Monday, 27 December 2010
Monday, 13 December 2010
It was supposed to be a comment to the previous post, but it was too long...
From tonatierra.org
NAHUACALLI – A Cultural Embassy of the Indigenous Peoples supporting local-global holistic indigenous community development initiatives in accord with the principle of Community Ecology and Self Determination
NEMONTEMI
Tamechtlahpahloa, Greetings to all, the following is an offering from our relative in El Paso, TX, Carlos Aceves, related to the teaching and learning’s that is derived from the studies of the Tonalmachiotl. A new presentation will be offered each day of the Nemontemi that bridges the year mahtlactli calli, 10 House and mahtlactli ihuan ce tochtli, 11 Rabbit.
Tonalpohualli
Tonal Machiotl is a product of Tloque Nauoque/Hunab K’u, the “giver of all measurement and movement.” Through the geometric manifestation of circle united with square, Tonal Machiotl is thirteen wheels working together to track, measure, and calculate the cycles of Creation. My friend Andrés Juárez said it best, “The Aztec Calendar is a model of kinship with Creation.”
A cycle specific to human beings is Tonalpohualli, the cycle of human life.
This cycle centers around one quantity—260 days. There are two other numbers integral to this count—13 and 20. Thirteen has two functions, one as 13 x 20 = 260, and 260 + 13 = 273.
To understand their role we need to identify and track the 8 points of vital importance to life on Earth: two equinoxes, two solstices, the point at which the Earth is farthest from the Sun (aphelion), the point at which she is closest to the Sun (aphelion), and the two points at which they are equidistant from Tonatiuh (equihelion).
The aphelion happens 13 days after the summer solstice, the perihelion 13 days after the winter solstice, and both equihelions happen 13 days after each equinox.
Using the four celestial occurrences (aphelion, perihelion, equihelions) we arrive at 273. From aphelion to Spring there are 273 days. The same is true from the Fall equihelion to the summer solstice, from perihelion to Fall equihelion, and from Spring equihelion to winter solstice. What is significant about 273 is that those are the number of days in a human gestation period from conception to birth.
Tradition tells that the human season (first of nine in a human being’s life) is marked by five stages: conception, housing in the womb, housing of the heart, housing of the brain, housing of the tonalli, and birth.
Tonalli, the animating force which Sun, nests on the opening atop the skull, the moyera at day 260 of gestation.
At that moment the tonalli begins descending into the body (it takes two years to full enter) and integrating with the other animating forces: teyolia, ihiyotl, and atalchinolli. The first step of integration takes 13 days, and we are ready to be born at 273 days.
Tonal Machiotl’s wheel of 20 days functions on a count of 13. In counting the days, after thirteen we return to one. Here the day-glyphs tochtli, tecpatl, calli, and acatl not only serve as one of the twenty days but also as the names of the years (we are entering the year tochtli) and the 13th day after which each season begins.
The equihelion after Fall corresponds to tochtli. The Afelion correspond to acatl, perihelion to tecpatl, and the equihelion of Spring to calli. As we track the year through Tonal Machiotl we can identify these positions and their parent seasons through the number 13.
On a personal level, the birth of an individual can also be tracked.
Thirteen days prior to birth is the housing of the tonalli, the vibration frequency we share with the sun.
Tradition tells us that every 260 days our solar frequency begins a re-adjustment in its relationship with the other animating forces and that this adjustment takes 13 days. We undergo a “rebirth” every 273 days.
This is not a mystical concept. We have seen how these numbers correspond to positions of Earth in relation to Sun. Each one of us is a smaller planet, also orbiting the Sun. Our entire being is made up of the unity of Earth and Sun.
Current science, the very one we teach our children through their elementary and secondary school years is that this orbit creates accumulative changes that culminate in many pivotal changes of which the Seasons are only one aspect. All this is due to the radiation, gravity, heat, motion, weather, tides, and the space-time continuum.
Our bodies, as they orbit the Sun along with the Earth go through no less changes and adjustments. We too have our individual aphelion, perihelion, and equhelions. We too have our seasons.
Tonal Machiotl tracks, records, and calculates those as well as the celestial bodies that make up of significant Creation.
NAHUACALLI – A Cultural Embassy of the Indigenous Peoples supporting local-global holistic indigenous community development initiatives in accord with the principle of Community Ecology and Self Determination
NEMONTEMI
Tamechtlahpahloa, Greetings to all, the following is an offering from our relative in El Paso, TX, Carlos Aceves, related to the teaching and learning’s that is derived from the studies of the Tonalmachiotl. A new presentation will be offered each day of the Nemontemi that bridges the year mahtlactli calli, 10 House and mahtlactli ihuan ce tochtli, 11 Rabbit.
Tonalpohualli
Tonal Machiotl is a product of Tloque Nauoque/Hunab K’u, the “giver of all measurement and movement.” Through the geometric manifestation of circle united with square, Tonal Machiotl is thirteen wheels working together to track, measure, and calculate the cycles of Creation. My friend Andrés Juárez said it best, “The Aztec Calendar is a model of kinship with Creation.”
A cycle specific to human beings is Tonalpohualli, the cycle of human life.
This cycle centers around one quantity—260 days. There are two other numbers integral to this count—13 and 20. Thirteen has two functions, one as 13 x 20 = 260, and 260 + 13 = 273.
To understand their role we need to identify and track the 8 points of vital importance to life on Earth: two equinoxes, two solstices, the point at which the Earth is farthest from the Sun (aphelion), the point at which she is closest to the Sun (aphelion), and the two points at which they are equidistant from Tonatiuh (equihelion).
The aphelion happens 13 days after the summer solstice, the perihelion 13 days after the winter solstice, and both equihelions happen 13 days after each equinox.
Using the four celestial occurrences (aphelion, perihelion, equihelions) we arrive at 273. From aphelion to Spring there are 273 days. The same is true from the Fall equihelion to the summer solstice, from perihelion to Fall equihelion, and from Spring equihelion to winter solstice. What is significant about 273 is that those are the number of days in a human gestation period from conception to birth.
Tradition tells that the human season (first of nine in a human being’s life) is marked by five stages: conception, housing in the womb, housing of the heart, housing of the brain, housing of the tonalli, and birth.
Tonalli, the animating force which Sun, nests on the opening atop the skull, the moyera at day 260 of gestation.
At that moment the tonalli begins descending into the body (it takes two years to full enter) and integrating with the other animating forces: teyolia, ihiyotl, and atalchinolli. The first step of integration takes 13 days, and we are ready to be born at 273 days.
Tonal Machiotl’s wheel of 20 days functions on a count of 13. In counting the days, after thirteen we return to one. Here the day-glyphs tochtli, tecpatl, calli, and acatl not only serve as one of the twenty days but also as the names of the years (we are entering the year tochtli) and the 13th day after which each season begins.
The equihelion after Fall corresponds to tochtli. The Afelion correspond to acatl, perihelion to tecpatl, and the equihelion of Spring to calli. As we track the year through Tonal Machiotl we can identify these positions and their parent seasons through the number 13.
On a personal level, the birth of an individual can also be tracked.
Thirteen days prior to birth is the housing of the tonalli, the vibration frequency we share with the sun.
Tradition tells us that every 260 days our solar frequency begins a re-adjustment in its relationship with the other animating forces and that this adjustment takes 13 days. We undergo a “rebirth” every 273 days.
This is not a mystical concept. We have seen how these numbers correspond to positions of Earth in relation to Sun. Each one of us is a smaller planet, also orbiting the Sun. Our entire being is made up of the unity of Earth and Sun.
Current science, the very one we teach our children through their elementary and secondary school years is that this orbit creates accumulative changes that culminate in many pivotal changes of which the Seasons are only one aspect. All this is due to the radiation, gravity, heat, motion, weather, tides, and the space-time continuum.
Our bodies, as they orbit the Sun along with the Earth go through no less changes and adjustments. We too have our individual aphelion, perihelion, and equhelions. We too have our seasons.
Tonal Machiotl tracks, records, and calculates those as well as the celestial bodies that make up of significant Creation.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Astronomical Christmas?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perihelion:
"Currently, perihelion occurs about 14 days after the December solstice, thus making January 4 the mean date of perihelion. January's perihelion puts Earth at a distance of 91,402,505 miles (147,098,074 km, 0.98328989 AU) from the Sun and July's aphelion is at 94,509,130 miles (152,097,701 km, 1.01671033 AU)"
So, the astronomical event that coincides more of less with Christmas is perihelion, the part of Earth's orbital movement closest to the Sun, culminating around the date of 4th January (in 2011 it's the 3rd of January.
