Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.  ~Ambrose Redmoon

 

 

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.  ~Winston Churchill

 

 

It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.  ~Mark Twain

 

 

People are made of flesh and blood and a miracle fibre called courage.  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic’s Notebook, 1960

 

 

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.  ~Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters to Lucilius

 Source: http://dwhamby1.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/courage.jpg

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear.  Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment to say it is brave.  ~Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar, 1894

 

 

Cowardice, as distinguished from panic, is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend the functioning of the imagination.  ~Ernest Hemingway, Men at War, 1942

 

 

The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy.  ~John F. Kennedy

 

 

There is no such thing as bravery; only degrees of fear.  ~John Wainwright

 

 

To him that waits all things reveal themselves, provided that he has the courage not to deny, in the darkness, what he has seen in the light.  ~Coventry Patmore

Source: http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3125/3149942255_1325221807.jpg

One has just to be oneself.  That’s my basic message.  The moment you accept yourself as you are, all burdens, all mountainous burdens simply disappear.  Then life is a sheer joy, a festival of lights.

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

We are meant to midwife dreams for one another… Success occurs in clusters.

Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way

Take heart, truth and happiness will get you in the end.  You can’t lose in this game.  Have fun.

John and Lyn St. Clair Thomas

A human being is a part of the whole…. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical illusion of… consciousness.  This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us.

Albert Einstein

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

Joseph Campbell

 Source: http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2007/04/gift-light.jpg

Виктор Пелевин «Т», page 89

Судьба света

Ты не строка в Книге Жизни, а её читатель.  Тот свет, который делает страницу видимой.  Но суть всех земных историй в том, что этот вечный свет плетётся за пачкотнёй ничтожных авторов и не в силах возвыситься до своей настоящей судьбы – до тех пор, пока об этом не будет сказано в Книге…  Впрочем, только свет может знать, в чём судьба света.

Соловьёв

Light’s Fate

You are not just a line in a Book of Life, but its reader.  That light that makes a page visible.  But the essence of all the earth stories is that this eternal light drags itself after the daub of worthless authors and is not capable of rising itself to its real fate – until it would be mentioned in the Book… – However, only light can know, the destiny of light.

Solovyev

The lyrics are rather strange, yet… who knows why I like this song?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6JcmQgx1fg&feature=related 

I am alone…

You are alone, you are without me like the wind

Leave so nobody will take notice

Leave behind my back

I am fine without you

Maybe one of the reasons that I like this song is that I am in the “parting” mode.  Today is only Day 2.

Уходи, чтобы никто и не заметил…

Уходи так, чтоб никто и не заметил
Уходи за моей спиной
Мне уже хорошо одной

Одна…

Я одна, я без тебя стою с тобою

Я – вина, моя вина перед собою

Мне бы сделать один лишь шаг

Чтобы быть все могло не так

И чтобы было с чего начать

Не молчать…

Одна на небе сна

Одна ниточка боль

Я в туман собрала

Из разлуки с тобой

Из обиды стена

Одна посреди нас

Я с тобою одна

Одна завтра, сейчас

Ты один, ты без меня один, как ветер

Уходи так, чтоб никто и не заметил

Уходи за моей спиной

Мне уже хорошо одной

Я как в небе сестра Луна

Одна…

Одна на небе сна

Одна ниточка боль

Я в туман собрала

Из разлуки с тобой

Из обиды стена

Одна посреди нас

Я с тобою одна

Одна завтра, сейчас

Долго друг друга помнили – не помнили

Мы ничего не поняли, не поняли

Как мы с тобой то верили – не верили

Так я теперь одна, теперь одна

Одна на небе сна

Одна ниточка боль

Я в туман собрала

Из разлуки с тобой

Из обиды стена

Одна посреди нас

Я с тобою одна

Одна завтра, сейчас

Одна…

Я одна, одна без тебя

A poem about Winter Landscape.

Surprisingly enough, I was thinking what I could write about Winter Landscape.  That was my homework for January.  Yes, that one from the calendar.

And that is what I found.

A Russian romance “In the Moonlight the snow is sparkling”.

Because it is Russian Romance, it is in the Russian language.  Obviously, but that is not the point.  I had to look up the word romance because I was not sure if I used it correctly.  Apparently, I was right and one of the meanings of “romance” is “a short, lyrical composition.”

But then I looked at the origin of the word and that where I lost my conscience. (A joke!)  The word “romance” stems from the word Roma = Rome.  If I take things literally and I do it quite often, just for fun, then a Russian Romance is a contradiction of terms.

So, all these meanings: a love story, a literary genre, the aura of excitement and more simply come back to Rome.  Literally, all roads lead to Rome.  Or rather all ROMANCES originate in Rome.  Or?  Maybe that is the reason why my Italian friend is so amorous all the time.

