Bareheaded, empty-handed, eyes up
The Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, July 2010
Global on holiday
mother’s holiday
newly-wed’s holiday
Roman holiday
desert holiday
training holiday
יְרוּשָׁלַיִם holiday
destination-unknown holiday
Climbing Vysoka
“The contradictions the mind comes up against – these are the only realities: they are the criterion of the real. There is no contradiction in what is imaginary. Contradiction is the test of necessity.
Contradiction experienced to the very depths of the being tears us heart and soul: it is the cross.
When the attention has revealed the contradiction in something on which it has been fixed. a kind of loosening takes place. By persevering in this course we attain detachment.
The demonstrable correlation of opposites is an image of the transcendental correlation of contradictories.
All true good carries with it conditions which are contradictory and as a consequence is impossible. He who keeps his attention really fixed on this impossibility and acts will do what is good.
In the same way all truth contains a contradiction.
Contradiction is the point of the pyramid.
The word good has not the same meaning when it is a term of be correlation good-evil as when it describes the very being of God.
The existence of opposite virtues in the souls of the saints: the metaphor of climbing corresponds to this. If I am walking on the side of a mountain I can see first a lake, then, after a few steps, a forest. I have to choose either the lake or the forest. If I want to see both lake and forest at once, I have to climb higher.
Only the mountain does not exist. It is: made of air. One cannot go up: it is necessary to be drawn.”
Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace
Wrong face up, or Czech absurdity
We were sitting in one of many parks in Prague, sipping delicious Pilsners, chatting and waging a crazy war against an inexplicable army of flying insects (which I believe anticipated further events) when we realized that the evening is like an empty glass and we are very thirsty. Flicking through a dozen of free leaflets recommending plenty of venues to fill up the glass with, Cornelia noticed, to our delight, the ad informing about Petr Zelenka Quartet at Balbinova Poeticka Hospudka. There was no hesitation, and no time – we buried the hatchet with insects and left the park.
We reached our destination after a twenty-minute walk and realized that the farther from the centre of the city, the less people you could communicate with in English. The owner of the place was only able to sell the tickets and confirm that Petr Zelenka was playing that day. Excited and elated, the three of us sat by the table, as close to the scene as possible just to find out in a matter of seconds that the only Petr Zelenka we knew was a famous film director. Now, the Petr Zelenka in front of us was a talented jazz musician. Despite being a bit thrown off the balance, we realized that we were there for the music no matter which Petr Zelenka was to perform and our benevolence was rewarded with a great deal of tasty tunes that evening.
txt
i’m waiting outside the cathedral
can’t join you
it’s pissing down here
hmm it was surprising
your call
it seems we still know
little of each other
stay cool
you can meet us at thomas becket
in orange street
if you feel like
pity
just left town
on your way home
take shortcut
to see cathedral
and full moon
very sorry
any chance we could meet
tuesday or wednesday
around 12
have had a rough nite
will explain
how about 7 dials
at 7.15
hey
7 dials
can we say 7.30
walked away
with real sadness
would like to see more of you
next time
always enjoy
our brief interludes
have a safe flight home
some important words
spoken last night
thx
The Old Man
from Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day
I decided to step out and stretch my legs a little and when I did so, I received a stronger impression than ever of being perched on the side of a hill. On one side of the road, thickets and small trees rose steeply, while on the other I could now glimpse through the foliage the distant countryside.
I believe I had walked a little way along the roadside, peering through the foliage hoping to get a better view, when I heard a voice behind me. Until this point, of course, I had believed myself quite alone and I turned in some surprise. A little way further up the road on the opposite side, I could see the start of a footpath, which disappeared steeply up into the thickets. Sitting on the large stone that marked this spot was a thin, white-haired man in a cloth cap, smoking his pipe. He called to me again and though I could not quite make out his words, I could see him gesturing for me to join him. For a moment, I took him for a vagrant, but then I saw he was just some local fellow enjoying the fresh air and summer sunshine, and saw no reason not to comply.
Read more..
Love at first sight
There are so many worlds existing parallel, the rich and the poor, the young and the elderly, those who are healthy and those who suffer. Recently I have come across another one.
