Who Wants to Live Forever?

La urma urmei, mi-e teama de eternitate ...

(Camera cu oglinzi, http://visul.florema.ro/camera-cu-oglinzi/)

Era o dimineata calda, cu parfum de cafea. O masa de lemn, cu teancuri de carti care asteptau cuminti sa fie citite, cu foi albe si simple, care chemau gandurile sa le umple cu Viata. E inca o zi de iarna afara, cu fulgi mici, zburand incet intr-un oras pe jumatate adormit. Si mai sunt eu, cea dintr-o dimineata calda, cea dintr-o zi cu zapada. Acelasi EU.

Viata este absurda. Ironica, un joc continuu, o cautare, o asteptare prelungita-n timp, in cautarea unui "Forever". Am invatat de mult ca viata este absurda. Din scrierile oamenilor pe care-i port mereu cu mine, carora le-am oferit un coltisor in Ithaca : Kafka, Joyce, Ionesco, Faulkner, Ibsen, Carver, Bulgakov, Marquez, Kazanstakis, Rushdie, Beauvoir, Woolf, Preda, Sartre si altii de care am uitat acum. Viata e un proces nedrept pentru toti dintre noi, cu acelasi verdict absurd. Si cu toate acestea, Ea mai poarta un miros de cafea, un zambet, o imbratisare, o amintire, o Clipa care ascunde in Ea eternitatea. Poate ca paradoxal, acesta este farmecul Vietii : e prea scurta, e doar o Clipa, iar aceasta Clipa e cu adevarat eternitatea noastra.

Mai e absurda la un nivel din care eu nu apartin. Societatea. E o lume intoarsa pe dos, in care adeseori cei slabi conduc, cei fara principii, fara o coloana vertebrala. E absurd pentru nefericirea prezenta in ea, nefericirea aceea prelunga, usturatoare, nedreapta. Numai ca vezi tu, Nefericirea ne invata sa apreciem Fericirea ascunsa intr-o ora, in oamenii pe care-i iubim, pe care-i avem alaturi, in bratele carora indraznim sa ne aruncam cand suntem secati de puteri.

E un teatru absurd, nedrept, pe care-l iubim. Pana la capat. Poate ca la urma urmei asta inseamna Fericirea: dorinta de a trai, de a creea o schimbare, de a respira, de a avea puterea sa spui “e ok”. E dorinta arzatoare de a astepta o noua zi, de a dori avid o schimbare, de a lenevi in dimineti pustii in paturi albe, de a privi un munte, un rau, un lac, o bucata de pamant, de a simti cu adevarat un fulg micut de nea …

Astazi este … Astazi. Privesc un nor, ma arunc intr-o amintire, ma prind de un gand de viitor … si la fel ca anul trecut, ca acum 22 de ani, ca maine, ca poimaine, raman EU. E 1 Martie, ziua ... in care se dau martisoare. E nostim ca nu-mi place primavara (sau mai bine zis, ea nu ma place pe mine). Si cu toate acestea, in loc de traditionalul ,,o primavara frumoasa", am decis sa spun celor dragi « te iubesc ». In felul meu profund, sacru. E destula superficialitate pe lume, asa ca altii o pot avea si pentru mine.

Mai sunt obsedata de Timp. Timpul e o … chestie ciudata, de care ma simt strans legata.  "Feel it deep, under your skin". And God, how I feel it ! Pentru ca nu pot sa uit mai nimic, pentru ca astazi calc pe treptele unei noi zile si in acelasi timp imi simt calcaile scufundate intr-un nisip umed, usturator de fierbinte, adancindu-ma din ce in ce mai mult in amintiri. O zi suprapusa alteia, amintindu-ti fiecare secunda din precedenta, cautandu-te pe tine. Si te gasesti : intr-un nor, intr-un fulg, intr-o privire, intr-un cuvant. Pentru ca sunt sclava Cuvintelor. Si a Amintirilor.  

http://raysithaca.blog.com/2010/03/02/god-games/

Silence is easy. Today, silence is easy. Who wants to live FOREVER? I do. “Forever is our Today”, so I want to live this Forever. Vreau sa dau Totul, si sa simt ca merita. Fiecare bataie de inima, fiecare amintire, fiecare Eu, fiecare noua zi.

