Focul nu arde, gandurile nu trosnesc in jar. Sunt ascunse si tacute. E tacere, nu liniste. E intuneric, nu lumina. Aduse in focus, unul cate unul gandurile ard, consuma cenusa, materialul durerii. Atunci cand nu mai e nici un gand, e liniste, e lumina. (more…)
Cand cu o zi inainte ai muncit de la 09:00 pana la 02:00, ai mers prin oras si esti plin de noroi pana la gat, mai sunt si oameni plictisiti care te bat la cap e un pic cam greu sa pornesti optimismul de dimineata. Totusi lucrurile mici conteaza, ca atunci cand babuta care vinde nuci si alte pungute misterioase pe scara farmaciei se uita la tine mirata ca nu intelegi de ce nu se deschide usa si zice: “E inventariu, maica!”. Asa ca optimismul e uneori ca o masina care nu sta la relanti, brm, brm, trebuie sa-i mai dai un pic de energie din cand in cand sau pur si simplu sa iesi si sa impingi.
Those who motivate you to do things which are good for you are good for you.
I am too old:
Aren’t you too … to … ?
Ever since my diet food is the source of many feelings and battles. Each day food is a source of joy and a source of sorrow. And a complicated source it is. At the begining I started cooking. Small portions, simple recipes, tasty recipes. It gave me a feeling of rejoicement. The work, the battle to wait had a reward. But then there where more recipes, more complicated, more subtle. All the spices: cardamom, taragon, curcuma, ginger, pepper, coriander combined in delicate ways. Simple touches of taste, of increasing subtilities. The cookies, the sauces, the rice, the cous-cous. And then at a moment there was no more time to cook, more work, more trouble to the mind, no rest. Buying food has become incresingly difficult. The oily, the burned, the overcooked. No satisfaction, no reward. The portion was not providing enough enjoyment, asked for more. It seemed deprived of taste. I wanted the sauce, the mild, the sweet but istead could only found the “traditional” french fries and shanghai chicken or the snitzel. So little reward. And so much guilt for eating bad food. I hate the lack of quality, of taste, of variety in food. All this food which seems industrial. The guilt of eating bad food. I wish the time to cook, to share a meal with simple flavours but not oily, not dry, not overcooked and not in xxl portions. I wish to eat food which does not makes me feel guilty of my hunger, of eating bad, un-satisfying food. I wish the rewarding food with time to breathe after each bite, the shared pleasure of food.
In-out, in-out. There is magic, power. The fear of magic stands in the question that if something is built on magic will it resist it’s weak state? Can you build on just one brick? Can you build on magic? The in-out is gone. The fear of magic is stronger than the desire of magic. This is the first block. You cannot experience magic if you fear it.
- N-am mai fost de mult asa de obosit
- :(
- E bine :)
- De ce?
- Ca n-am mai fost de mult asa de obosit :)
In-out, in-out. I’m trying to focus the mind on the in-out. In-out. For a moment there is emptiness. Like a line hanging in the void. The in-out line. I cannot form the words for the in-out. Words are distractions by themselves. Forming the in-out in words is loosing the in-out. Forming the thought in word is bringing it to the upper levels. I need the sub-thought of the in-out. In-out, in-out. Relative void around the line. Colors, images. The sub-thought of repulsion of images. Images, memories. Word forming. Repulsion of words. The line of in-out. In-out, in-out. Focus on the in-out line, more images, colors. An itch, strong, organic. Repulsion of the feeling of itch, no acknowledgments, no forming of words. Stronger, organic. In-out, in-out. Faiding. In-out, in-out. Sub-thoughts floating around the line of the in-out. In-out, in-out. Narrowing the line, no words, sub-thoughts, sub-mental actions not formed in words. In-out, in-out. The thought of reference, sensation, whiteness. No words. In-out, in-out. Sub-thoughts linked, images, memories. Details. A detail is wrong, the time is wrong in it. The memory of reference is wrong because the detail is wrong. The thought is false!? All the reference is wrong? imagined, dreamed. Was it all a dream? In-out, in-out. The line is lost, reference is lost. Tumbling sub-thoughts then words formed thoughts, generated connexions. The itch. Awake.
Let’s classify happiness in simple (basic) happiness and complex (social, standardized, approved) happiness. As the basic happiness does not require many things or at least not many things that can be bought it “has been” evolved into a complex happiness with much greater needs. However this complex hapiness is also much more unstable and fragile because even if based in part on the simpler form it relies too much on form and image.
As for the simple happiness it is much more difficult to achieve these days because of the continuous comparison with the complex variant and the rapidly changing environment. Thus my opinion is that simple happiness require a bubble of isolation which can be created only by discipline. The discipline is required to continuosly maintain and filter the aspects which might compare or translate to complex happiness and thus lead to the demise of happiness.
Many times I wished for things and everyone does. Sometimes I waited, sometimes I succeded, sometimes I postponned. These days I have a new, strange reason. At first it was just an itch but it soon become more and more pressing. I wish things because I this is the end of summer. Now I can and there is not much reason not to. At the end of my summer, time is going more and more precious and I don’t want to miss things even if the price for them seems a bit high. No, there is no more time to wait, no more reason. It’s the end of summer, time is shorter. Now I can, I should, I will. Cannot wait, cannot waiver, cannot dream. It’s time for action, for implementation. It’s the end of summer.
When debug is not possible accept the un-debugable.
PS. there are however some good things in life
Dumplings
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