I was imprisoned in my clumsy body and had to approach the surface every fifteen seconds for breath, but diving over a coral reef turned to be my dream come true. Surrounded by a shoal of fish in any color man could imagine, I felt like a part of the underwater world. The rays of sunlight were gently touching the variety of shades and shapes. Unbelievable. Awesome.
Only then did I realize that I had just knocked on the door to the world I had never known before, the world I would love to explore. Without intervention, only pure observation and admiration of its endless beauty.
At this very moment, as I am sitting in front of my PC, that world lives its own life. I am so content to be aware of its existence and hope to have a closer encounter with it one day.
diana_ielts7
Lost in Barcelona
Camp Nou, (or as the English reverse it, Nou Camp) in Catalan (the language of Catalonia) means ‘new field’. Every week about 80, maybe 90 thousand people (capacity crowd is 99 thousand) come to this biggest football stadium in Europe. But what is it about, why would they do that? It’s a commonplace among people who do not particularly enjoy football (especially women) to say that they see no point in sitting for an hour and a half and watch 22 men running after a ball. But it’s enough to go there once and be in this countless crowd of people to feel and realize that something special and absolutely unique is going on. It’s the same story as with what somebody once said about Christianity, it has to be true, since so many people followed it.
In the background there is the city. The other half of Barcelonians (because you cannot help getting the impression that half of the city is there on the stadium, even though it is only one twentieth) is considering the options for the evening. Either they will choose a stroll down the beach (you do not get so many tourist there in the evenings) or, most likely, they will end up in one of the cafes, bars and restaurants, so numerous everywhere, really. No big parties and celebrations are on the agenda today, as it is Sunday and tomorrow everyone has to go to work. Yes, adults go to work, and children to school. It’s hard to believe that in this city of palm trees, clear skies, loud tourists, astounding architecture, the sea and the mountains, people live like anywhere else, say Białystok, for that matter. (michał_t)
Lost in Monmouth Street again
Try and guess what is being described here: ‘juicy-fruit notes with medium body and citrus acidity’, ‘sweet red-berry fruits with smooth body’, ‘smooth cocoa, full bodied’. More? How about ‘thick and nutty with fruity length’ or ‘lemon cream flavours and light body’?
This is the lingo that specialists use to depict flavours and aromas of different coffees from around the globe. The place where these coffees are sampled, served and sold is a small coffee shop called Monmouth Coffee Company, named after the street in the heart of Covent Garden. The tiny sitting area is a combination of a kitchen and three claustrophobic cubicles accomodating four people each. Customers sit squeezed in twos, facing one another across simple pine tables, constantly muttering ‘sorry’ since their feet and knees touch all the time. True coffee addicts don’t seem to mind any inconvenience though and keep returning to the place, queuing patiently for their cup of Brasil or Kenya. At certain times they might be lucky if the famous bench outside is free.
MCC from the shop opposite
Lost in the Garden of England
Sunday morning. The bright and breezy weather is perfect for a day trip in the countryside. Others have chosen busy towns on the coast, but we feel like improvising. All we know is our destination, Sissinghurst Castle Garden. We take a shortcut way downhill through the clover-covered meadows to Canterbury West station. Just before the station there is a farmers market, full of local produce and tempting home-made delicacies. On the spot we decide to get some pastries from the two teenage girls. ‘Our mum makes them’, they say. A bottle of cider goes into the rucksack too. We are improvising ahead you see, having lunch in mind, perhaps a picnic. We need to take a train to Sundhurst, then change for a bus. While waiting we watch two happy blokes mumbling insanely and tryig to turn the platform into a sofa, coming down after Saturday night out.
Sundhurst feels like middle-of-nowhere and there is no bus until an hour later. All of a sudden a small car stops and we hear a question, ‘Are you headed for the castle?’ An elderly couple offer us a lift. The wife is Dutch and he is English, now both retired, they moved to Kent after spending their busy life in Rhodesia. The man decides for us to have the most picturesque route as the last leg of our trip and he drops us at the egde of a forest. The improvisation continues. We walk for more than half an hour, stopping every minute to pick ripe blackberries along the path and not having enough of them. With our imagination already spinning we arrive at Sissinghurst.
