Despre iubiri

Buna seara, iubito!..pot sa-ti spun prin cuvinte ca putine mai sunt pe pamant lucruri sfinte, Ca intra iubiri prematur in morminte...

Ik Onkar

ik onkaar sat naam kartaa purakh nirbh-a-o nirvair akaal moorat ajoonee saibhn gur parsaad

There is but one God. True is His Name, creative His personality and immortal His form. He is without fear sans enmity, unborn and self-illumined. By the Guru's grace He is obtained.

Exista dar un singur Dumnezeu. Adevarat este Numele Sau, creativa personalitatea sa si nemuritoare forma Sa. El este cel fara teama fara dusmanie, nenascut si auto-iluminat. El este dobandit prin voia/gratia Guru-lui.

jap.

Embrace His meditation.

Imbratisati meditatia sa.

aad sach jugaad sach.

True in the prime, True in the beginning of ages,

Adevar inainte de toate, Adevar la inceputul vremurilor,

hai bhee sach naanak hosee bhee sach.

True He is even now and True He verily, shall be, O Nanak!

Adevarat este chiar acum si Adevarat va fi, oh, Nanak!

sochai soch naa hov-a-ee jay sochee lakh vaar.

By pondering on God, man cannot have a conception of Him, even though he may ponder over lacs of times.

Gandind la Dumnezeu, omul nu il poate concepe pe El, chiar daca se gandeste de-a lungul veacurilor.

chupai chup naa hov-a-ee jay laa-i rahaa liv taar.

Even though one be silent and remains absorbed in Lord's constant love he obtains not mind's silence.

Chiar daca omul ramane tacut si ramane absorbit de iubirea constanta a lui Dumnezeu, el nu obtine linistea (Pacea) mintii.

bhukhi-aa bhukh naa utree jay bannaa puree-aa bhaar.

The hunger of the hungry departs not, even though they may pile up loads of the world's valuables.

Foamea infometatilor nu trece, chiar daca acestia isi fac stive cu valorile lumii.

sehas si-aanpaa lakh hoh taa ik naa chalai naal.

Man may possess thousands and lacs of wits, but not even one (goes with him) avails him in the Lord's court.

Omul poate poseda bogatii nemasurate, dar nici macar una nu il insoteste la curtea Domnului

kiv sachi-aaraa ho-ee-ai kiv koorhai tutai paal.

How can we be true and how can the screen of untruth be rent?

Cum putem avea dreptate si cum poate imaginea neadevarului sa fie sfasiata?

hukam rajaa-ee chalnaa naanak likhi-aa naal.

O Nanak! By obeying, the pre-ordained order of the Lord's will.

O, Nanak! Supunandu-ne, la ordinea predestinata a vointei Domnului. 

India Arie - Video

By God's will I came across a song that I think was created for me! It is the song I will always listen when I'm confused, when I feel the world being against me. It's a song about colors, about love, about love for the self and therefore, for others.




Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don't
Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won't
Depend on how the wind blows I might even paint my toes
It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

When I look in the mirror and the only one there is me
Every freckle on my face is where it's supposed to be
And I know our creator didn't make no mistakes on me
My feet, my thighs, my lips, my eyes; I'm lovin' what I see

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the
india arie

Am I less of a lady if I don't wear pantyhose?
My mama said a lady ain't what she wears but, what she knows
But, I've drawn a conclusion, it's all an illusion, confusion's the name of the
game
A misconception, a vast deception
Something's gotta change
but,Don't be offended this is all my opinion
ain't nothing that I'm sayin law
This is a true confession of a life learned lesson I was sent here to share with
y'all
So get in where you fit in go on and shine
Clear your mind, now's the time
Put your salt on the shelf
Go on and love yourself
'Cuz everything's gonna be all right

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I Learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

Keep your fancy drinks and your expensive minks
I don't need that to have a good time
Keep your expensive car and your caviar
All I need is my guitar
Keep your Kristal and your pistol
I'd rather have a pretty piece of crystal
Don't need your silicone I prefer my own
What God gave me is just fine

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be india arie

Faith, Love, Hope, by Gurdjieff

Faith of consciousness is freedom
Faith of feeling is weakness
Faith of body is stupidity.

Love of consciousness evokes the same in response
Love of feeling evokes the opposite
Love of body depends on type and polarity.

Hope of consciousness is strength
Hope of feeling is slavery
Hope of body is disease.

Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson, p. 361 (found in: An approach to the teaching left by Gurdjieff, Toward Awakening, Jean Vaysse, p. 1)

Ode to a twin soul

For two weeks I was a zombie. An anti-social creature that talked nothing but non-sense on those only two occasions when I had human contact. Insomnia, depression...

After some absence, I almost forgot that basically nothing changed. That my friend is still my friend whom I can tell anything... and when I say anything, I mean anything, even those things that I don't admit to myself even.
And that made me realize how NOT ALONE I am.

Yes, I do miss him. I miss him holding me after talking with my mother and getting depressed over it. I miss to hear his laughter and see his smile. I miss the sound of his voice, the way he is pronouncing the "r". I miss the possibility of many things that were yet to happened.

To say "best friend" is an understatement. He is my twin soul, my alter ego. He's the one who can be so honest with me that I break, and then to be there to catch me so that I won't fall. He's the one in whose arms I can cry for one hour and still he won't be bored. And still be there with me.

And now I want nothing less from life. Nothing less than this. I cannot live with anything less. I shared moments of pure happiness.

My pain is not smaller now, after almost three weeks . Nor I want it to be. Just that I have learned to carry it with me all the time and not to mend under its burden all the time.

I still cry. Everyday. Sometimes when I'm on the street even. Sometimes I'm in the subway and I feel like wanting to take your hand. I don't know why, we didn't do that when we were together... And then i feel the emptiness around me, how lonely I am, although I'm surrounded by all those people. It's like a part of me is missing. You are the part of me that is missing.

Can anyone understand that this is not a woman in-love talking? But a friend? The happiest and saddest friend on the face of the earth?


And you were happy... And I was also happy. I need to understand why. Why you had to leave. I need our snow fight and me cooking for you and I need so many other things with you. But for that I also need you here, with me.


"we met, we were at a distance for a while, we came close, we came real close, we r inseperable. this is how i can summerise" You've done it perfect. I love you

To feel your body part of mine,  now I know how I want to spend my life. I don't want to live like before anymore, now I know what life is for. I want to live for pleasure, in peace beside you, somewhere

You go, go. And you don't come back

I need my sadness because I need to keep on feeling human.

Psapp - Leaving in coffins

I have loved you with all my strength

I have loved you with all the force I was capable of. And now I know that I can love. That I have it in me to love someone. Pure, deep love.

Fear...

I don't want to sleep... If I do...it will be minus one day... I want to stay awake as much as possible... And for Sunday morning to never come... the black Sunday... once it was cricket, now it is farewell... 
I drank to get drunk... after such a long time, I wanted to anihilate my senses... not to care, not to love, just for a tiny second... But sometimes the feelings are just stronger than the alcohol... 

Asato ma sadgamaya mantra, Brhadaranyaka Upanishad — I.iii.28

Asato ma sadgamaya

Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya

Mrtyorma amrtat gamaya
Aum Shanti! Shanti! Shanti!

Lead me from the asat to the sat*
Lead me from darkness to light**
Lead me from death to immortality.***
Aum Peace! Peace! Peace!


* Asat and it's opposite, sat, are dififcult to be translated. Sat contains the meaning of Truth, Real - but ultimate Truth and ultimate Reality, the truth that is true independent from time (true in the past, true in the present and true in the future). The True Self is free from dependence, because dependence in the asat ends in pain always. The True Self is Sat. The consciess of the True Self is beyond time, beyond change. Sat is in reality a true part of all asat objects. 
** To be understood as ignorance and knowledge - one obscures true knowledge, which can be obtain through spiritual enlightment.
*** To be understood not as eternal life, like in the case of Christianity, but as "I was never born, nor I cannot die, because I am not the body, the mind and the intellect, but the eternal, blissful consciousness that serves as the substratum for creation."


The human goal is Self-Realization, to merge into the supreme reality. 

How to create an enemy - Sam Keen, "Faces of the enemy"

Start with an empty canvas
Sketch in broad outline the forms of
men, women, and children.

Dip into the unconsciousness well of your own
disowned darkness
with a wide brush and
strain the strangers with the sinister hue
of the shadow.

Trace onto the face of the enemy the greed,
hatred, carelessness you dare not claim as
your own.

Obscure the sweet individuality of each face.

Erase all hints of the myriad loves, hopes,
fears that play through the kaleidoscope of
every infinite heart.

