Smoke without Fire

via Morley's site

I'm listening to some Billie Holiday and searching for good street art as a reward for writing today. Two more exams to go. I don't really mind when my knowledge is tested(haha that sounds slightly arrogant), these exams just feel redundant after assignments and presentations and so on. I'd much prefer everyone coming prepared, sitting around a round table (we're just eight people in the group) and then discussing the theme.

One of the articles was on how our perception now is based mainly on what we see, because we equate vision with truth, reality, objectivity and reason. But throughout history, people have chosen to split the body from the mind (Cogito ergo sum and so on), to make it separate entities. This is not the thing that interested me most though. The writer, Coleman I think, stated that the belief that we can separate our consciousness from our bodies (for instance Moravec's idea that in the future our consciousness will be downloadable to some supercomputer and we'll be able to live forever) is similar to the Christian belief, or probably belief of most religions come to think of it, that after death our soul transcends its earthly bounds, leaves the body behind and can live forever in Heaven. I wonder if it is not all just a fear of death, of not living before or after this, that makes us believe in both God and technology.

Here's more Morley, check him out on his site and on FB.

via the Facebook site

via the Morley's website. 

Wasting away

via Gareth Cliff on facebook

Bites of Happiness

Paris, August 2010. Indian Ganesh festival. *

I wonder if the purpose of life is not very simple: happiness. But perhaps we get lost in pursuit of constant pleasures, we get lost in hedonism, and miss the daily bites of happiness that we could experience. It seems that we are only happy retrospectively, we are only happy when we are reminiscing about past events and parties.

So now, I am trying to find the momentary happiness when faced with a situation to remember. Like today, my friend I. accompanied me to the Pretoria Stadstap Fotoklap, where people get together and walk around a specific part of the city taking photographs. The walk concluded on the top floor of the Hotel 224, which has a 360° view of the city. Everyone else was taking in the sunset through their lenses, and admittedly, I also captured some frames. But the best moment was when we distanced ourselves from the tripods and shutter noises and just looked at the city.

It is a sense of calm serenity. It is a sense of enormity and luck and preciousness of the moment that surrounds you. It is simply standing and seeing and appreciating the view and the company. Simply put, it is a bite of happiness.

The same embracing sentiment was experienced when we were in Wilderness. The others were doing Yoga, so I headed to the stairs that lead to the beach. Because of recent storms, these stairs were dangerous and one could only walk down to a certain bench in the middle of the dune, and not completely down to the beach.

I did not take my camera along, but it was the most marvellous sunset. Dolphin's peak and Victoria Bay disappeared into a mist. The sky was awash with berries, from the ripest gooseberries over to strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and Youngberries, it seemed as though a basket had spilled and Van Gogh had spread out the fruits' lifeblood to form a perfect sunset.

Gerard Manley Hopkins would have killed for such splendour, for "God's Grandeur" in this daily rotation of the world. The canvas of sea and mountain and mist and colour and waves and breezes was merging into one, was forming into a unity of all elements. It was a moment evoking transcendence. I wondered then if this was what Romantics like C.D. Friedrich were trying to paint in their works. If here was where God is to be found. If this is why people believe in more than earthly pleasures.

Perhaps it is not necessarily God. Perhaps there exists a deeper spirituality in nature which we, through years of city living and the stresses of a fast paced life, have lost track of. I do not feel part of these beautiful land/cityscapes, and maybe this adds to the disconnection from happiness. If one cannot sense a symbiosis with the moment of pure joy, there is no way one can appreciate it.

But this moment, this sitting on the stairs and admiring of berry-stained skies was what the being-in-awe of awesome describes, and it was perfect happiness.





* if you are wondering about the image, it is another moment of perfect happiness, when I randomly went to the Ganesh festival in the Indian "quartier" of Paris. Ganesh is known as the remover of obstacles and the Lord of new beginnings and also associated with wisdom. At the festival, devotees break great amounts of coconuts and then people just pick up the pieces off of the street and eat them. 

desertion

Edited 21.06.2011 : I made a space error in the English translation

I assume we are all afraid of being left alone, of being deserted. We love in order not to be alone. After all, our species is not one for solitary confinement. We could not have evolved without the help of others like us. You always need someone to watch your back. We need family and friends and the one to affirm the worthiness of our existence.


So perhaps that is why we have belief in something, in what people see as God. It seems to me that we turn to belief when our belief in humanity has failed us. When we have been deserted by our equals. This idea of something more is what we turn to when immanence is not good enough. (KM jy sien ek doen my leeswerk:)


So here is a poem by Paul Celan. He was in a concentration camp during the holocaust, but survived. You can google his biography. I think that must be hard: to believe so much in a culture that deserts and worse, tortures you. That kills your family. And then the oppressor's language is still your language, too. It is still your mother-tongue somehow. It is still only language you know that can fully express your pain. And say what you want about the German language, say that it sounds harsh, mock the schhhs, say that it is ugly to the ear, but you must admit it has the most precise vocabulary. It has the most beautiful words.

Paul Celan - Todesfuge

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf


Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng


Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith


the english translation is here


Here is another one that I love. Use it for the one you love.


Ernst Penzoldt - An deiner Seite


Ich will
an deiner Seite
still
über beschneite
Wege gehen,
tief in das unbekannte Weiße,
und alle Spuren sollen hinter uns verwehn.
Dir werden Flocken leicht im Haare hangen,
in Deinem Lächeln sich verfangen,
in blauem Atem glitzern und zergehn.
Du bist so leise,
als könntest du verstehn,
daß wir schon lange nur auf Flocken schreiten
und endlos fallend aus den Ewigkeiten
ins Grenzenlose sanft herniedergleiten.


I couldn't find an english translation, so here goes:

At your side

I want
to walk
at your side
quietly
over snowed-in paths,
deep into the unknown Whiteness,
and all traces must blow away behind us.
Snowflakes will hang lightly in your hair,
will be caught in your smile,
will glint and disappear in blue breath.
You are so quiet
as if you could understand
that we have been walking only on snowflakes for a long time

and endlessly falling from the eternities
gliding softly into Infinity.

Have an inspired week


.