How come people use to have important ritual holidays in this part of the year ever long before the official Christianity parable, dedicated to various deities over time, for example:
"It is beyond doubt that Christmas was originally a pagan festival. The time of the year and the ceremonies with which it is still celebrated, prove its origin.
Isis, the Egyptian title for the "queen of heaven," gave birth to a son at this very time, about the time of the winter solstice. The term "Yule" is the Chaldee (Babylonian) name for "infant" or "little child.""
(from: Christmas: Is it "Christian" or Pagan? Lorraine Day, M.D.http://www.goodnewsaboutgod.com/studies/holidays2.htm)
Other sources mention Baal festivities, Mithra festivities, Adonis festivities etc, but I could not find quotes right now.
Anyway, the idea that Christmas was intentionally super-positioned on pagan rituals is not new, neither the subject of my post.
The question is what astronomical event invariably takes place in this period. Maybe the ancients chose this period because of the earthly symptoms ofEquinox Solstice: harsh weather, short and dark days, and so on. maybe not just this, descriptions of old symbols and traditions are very interesting to study...
Anyway, over the time, some people really interfered with the calendar system. I cannot realize if this shifted some real meaningful ritual dates and made them unknown by the large public or not. Maybe the calendar needed the corrections that were made, but still these raise some questions about what are we celebrating and when.
And the parades and public festivities originate in the antic "lesser mysteries" that were taught to the public through dances and theater, or ritual shows e.g. mask-dances.
"Currently, perihelion occurs about 14 days after the December solstice, thus making January 4 the mean date of perihelion. January's perihelion puts Earth at a distance of 91,402,505 miles (147,098,074 km, 0.98328989 AU) from the Sun and July's aphelion is at 94,509,130 miles (152,097,701 km, 1.01671033 AU)"
So, the astronomical event that coincides more of less with Christmas is perihelion, the part of Earth's orbital movement closest to the Sun, culminating around the date of 4th January (in 2011 it's the 3rd of January.
How come people use to have important ritual holidays in this part of the year ever long before the official Christianity parable, dedicated to various deities over time, for example:
"It is beyond doubt that Christmas was originally a pagan festival. The time of the year and the ceremonies with which it is still celebrated, prove its origin.
Isis, the Egyptian title for the "queen of heaven," gave birth to a son at this very time, about the time of the winter solstice. The term "Yule" is the Chaldee (Babylonian) name for "infant" or "little child.""
(from: Christmas: Is it "Christian" or Pagan? Lorraine Day, M.D.http://www.goodnewsaboutgod.com/studies/holidays2.htm)
Other sources mention Baal festivities, Mithra festivities, Adonis festivities etc, but I could not find quotes right now.
Anyway, the idea that Christmas was intentionally super-positioned on pagan rituals is not new, neither the subject of my post.
The question is what astronomical event invariably takes place in this period. Maybe the ancients chose this period because of the earthly symptoms of
Anyway, over the time, some people really interfered with the calendar system. I cannot realize if this shifted some real meaningful ritual dates and made them unknown by the large public or not. Maybe the calendar needed the corrections that were made, but still these raise some questions about what are we celebrating and when.
And the parades and public festivities originate in the antic "lesser mysteries" that were taught to the public through dances and theater, or ritual shows e.g. mask-dances.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Time as the best decider...
Very often a idea becomes a business, and the custom is to "make an entrance" in the arena, whatever this arena might be. Every effort is put into the launching and the initial publicity. Why? Because probably statistics show that by quickly fooling many potential "customers" the gains are big enough to not care about loosing many potential loyal customers. It does not matter that the business does not subsequently meet the promises of its launching, the first "hit" is customary the most important one.
This way of thinking should maybe be rejected. Make it discrete when entering an arena, but with the same money spent on publicity let's try and give a chance in time to whatever idea put into form we would be talking about. Book the place for at least a year or two, or the web domain...and just do whatever you want to do or say, letting the natural way of news-spreading do its job. Letting time decide whether it is something good or not, whether, even good, it is at the right moment or not.
Again: why?
I came across many things that made me say "This is great, why didn't I know of this before?". Then I thought, why this idea that I had to be announced of it, that someone should promote it? A good thing was there, waiting, and at the right moment in time I came across it. The lack of emphasis or publicity didn't mean nonexistence. On the contrary, too much self importance often means nonexistence ...of a real value.
Sometimes, we should give chance a chance...let time decide...
This way of thinking should maybe be rejected. Make it discrete when entering an arena, but with the same money spent on publicity let's try and give a chance in time to whatever idea put into form we would be talking about. Book the place for at least a year or two, or the web domain...and just do whatever you want to do or say, letting the natural way of news-spreading do its job. Letting time decide whether it is something good or not, whether, even good, it is at the right moment or not.
Again: why?
I came across many things that made me say "This is great, why didn't I know of this before?". Then I thought, why this idea that I had to be announced of it, that someone should promote it? A good thing was there, waiting, and at the right moment in time I came across it. The lack of emphasis or publicity didn't mean nonexistence. On the contrary, too much self importance often means nonexistence ...of a real value.
Sometimes, we should give chance a chance...let time decide...
Monday, 29 November 2010
Pentru prieteni de demult care nu vor citi/ For old friends who will not read this
What if words could express our thoughts without censorship? If the conversations, the real and sincere ones, the halves of conversation in our mind that are destined to our interlocutors would descend on the lips before we managed to lock them in that crowded place with dark locks named „common sense, manners, hypocrisy” ... Because after years of training, almost everything in our conversations is reflex hypocrisy.
I do not regret that I did not hurt others more with my words, by not putting the "naked truth" in front of people. Or sometimes I do regret, but that is not what I am speaking of now ...
I remember clearly in my mind some moments when I needed to say what is not usually said, the immeasurable curiosity to see how interlocutor's „locks” are blown away in response, even for a moment. Moments like those when one expects a rain after a doughty season.
Sometimes I took a step towards acting out those thoughts. I went back to some former friends (not romantic relationships, but friendships) after years have gone by to ask why „Why did we grow apart? Why did we fight for? What were you really thinking then?” I had a huge curiosity to find out at least now, when the anger was gone, what really happened. To find out the thoughts that were really there on the other side, in the past. To look back now, and warmly admit the true reasons, the true fights. I somehow longed for such answers to help me see myself clearer, to unblock something.
I have not yet achieved this with anyone. It's like trying to take out a book from the base of a pile, all the other books added after it in time are pressing it, holding it hostage. I clearly saw in their eyes that for a moment the truth was about to descend into words, then it was turned into a false oblivion, or indifference. „I do not remember, what are you doing now, let's not talk about the past, I am busy, come back next month” ...
Every such time people add stone of silence and solitude in the face of the world.
But what if I were to asked similar questions? Could I tell someone, even after years, that I hated one of his or her answers, or a look, or the fact that once in a coffee shop his or her coffee was foamier than mine? To admit and share the childish moment, the stupid little gesture that drove us apart?
Maybe I could try sometimes, if asked. If someone would guarantee a minimum of 100 words mandatory to exchange after such a moment of truth. If I opened my soul, however mean of a soul it would turn out to be, and then the person in front of me turned his/her back and went away, I could not bear it...
What if we were on a small island from where we cannot leave until we are honest with each other?
Cum ar fi daca cuvintele ar exprima gandurile, fara cenzura? Daca conversatiile reale si sincere, jumatatile de conversatie pe care le adresam in gand celor din fata noastra ar cobora pe buze inainte sa le oprim in acel loc aglomerat, inchis cu lacatul bunului-simt, politetii, ipocriziei…Caci dupa ani de antrenamente devine totul o ipocrizie reflexa.
Nu regret ca nu am jignit mai mult, ca nu am “trantit adevaruri” in fata. Sau cateodata regret, dar nu despre asta e vorba acum...
Dar am clar in cap momente in care simteam nevoia de a spune ceea ce nu se spune de obicei, si o curiozitate nemasurata de a vedea si la interlocutorul meu cum sare lacatul, macar pentru o clipa. Momente ca acelea cand astepti o ploaie dupa seceta si zapuseala.