Twist the smile until it forms the downward
arc of cruelty.

Strip flesh from bone until only the
abstract skeleton of death remains.

Exaggerate each feature until man is
metamorphasized into beast, vermin, insect.

Fill in the background with malignant
figures from ancient nightmares – devils,
demons, myrmidons of evil.

When your icon of the enemy is complete
you will be able to kill without guilt,
slaughter without shame.

The thing you destroy will have become
merely an enemy of God, an impediment
to the sacred dialectic of history.

Sam Keen, "Faces of the Enemy. Reflections of the Hostile Imagination", Harper San Francisco, 1991

Yesterday's sadness

Yesterday I was this sad: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4R4PVEwX5U


Sorry, the video was embedded by request

Enmity destroys freedom

Enmity destroys freedom. Only lovers are free to come and go. Enemies dare not let each other out of sight. In the eabsence of being we cling to having; the vacuum of love is filled by hate.

Sam Keen, "Faces of the Enemy", Harper San Francisco, 1991, page 106

We have time, by Octavian Paler

We have time for everything.
To sleep, to run here and there
To regret our mistakes and to be wrong again,
To judge others and excuse ourselves,
We have time to read and write,
To correct what we have written, and to regret what we have written,
We have time to make plans and not stick to them
We have time for illusions and then to go through their ashes later on,
We have time time for ambitions and diseases,
To blame destiny and details,
We have time to look at the clowds, the commercials or a simple accident,
We have time to dismiss our questions,
To postpone the answers,
We have time to break a dream and then reinvent it,
We have time to make friends, to loose them,
We have time for lessons which we then forget,
We have time to receive gifts that we don't understand.
We have time for everything.

There is no time for just a small amount of tenderness.
When we want that also, we die

A Confession! by Amit Srivastava

I knew Amit's poetry, he showed it before... but never have I asked him if I can put it here before today... it seemed simple in the beginning, but after reading and reading, after paying the right attention to the way he chose the words... I was even more impressed than before... He's a researcher, academician, activits, and casual writer. He's the most dedicated, deep and complex person I had the chance to meet.

A Confession!

I never did what I wanted to do,
Hardly have I cared to live the expectations through
Time kept changing its dimensions, I guess.
Although I was all about thoughtfulness
for weak, for poor and for helpless
I reached them, though my resources did not allow
I forgot the personal things and
manners of private affairs,
Ignored the hardship of problems of life,
to meet my consciousness, to feed my vendetta!
Here I am with only one life,
and a peak of it, I realized -
I cannotdo much... neither can my innocent efforts
things will be the same in this world,
the inertia will  be greater, gravitiy will be souring.
The gaps, the odds have been here...
Might will be always right!
Humanity shall still fight!
And I have just one life,
Let it live for a while -
No regrets - no complaints - just day and nights!

The old lady

Every evening when I come back from work (the hour varies, from 9 PM to 11 PM) I walk by an old lady. She is homeless. She sits on the ground, with an icon and she is always reading a religious book. It drives me crazy to see her every day like that.

She is about my height, is dressed for the cold weather outside (even -15 degrees this winter). I don't know where she spends her days, because she arrives there at approximately 5 PM and I honestly don't know if she sleeps on the streets or not. Two months ago, her clothes were looking better. Last week her clothes (same clothes) seemed used. What is odd is that she does not smell bad (our homeless people smell horrible). She does not beg. She just stays there and reads from that religious book. I used to give her money. Every evening. I still give her money, from time to time. But now I don't know why, I feel ashamed. I never listened to her saying thank you to me for giving her money. I couldn't stand that. My heart breaks into small pieces everytime I see her.

She is another victim of our communist regime and of our wonderful transition towards capitalism. There are so many like her out there. And I don't understand. If i search on Google for NGOs that deal with poverty, I find many. But what do these NGOs really do? Why aren't they helping old people?

My dream is to have money one day, much money and build a shelter for old people who end up in the streets (their children kick them out, they are tricked by others into giving them their homes or simply lived in a house given by the state before 1989 and now find themselves being thrown out in the streets because they can't buy that house - a three-room apartment here costs (or costed before the crisis) over 100.000 euros). The average salary in Romania is 400-500 euros. And the old people receive pensions from the state (we have a public pensions' system, and the private pensions market is new here). Some 20% of the old people receive state pensions lower than 100 euros (some less than 50 euros).

