Mar 31, 2006

Special People

Да не говорим, че човек има даден максимум наистина близки хора - същества, които опознава динамично. Хора, които заговаряш в кю-то без да се замислиш. Приятели, чиито непълни копия държиш в главата си и които стават все-по-живи с времето. Докато оригиналите стават все-по-различни от тях.
Можем да загубим такъв приятел по плашещо много причини. Да, случвало се е дори само защото сме се запознали с някой нов човек, който на пръв поглед може да ни донесе дори повече мъдрост - или щастие, или опит, или познание за самите нас, или каквото и да е. Понякога сме способни да си сменим приоритетните хора дори само от скука, мамка му!

I thought of trying to refute this, but gave up. Somehow it rings true. After all, a former 'me' once said to a former friend: 'No, we can't stay friends. My friend slots are full'.

Instead, some random thoughts on the question raised in a friend's blog - How do you become friends with someone?

Here's my attempt at definition of friendship: Someone who is tangibly present in your life. Someone whose geometrical figure of life-space intersects with yours. The area of intersection doesn't matter. The shape of the intersection matters somewhat though. I like nice shapes, despite being the non-visual person I claim to be;)

How do you touch someone else's circle? (I choose circle for the sake of simplicity.) To intersect, you need to touch, and to touch, you have to see them. I believe when this happens, it is entirely out of our control. Are the people in your life, in their respective roles of friends and lovers, there because YOU decided them to be there? Wrong. What if you went to a different school? What if you were born ten years earlier?

Then how do you define 'becoming closer'? Meeting/chatting with them more often? Talking about more 'personal' issues? Asking them for help when you're in need? All of the above? My answer: none of the above. Your friends are those whose changes correspond to your changes, whose 'life dynamics' somehow mirror yours, often in a way you can't exactly pin down. This of course resonates with the above quote, and is an exhaltation of individualism. Others are valuable because... hold your breath... help define yourself, get to know yourself better.

As I said ages ago, arguing with another of my betters: So, what happens to me is primary, what happens to you and the characters of a book, is secondary. I am the original, you are copies. I am the center of the universe, you are marginal. I am a creator, you are just creation material. Solipsism is nothing but a pose, as a say in the same post. Others are a perfectly legitimate source of knowledge about ourselves. One of my favorite dilemmas when thinking about people is: are we attracted by sameness or by difference in others? Personally, I think I am attracted by the latter. So when the 'originals' become yet more different, I am not troubled. The reality of originals is, of course, highly debatable;)

I remember the suggestion of sex as a way to become friends with someone. I was so impressed that I thought about it for months!:D Never tried it, though. I try being happy with just *knowing* people, without claims for friendship. Contemplate them. Rejoice in the miracle of their existence. Which reminds me, I have one person who makes me happy just by being on my icq contact list. There is absolutely no need to talk to him, in order to smile.

So, what prompted this post, apart from the other post, is that I met with an old friend I see very, very rarely. Maybe once a year. He's one of the few people I like because of the similarities to me. He's one of those people with whom I feel timeless, as if no time passes between our infrequent meetings. We had a drink together, we talked, we laughed, we looked into each other's eyes and I kinda felt I make him a better person. He does this to me, for sure. For him, I am ready to give up a few hours of the GW Factions weekend. For him I am a very special person.

And here comes the inevitable poem:D

Some Very Special People

I want to thank you, Lord, for some special people that I love,
Special people who love me just because I'm me,
People who believe that I'm important, as I am,
People who can stand me even when I'm sour and disgusting.
People who listen when I spit out my feelings,
People who wait when I cannot find the words,
People who shake me when my spirit falls asleep.

For all those very special people
I want to shout
And shout and shout with thanks.

Those are the people, one today, one tomorrow,
Who look for that part of me that's me,
Who groan with me until that part of me is free,
Who will love whatever is left of me when the day is over.

For all those very special people
I want to sing
and sing and sing with love.