Cateodata am facut un pas spre ele. Am revenit asupra unor foste prietenii (nu relatii sentimentale, ci prietenii) sa intreb dupa ani de zile de ce...De ce ne-am indeparatat? De ce ne-am certat de fapt? Ce a fost in capul tau atunci? Aveam o curiozitate imensa macar sa aflu, acum cand nu mai era manie sau suparare, ce a fost. Sa aflu parerea celeilalte parti. Daca macar privind inapoi, putem povesti despre adevarata cearta.
Inca nu am reusit asta cu nimeni. E ca si cum as incerca sa scot o carte aflata la baza unei gramezi, toate celelalte venite pe urma in timp o apasa si o tin prizoniera. Am vazut clar priviri in care pentru o clipa adevarul era gata sa coboare in vorbe, apoi ele se transformau intr-o falsa uitare, sau nepasare. Nu mai stiu, ce mai faci tu azi, hai sa nu vorbim despre trecut, cauta-ma luna viitoare...
De fiecare data cand ne regizam astfel adaugam inca o piatra de tacere si singuratate lumii.
Dar daca m-ar intreba ei pe mine? As putea sa spun cuiva, fie si dupa ani, ca nu mi-a placut o replica, o privire, faptul ca la o iesire cu prietenii a primit cafeaua cu mai multa spuma? Sa recunosc si sa povestesc momentul, fie el cat de copilaros, in care m-am indepartat?
Poate ca as incerca cateodata. „provided”, nah, ca imi vine cuvantul in engleza...daca ar fi garantat ca nu imi intoarce spatele in clipa urmatoare. Ca suporta, ca mai schimbam un minim de sa zicem 100 de cuvinte dupa...
Daca am fi pe o insula mica de unde sa nu putem pleca pana nu suntem sinceri unii cu altii?
I do not regret that I did not hurt others more with my words, by not putting the "naked truth" in front of people. Or sometimes I do regret, but that is not what I am speaking of now ...
I remember clearly in my mind some moments when I needed to say what is not usually said, the immeasurable curiosity to see how interlocutor's „locks” are blown away in response, even for a moment. Moments like those when one expects a rain after a doughty season.
Sometimes I took a step towards acting out those thoughts. I went back to some former friends (not romantic relationships, but friendships) after years have gone by to ask why „Why did we grow apart? Why did we fight for? What were you really thinking then?” I had a huge curiosity to find out at least now, when the anger was gone, what really happened. To find out the thoughts that were really there on the other side, in the past. To look back now, and warmly admit the true reasons, the true fights. I somehow longed for such answers to help me see myself clearer, to unblock something.
I have not yet achieved this with anyone. It's like trying to take out a book from the base of a pile, all the other books added after it in time are pressing it, holding it hostage. I clearly saw in their eyes that for a moment the truth was about to descend into words, then it was turned into a false oblivion, or indifference. „I do not remember, what are you doing now, let's not talk about the past, I am busy, come back next month” ...
Every such time people add stone of silence and solitude in the face of the world.
But what if I were to asked similar questions? Could I tell someone, even after years, that I hated one of his or her answers, or a look, or the fact that once in a coffee shop his or her coffee was foamier than mine? To admit and share the childish moment, the stupid little gesture that drove us apart?
Maybe I could try sometimes, if asked. If someone would guarantee a minimum of 100 words mandatory to exchange after such a moment of truth. If I opened my soul, however mean of a soul it would turn out to be, and then the person in front of me turned his/her back and went away, I could not bear it...
What if we were on a small island from where we cannot leave until we are honest with each other?
Cum ar fi daca cuvintele ar exprima gandurile, fara cenzura? Daca conversatiile reale si sincere, jumatatile de conversatie pe care le adresam in gand celor din fata noastra ar cobora pe buze inainte sa le oprim in acel loc aglomerat, inchis cu lacatul bunului-simt, politetii, ipocriziei…Caci dupa ani de antrenamente devine totul o ipocrizie reflexa.
Nu regret ca nu am jignit mai mult, ca nu am “trantit adevaruri” in fata. Sau cateodata regret, dar nu despre asta e vorba acum...
Dar am clar in cap momente in care simteam nevoia de a spune ceea ce nu se spune de obicei, si o curiozitate nemasurata de a vedea si la interlocutorul meu cum sare lacatul, macar pentru o clipa. Momente ca acelea cand astepti o ploaie dupa seceta si zapuseala.
Cateodata am facut un pas spre ele. Am revenit asupra unor foste prietenii (nu relatii sentimentale, ci prietenii) sa intreb dupa ani de zile de ce...De ce ne-am indeparatat? De ce ne-am certat de fapt? Ce a fost in capul tau atunci? Aveam o curiozitate imensa macar sa aflu, acum cand nu mai era manie sau suparare, ce a fost. Sa aflu parerea celeilalte parti. Daca macar privind inapoi, putem povesti despre adevarata cearta.
Inca nu am reusit asta cu nimeni. E ca si cum as incerca sa scot o carte aflata la baza unei gramezi, toate celelalte venite pe urma in timp o apasa si o tin prizoniera. Am vazut clar priviri in care pentru o clipa adevarul era gata sa coboare in vorbe, apoi ele se transformau intr-o falsa uitare, sau nepasare. Nu mai stiu, ce mai faci tu azi, hai sa nu vorbim despre trecut, cauta-ma luna viitoare...
De fiecare data cand ne regizam astfel adaugam inca o piatra de tacere si singuratate lumii.
Dar daca m-ar intreba ei pe mine? As putea sa spun cuiva, fie si dupa ani, ca nu mi-a placut o replica, o privire, faptul ca la o iesire cu prietenii a primit cafeaua cu mai multa spuma? Sa recunosc si sa povestesc momentul, fie el cat de copilaros, in care m-am indepartat?
Poate ca as incerca cateodata. „provided”, nah, ca imi vine cuvantul in engleza...daca ar fi garantat ca nu imi intoarce spatele in clipa urmatoare. Ca suporta, ca mai schimbam un minim de sa zicem 100 de cuvinte dupa...
Daca am fi pe o insula mica de unde sa nu putem pleca pana nu suntem sinceri unii cu altii?
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Monday, 15 November 2010
Gradina antropologica/The Anthropological Garden
The Anthropological Garden
One sunny day we went out in the city to see the autumn.
I have hated parks ever since I can remember, but this detail did not affect any of my relationships, I would often hang out with people who do not see anything wrong in a city park, I would walk on cement roads and I felt better or worse between straight or round rows of planted flowers.
Of course, I have come across parks who outgrew their urban destination. Such was my childhood park. At that time, when I was little, it used to have a small lavender field, somewhere in the back of a group of fir trees, and we the children loved to play there, enchanted by the smell inspiring cupboards and clothes. The park also had some rock statues warming up in the sun, with soft round shapes, where the kids could sit like in some stone arms. These were still friends of all the children running around them . They would patiently stay there, it seemed eternally, surrounded by a patch of walked-on ground, where the grass has been tramped.
I saw the park again after years, the friendly statues, with no artful meaning, but with their long lasting friendship with kids, were gone, instead, from place to place, some wooden modern art totems were showing their scary faces. All seemed small and astray.
I also knew another park in front of the cinema theater where we would go on Sundays. All I noticed there were the few swings, which could fly up a long distance (or so it seemed) and some flowers and benches, keeping company to the main point: the cinema hall. Later on, the cinema had closed, and the park had become just a space in-between some streets.
A park would be nice to represent an indirect invitation to walking, biking, sightseeing, not a straight oder to relax, „you must” unwind now, you must breathe in fresh air, you must orderly stroll down small mathematical cemented roads...Plus the punitive messages who forbid walking on the grass and so. The space of a park, filled with plants, trees, flowers and stones, should make every effort to make people forget some human hand planned and put there everything. The message of a park designer for posterity should be „Did you manage to forget that someone created me? Then my work here is brilliantly fulfilled”. Not some propaganda like „Here, the city citizens can enjoy a orderly and programmed stroll, by the kindness of local authorities. Do NOT step on the grass, do NOT run on it, and, most of all, do NOT forget you all are some city creatures.”