ACCEPTANCE in an Upside-Down World

"Life is mostly froth and bubble, two things stand like stone, KINDNESS in another's trouble, COURAGE in your own."

Adam L. Gordon

Every minute counts. We talk about Earth, God, Society. As Emerson points out in “The American Scholar”, not classification is the primary source of knowledge, but the wholeness, what these divided minuscule parts form. A tree, a wave, a land, an island, the blue sky, the storm, the seasons = Earth. Atomas are essential, but their union shape the Life. Society is formed by individuals, most of the time different in their thinking, and God cannot be understood if we don’t understand the human being. What if God was one of us? In each of us, and in order to see/love Him, we must see the ones around us …

Life is made of hours, years, happy and sad moments. Life is build up from seconds, from breathes, from bubbles. One second here, mingled with another one and another one, mixed with breathing. This is how Life begins. Every minute counts. And in this harmony of Life, of the perfection buried inside Life, we, human beings, divide ourselves, forget ourselves, we, human beings, let other feelings govern our lives. Because we forget that our time is limited, that we have only a life; we forget the dear ones, thinking that we shall have enough time to tell them how much we love them, and we consume our energy with knick-knocks, with insignificant people.

Acceptance in an Upside-Down world. Is this world insane or am I the one who has got problems? More and more people think only of money. No matter if they have enough, they always want more. And if they could win this money without working, they would be happier. People don’t have a goal in their lives … what would I like to be? What suits me best? What is my meaning in life? We are afraid of loneliness, and we accept any person in our lives. So that we won’t be lonely to the end. And let’s just think … they have happiness: money, love, family. Let’s look in the life of the people who are fair to themselves to the end … besides TRUTH, what do they have?

We spend our life discussing about the others, hunting grades/scholarships/career/fame, etc. We gossip, we live without thinking, without the conscience of clocks, and most of the time, we are haunted by happiness. This is the first level of acceptance in the world.

The second level of acceptance relates to me, the relation between me and the Others. All my life I have been searching for ACCEPTANCE, to be accepted as a whole, with all my defects and qualities. We are afraid to show the others who we really are, to show the beast inside us, to make the beast inside us kneel in front of dear ones. Will you hug this beast? Being different is a disease; we boast ourselves, saying that “differences are nice”, but in fact we do not accept our oppositions, other thinking systems, other shapes. We are afraid of what is different and we search, all of us search, for people like us.

On a third level, I think we have acceptance towards us. I and Me. Do we really accept our own beings? Do I? When I feel not accepted by the people from the first bubble, people that I don’t give a damn on them, I rarely feel something. When I feel judged by my people, no matter how strongly I scream at them, no matter how strongly I hit them, saying "YOU don't have this right!", I actually hit myself. We judge every difference, every tiny piece from our being, and we judge at the same time the fire that burns our hearts, the fire that says NO, the difference itself. We build up our land, our dear and safe land, based on the inner fire, on the inner energy, on the struggle of conscience. Being the person who you feel to be vs. being the person that the others want to see/have.

Roads. We take a road, we take another, we fall, and we kill minutes. Have you ever thought that in a way or another we are ALL a sort of suicides? Because we kill our Time with all the trifles, not worth-reading books, not-worth talking people, and so on.

The world in which we live is turned upside-down, it is a tango or a play danced/written by Someone with a black humor. But this Someone lives in bubbles, in a me, a you, a we, a they, and I guess this Someone searches also for ACCEPTANCE.   

One Year in Search of Ithaca

“Language is the only homeland.”

Czesław Miłosz

[Ieri Ithaca a implinit un an. Din moment ce e one of my celebrations, am putut intarzia o zi].

In ultimul timp am vrut sa bat la tobe. Le aud in minte si-mi vine sa le lovesc, sa le fac sa cante. Mereu imaginatia mea  - sau o parte din mine - si-a dorit sa cante, sa se transpuna in sunete. Acu’ ceva vreme vroiam sa cant la pian, sa imi scriu melodia mea, sa las notele sa spuna cine sunt eu. Mi-as fi dorit ca cineva sa aiba rabdarea sa ma invete sa cant la un instrument. Cum nimeni n-a facut-o, am ramas la Cuvinte.  

... I have no Beginning and no End. Who am I?

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."