For ones like that, Lord, mean more to me
than anything on earth, and sometimes even more than you.
For only through someone like that do I believe that
you are really true.
For when someone like that
accepts me in my sorry little mess,
Then so do you, my Lord,
Then so do you...

Norman Habel

Talk about changes.


 Posted by Picasa

Mar 29, 2006

Hung Over


Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname meant "Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a small fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about thirty-two years of age.

One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very wretched.

"I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span of a man's life is very short."

He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished.

He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who, it was said, lived to the age of five hundred This was the latest story of a very long life record.

Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named Shin-no- Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous great wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for, but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of his Court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all.

When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him. He could not get away from it. Ah—if only he could find the "Elixir of Life," he would be happy.

The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all if they could not find for him the "Elixir of Life" of which he had so often read and heard.

One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the "Elixir of Life." Whoever drank of this wonderful draught lived forever.

The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to find the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. He gave Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take as presents to the hermits.

Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to the waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god.

Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could, to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the very high peaks.

So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he find.

At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a hunter.

"Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the Elixir of Life?"

"No." said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live, but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers."

This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshiped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan.

Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so much to find.

At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud, and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus:

"Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. You think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the Elixir of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet wet."

"You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the winter time! Do you think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life?"

"In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death never comes—where the people live forever!"

Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there.

Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew away over the mountains right out to sea.

Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for thousands of miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment, and strange to say, neither did Sentaro.

After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance inland and then alighted.

As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket.

Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about the country and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite strange, and different from his own land. But both the land and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the hotels.

The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Sentaro's sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Sentaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of Perpetual Life.

Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed down for ages from generation to generation—but none knew exactly what death was except that it led to Paradise.

Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called Paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago.

All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsyturvydom. Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the land of Perpetual Life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die, would consider it bliss to find death.

What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to Paradise.

But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying, only found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of worse.

Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy would have given all their money and all their goods if they could but shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any change to live on forever seemed to this people wearisome and sad.

In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach.

Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never saw any one ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see any one with as much as a cold.

Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land.

As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first. He had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance.

Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home. However long he lived here, life would always be the game, so was it not foolish and wearisome to stay on here forever?

Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual Life, recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to escape from death—and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his own land again.

No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket. Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew, swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan.

Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain. The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean.

Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. While he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Sentaro was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and rescue him.

Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly bewildered.

Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke to Sentaro:

"I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has permitted you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly and shouted for help."

"It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you—your life is not austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home, and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring happiness."

"In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you to know—if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have pointed out to you."

The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Sentaro took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth.

More Japanese Fairy Tales

If someone finds any more, please let me know. This one was not included in my old edition of Japanese Fairy Tales in Bulgarian, with incredible illustrations. Rada is absolutely in love with them, but one tale is unfinished because of torn leaves. It is about a beautiful princess called Hime who does not wish to marry. So five princes are sent away with difficult tasks to perform, like finding a whole shell of an swallow's egg;) I too want to know the ending!

Mar 27, 2006


No, this is neither of the posts I promised, on old age and on friendship.
This is a visual summary of the weekend.
I should have taken a screenshot of Life Was Short, she was pretty cute for an assassin:}

I dropped urns all the time:}


My nick was Alluring Was Shou because Armenian was too long. However, Allur Ing looks like a good Asian name for a Factions character:}

Mar 24, 2006

Alluring Was Armenian

I have compiled a playlist of 200 songs, turned on shuffle (!), totally lost control over the ... events in my life, ignored the forthcoming deadline, and decided to make the maximum of the Guild Wars Preview Event. It will start in about... 5 minutes. The above is, quite possibly, my nick, selected in the hope that most people do not know what 'alluring' means;) Are there blonde Armenians?

I am, quite possibly, hopelessly addictive. I am completely disorganized, follow the wrong priority lists, ignore housework, forgo sleep, eat junk food... Food! I had Chinese food last night (all things Chinese ftw). A ray of light in my task-ridden routine. By the way, I took my son to the hairdressers kicking and screaming (literally). And to think I complain of lack of adrenaline in my life;)

Mar 20, 2006

Ain't That Cool

Radio Tangra is back!