The park we visited today was sad and empty, we could see its limits from any point inside it: the railroad, the city hospital nearby, the crowded street. We could step on the grass if we liked to, but it was a puny grass, lacking the color and thickness, fraternizing with the plastic bags and paper bits in some corners of the lawn. We tried to stay longer, but we had to circle the park again and again, like some animals in a cage. One familiar tree had been cut down, God knows why, they could have at least left some bigger part of its trunk and put flowers in it or something. Or why didn't they take the roots completely out of there? Mystery...it looked sad and pointless. A toddler was shaking the garbage bin, under the calm indifference of his mother's eyes. Maybe he thought this was another tree, a plastic one.
Instead of helping the „urban-s” to forget the street they have stepped from inside the park, the green spaces from our vicinity seem to point their finger at people, reminding you that you are still just a caged animal, however large and grassy the cage may be. If you touch the grass, it is treated with insecticides and in the spring you can get some nasty conjunctivitis or skin affections, if you see an interesting stone pile in the grass, it might be a mouse trap inside it. And the more frequent strollers already know each park's rambler, the fright of the alleys, with a troubled mind and clothes, drawn by the mirage of free nature or concocting some nasty plans.
I liked the city too, not only the rural areas, since I was little. But the idea that we should feel grateful in the city to the local authorities for every public green space they haven't completely ruined seems unacceptable. They put up benches, plastic slides, the paint the fences and install dog poop bins, then they proudly look around and feel proud that their „subjects” from the cage-cities have a space to execute the daily walk. This is how I see „them”, the people beneath the ugly and sad parks, and the mean little alleys. Those who get some air in other cages when they need a walk. Bigger ones.
Intr-o zi cu soare am iesit in parc, sa vedem toamna.
De cand ma stiu nu imi plac parcurile, insa acest lucru nu a fost un criteriu care sa afecteze prietenii, respectiv adesea am iesit cu prieteni care nu vad nimic anormal intr-un parc de oras, m-am plimbat pe alei cimentate, m-am simtit mai bine sau mai putin bine intre scuaruri si rondele, vara sau iarna.
Sigur, am intalnit si parcuri care au crescut dincolo de destinatia lor urbana, printre care si parcul copilariei. Avea la acea vreme un lan de levantica intr-o zona undeva in spatele unui palc de brazi, unde era minunat sa ne jucam noi, copiii, incantati de mirosul de dulap cu haine care se strecura printre banci. Avea si niste statui de piatra alba care se incalzeau de la soare, ale caror forme rotunjite erau numai bune sa te asezi pe ele, ca intr-un fel de bratze de piatra. Erau prietenii nemiscati ai cardurilor de copii care se zbantuiau pe pajisti. Stateau rabdatoare acolo, parca pentru eternitate, inconjurate de cate un cerc in care iarba era tocita si ramasese numai pamantul batucit.
Am revazut parcul dupa ani, statuile prietenoase (care nu exprimau nimic de altfel decat ospitalitate fata de copii) disparusera, in schimb din loc in loc in parc aparusera un fel de totemuri din lemn cu ochi holbati, numai bune sa te sperie in caz ca era si inserarea parte din peisaj. Totul era mai mic si strain.
Mai era si parcul din fata salii de cinema la care megeam fiecare duminica, din care tot ceea ce vedeam erau cele cateva leagane care zburau pana sus de tot si niste rondouri geometrice cu flori, cu singurul rol ca tineau companie bancilor pe care asteptam sa se dea drumul in sala. Mai tarziu, fara sala de cinema ca punct central, era doar un spatiu intre cateva strazi.
Un parc ar trebui sa fie o invitatie indirecta la mers alene printre plante si copaci, un spatiu care nu iti ordona sa te relaxezi acum musai, sa inspiri aer mai curat si sa te plimbi ordonat pe alei mici si meschine, cu amenintari punitive in caz ca iesi in laterale pe iarba. Ar trebui sa fie un spatiu asternut cu plante, poteci intortochiate, pietre si coltisoare, care face toate eforturile sa uite ca nu a fost dintotdeauna asa, si ca el e creat artificial in mijlocul unui oras trepidant. Un parc e un mesaj pentru posteritate al celui care l-a proiectat, iar mesajul suprem ar fi „ Ati uitat ca m-a creat un om? Atunci mi-am indeplinit menirea”. Nu o declaratie propagandistica de genul „Aici cetatenii orasului pot gusta o plimbare ordonata si programata, multumita autoritatilor locale. NU calcati iarba, NU alergati si mai ales, NU uitati ca sunteti intr-un oras”.
Parcul in care am fost era trist si golas, puteai vedea limitele lui din orice punct te aflai: calea ferata, spitalul cu pacienti in curte, strada circulata. Puteai calca iarba, dar nu aveai nicaieri senzatia ca ar fi o iarba autentica, ba pe alocuri ea se infratea cu niste servetele si niste pungi, intr-o completa decadere din sentimentul mandriei de a fi iarba. Daca am stat mai mult timp, a trebuit sa ne invartim in cercuri, ca un animal in cusca, altfel nu aveam ce face. Copacii mai batrani se plictisisera si ei, se impingeau ca niste copii obraznici unii pe altii cu crengile. In schimb, un copac familiar fusese taiat, in locul lui am gasit un ciot inestetic. De ce? Mister. De ce nu l-au taiat mai de sus, sa faca o scorbura in trunchiul ramas? De ce nu au scos si radacina, ca sa nu mai intristeze locul cu ea? Mister din nou.
Un copil tragea de un cos de gunoi sub privirile calme ale mamei, poate credea ca si asta e un fel de copac mai mic. De oras.
In loc sa te ajute sa uiti strada de pe care ai pasit in interior, parcurile prin care ma pot plimba in ultima vreme parca te arata cu degetul si iti reamintesc ca esti doar un animal urban, prins intr-o cusca in care te poti roti cat vrei, dar tot cusca ramane.
Daca pui mana pe iarba, te poti alege cu ceva afectiuni de la insecticidele date pe ea (primavara, am patit asta), daca vezi o movila de pietre interesante pe pajiste, s-ar putea sa mascheze o cursa pentru rozatoare. Si, daca te plimbi mai des, vei identifica cam prin fiecare parc si vagabondul lui (cel putin unul), spaima aleilor, atras in mintea lui tulburata de mirajul naturii libere, sau manat de cine stie ce idei cretze...
Mi-a placut si orasul de cand ma stiu, nu numai satul. Dar ideea ca toate locurile publice ale orasului sunt un fel de pomana din partea autoritatilor locale, cu idei mai stralucite sau mai putin stralucite, nu reuseste deloc sa mi se aseze pe un scaun in cap. Fel si fel de edili vopsesc banci, pun garduri si topogane de plastic, instaleaza cosuri pentru rahat de caine, dupa care se uita roata in jur si le creste inima ca si-au facut datoria fata de amaratii care se plimba in cusca pe mosia lor. Cam asa imi imaginez eu oamenii din spatele bordurilor, garduletelor, copacilor tristi si elementelor de peisaj urban meschine. Dar meschine rau de tot.
One sunny day we went out in the city to see the autumn.
I have hated parks ever since I can remember, but this detail did not affect any of my relationships, I would often hang out with people who do not see anything wrong in a city park, I would walk on cement roads and I felt better or worse between straight or round rows of planted flowers.
Of course, I have come across parks who outgrew their urban destination. Such was my childhood park. At that time, when I was little, it used to have a small lavender field, somewhere in the back of a group of fir trees, and we the children loved to play there, enchanted by the smell inspiring cupboards and clothes. The park also had some rock statues warming up in the sun, with soft round shapes, where the kids could sit like in some stone arms. These were still friends of all the children running around them . They would patiently stay there, it seemed eternally, surrounded by a patch of walked-on ground, where the grass has been tramped.
I saw the park again after years, the friendly statues, with no artful meaning, but with their long lasting friendship with kids, were gone, instead, from place to place, some wooden modern art totems were showing their scary faces. All seemed small and astray.
I also knew another park in front of the cinema theater where we would go on Sundays. All I noticed there were the few swings, which could fly up a long distance (or so it seemed) and some flowers and benches, keeping company to the main point: the cinema hall. Later on, the cinema had closed, and the park had become just a space in-between some streets.
