, she just smiled, sincerely. She was afraid, and she was sad. She didn't want to think about anything anymore.
'Can you take me home, please? I'm too sad already. I'm sorry...'
'Don't be. You'll be alright.'
They walked together. The moon was shining beautifully this evening.
Maybe on an evening like this they will go out again, thought Andrew. Until then, he should talk to his father again.
Monday, May 08, 2006
"Balaurul"
Fragment din opera scriitoarei:
"Gandul i se oprea acum la legenda aceea a finetelor... Din amor... si din participarea naturii, din vecinatatea firii si adaosul vitalitatii exterioare la impulsia zamislitoare... Din totalitatea si armonia gesturilor fecunde: fiindca stelele clipeau si tremura iarba si lutul mijea; fiindca snopii infierbantati rasuflau si gemea din miezul boabelor coapte; fiindca roiau vietati nenumarate in preajma si palpitau undele eterice.
Tot ce convergea spre gestul creator era miscarea, tot ce-l comanda, tot ce-l stanjenea era emotie.
Faptura care se zamislea era deosebita si imbogatita din libertatea si consimtimantul complice al naturii in framat, cum si din spaima precipitata a instinctelor.
Hristosul mic fusese si el un prunc carnos si fraged pe genunchii fecioarei. Geniul acelor care-l zugravisera o stiau bine. Toti evanghelistii aduceau dovada miracolului care l-a adus pe lume in staul, si magii, calatori pe drumurile stelelor principale, marturiseau ca era nascut sub luceferi.
Nu lipsise vecinatatea fecunda a firii, nici ipnoza siderala. Din flori era culeasa mierea cuvantului bland, care fermecase omenirea, iar cugetarea luminoasa, radiata spre inaltimi inaccesibile, din palpitul aurului planetar.
Dar pe Laura taina creatiunii, cu violenta si brutalitatea imboldurilor firii, o speria. Pentru ea viata incepea acolo unde incepea sufletul.
Cercetarea cucoanei moase se oprea la albia pruncilor dolofani. Dar copii naturii purtau si cresteau adesea un suflet delicat si visator. Frumosi si sanatosi ca poamele curate, din voluptate si natura luau darul spiritualitatii. Printre ei, Fiul Fecoarei, cu sanatatea unor energii simple, se inaltase pana la suprema idealitate.
Laura acuma intelegea ca instinctul latent al materiei, atunci cand se dezvolta pana la potenta faptei creatoare, tot el, dupa sfortarea suprema a brutalitatii, desprinde substanta materiala.
Rasuflarea grea a finetelor si plantelor cand a atins maximul ei de senzualitate, urneste eterul volatil si degaja parfumul, simtirea, ideea.
De pe efervescenta ingrasamintelor se inalta fumul usor. E o capacitate a substantei ca din impulsia sismica a vietii sa nasca idealul, poezia, armonia, in natura ca si in faptura.
Laura cauta atunci cauzele ancestrale necunoscute, imperecherea strabuna pasionata, care-i harazise durerea nobila a iluziei si amagirea gingase a idealitatei.
Erau insa pentru aceeasi lege doua infatisari. In temnita dosnica a oraselor, venirile pe lume neingaduite, cele in afara de casatoria marturisita, erau pline de josnicie si tristeta. [...]"
- Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu - Balaurul
Atat am putut "culege". Recomand cartea pentru trairea repetata a sentimentelor personajului principal, si nu pentru actiune.