I remember when it started, that makes me feel ancient:D

For those who don't pay attention to my sidebar, as they should, or are unfortunate enough to use IE browser, I'd like to present two fellow humans I am privileged to look up to:

Dangerous Beans
Thirty Two Degrees

The fact that they rhyme is pure coincidence.

Mar 17, 2006

Legend Has It!

Fine print pls:)

This is a good time to announce the Guild Wars: Factions Preview Event which will start Friday, March 24. I have one invitation left, so if anyone's interested, contact me:)

More info here

Mar 14, 2006

Conceiving You

Riverside - Conceiving You

I’ve been watching you
Not waiting for the right moment to make the first move
Do you want to know
Why I keep avoiding your eyes
And why I’m running away?
It’s crazy, I know
I’ve been conceiving you for too long
Or maybe I’m destined to be alone?
Or maybe there’s someone who will understand
That I’m not able to share my world?
I’m still running away
It’s crazy, I know
I’ve been conceiving you for too long
If only I could change all things around
Still conceiving you all along...
I’ve been conceiving you for too long
If only I could change all things around
I’ve been conceiving you for too long
I’ve grown used to that
Still conceiving you all along...

Mar 13, 2006

For My Son

От Астрид Линдгрен , “Кати в Париж”

Моят син лежи в ръцете ми. Такъв малък и крехък товар, че почти не го усещаш. И все пак тежи повече от земята, небето, звездите и цялата слънчева система.

Ако трябваше днес да умра, можех да взема със себе си в рая спомена за този прелестен малък товар. Не бях живяла напразно.

Моят син лежи в ръцете ми. Има толкова малки, малки ръчички. Едната е захванала показалеца ми и аз не смея да помръдна. Иначе можеше да го пусне и това щеше да ми е непоносимо. Такова божествено чудо бе тази малка ръчичка с пет малки пръстчета и пет малки нокътчета. Знаех, че децата имат ръце, но навярно не бях се замисляла, че и моето детенце ще има. Защото сега лежа и гледам малкото розово листенце, което е ръчичката на моя син, и не спирам да се удивлявам.

Той лежи със затворени очи и вре носле в моята гръд, има черна пухкава косица и го чувам как диша. Той е самото чудо.

Баща му бе тук и също прецени, че е самото чудо. Значи наистина е самото чудо, щом и двамата смятаме така.

Любовта ми към него почти ми причинява болка.

Преди малко моят син проплака. Когато плаче, прилича на жално блеещо козленце и аз просто не мога да го понеса. Колко си беззащитно, малко козленце. Малко мое птиченце, как да те закрилям? Ръцете ми се сключват здраво около теб. Те те очакваха, моите ръце, от самото начало бяха предназначени да станат за теб гнездо, мое птиченце.

Ти си мое, сега ми принадлежиш. В този миг ти си изцяло мое. Но скоро ще започнеш да растеш. Всеки отминал ден ще те отдалечава по мъничко от мен. Никога повече няма да си ми тъй близко, както сега.

Може би някой ден ще си спомням с болка за този час.

"Като плачеща струна на цигулка, като зов на чучулига в полето отеква копнежът на хората по други хора в този обитаван от хора свят. Но най-скръбно и най-дълбоко копнеят родителите по децата, които законите на живота са запратили в други пространства." Така пише в една книга, която имам.

В този миг ти имаш мене, но сигурно законите на живота ще запратят и теб в други пространства. И тогава може би ще стана такава зовяща чучулига в полето и напразно ще викам моето птиченце. Момчето-птиче ще расте и ще стане голямо. Зная, че ще е така.