Asa a inceput Ithaca. Or my journey to myself. Habar n-aveam ce voi scrie aici, habar n-aveam ce va urma. Ithaca means sincerity, my egos, and why not, my masks. Because people build up masks. Pentru ca fiecare interpreteaza ce vrea atunci cand citeste ce e aici, pentru ca fiecare nu poate iesi din propria fiinta, din propria lume, daca nu are un sambure de empatie in el/ea.

De ce scriu, de ce am inceput Ithaca, de ce vreau mai mult, de ce am nevoie de tine? Nu stiu. Asa cum nu stiu cum merg si cum respir. Dar “language is my homeland" and I’m searching for home. Because I miss being home ...

Astazi ma uitam peste niste carticele si peste noi proiecte. De cateva luni am inceput o alta calatorie, pe un alt teren. Ma gandeam la aceste cuvinte, care ma caracterizeaza atat de bine, LANGUAGE IS MY HOMELAND, si ma gandeam ca in sfarsit, acolo ma simt acasa, ca in sfarsit fac ceea ce imi place. It’s my land, my territory, my heart, my life. And I wish nobody shall take it away from me...

Ma uit in trecut, ma uit in viitor … intorc paginile, cautand noi amintiri. Mi-e dor sa ma plimb intr-un parc cu banci verzi si portocalii (in special portocalii), mi-e dor sa ma simt in siguranta in acest parc. Mi-a fost dor de mine asa cum sunt astazi, zambind, mi-a fost de energia aceasta, dincolo de trup, de ani, de un eu auto-destructiv… de energia care-si doreste sa apese pe acceleratie, care vrea mai mult, care asteapta o schimbare ...

Acum un an intrebam asta: "… Who am I, what am I searching? Just Ithaca." Acum ma intreb ce este Ithaca. Well, Ithaca is me, Ithaca is my journey in Life, it is my search of happiness. And Ithaca has been a sea full of books and Art, Ithaca has been a sea of troubles and memories, Ithaca has been You, because I so damn need You to be ok, Ithaca has been Friendship.

  Nu stiu cum a rezistat un an de zile, asa cum nu stiu cum animalutele mele ma iubesc atat, asa cum nu stiu ceea ce oamenii vad la mine. M-am bucurat mult pentru comentariile primite, pentru cei carora le-am dat ceva la care sa se gandeasca… mereu am crezut ca a scrie inseamna automat a primi un raspuns, ca a scrie pe un blog implica si comentarii. Deci m-am bucurat nespus de mult si au insemnat mai mult decat credeti ceea ce mi-ati scris … Mi-a placut mult ceea ce Iania a spus in "Last Words", mi-a placut mult ceea ce Mara a spus in "Friendship. Comment Faire Amour Rimer avec Toujours?" Thank you!

So another year in Ithaca … with a person like me. I can’t promise that it shall last another year, I can’t promise you that my posts shall be shorter (:-“), I can’t promise that I shall be happier. But no matter how many things I shall write in it, it shall always reflect ME, with all my parts ... and masks.

 

A Journey to the Past or Open-Letter

Once upon a time a Memory ...

Mereu am cautat oameni puternici. Diferiti de ceilalti, independenti, cu o coloana vertebrala stabila, care stiu intotdeauna ce vor, nebuni intr-un anumit fel prin faptul de a fi diferit, de a cere altceva de la viata. Oameni pe care sa ma pot baza, oameni pe care sa indraznesc sa-i iubesc.

Dupa cum probabil ca-ti amintesti, ma intereseaza Fiinta Umana. Sunt obsedata la randul meu de detalii pe care le vanez in fiecare cuvant, in fiecare gest. Sunt doua lucruri despre care intreb fiecare nou-venit:

1. La ce facultate esti? = nivel de maturitate, de independenta, de luare a deciziilor, maturitate inca o data, ambitie, proprie cunoastere.


2. Ce carti citesti? sau atunci cand intru pentru prima data in casa unui om, caut coltul cu carti. Imi spun atatea lucruri despre o persoana! Citim ceea ce ne caracterizeaza, citim despre lumea noastra. “Knowledge is power”, nu?  Si citim de asemenea pentru a afla mai multe despre noi.