A park would be nice to represent an indirect invitation to walking, biking, sightseeing, not a straight oder to relax, „you must” unwind now, you must breathe in fresh air, you must orderly stroll down small mathematical cemented roads...Plus the punitive messages who forbid walking on the grass and so. The space of a park, filled with plants, trees, flowers and stones, should make every effort to make people forget some human hand planned and put there everything. The message of a park designer for posterity should be „Did you manage to forget that someone created me? Then my work here is brilliantly fulfilled”. Not some propaganda like „Here, the city citizens can enjoy a orderly and programmed stroll, by the kindness of local authorities. Do NOT step on the grass, do NOT run on it, and, most of all, do NOT forget you all are some city creatures.”
The park we visited today was sad and empty, we could see its limits from any point inside it: the railroad, the city hospital nearby, the crowded street. We could step on the grass if we liked to, but it was a puny grass, lacking the color and thickness, fraternizing with the plastic bags and paper bits in some corners of the lawn. We tried to stay longer, but we had to circle the park again and again, like some animals in a cage. One familiar tree had been cut down, God knows why, they could have at least left some bigger part of its trunk and put flowers in it or something. Or why didn't they take the roots completely out of there? Mystery...it looked sad and pointless. A toddler was shaking the garbage bin, under the calm indifference of his mother's eyes. Maybe he thought this was another tree, a plastic one.
Instead of helping the „urban-s” to forget the street they have stepped from inside the park, the green spaces from our vicinity seem to point their finger at people, reminding you that you are still just a caged animal, however large and grassy the cage may be. If you touch the grass, it is treated with insecticides and in the spring you can get some nasty conjunctivitis or skin affections, if you see an interesting stone pile in the grass, it might be a mouse trap inside it. And the more frequent strollers already know each park's rambler, the fright of the alleys, with a troubled mind and clothes, drawn by the mirage of free nature or concocting some nasty plans.
I liked the city too, not only the rural areas, since I was little. But the idea that we should feel grateful in the city to the local authorities for every public green space they haven't completely ruined seems unacceptable. They put up benches, plastic slides, the paint the fences and install dog poop bins, then they proudly look around and feel proud that their „subjects” from the cage-cities have a space to execute the daily walk. This is how I see „them”, the people beneath the ugly and sad parks, and the mean little alleys. Those who get some air in other cages when they need a walk. Bigger ones.
Intr-o zi cu soare am iesit in parc, sa vedem toamna.
De cand ma stiu nu imi plac parcurile, insa acest lucru nu a fost un criteriu care sa afecteze prietenii, respectiv adesea am iesit cu prieteni care nu vad nimic anormal intr-un parc de oras, m-am plimbat pe alei cimentate, m-am simtit mai bine sau mai putin bine intre scuaruri si rondele, vara sau iarna.
Sigur, am intalnit si parcuri care au crescut dincolo de destinatia lor urbana, printre care si parcul copilariei. Avea la acea vreme un lan de levantica intr-o zona undeva in spatele unui palc de brazi, unde era minunat sa ne jucam noi, copiii, incantati de mirosul de dulap cu haine care se strecura printre banci. Avea si niste statui de piatra alba care se incalzeau de la soare, ale caror forme rotunjite erau numai bune sa te asezi pe ele, ca intr-un fel de bratze de piatra. Erau prietenii nemiscati ai cardurilor de copii care se zbantuiau pe pajisti. Stateau rabdatoare acolo, parca pentru eternitate, inconjurate de cate un cerc in care iarba era tocita si ramasese numai pamantul batucit.
Am revazut parcul dupa ani, statuile prietenoase (care nu exprimau nimic de altfel decat ospitalitate fata de copii) disparusera, in schimb din loc in loc in parc aparusera un fel de totemuri din lemn cu ochi holbati, numai bune sa te sperie in caz ca era si inserarea parte din peisaj. Totul era mai mic si strain.
Mai era si parcul din fata salii de cinema la care megeam fiecare duminica, din care tot ceea ce vedeam erau cele cateva leagane care zburau pana sus de tot si niste rondouri geometrice cu flori, cu singurul rol ca tineau companie bancilor pe care asteptam sa se dea drumul in sala. Mai tarziu, fara sala de cinema ca punct central, era doar un spatiu intre cateva strazi.
Un parc ar trebui sa fie o invitatie indirecta la mers alene printre plante si copaci, un spatiu care nu iti ordona sa te relaxezi acum musai, sa inspiri aer mai curat si sa te plimbi ordonat pe alei mici si meschine, cu amenintari punitive in caz ca iesi in laterale pe iarba. Ar trebui sa fie un spatiu asternut cu plante, poteci intortochiate, pietre si coltisoare, care face toate eforturile sa uite ca nu a fost dintotdeauna asa, si ca el e creat artificial in mijlocul unui oras trepidant. Un parc e un mesaj pentru posteritate al celui care l-a proiectat, iar mesajul suprem ar fi „ Ati uitat ca m-a creat un om? Atunci mi-am indeplinit menirea”. Nu o declaratie propagandistica de genul „Aici cetatenii orasului pot gusta o plimbare ordonata si programata, multumita autoritatilor locale. NU calcati iarba, NU alergati si mai ales, NU uitati ca sunteti intr-un oras”.
Parcul in care am fost era trist si golas, puteai vedea limitele lui din orice punct te aflai: calea ferata, spitalul cu pacienti in curte, strada circulata. Puteai calca iarba, dar nu aveai nicaieri senzatia ca ar fi o iarba autentica, ba pe alocuri ea se infratea cu niste servetele si niste pungi, intr-o completa decadere din sentimentul mandriei de a fi iarba. Daca am stat mai mult timp, a trebuit sa ne invartim in cercuri, ca un animal in cusca, altfel nu aveam ce face. Copacii mai batrani se plictisisera si ei, se impingeau ca niste copii obraznici unii pe altii cu crengile. In schimb, un copac familiar fusese taiat, in locul lui am gasit un ciot inestetic. De ce? Mister. De ce nu l-au taiat mai de sus, sa faca o scorbura in trunchiul ramas? De ce nu au scos si radacina, ca sa nu mai intristeze locul cu ea? Mister din nou.
Un copil tragea de un cos de gunoi sub privirile calme ale mamei, poate credea ca si asta e un fel de copac mai mic. De oras.
In loc sa te ajute sa uiti strada de pe care ai pasit in interior, parcurile prin care ma pot plimba in ultima vreme parca te arata cu degetul si iti reamintesc ca esti doar un animal urban, prins intr-o cusca in care te poti roti cat vrei, dar tot cusca ramane.
Daca pui mana pe iarba, te poti alege cu ceva afectiuni de la insecticidele date pe ea (primavara, am patit asta), daca vezi o movila de pietre interesante pe pajiste, s-ar putea sa mascheze o cursa pentru rozatoare. Si, daca te plimbi mai des, vei identifica cam prin fiecare parc si vagabondul lui (cel putin unul), spaima aleilor, atras in mintea lui tulburata de mirajul naturii libere, sau manat de cine stie ce idei cretze...
Mi-a placut si orasul de cand ma stiu, nu numai satul. Dar ideea ca toate locurile publice ale orasului sunt un fel de pomana din partea autoritatilor locale, cu idei mai stralucite sau mai putin stralucite, nu reuseste deloc sa mi se aseze pe un scaun in cap. Fel si fel de edili vopsesc banci, pun garduri si topogane de plastic, instaleaza cosuri pentru rahat de caine, dupa care se uita roata in jur si le creste inima ca si-au facut datoria fata de amaratii care se plimba in cusca pe mosia lor. Cam asa imi imaginez eu oamenii din spatele bordurilor, garduletelor, copacilor tristi si elementelor de peisaj urban meschine. Dar meschine rau de tot.
Friday, 12 November 2010
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Interesant, cu o mica steluta (nota de subsol imaginara)...
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Nature is a language and every new fact one learns is a new word; but it is not a language taken to pieces and dead in the dictionary, but the language put together into a most significant and universal sense. I wish to learn this language, not that I may know a new grammar, but that I may read the great book that is written in that tongue.
We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul.
A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startled us.
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.
A good indignation brings out all one's powers.
A great part of courage is the courage of having done the thing before.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Nature is a language and every new fact one learns is a new word; but it is not a language taken to pieces and dead in the dictionary, but the language put together into a most significant and universal sense. I wish to learn this language, not that I may know a new grammar, but that I may read the great book that is written in that tongue.
We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul.
A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startled us.
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.
A good indignation brings out all one's powers.
A great part of courage is the courage of having done the thing before.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Banksy
Banksy este destul de intens. La o cautare pe Google, deja cele cateva imagini cu lucrarile lui care deschid rezultatele te lasa pe ganduri.