Coming back to “In the moonlight the snow is sparkling”.  This romance is neither about winter, nor about landscape, it is about Love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yFfX-UK9PI&feature=related

В лунном сиянье

слова и музыка Е. Юрьева

Полный текст песни

слова и музыка Е. Юрьева

В лунном сиянье снег серебрится,

Вдоль по дороге троечка мчится.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенит,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви говорит.

В лунном сиянье ранней весною

Помнятся встречи, друг мой, с тобою.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенел,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви сладко пел.

Помнятся гости шумной толпою,

Личико милой с белой фатою.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Звон бокалов шумит,

С молодою женой

Мой соперник стоит.

В лунном сиянье снег серебрится,

Вдоль по дороге троечка мчится.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенит,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви говорит.

What do you know?  I always stumble on something and this song “I will remain the Light for you” seems to continue the theme of Light from the post “I never once refused not to help you”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKGR8V-fJRw&feature=related

My Next Calling

My next calling was discovered by my darling – “Mein Lieber A.”, Mr. “And your point being?”, “Mi Amore”, Mr. “I never promised you anything”, Mr. “I am Beautiful”, Mr. Denial (well, I am being creative with nicknames!)

I do have a soft spot for him, obviously.  He doesn’t reciprocate, but that is fine, it is to be expected.

He does not have such a good memory and my ability to pay attention and remember some of his words is the source of irritation for him.  Once he gave me permission to kick him out of his complacent condition, yet when I did, he did not like it all that much.  That is to be expected, too.

Quoting:

“If you wish to devote all your energy to keeping tabs on me on what I say then you may have found your next calling.”

I wish I had such sharp memory to remember everything he said, but I don’t.  But some things just stay, what can I do?

Certain sentences are repeated so many times, they become fixtures, motifs, cornerstones, whatever name you want to use.  “I never promised you anything” and “And your point being is?” are just a few of them.

Some sentences are just worth remembering.

“I never once refused not to help you.”

 

“I am beautiful.”

 

“I […] enter this forest at its darkest point; for it is at the darkest moment we see the light.”

How about that?

The best thing about him is not my infatuation, however sweet, intoxicating, euphoric and painful it might be, but the fact that he inspires me in a sense.  Is it he I like or my own reflection in him; for we can only see ourselves reflected in others?

Maybe I am not Light enough (my name literally means “Light”) for him to see, or maybe he is not in that dark forest anymore.  Maybe he never was there.  Of course, I am joking.  Most people (he is not an exception) take things way too seriously.

So my next calling is not to remember him and his every word, but to discover that Light within me that will bring me happiness and harmony.  Whether I can light anybody else’s life or not, we will see.  Discovering that Light would be my Success.  Yes, that one that is usually defined (limited!) by perseverance.

Talking about names!

“There’s a scientific hypothesis that every person’s name is a primary suggestive command that contains the entire script of their life in highly concentrated form. . . . According to this point of view, there is only a limited number of names, because society only needs a limited number of human types. Just a few models of worker and warrior ants, if I could put it like that. And everybody’s psyche is preprogrammed at a basic level by the associative semantic fields that their first name and surname activate.”
— Victor Pelevin (The Sacred Book of the Werewolf

If that is right, I must be Light.  The question is what Light is and what to do with it.

Quotes on the subject.

1. Love is not consolation.  It is light.  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

 

2. Someday perhaps the inner light will shine forth from us, and then we’ll need no other light.  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

3. Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space.  It does not seek anything in return; it asks not whether you are friend or foe.  It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished.  ~Michael Strassfeld

 

4. We are each gifted in a unique and important way. It is our privilege and our adventure to discover our own special light.  ~Mary Dunbar

 

5. Light, when suddenly let in, dazzles and hurts and almost blinds us: but this soon passes away, and it seems to become the only element we can exist in.  ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827

 

6. Light can be gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, bare, living, dead, misty, clear, hot, dark, violet, springlike, falling, straight, sensual, limited, poisonous, calm and soft.  ~Sven Nykvist

 

7. The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come.  At the darkest moment comes the light.  ~Joseph Campbell

 

8. Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.  ~Kahlil Gibran

 

9. Your life is something opaque, not transparent, as long as you look at it in an ordinary human way.  But if you hold it up against the light of God’s goodness, it shines and turns transparent, radiant and bright.  And then you ask yourself in amazement:  Is this really my own life I see before me?  ~Albert Schweitzer

 

10. An age is called “dark,” not because the light fails to shine but because people refuse to see it.  ~James Michener

Coming back to

“I never once refused not to help you.”  He did help me.  By making me amorous, by irritating me, by making me think, by inspiring me.

“Why do you want to be infatuated with me?”  It was not my choice, mi amore, but it felt good, why is it so difficult to understand?  But he does not have to understand; searching for the Light and Meanings is my journey.