Но сега, в този миг, те имам. Ти си мое, мое, мое - с мъхестата си главица, нежните си пръстчета, жалния си плач и устицата, която ме търси. Имаш нужда от мен, защото си само едно малко клето дете, появило се на този свят, което изобщо не може без майка. Дори не познаваш мястото, където си дошло и може би затова плачът ти звучи така стреснато. Страх ли те е да започнеш живота? Не знаеш какво те очаква ли? Искаш ли да ти разкажа?

Тук има толкова забележителни неща. Само почакай и ще ги видиш. Има цъфтящи ябълкови дръвчета и малки тихи езера, големи просторни морета и звезди в нощта, сини пролетни вечери и гори - не е ли прекрасно, че има гори? Понякога се стеле скреж по дърветата, понякога сияе луна, а през лятото, когато се събудиш, по тревата ще има роса. Тогава ще можеш да вървиш по нея с малките си голи крачета. Ще можеш със ски да се спускаш към гората и да оставяш тесни, самотни следи... през зимата, разбира се. Ще обичаш слънцето, то топли и свети, а водата в морето ще е хладна и приятна, когато се къпеш. Има приказки в този свят, има и песни. Има книги и хора, а някои от тях ще ти станат приятели. Има цветя, те изобщо не са потребни, а само, само красиви. Нали е чудно и прекрасно? А по цялата земя има гори и езера, планини, реки и градове, които никога не си виждал, но може би един ден ще видиш. Затова ти казвам, сине мой, че земята е добро място за живеене, а животът е дар. Никога не вярвай на онези, които се опитват да кажат нещо друго. Наистина, животът може и да е труден, няма да скрия това от теб. Ще изпитваш тъга, ще плачеш. Може би ще настъпят мигове, когато вече няма да ти се живее. О, никога няма да разбереш какво чувствам, като зная това. Мога да ти дам цялата си душа, но не съм в състояние да отнема нито една от грижите, които те очакват. И все пак ти казвам, мило мое дете: земята е родината на хората и тя е чудесна родина. Дано животът не е много суров към теб, че да го разбереш. Бог да те закриля, сине мой!

Three years ago, my son was born. He is my reason to live, and I am his reason to live. How does one live with such a burden? His existence is entirely a consequence of my choice. This time, Better Unborn is not a true statement as the world is a much better place with him. And he has the male name of my dreams. Mihail. Happy birthday, son. I love you.

Mar 12, 2006

Eternity Follows Me Everywhere

"Всяко добро даяние и всеки съвършен дар иде отгоре, слизайки от Отца на светлините, у Когото няма изменение, нито сянка от промяна."
Послание на ап. Йаков, 1:17

Изкуството е излишно по същия начин, както е излишно и човечеството.

Frost, Wynche, Firefox, Kant по темата

В дискусията се съсредоточихме върху аспекта на възприемане на изкуството, или, ако заимствам метафората на Wynche, на хранещия се, а не на готвача. По подразбиране става дума за класния готвач, който приготвя "гурме" кухня и за ценителите-консуматори, които се наслаждаваме на крайния продукт. Основна предпоставка беше необходимостта от разпознаване и положителна реакция на тази храна, в които се използват не само вкусовите рецептори, а и добре култивирания опит, съчетан с извънсетивно познание за начините за приготвяне на блюдото, мястото на това блюдо в културната история на кулинарството и правилните съставки (ех, тук се сетих за баницата Сюзерена и билката "галистомахче").

С пълно съзнание за условността на тази метафора приемам, че изкуството е "храна за душата", да ме прощават тези, които не вярват в съществуването й.
Кратка дефиниция на душа:

The animating and vital principle in humans, credited with the faculties of thought, action, and emotion and often conceived as an immaterial entity.

В тази дефиниция ми харесва едно, че е приложима както за душата в християнството, така и за примерно атмана (постоянното непроменимо "аз") в източните религии, и друго, че е над-емоционална и над-рационална, което дава възможност да избягаме от класификацията на възприемането на изкуството като "емоционално" или "рационално". Ще я разгледам като трикомпонентна цялост като всеки от компонентите играе роля във възприемането на произведението на изкуството.