E o melancolie ciudata in cartile pe care le purtam in suflet ... Intimitatea aia, sunetele sufletului, cuvintele care zavorasc lumea de afara, atat de mici, si totusi atat de puternice … E o melancolie in mine atunci cand ma gandesc la ele. Cand mi se face dor de o anumita persoana, incep sa citesc cartile indragite de ea/el.

Te-am cautat anul trecut, intr-un inceput de primavara. Te-am urat probabil si as fi dat totul sa nu ma vezi atunci, asa. Pentru ca de la stadiul de a intelege, am trecut la un altul: am intrat in lumea ta si m-am trezit brusc in intuneric, singura, inconjurata de apa. Sunt zile in care m-am gandit mult la trecut, sunt zile cand ma intorceam in clase goale, in inceputuri de dimineata, razboindu-ma cu Filosofia … sau o vrei filozofie? Sunt zile in care mi-e dor de cineva ca tine.

Te-am cautat in lumi virtuale, in cuvinte, in trecut. Si m-am intors la Amintiri. Amare, dulci, firave. M-am intors la cartile pe care le citeai candva, pentru a mai regasi un pic din ceea ce-mi lipsea.

Am inceput vara aceasta cu Murakami – Kafka pe malul marii. Te-am regasit in suprarealismul de acolo, in invalmaseala actiunii (pentru ca actiunea nu este una ordonata, aranjata minutios, “ca la carte”), te-am auzit pe malul marii. Ce pot sa spun despre ea? E o poveste fericita, in incercarea de a se elibera de sub povara unei profetii, a unui destin, si a accepta in final indatoririle drumului ales. E o poveste in care pestii cad din cer, in care batranii vorbesc cu pisicile, care pune la zid orice urma de melancolie.  In timp ce te-am regasit pe TU, pe acel Tu vesel, supra-fericit, plin de sine, am analizat cartea si critic, caci da, criticul din mine nu doarme aproape niciodata (subliniaza aproape). Murakami nu cred ca va fi vreodata scriitorul meu preferat din cauza stilului, din cauza Cuvintelor si a felului in care sunt folosite. Vreau mai mult.

Iarna asta m-am aruncat insa in Kafka – Procesul. Si acolo am spus “ouch”. Pentru ca cred ca e una dintre cele mai reci carti care am citit-o vreodata. E o carte de o veridicitate incredibila, o carte absurda, care vorbeste despre noi, despre toti “Noi”-i, un proces prezent in fiecare dintre noi. Si un sfarsit la care cu totii suntem condamnati. M-a intristat. Nici o lumina, nici o culoare. Realitatea pura, fara nimic altceva. Impressive. Si in Kafka am gasit un alt Tu. Acel Tu cu care ma contraziceam candvam, cu acel Tu caruia incercam sa-i arat o culoare, un zambet in Viata.

E acum o zi de februarie in care zambesc, in care sper, in care astept, in care-mi amintesc. Viata mea in ultimul an a fost un Proces in stilul lui Kafka, acum insa astept sa trec la o alta carte, la un alt stil, sa indraznesc sa fiu Eu. Si Eu am ramas la fel cum o stii: la fel de zburlita, la fel de anti-sociala, la fel de rece, un pic mai obosita, plina de ani. Si Tu? 

I hope you’re fine and Happy. And far away from a Past.

Celebrating Life

"You cannot find peace by avoiding life".
Virginia Woolf

The world is going insane. Every time I turn on my PC, the TV or my phone, I find out how mean people can be. We fight for nothingness, with each other. When we are all equal. We complicate our lives, not daring to face the problems of life, not daring to fully live it. What is life? Why are we alive, what is the meaning of all our days, why some people teach us to LIVE (not to survive), and they are the ones that are incapable or living and surviving? Why LIFE?

“Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is dispatched – love for instance – we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.”  (V. Woolf)

 But life is rarely a logical story. We fight with each other. We love with all our hearts, we give the best of us, and still, we feel alone, in our journeys. For me, life is a story. A complete story, full of reality and fantasy, of words and worlds that are melting together, colliding and forming new forms, new rainbows, new days. Life is a teacher, that shows us we are all human beings, that if we are lacking values, if we sink in superficiality, if we think only of ourselves and our fucking happiness, we’re nobody. Life means “sacrality” for me. Life means Friendship (the most holly/sacred thing in my Life). Life equals Death. 