Theoretically, because we are a EU member state, we can access structural funds. But the corruption rate here is sooo high that you must have connections to be able to access one of these funds.Why the hell isn't my government accessing funds for these people? Why aren't the NGOs accessing funds for these people? Moreover, because we are now part of the EU, organizations like the UN invest less in Romania.

I never deared to talk to this woman. I don't even know exactly how she looks like, how her face looks like. I always wanted to take a picture of her, but I just pass by every day with the camera in my bag...And I never get enough courage to do it. What is she? A piece in an exposition?

I like his commitment, his deepness, his metaphysical sadness, his constant search, his constant improvement. Never giving up.

Song Of the Mystic - Beauty, by David

Contemporary spiritual poets:

And the child spoke unto the Mystic:

"Master speak to me of Beauty, for I have
yet to see the face of Her sacred soul."

And the Mystic answered, saying:

You are wrong my child; many were the
days when She smiled upon you, and you knew
it not.
Many were the nights when She whispered
the song of Life unto your ear, but always were
you asleep.
Be there something of more innocence than
the gentle cooing of a newborn babe?
Be there something of more purity than the
shadow of a woman's alluring smile?
Be there something of more tenderness
than the endearing look held in the eyes of a mother?
And is not the sum of such innocence, purity
and tenderness the essence of all Beauty?
Open the eyes of your soul, and Beauty shall
reveal Herself unto you.
Listen with the ears of your heart, and She
will sing Her silent melody.
And if you see Beauty where all others see
naught but ugliness, then truly do you look through
the loving eyes of God.

Kabir

In this case, words are futile

Moartea căprioarei, de Nicolae Labiş (The death of the deer)

Poezia ce mi-a marcat existenţa / The poem that left a powerful impression on my thoughts

Moartea cărprioarei

Seceta a ucis orice boare de vânt.
Soarele s-a topit şi a curs pe pământ.
A rămas cerul fierbinte şi gol.
Ciuturile scot din fântână nămol.
Peste păduri tot mai des focuri, focuri,
Dansează sălbatice, satanice jocuri.

Mă iau dupa tata la deal printre târsuri,
Şi brazii mă zgârie, răi şi uscaţi.
Pornim amândoi vânătoarea de capre,
Vânătoarea foametei în munţii Carpaţi.
Setea mă năruie. Fierbe pe piatra
Firul de apa prelins din cişmea.
Tâmpla apasă pe umăr. Păşesc ca pe-o altă
Planetă, imensă si grea.

Aşteptăm într-un loc unde încă mai sună,
Din strunele undelor line, izvoarele.
Când va scăpăta soarele, când va licări luna,
Aici vor veni să s-adape
Una câte una caprioarele.

Spun tatii că mi-i sete şi-mi face semn să tac.
Ameţitoare apă, ce limpede te clatini!
Mă simt legat prin sete de vietatea care va muri
La ceas oprit de lege si de datini.

Cu foşnet veştejit răsuflă valea.
Ce-ngrozitoare înserare pluteşte-n univers!
Pe zare curge sânge şi pieptul mi-i roşu, de parcă
Mâinile pline de sânge pe piept mi le-am şters.

Ca pe-un altar ard ferigi cu flăcari vineţii,
Şi stelele uimite clipiră printre ele.
Vai, cum aş vrea să nu mai vii, să nu mai vii,
Frumoasă jertfă a pădurii mele!

Ea s-arătă săltând şi se opri
Privind în jur c-un fel de teamă,
Şi nările-i subţiri înfiorară apa
Cu cercuri lunecoase de aramă.

Sticlea în ochii-i umezi ceva nelămurit,
Ştiam că va muri si c-o s-o doară.
Mi se părea că retraiesc un mit
Cu fata prefăcută-n căprioară.
De sus, lumina palidă, lunară,
Cernea pe blana-i caldă flori calde de cireş.
Vai cum doream ca pentru-întâia oară
Bătaia puştii tatii sã dea greş!

Dar văile vuiră. Căzută în genunchi,
Ea ridicase capul, îl clătina spre stele,
Îl prăvăli apoi, stârnind pe apă
Fugare roiuri negre de mărgele.
O pasare albastră zvâcnise dintre ramuri,
Şi viaţa căprioarei spre zările târzii
Zburase lin, cu ţipăt, ca păsările toamna
Când lasă cuiburi sure şi pustii.