1. Вечност.
2. Познание.
3. Наслада.

В Еклесиаст се казва "Положил е вечността в техните сърца". Човекът не може да приеме кратковременността на живота и съответно търси "вечни" стойности и произведения с дълготрайна ценност. Съзнанието си представя вечността като “много дълго време”, понеже не може да си представи нещо извън равнината на време-пространството. Когато говорим за “добро” изкуство, един от аргументите в негова полза е дълготрайността на въздействието му. Една гениална скулптура, картина, стихотворение или симфония оцелява след теста на времето и това е един от критериите за “обективно” качество на продукта.

Другото, което свързваме с “вечност”, е истинността, или правилното отразяване нещо същестуващо само по себе си без изкривяването на субективизма. Когато се стремим да покажем, че нещо е добро, ние твърдим, че то е добро “само по себе си”, а не защото случайно харесваме тази или онази подправка или съставка. Участниците в една от сбирките може би ще си спомнят как се поклонихме пред субективизма, възкликвайки “щом аз го слушам, значи е яко”;). Но всъщност искаме нещо “надличностно”, нещо наистина вярно. И тук идва малко отклонение за “споделеното харесване”. Когато други хора откриват ценността на нещо любимо, нашето "аз" откликва неудържимо радостно: “Какво? Нима и ти? Аз мислех, че съм единственият!” (К.С.Луис). Другите фенове на примерно Толкин, Аморфис и китайската храна в известен смисъл потвърждават (verify) нашата реакция. Групите по интереси са неизбежен и естествен фактор в търсенето на “the ultimate”. “Елате повече” като че ли отговаря на потребността да излезем извън себе-то в търсенето на обективност.

Познанието на произведенията на изкуството е компонентът, който най-лесно може да се квантифицира. Ние натрупваме знания за обектите и, разбира се, те променят нашето възприятие. Тук слагам рационалния елемент, който “дешифрира смисъла”, или Р2.1 от класификацията на
Ffox. Анализът е необходим подход към всеки обект, включително произведение на изкуството, и не бива да се омаловажава. Натрупването на познания за света е неоспорима характеристика на човешкото същество и съществено пособие за формирането и изразяването на оценка. Още повече, с увеличаването на познанието в дадена област човек увеличава компетентността си не само на възприемател, но и на творец. Четейки рецепти за коктейли, примерно, аз ставам не само по-добър пияч на коктейли;) но и евентуално барман. Тук обаче има една уловка. В разговор с един художник за картинките на компютъра му, той каза, че е гледал толкова много картини, че вече не може да “хареса” нищо. Оценява майсторството на изпълнението, анализира картината и дотук. С други думи, стигнал е до степен на насищане на възприятието, когато реакция Р1 вече няма. Няма го “отзвука в душата”, за който говори Фрост. Напълно е възможно това да е само етап от еволюцията на общуването с изкуството, след който да настъпи синтез между спонтанната положителна емоция от срещата с нещо красиво и реакцията на “spotless mind”.

Последният компонент е така наречената наслада. Всъщност според упанишадите, “ананда” (bliss) е чистата радост, която постигаш от сливането на “сат” (eternity) и “чит” (knowledge). Аз бих я нарекла жаждата на душата за благия Бог, мъчително неудовлетворена през огромната част от времето. Както физически страдаме от глад (явно) и от ядене на Макдоналдс (не толкова явно:Р), така душата страда от липсата на добро, истинно и красиво. Стремежът към наслада се удовлетворява от изкуството и от религията, които впрочем се съгласихме, че са свързани, поне за примитивните умове;), рисуващи сакрални изображения по стените на пещерата и рецитиращи саги. За лишеното от религиозност съзнание изкуството остава единственият източник на този тип наслада. То е онзи досег с “отвъдното”, което задоволява неизказаната и трудно дефинируема потребност на всеки човек. Общуването с прекрасното ни прави “човеци” и ни дава един от смислите на това да живеем.

