Tuesday, May 01, 2007

...si nu mai da drumul!

photo from here

Vorbeam cu Iulia despre dezamagire si regrete. Am stabilit ca problema noastra este urmatoarea: atunci cand il apucam pe Dumnezeu de un picior, noi nu mai vrem sa-i dam drumul. Picioarele sunt facute insa sa mearga. Fericirea nu poate dura mai mult de cateva momente, dar noi vrem sa o lungim si credem ca ea o sa fie doar daca ne tinem strans de piciorul divin. Si Dumnezeu se zbate, da din picioare, trage de el, noi - nu si nu, "stai aici, unde pleci, am nevoie de piciorul tau pentru ca trifoii cu patru foi se gasesc atat de rar"! In toata lupta asta uitam si de fericire si de trait clipa si de tot pentru ca ne concentram cu furie asupra piciorului. Care, la drept vorbind, e doar un picior, ce poate sa faca el mare lucru?
La un moment dat trebuie sa lasam insa piciorul sa plece. Apoi ne amintim cu duiosie si nostalgie de momentele in care ne luptam pentru picior si ne consideram fericite.

4 comments:

Silvia said...

cum bine o spune Nelly.."all good things come to an end"

Doru Persinaru said...

Un articol recent al lui Robert Fritz vorbeste cam despre aceleasi lucruri + altele care s-ar putea sa-ti placa

Eu l-am primit pe email (ca newsletter) si nu am un link sa ti-l dau asa ca iti dau copy-paste aici la intreg articolul...hope you don't mind...:)
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How Life Passes
Robert Fritz

The Washington Post conducted an unusual experiment last January 12th. They asked the internationally renowned violinist Joshua Bell to perform at Washington DC's L'Enfant Plaza Train Station during the morning's rush hour. It was Bell who performed the extraordinary violin solos in the Oscar-winning soundtrack for The Red Violin. It was Bell who won a Grammy for his performance of Nicholas Maw's Violin Concerto. It is Bell who has just won the Avery Fisher Prize, awarded once every few years to classical instrumentalists for outstanding achievement.

The Washington Post's idea was to see how passersby would react to one of the greatest musicians of our time playing some of the greatest masterpieces of all time. Bell played his multimillion dollar 1713 Stradivarius for about 45 minutes. He began with Johann Sebastian Bach's Chaconne from the Partita No. 2 in D Minor, a virtuosic tour-de-force. Just three days before the experiment Bell was performing to a full house at Boston's Symphony Hall. The ticket prices for so-so seats went for over $100. The really good seats went for much more, if you could get one.

That January morning over a thousand people walked past as Bell performed. As it turns out, only seven of them seemed to notice. That seven included a 3 year-old boy. Among the 7, only a few stayed for more than a few minutes before they rushed off.

This is an astonishing result. Mind-blowing, really. When some of the people who passed by unaware of Bell's performance were later interviewed, many of them didn't remember hearing music.

They were busy, caught up in going somewhere: to work, to meetings, to appointments, to daycare.

What can we learn?

This experiment shines a light on a deeper insight: The best things in life might be right there, right before your eyes and ears. You might be surrounded by a breathtaking moment, but you can miss it so easily.

Certainly the event of Joshua Bell's performance pushes this point to the extreme. An artistic marvel can be passed by without recognition, and something truly great can be ignored as we unconsciously and obsessively go about our business.

There are many marvels in our lives that go unnoticed and unrecognized even as we busily forge our way forward. Yet most of these moments are more subtle and less obvious than a Joshua Bell playing Bach.

When someone dies, often those left behind begin to remember the smallest moments they had experienced with this person, moments that they didn't recognize as being important at the time. Too often, it is only in retrospect that the real value of what was there - and what was lost – is understood as the miracle it was. Yet the mind records these moments, even while we might be unconscious of them at the time. This is why they can come to mind so easily when it's too late.

What if we could notice what is around us at the actual moment it is taking place? We would come to understand the beauty, the preciousness, the exquisiteness, the wonder that is there. We would hear the music of life and we would know it to be magnificent.

Why do we miss so much? Ambition can dominate our minds. Certainly it is easy to target those who are in pursuit of riches and power as obsessed and insensitive. And while there is nothing wrong with ambition per se', there is something wrong with mindless ambition because it can take you away from yourself and deaden you to life.

There are other ambitions just as numbing. I have seen people on what they describe as "spiritual paths" demonstrate as much mindless ambition as those seeking power and privilege. The subject of the ambition may be different, but the form is identical. Ironically, these people who claim to be on a path to higher spiritual awareness can be unaware of the miracles that are before them with as much unconscious vivacity as the greediest power brokers.

For others, it's not ambition, but problems, that dominate their attention and take them away from life. In the problem orientation, concern always leads to new concerns, and life seems as if it were in a perpetual problem state. Everyone has problems, but that doesn't have to translate into obsession. The old phrase "Slow down and smell the roses," seems like quite good advice after all. But it requires a different level of awareness. It requires being open to experiencing what is there to experience.

I've come to think that the little moments are some of the best. The quick glance of the teenage boy when the pretty teenage girl comes in the room. He doesn't know where to put his eyes, so he looks away, even as the girl sees him but makes a point of not noticing him. Or when the old couple reaches out to each other with a little touch and half a smile, simply glad they are together for another day. Or even the guy talking loudly on his cell phone, unaware of everyone else working overtime to not hear his conversation. I wish I had a camera during those moments. It can happen in an instant, so quickly that if you're not paying attention, it's missed.

I love poetry because it is the art form that is most capable of capturing the essence of the slightest of moments. Poetry shows us the vast grandeur and greatness of the small that could so easily be missed because it is so small. Poetry teaches us that superlative experiences are right in front of us, there for the noticing. If you haven't heard Joni Mitchell's Chelsea Morning recently, check it out. "...the streets are paved with passersby, and pigeons fly and papers lie waiting to blow away ... won't you stay, we'll put on the day and we'll talk in present tenses."

Life passes. Do we notice how it passes? Does seeing what is there to see change our experience of how life passes? If Joshua Bell had come back the next day to perform again, and if those who missed it the first time were alerted to what was about to take place, would they hear the music this time? I imagine they would. If only they knew to look, they would notice what was there to see and hear. I imagine their experience of life the day they heard the music would be quite different: better, elevated, and poetic, because in light of greatness, pettiness disappears.

Certainly there is nothing wrong with having high aspirations in which you are dedicating your energy, talent, time, intelligence, and efforts toward the accomplishment important goals. That alone does not make you unconscious of life around you as it passes. Not all ambition is mindless. The best ambition is mindful. Having a place to go is good, because it gives us a sense of direction and a sense of future. It is only when we become hypnotized by that venture and lose touch with reality that we miss the miracle that might suddenly appear without warning.

Irene said...

multumesc frumos pentru articol :)

Sorin Dincea said...

Măcar poate rămânem în mână cu opinca dumnezeiască.