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. (V.W)

Death is the frontier that every one shall pass, the one that makes a difference for all. You have no chance when the wave is bigger than you, when you fall into the depth of the biggest sea, when you are swollen by your own nightmares/waves/fears/loneliness&pain. Death “lives” among us, day by day, second by second. It has a lot of thinks to whisper, to teach us, to make us think.

That we can see and understand everything just as well alive as dead, only when we're alive we don't have the time, or the peace of mind, or the inclination to see and understand what we could. We're too busy rushing to our graves. (Cristina Garcia - Dreaming in Cuba)

We often forget to celebrate the dear ones, to offer them  THE moments of joy, of life that they deserve. That's why I never forget a birthday and offer all my soul to the loving ones, on their HAPPY days. Because no one shouldn't feel sad/miserable/lonely on their birthdays. We often forget to enjoy Life, each day, with its good and bad. We often ask ourselves if Life is still worth living. We often forget to celebrate birthdays. When we remember of them, sometimes it is too late, because instead of celebrating LIFE, we have to celebrate Death.... human is too fragile to last forever, and while birthdays are only ephemeral days, death is forever. Ibsen was saying in one of his plays,

WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN,  WE FIND OUT WE HAVE NEVER LIVED.

I think that all of us had their days of dying inside, of ignoring joy, happiness, of needing a shoulder to cry … Life can be a bitch sometimes, we can be bitches sometimes with the rest of the world, with our dearest friends, with ourselves. We all search for love. We are all sinners. We all need someone to run to, someone to catch us, we all need to offer forgiveness and to receive forgiveness.

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends. (Virginia Woolf)

For all the ones that taught us a thing or two, for all the ones that kept us alive, let's learn to accept the others, to hear them, let's accept that we are all human beings, needing other human beings: the cold and the warmth, the mean and the good, the saint and the whore. Let's open a book and REALLY hear it, le't really see its world, let's really listen to the sounds of words, of broken souls, because

Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (V.Woolf)

I have always started with writers. Because they offer all their lives to us and sometimes, their world was the only one that I got near me, because in their world, I saw the definition of human being, because in their world of words and coldness, of inhumanity, I was never disappointed or hurted ...

From the beginning, to the end, from the first page that we read, from the first hug that our heart is offering, from the ache of our deepest wounds, to the waves that we can’t control, to all the things that we dared to forget, to all the tears of our soul ... let’s really start to celebrate life!

Friendship. Comment faire rimer "amour" avec "toujours"?

I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me...

Someone told me long time ago the following words: Every human being can be replaced with another one. If you understand this, you shall be ok. My heart couldn’t agree with her, although my mind, my reason has been telling me that she’s right. Every human being that I love has his/her own corner in my heart, every human being that I love and hits me bombs his/her corner of my heart. If I met this person now and if I wanted to be sincere with her, I would tell her this: Every human being CANNOT be replaced with another one. And because of this philosophy, sometimes I am K.O.

If you listen to me, if you want to make love rhyme with everyday, things shall not be ok. It shall hurt so much that sometimes you would want to die; you would cry, fall, and you shall not trust too easily other human beings. In fact, it is possible that you shall never trust anyone. A part from you, from your heart, shall die. You will feel bitterness, angriness, fire. But if you find the right persons, if these persons won’t hurt you and accept you as a whole, with your good parts and bad parts, you shall find happiness, power, will to live, meaning. So what do you say? The first road gives you safety, protection, hope. My road can lead to heaven or hell, it is not safe, it is based on the trust that you must invest in the outside world, it can fill you with energy or it can destroy you, wanting to hug loneliness forever.

Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be. ..

To talk about me, I’ve met two different persons to which I offered two corners of my heart. The first one has always taught me the value of ambition, of life, of independency. After five years, I feel safe in this friendship. I’m moving on in my road, in my writing, in my studies because of her trust in me. She taught me to want more, to never give up, to accept challenges, and she is in charge with my Inhuman part from me – the one that never shuts up, the one that is too scared to speak, the one that wants to make a difference.