Моето схващане е, че всеки може да твори – едно от значенията на “образа и подобието” на Бога. Ние създаваме, защото сме създадени. Всеки от нас е разказ и има какво да допринесе в сагата на човечеството. Тънката червена нишка, свързваща всичко, което намираме за красиво, ни определя като личности, а ние сме личности, защото Творецът ни е личност, най-общо казано. Умът, емоциите и волята на индивида притежават уникалност, която ни прави суб-творци, по думите на Толкин. Коулридж пише за поета, но откъсът от Кублай Хан може да се приложи за всеки човек:

And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

С тази метафора за ядене и пиене, мисля, че кръгът се затвори:)

Mar 9, 2006

Enjoying the Silence

The man that hath no music in himself,
nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
is fit for treason, stratagems, and spoils;
the motions of his spirit are as dull as night,
and his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.

Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

Music is a moral law. It gives a soul to the universe, wings to
the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness and life
to everything.


There are still so many beautiful things to be said in C Major.

Sergei Prokofiev

Music has a power of forming the character, and should therefore be introduced into the education of the young. (go, Rada, go, Mihail!)


There's nothing remarkable about it. All one has to do is hit the right keys at the right time and the instrument plays itself.

Johann Sebastian Bach


Mar 7, 2006

Another Day, Another Deadline


the computer expert knows his job
he knows the ins and outs of my hardware
he knows every port, every cable
he fixes wayward pieces
advises on upgrades
knows how to cope
when something malfunctions

the computer expert is a software wiz
he adds unique sights and sounds
installs new applications
optimizes old ones
personalizes my operating system
makes it easy to work with
even fun to be with

time passes by
the expert quits
and I am left
with an obsolete body

and a customized soul

I may say something on the topic of art perception, soon.
But then again, I may not.

Mar 5, 2006

On Failure to Act

A parable about safe, tidy living:

He saw people love each other, and he saw that love made strenuous demands on the lovers. He saw that love required sacrifice and self-denial. He saw that love produced arguments, jealousy, and sorrow. He decided that love cost too much. He decided not to diminish his life with love.

He saw people strive for distant and hazy goals. He saw men strive for success and women strive for high ideals. He saw that the striving was often mixed with disappointment. He saw strong and committed men fail, and he saw weak, undeserving men succeed. He saw that striving sometimes forced people into pettiness and greed. He decided that it cost too much. He decided not to mar his life with striving.

He saw people serving others. He saw men give money to the poor and helpless. He saw that the more they served, the faster the need grew. He saw ungrateful receivers turn on their serving friends. He decided not to soil his life with serving.

When he died, he walked up to God and presented his life to Him - undiminished, unmarred, unsoiled. The man was clean and untouched by the filth of the world, and he presented himself to God proudly saying, "Here is my life!"

And God said, "Life? What life?"

This resembles my life. I guess it comes from reading too much Tao Te Ching.

I told someone that I avoid failure by failing to act. He said it was failure too, except when done by others:> As part of 'others' for him, I felt relieved I was not failing:D

Well, as Winston Churchill said: "Success is never final. Failure is never fatal. It is courage that counts'. But of course, this is the same person who, as myth has it, gave the shortest speech ever:
"Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never give in".
After which he sat down.

In fact he gave a full speech. Here it is.

Mar 2, 2006

Welcome to the Jungle

Directly from Picasa. Thanks, Ffox and Rada:) Posted by Picasa

Image Maker Acquired

Our household has a digital camera, a gracious gift from a grateful Alvin. Thanks. Gratitude multiplies.
Now, I have never liked photography, I am not a visual person by and large, but this Kodak works alright for its purpose, namely taking pictures of and by kids.

Images are always masks.


Mar 1, 2006


Yesterday a friend died in a car accident. My ex called me late at night with the bad news. She was more of his friend than mine, but I liked her a lot and respected her. Her daughter is only ten years old. I was deeply struck by this reminder that life is so short and ephemeral, she was two years younger than me. May her soul rest in peace.

Memento mori.