Este un artist englez. Afirmatia ma plaseaza intr-o anumita parte a ringului, deoarece calitatea de artist ii este contestata. Nascut in Bristol, in 1974, dupa cum ne informeaza Wikipedia, cu o identitate inca secreta, Banksy produce lucrari satirice de arta stradala, grafitti-uri combinate cu epigrame, comentarii sociale si politice. Pregatirea lui este de macelar. Deja sesizam umorul negru care ii caracterizeaza lucrarile. Absurdul. Surpriza.
Lucreaza cu sabloane si lasa urmele trecerii sale in orase europene sau americane. In 2003 a pictat pe animale (expozitia Turf War din 2003, tinuta intr-un depozit). A trecut apoi la tablouri subversive, introducand in opere clasice de arta mici modificari care surprind si transmit mesaje. In august 2004 a lansat o serie de bancnote-parodie de 10 lire cu modificari, care, grupate cate 10 in forma de poster cu semnatura autorului, au ajuns chiar la performanta de a fi vandute (un exemplar) cu 24.000 de lire in octombrie 2007. Deci valoreaza mult, fiind chiar criticat pentru ca ar fi deja prea comercial pentru a mai putea transmite mesaje anti-capitaliste.
Intre timp, Banksy are un site, probabil al lui, avand in vedere lipsa dezvaluirii identitatii sale reale. Are si un film, intitulat Exit Through the Gift Shop (Iesire prin magazinul de suveniruri). Are si un efect „Efectul Banksy”. Se vinde la preturi uriase. Plaseaza ilicit opere in incinte cum ar fi gradinile zoologice din Bristol si Londra, sau la British Museum, care s-a decis sa pastreze in colectia sa imaginea lasata de Banksy: o figura a unui om primitiv care impinge un carut de cumparaturi in timp ce vaneaza. Nu are o tehnica fixa, declara chiar el ca eficienta e cea care decide tehnica folosita. Si-a publicat singur patru carti, dintre care una i-a fost preluata de editura Random House in 2005 „Wall and Piece”.
http://www.boredpanda.com/80-beautiful-street-crimes-done-by-banksy/
Este un artist englez. Afirmatia ma plaseaza intr-o anumita parte a ringului, deoarece calitatea de artist ii este contestata. Nascut in Bristol, in 1974, dupa cum ne informeaza Wikipedia, cu o identitate inca secreta, Banksy produce lucrari satirice de arta stradala, grafitti-uri combinate cu epigrame, comentarii sociale si politice. Pregatirea lui este de macelar. Deja sesizam umorul negru care ii caracterizeaza lucrarile. Absurdul. Surpriza.
Lucreaza cu sabloane si lasa urmele trecerii sale in orase europene sau americane. In 2003 a pictat pe animale (expozitia Turf War din 2003, tinuta intr-un depozit). A trecut apoi la tablouri subversive, introducand in opere clasice de arta mici modificari care surprind si transmit mesaje. In august 2004 a lansat o serie de bancnote-parodie de 10 lire cu modificari, care, grupate cate 10 in forma de poster cu semnatura autorului, au ajuns chiar la performanta de a fi vandute (un exemplar) cu 24.000 de lire in octombrie 2007. Deci valoreaza mult, fiind chiar criticat pentru ca ar fi deja prea comercial pentru a mai putea transmite mesaje anti-capitaliste.
Intre timp, Banksy are un site, probabil al lui, avand in vedere lipsa dezvaluirii identitatii sale reale. Are si un film, intitulat Exit Through the Gift Shop (Iesire prin magazinul de suveniruri). Are si un efect „Efectul Banksy”. Se vinde la preturi uriase. Plaseaza ilicit opere in incinte cum ar fi gradinile zoologice din Bristol si Londra, sau la British Museum, care s-a decis sa pastreze in colectia sa imaginea lasata de Banksy: o figura a unui om primitiv care impinge un carut de cumparaturi in timp ce vaneaza. Nu are o tehnica fixa, declara chiar el ca eficienta e cea care decide tehnica folosita. Si-a publicat singur patru carti, dintre care una i-a fost preluata de editura Random House in 2005 „Wall and Piece”.
http://www.boredpanda.com/80-beautiful-street-crimes-done-by-banksy/
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Monday, 8 November 2010
Poporul avocatului
Prima data, termenii, ma rog, unul dintre ei. Nu avocatul de tip american, cel care e protagonistul bancurilor de genul ca nici in iad nu e primit. Avocatul ca Ionel Teodoreanu, care apara pe niste oameni, contra unei sume cu care a cumparat portocale. Cu nuante, desigur, e relatarea lui, a cumparat foarte multe portocale, si era primul lui caz. Dar asa, ca si clarificare.
Apoi, contextul. Am vorbit cu cineva care a ajuns sa fie tratat foarte urat de un om cu functie. Medicala.M-am enervat, am simpatizat, am tunat si fulgerat contra acestui gen de oameni, mi-am adus aminte cand ii povesteam eu lucruri similare, si simpatiza, dar nu prea, pentru ca nu intelegea. Discutam vreo ora, dupa care imi gandeste cu voce tare ca e in dubii daca sa mai revina la acelasi om sau nu. Am simtit ca ma exasperez, dupa care mi-am adus aminte din nou ca s-a mai intamplat asa. De multe ori. Ceea ce pentru mine, de-a lungul expunerii mele indignate, devenise din intamplarea lui, deja o cauza, pentru el era deja doar o patanie. Repetabila si necorectabila. „Infractorul”, in ghilimele, pentru ca badarania si lipsa de suflet sau etica, ce-o fi, nu sunt trecute in nici un cod, era deja un lucru de neschimbat, era regula, era o autoritate. El dadea tonul, in mod de neinteles. Asteptam o dorinta ca astfel de oameni sa primeasca o contra-reactie, sa fie cumva, undeva pe scala dintre tacit si verbal, respinsi. Asftel incat, asa cum s-a format relieful, dupa multa vreme, sa se formeze un relief social mai bun, astfel incat, peste o generatie sau mai mult, unuia ca el sa ii plece clientii, sa il ocoleasca colegii etc.
Fusesem, pentru cateva clipe idealiste, avocatul cuiva, pe undeva exagerasem, chiar al unui mic popor format din oameni calcati in picioare la fel ca in situatia de care aflasem. Dar intre timp poporul avocatului se speriase, si...fugise.
Ce naivitate. Am trait acest lucru si alte dati, cu mai multe personaje. Pe la scoala, demult. Inainte sa nu imi mai pese. Cateodata pentru „cauze” pe care le asumam fara sa le fi trait si eu. Ma ambalam, mi se parea vital sa nu ramana asa, sa nu se creeze precedentul ca ceva negativ sa fie trecut cu vederea, sa nu poata deveni regula. Parca chiar ma exprimam mai bine daca nu era cauza mea personala, un pic de sare si piper eroic imi sporeau elocventa. Si, daca pot creea imaginea unui om care povesteste, explica, sustine, ajunge la punctul in care se intoarce pentru a arata obiectul cauzei, si ramane cu mana in aer, pentru ca in spatele lui nu mai e nimeni, atunci poate reusesc sa transmit si sentimentul de invingere amara pe care mi-l dau astfel de momente.
Desi faptic, multi oameni au necazuri comune, la nivel de a face ceva, de a gandi macar ceva si a actiona cand se intampla sa fie vorba de actiune (deci nu proteste, lobby, strangeri de fonduri si alte obiceiuri mai recente si oarecum regizate), nimeni nu e solidar. Decat, in mod absolut bizar, cu categoriile care intretin necazul, cu sursa lui. De ce? Probabil secole de cercetare psihologica aplicata social au dus la mareata realizare a victimei aliate cu tortionarul. Programata sa se alature celor aflati in aceeasi postura, intr-un grup absurd caruia i se face frica? Care estimeaza brusc si aparent spontan ca nu are rost, ca va pierde, ca e mai intelept sa se dezica de oricine ii ia apararea.