Împleticit m-am dus şi i-am închis
Ochii umbroşi, trist străjuiţi de coarne,
Şi-am tresărit tăcut şi alb când tata
Mi-a şuierat cu bucurie: - Avem carne!

Spun tatii că mi-i sete şi-mi face semn să beau.
Ameţitoare apă, ce-ntunecat te clatini!
Mă simt legat prin sete de vietatea care a murit
La ceas oprit de lege şi de datini...
Dar legea ni-i deşartă şi străină
Când viaţa-n noi cu greu se mai anină,
Iar datina şi mila sunt deşarte,
Când soru-mea-i flămândă, bolnavă şi pe moarte.

Pe-o nara puşca tatii scoate fum.
Vai, fără vânt aleargă frunzarele duium!
Înalţă tata foc înfricoşat.
Vai, cât de mult pădurea s-a schimbat!
Din ierburi prind în mâini fără să ştiu
Un clopoţel cu clinchet argintiu...
De pe frigare tata scoate-n unghii
Inima căprioarei si rărunchii.

Ce-i inima? Mi-i foame! Vreau să trăiesc şi-aş vrea ....
Tu, iartă-mă, fecioară - tu, căprioara mea!
Mi-i somn. Ce nalt îi focul! Şi codrul, ce adânc!
Plâng. Ce gândeşte tata? Mănânc şi plâng. Mănânc!

The Death of the Deer

The drought has stifled every feather of wind,

The sun melted down on the earth, left behind

An empty, exhausted, blistering sky,

The buckets come up from the fountains all dry.

More and more over woods fires, fires,

Dance above savage, demoniac pyres.

I follow my father through the bushes uphill,

The fir-trees scrape me, withered up and evil,

Together, we start the deer hunting quest,

The hunting of hunger in the Carpathian forest.

Thirst ruins me. The thin string of water

Drip, drop, from the spout is sizzling on stone.

My temple is throbbing. I walk on another

Enormous and heavy, strange planet alone.

We wait in a place where, from strings of calm waves,

The streams still resound.

When the sun will be set, when the moon will rise, round,

One by one, in a line, up here,

they will come to drink, the deer.

I say “Father, I`m thirsty!” he hushes me at once,

Bemusing water, how clearly you glow!

I`m tied by thirst to the soul meant to die

At an hour forbidden by custom and by law.

The valley rustles with a withered hiss,

Crosswise the sky, a dire twilight lit

the clouds, and far, above the cliff,

blood drips. My chest is red, as if

I wiped my hands of blood on it.

With bluish flames through ferns, as in a dream,

Astounded stars begin to gleam

Sacrifice of my woods, oh, beautiful prey,

How I wish you did not come, how I pray!

She bounces lightly then she stops

And looks with caution through the grass

Her slender nostrils stirred the water

In circles shimmering like brass.

A hazy fear glared deep inside her eyes

I knew that she would suffer;

I knew that she would die,

As she stood there, still, she was the sheer

Myth of the maid embodied in a deer.

White cherry flowers, high above her

The moon was sifting on her fur.

Oh, how I wish, oh, how I pray,

My father`s gun to miss its prey!

The valleys roared. Knelt, in the stream,

She raised her head, as in a dream

She watched the sky, the moon, the stars

Then fell and water gleamed with scars.

A blue bird rushed, in a tree, unknown

The deer`s life has softly flown,

Crying like birds when they depart

And their fall migrations start.

I went to close her eyes, below

So sadly laid her antlers shadow

I startled livid when, suddenly, offbeat,

My father screeched with joy: “Meat, we have meat!

I say “Father, I`m thirsty!” he nods that I may drink.

Bemusing water, how sullenly you glow!

I feel tied by thirst to the soul that died

At an hour forbidden by custom and by law…

But our laws are useless and dead

When our life hangs up on a thread

And custom, law and pity are quickly gone

When sis` is sick and hungry at home.

The smokes comes out of my father`s gun

The leafage in flocks starts to run!

My father kindles a terrible fire

The wood seems now darker and higher!

I pick up from the grass, as in a dream,

A tiny bell with silver gleam,

My father, from the spit rends with his nails

The deer`s heart and her entrails.

You, heart? I`m hungry! I want to live, I wish, although…

Forgive me deer, forgive me virgin-doe!

I`m tired. How tall is now the fire! The woods, how deep!

I cry. What does my father think? I eat and cry. I eat!