So there I go, full of Love in my heart and Hope and Light………………………………..

I keep asking myself, “what my web site is all about?”  There is no clear answer.  There is no clear purpose.  No purpose, no focus, no shape, no form.  Nothing.  Just my life reflected by day-to-day posts.  Poetry, songs, thoughts.  Mostly Quotes.  It is sort of a diary, but not the one written exclusively for oneself.  It is my corner of the universe, distant from everybody else and yet it is entirely my universe of which I am the center.

It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a diary. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one’s own identity.
Beatrice Webb

No, this “diary” is not for that mysterious personification of my own identity.  There is another one, personal one, for me only.  The one I don’t want to be read by anyone but me.  There is a strong need to destroy that other one after it serves its purpose.  The purpose?  Sometimes I have to come back to my own thoughts to see the pattern, to analyze what is wrong and to see things clearer in a perspective rather than in the heat of the moment.

“Examining our hangnails” is a part of life.  I don’t write about stupid things like that.  “Speculating on cosmic order”?  I love it, but I turn to other people who have said plenty on the topic.  There is no lack of speculation.  Is it important for me?  Yes, that is why I like Pelevin’s books so much.  They do fill the void and provide enough speculation on the cosmic order. “Light, dust, mind, void, formlessness”.

I do not keep a diary. Never have. To write a diary every day is like returning to one’s own vomit.
J. Enoch Powell

I like this quote, a bit too graphic, but it has some merit to that.  Sometimes it is better to forget.  Pay no attention.  But I found that keeping a diary sometimes prevents me from “throwing up again and again”.  I need to record thoughts and keep them for a while.  That is my personality trait.  That is the part of that “mysterious personification of my own identity.”

Keep it a diary for a while, let it serve its purpose and then destroy.  Destruction is also part of the process.

Victor Pelevin “The Sacred Book of Werewolf”

‘The real super-werewolf is a heavenly being.  A heavenly being never loses her connection with the heavens.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘In this world there is nothing but dust.  But when a heavenly being sees the dust, she remembers the light that makes the dust visible.  While a tailless monkey only sees the dust on which the light falls.  That’s why when a heavenly being dies, she becomes light.  But when a tailless monkey dies, he becomes dust.’

‘Light, dust,’ he said, ‘so there is something there after all!  There is some kind of individual personality.  You’ve definitely got one, Ginger.  I’ve felt that pretty strongly just recently.  Or will you tell me I’m wrong?’

‘This personality, with all its quirks and stupidities simply dances like a doll in the clear light of my mind.  And the more stupid this doll’s quirks, the clearer the light that I recognize over and over again.’

‘Now you’re saying “my mind”.  But you only just said it’s not yours.’

“That’s the way language works.  It’s the root from which infinite human stupidity grows.  And we were-creatures suffer from it too, because we’re always talking.  It’s not possible to open your mouth without being wrong.  So you shouldn’t haggle over words.’

‘All right.  But the personality that dances like a doll – that’s you, isn’t it?’

‘No.  I don’t think of this personality as me, because I’m very far from being a doll.  I am the light that makes it visible.  But the light and the doll are only metaphors, and you shouldn’t clutch at them.’

Aubade means “Morning Song”. The posts on this web site are more than anything reflections of my mood.  They mirror my thoughts and sometimes give solace, or sense of direction.  Right now I feel that I lack focus and need to go back and reflect on my past.  Frankly I always do that.  Since I started writing (well, writing in my own way), it became easier to see myself from different angles of my changing moods.  For a month I was not sure I will live – the reality of being suicidal is harsh.  But now the last thing I am thinking of is death and yet after an extensive search of a poem – I surprisingly for myself picked a couple named “Aubade”.

Aubade

Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half drunk at night.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.

In time the curtain edges will grow light.

Till then I see what’s really always there:

Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,

Making all thought impossible but how

And where and when I shall myself die.

Arid interrogation: yet the dread

Of dying, and being dead,

Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse

- The good not used, the love not given, time

Torn off unused – nor wretchedly because

An only life can take so long to climb

Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never:

But at the total emptiness forever,

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid

No trick dispels. Religion used to try,

That vast moth-eaten musical brocade

Created to pretend we never die,

And specious stuff that says no rational being

Can fear a thing it cannot feel, not seeing

that this is what we fear – no sight, no sound,

No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,

Nothing to love or link with,

The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,

A small unfocused blur, a standing chill

That slows each impulse down to indecision

Most things may never happen: this one will,

And realisation of it rages out

In furnace fear when we are caught without

People or drink. Courage is no good:

It means not scaring others. Being brave

Lets no one off the grave.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.

It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,

Have always known, known that we can’t escape

Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.

Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring

In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring

Intricate rented world begins to rouse.

The sky is white as clay, with no sun.

Work has to be done.

Postmen like doctors go from house to house.