Cred ca e familiar exemplul cuplului care se cearta, unul dintre ei se plange prietenilor de toate imperfectiunile celuilalt, acestia ii iau partea in mod justitiar celui cu povestile, dupa care omul se razgandeste, se impaca, iar prietenii sunt niste ocolibili. Aici ar fi macar fireasca reactia. Dar cel care ii trateaza mizerabil, un strain, un functionar, un sef etc, nu este intr-o relatie iubire-ura cu acesti oameni, iar consecintele atitudinilor bizare modeleaza societatea pentru generatiile viitoare. Daca actiunea lui Rosa Louise McCauley Parks ar fi fost lipsita de reactie civila, viitorul cator oameni ar fi aratat altfel?
Nu avem societate civila, avem o papusa de paie in care e infipt un ac cu un bilet pe care scrie „societate civila”. Avem o gramada de actiuni si cauze si adunari si congrese si premii pentru contributii in domeniu care creeaza o miscare dincolo de care sa nu vedem ca ea nu este vie. Toate problemele care afecteaza popoare (in sensul de grupuri de dimensiuni variabila care impartasesc ceva in comun) sunt scoase din inima si mintea sincera a oamenilor de un circ cu denumiri care de care mai la moda, strangeri de bani, articole in presa, pomeni din care peste ceva timp se alege praful. Chiar oamenii le distrug uneori, intr-o reactie instinctiva, pentru ca la un anumit nivel ei percep ce se intampla, insa acel nivel nu mai este constientizat sau verbalizat. Chiar si protestele de strada fac parte de multe ori din acest circ, lipseste un moment autentic al inceperii lor dinspre oameni, sunt doar un debuseu inutil al unor suparari reale, o canalizare si o fasaire a energiei care ar pune in pericol un sistem in care regula e ca pleci si cu capul spart, si cu rusinea ca ai indraznit sa provoci gestul de a iti fi spart.
Oamenii creeaza istorie incontinuu, dar daca nu o creeaza sincer, atata timp cat inca mai pot, ce fel de lume ii asteapta?
Apoi, contextul. Am vorbit cu cineva care a ajuns sa fie tratat foarte urat de un om cu functie. Medicala.M-am enervat, am simpatizat, am tunat si fulgerat contra acestui gen de oameni, mi-am adus aminte cand ii povesteam eu lucruri similare, si simpatiza, dar nu prea, pentru ca nu intelegea. Discutam vreo ora, dupa care imi gandeste cu voce tare ca e in dubii daca sa mai revina la acelasi om sau nu. Am simtit ca ma exasperez, dupa care mi-am adus aminte din nou ca s-a mai intamplat asa. De multe ori. Ceea ce pentru mine, de-a lungul expunerii mele indignate, devenise din intamplarea lui, deja o cauza, pentru el era deja doar o patanie. Repetabila si necorectabila. „Infractorul”, in ghilimele, pentru ca badarania si lipsa de suflet sau etica, ce-o fi, nu sunt trecute in nici un cod, era deja un lucru de neschimbat, era regula, era o autoritate. El dadea tonul, in mod de neinteles. Asteptam o dorinta ca astfel de oameni sa primeasca o contra-reactie, sa fie cumva, undeva pe scala dintre tacit si verbal, respinsi. Asftel incat, asa cum s-a format relieful, dupa multa vreme, sa se formeze un relief social mai bun, astfel incat, peste o generatie sau mai mult, unuia ca el sa ii plece clientii, sa il ocoleasca colegii etc.
Fusesem, pentru cateva clipe idealiste, avocatul cuiva, pe undeva exagerasem, chiar al unui mic popor format din oameni calcati in picioare la fel ca in situatia de care aflasem. Dar intre timp poporul avocatului se speriase, si...fugise.
Ce naivitate. Am trait acest lucru si alte dati, cu mai multe personaje. Pe la scoala, demult. Inainte sa nu imi mai pese. Cateodata pentru „cauze” pe care le asumam fara sa le fi trait si eu. Ma ambalam, mi se parea vital sa nu ramana asa, sa nu se creeze precedentul ca ceva negativ sa fie trecut cu vederea, sa nu poata deveni regula. Parca chiar ma exprimam mai bine daca nu era cauza mea personala, un pic de sare si piper eroic imi sporeau elocventa. Si, daca pot creea imaginea unui om care povesteste, explica, sustine, ajunge la punctul in care se intoarce pentru a arata obiectul cauzei, si ramane cu mana in aer, pentru ca in spatele lui nu mai e nimeni, atunci poate reusesc sa transmit si sentimentul de invingere amara pe care mi-l dau astfel de momente.
Desi faptic, multi oameni au necazuri comune, la nivel de a face ceva, de a gandi macar ceva si a actiona cand se intampla sa fie vorba de actiune (deci nu proteste, lobby, strangeri de fonduri si alte obiceiuri mai recente si oarecum regizate), nimeni nu e solidar. Decat, in mod absolut bizar, cu categoriile care intretin necazul, cu sursa lui. De ce? Probabil secole de cercetare psihologica aplicata social au dus la mareata realizare a victimei aliate cu tortionarul. Programata sa se alature celor aflati in aceeasi postura, intr-un grup absurd caruia i se face frica? Care estimeaza brusc si aparent spontan ca nu are rost, ca va pierde, ca e mai intelept sa se dezica de oricine ii ia apararea.
Cred ca e familiar exemplul cuplului care se cearta, unul dintre ei se plange prietenilor de toate imperfectiunile celuilalt, acestia ii iau partea in mod justitiar celui cu povestile, dupa care omul se razgandeste, se impaca, iar prietenii sunt niste ocolibili. Aici ar fi macar fireasca reactia. Dar cel care ii trateaza mizerabil, un strain, un functionar, un sef etc, nu este intr-o relatie iubire-ura cu acesti oameni, iar consecintele atitudinilor bizare modeleaza societatea pentru generatiile viitoare. Daca actiunea lui Rosa Louise McCauley Parks ar fi fost lipsita de reactie civila, viitorul cator oameni ar fi aratat altfel?
Nu avem societate civila, avem o papusa de paie in care e infipt un ac cu un bilet pe care scrie „societate civila”. Avem o gramada de actiuni si cauze si adunari si congrese si premii pentru contributii in domeniu care creeaza o miscare dincolo de care sa nu vedem ca ea nu este vie. Toate problemele care afecteaza popoare (in sensul de grupuri de dimensiuni variabila care impartasesc ceva in comun) sunt scoase din inima si mintea sincera a oamenilor de un circ cu denumiri care de care mai la moda, strangeri de bani, articole in presa, pomeni din care peste ceva timp se alege praful. Chiar oamenii le distrug uneori, intr-o reactie instinctiva, pentru ca la un anumit nivel ei percep ce se intampla, insa acel nivel nu mai este constientizat sau verbalizat. Chiar si protestele de strada fac parte de multe ori din acest circ, lipseste un moment autentic al inceperii lor dinspre oameni, sunt doar un debuseu inutil al unor suparari reale, o canalizare si o fasaire a energiei care ar pune in pericol un sistem in care regula e ca pleci si cu capul spart, si cu rusinea ca ai indraznit sa provoci gestul de a iti fi spart.
Oamenii creeaza istorie incontinuu, dar daca nu o creeaza sincer, atata timp cat inca mai pot, ce fel de lume ii asteapta?
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Sentimentele contra consumerismului
Sa vedem ce iese din aceasta idee care a venit pe cand desfaceam o bucata de piept de porc afumat cumparata de la magazinul din apropiere (foame mare si brusca), si am vazut ca pe foaia de ambalaj scris „pofta buna”, cu caractere precum cele de mana. Am zis cu voce tare „pofta buna”, altcineva la masa a zis mersi, am aratat ambalajul si am ras.
Nu poti anula consumerismul, e peste tot. Reclame, magazine, le ocolesti tu, ti le povesteste altul, vine copilul si le lauda, vine bunica si ti le descrie. Cum sa nu consumi? Foame este, sete este, cateodata iti vine sa recuperezi cate un regret din copilarie si sa iti faci „cadouri” sub forma de ce...? De ceva cumparat de undeva, desigur. Daca te apuci si ridici toate podurile, nu o sa tina prea mult, va fi doar o faza, un post psihologic, dupa care intr-o buna zi te vei trezi cu o pofta enorma de a o lua de la capat, compensatoriu. Dar ma gandeam ca sentimentele pot atarna tinichele de coada consumerismului, care sa il incetineasca, sa il oboseasca, sa il streseze. Cum? Pai cand mananci ceva, faci intai cunostinta. Buna, salata de vinete de la cutare, unde e fabrica ta? Ce oras uitat de lume inca mai are o fabrica de conserve? Cuum? O firma intr-un hotel central din Bucuresti, la o camera cu 4 cifre? Adica oare cum vine asta...Etc, etc. Deodata nu va mai fi vorba de un consum sec, strict supus scopului de hranire sau imbracare, avem acolo un sentiment, o poveste. Nu refuz sau accept din principiu, principiile pot fi inselatoare, si un instrument de manipulare la indemana cui se pricepe. Mai bine imi place foarte mult ceva, sau urasc foarte mult un produs. Poate absurd, in baza unei asocieri exclusiv personale, legata de stream of consciousness (daca teoria e perimata sau nu, nu stiu momentan), poate mai putin absurd, dupa ce am aflat ca cel care profita cel mai mult de pe urma circulatiei produsului e un tip execrabil, un hotzoman, un tata rau, un sot bataush sau mai stiu eu ce. Oricum, daca am timp si dispozitie, pun un pic de sentiment. Cateodata mai mult. Imi e foarte simpatica firma de la care cumpar carne, e mai mica si am vazut un articol lipit mosnegeste dintr-un ziar (copie xerox) cu un reportaj la abator, pe peretele maghernitei unde vand. M-a amuzat. Reportajul era simplu, ok, gestul era comic. Imi place de tanti de la care cumpar varza murata, pentru ca mi-a tot lasat la pretz cateodata, asa, ca vroia ea, nu vorbeste aiurea si obositor, si are un sotz de care se plange ca e vorba lunga si nu cara butoaiele eficient pe la restaurante. Nu cumpar dulciuri din magazin prea des, pentru ca nu au acelasi gust cu surorile lor de aceeasi firma din strainatate, cine hotaraste ca avem papile gustative mai porcesti aici la noi in tara, ca sa le faca mai prost? Pretul e tot pe acolo, poate mai scump la noi. Ma enerveaza. Mai cumpar din piata, de la una din tarabe, pe criterii tot subiective. Nu imi plac farmaciile care te mint ca „nu se mai face medicamentul”, numai ca sa iei de la ele un substitut, de regula mai scump. Le urasc. Si magazinele mari care fac reduceri false, dupa ce scumpesc inainte.
Toate chestiile astea par marunte, dar sunt acolo. Observarea lor face ca procesul de consum sa fie viu, organic. Sa nu fie consumerism. Orice. Mult. Reduceri-trebuie neaparat sa luam ceva. Sa ne inghesuim. Sa bagam in noi. Sau, ultrarafinat si principial, sa reducem gama de optiuni pe criterii bio, eco, mai mult sau mai putin cercetate. In cele din urma tot la moda. Te dezici de o hoarda mai mare ca sa te alipesti la una mai mica. Nu imi apartine replica, dar e adevarata. Nope. Sa ramana sentimentul, imprevizibilul. Cateodata, daca asa imi vine sa gust si o chestie care ma intriga, desi oficial am sentimente negative fata de ea. Ma supar cand nu gasesc carne de pasare de care cumpar, ma uit chiondarash la frigider si plec bombanind. Uite-asa! Eu mi-s prietena cu aia de aduc pachetele alea gustoase si portionate mic. Si nu au nici reclama la tv. Desigur, pot sa nu cumpar un produs ok daca cumva isi face reclama. Mai ales una unsuroasa ca crema cu margarina din vremuri apuse si actuale. Dar am o perioada-tampon, in care nu ma apropii, ca sa ma asigur cumva ca nu ma apropii datorita reclamei. Dupa care incerc, sunt curioasa. Mai sunt si reclame destepte, le pot aprecia separat de produs daca urasc firma. Pot incerca produsul ca reactie de apreciere a unei idei stralucite de prezentare. Dar daca nu imi place, nu ma mai ating.
Nu poti anula consumerismul, e peste tot. Reclame, magazine, le ocolesti tu, ti le povesteste altul, vine copilul si le lauda, vine bunica si ti le descrie. Cum sa nu consumi? Foame este, sete este, cateodata iti vine sa recuperezi cate un regret din copilarie si sa iti faci „cadouri” sub forma de ce...? De ceva cumparat de undeva, desigur. Daca te apuci si ridici toate podurile, nu o sa tina prea mult, va fi doar o faza, un post psihologic, dupa care intr-o buna zi te vei trezi cu o pofta enorma de a o lua de la capat, compensatoriu. Dar ma gandeam ca sentimentele pot atarna tinichele de coada consumerismului, care sa il incetineasca, sa il oboseasca, sa il streseze. Cum? Pai cand mananci ceva, faci intai cunostinta. Buna, salata de vinete de la cutare, unde e fabrica ta? Ce oras uitat de lume inca mai are o fabrica de conserve? Cuum? O firma intr-un hotel central din Bucuresti, la o camera cu 4 cifre? Adica oare cum vine asta...Etc, etc. Deodata nu va mai fi vorba de un consum sec, strict supus scopului de hranire sau imbracare, avem acolo un sentiment, o poveste. Nu refuz sau accept din principiu, principiile pot fi inselatoare, si un instrument de manipulare la indemana cui se pricepe. Mai bine imi place foarte mult ceva, sau urasc foarte mult un produs. Poate absurd, in baza unei asocieri exclusiv personale, legata de stream of consciousness (daca teoria e perimata sau nu, nu stiu momentan), poate mai putin absurd, dupa ce am aflat ca cel care profita cel mai mult de pe urma circulatiei produsului e un tip execrabil, un hotzoman, un tata rau, un sot bataush sau mai stiu eu ce. Oricum, daca am timp si dispozitie, pun un pic de sentiment. Cateodata mai mult. Imi e foarte simpatica firma de la care cumpar carne, e mai mica si am vazut un articol lipit mosnegeste dintr-un ziar (copie xerox) cu un reportaj la abator, pe peretele maghernitei unde vand. M-a amuzat. Reportajul era simplu, ok, gestul era comic. Imi place de tanti de la care cumpar varza murata, pentru ca mi-a tot lasat la pretz cateodata, asa, ca vroia ea, nu vorbeste aiurea si obositor, si are un sotz de care se plange ca e vorba lunga si nu cara butoaiele eficient pe la restaurante. Nu cumpar dulciuri din magazin prea des, pentru ca nu au acelasi gust cu surorile lor de aceeasi firma din strainatate, cine hotaraste ca avem papile gustative mai porcesti aici la noi in tara, ca sa le faca mai prost? Pretul e tot pe acolo, poate mai scump la noi. Ma enerveaza. Mai cumpar din piata, de la una din tarabe, pe criterii tot subiective. Nu imi plac farmaciile care te mint ca „nu se mai face medicamentul”, numai ca sa iei de la ele un substitut, de regula mai scump. Le urasc. Si magazinele mari care fac reduceri false, dupa ce scumpesc inainte.
Toate chestiile astea par marunte, dar sunt acolo. Observarea lor face ca procesul de consum sa fie viu, organic. Sa nu fie consumerism. Orice. Mult. Reduceri-trebuie neaparat sa luam ceva. Sa ne inghesuim. Sa bagam in noi. Sau, ultrarafinat si principial, sa reducem gama de optiuni pe criterii bio, eco, mai mult sau mai putin cercetate. In cele din urma tot la moda. Te dezici de o hoarda mai mare ca sa te alipesti la una mai mica. Nu imi apartine replica, dar e adevarata. Nope. Sa ramana sentimentul, imprevizibilul. Cateodata, daca asa imi vine sa gust si o chestie care ma intriga, desi oficial am sentimente negative fata de ea. Ma supar cand nu gasesc carne de pasare de care cumpar, ma uit chiondarash la frigider si plec bombanind. Uite-asa! Eu mi-s prietena cu aia de aduc pachetele alea gustoase si portionate mic. Si nu au nici reclama la tv. Desigur, pot sa nu cumpar un produs ok daca cumva isi face reclama. Mai ales una unsuroasa ca crema cu margarina din vremuri apuse si actuale. Dar am o perioada-tampon, in care nu ma apropii, ca sa ma asigur cumva ca nu ma apropii datorita reclamei. Dupa care incerc, sunt curioasa. Mai sunt si reclame destepte, le pot aprecia separat de produs daca urasc firma. Pot incerca produsul ca reactie de apreciere a unei idei stralucite de prezentare. Dar daca nu imi place, nu ma mai ating.
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