Human is a child, warmth, fragile, sometimes violent, hidden deep in my being. I gave this other part of me to another person. James Joyce told somewhere: “I gave others my pride and joy. To you I give my sin, my folly, my weakness and sadness.” This second person taught me to value more the human part in any persons, taught my Human-part to speak, to express itself, to feel. From happiness to bitterness.

I have no idea what I can offer to these two persons, to express to them the value that friendship has in my life, to make them feel how much I need them. Every day.

Now I'm old and feeling grey...

Today I met with the past. And it was safe, loving, nice. Too short. Today, although things cracked yesterday inside of me, I was feeling energy in a corner of my heart. It made me see more, accept more, want more. I am not ok. Actually, I guess I’m a little K.O. I miss happiness, I miss Me trusting Me, I missed hugs, I miss action.

So dear God, or you/she/he/anyone, anything, if you think I deserve it, give me a ray of happiness in my life.   

Between Me and God

Ma gandesc la ziua de azi, la mine, la Dumnezeu, la idei de care-mi este teama, ma gandesc la mare, la examene, la toti oamenii pe care i-am alungat de langa mine lunile astea, la catelul de jos, la Eu. Pe tarmul marii mele, simtindu-ti respiratia in ceafa, privesc.

A fost o zi ciudata, o zi in care dupa muult mult timp, am zambit. Am zambit dimineata, trezita dupa o noapte cumplita, de un SMS din trecut, amintindu-mi ce e azi. Si e placut sa vezi ca oamenii de demult inca nu te-au uitat, ca tu insati ai uitat complet si nu-ti pasa de Azi, dar ei inca suna, zambind.

Adevarul gol-golut e ca mereu m-au enervat aniversarile onomastice, in care un eu poarta un nume cu un alt eu, cu un altul, si cu un altul, si intr-o zi din an, numele noastre il sarbatorsc pe sfantul cutare. Ion, Ionel, Ionut, (I)oana. De ce? Ma identific in toate numele pe care le am, nu le-as schimba, nu sunt de acord cu schimbarea numelui la casatorie, fiindca e si acesta o particica (mai buna sau mai rea) din mine, care m-a format. Dar nu ma pot identifica cu numele unui sfant. Ce sarbatoresc, ce simt? Nimic sacru, nimic special. Doar vesnicele telefoane, cu urarile deja de mult uzate, cu sanatatea, banii si fericirea care de mult ma dau afara din casa. Cadourile pe care le primesti, zambind, dar nesimtind nimic, pe care memoria sentimentelor nu le simte. Stii ce-mi voi aminti? O urare de demult si-un soare micut pe-un colt de pagina, un soare de care mi-e atat de dor incat mi-e teama (prea teama) sa-l simt …

Ma mai gandesc la Boboteaza, la toate datinile, la sarbatorile care slava Domnului ca au trecut! Sunt atatea traditii pe care eu una nu le pot intelege. Ar fi apa sfintita, in care nu mai avem voie sa ne spalam pentru un anumit nr de zile, la aghiazma pe care trebuie sa o bem in fiecare dimineata, pe stomacul gol, la preotii pe care-i primim in casa, pentru a pupa sfanta cruce. Si in timp ce o pupam, ma gandesc la cati oameni au trecut inaintea mea, cate salive s-au asezat pe ea, si mai presus de toate astea, cati oare am simtit o epifanie, un fior, ceva, orice, atunci cand am primit preotul in casa? Nu mai spun de banii pe care bunul Dumnezeu ar avea nevoie, pe care ii lasam de fiecare data cand sfanta persoana intra in casa sau atunci cand ingenunchiem pentru a ne spune pacatele … DE CE?

Mereu am fost o rebela, dear God. Mereu am intrebat de ce. Mereu Te-am cautat. Nu ma inchin in fata icoanelor, a moastelor, a preotilor. Mi-e groaza de spovedanie si adevarul e ca pentru a oferi cuiva o adevarata spovedanie, fie el preot sau psiholog, in primul si-n primul rand trebuie sa-l simt ca prieten. Si aici, spovedania le-o rezerv prietenilor … Dar de mica am fost invatata sa-mi spun o rugaciune in fiecare noapte. Am renuntat la asta intr-o zi din Martie. Durerea ne apropie de Dumnezeu? Pe mine m-a indepartat. Pentru ca cu fiecare zi in care mai muream putin, si El murea in mine. M-am razvratit si am tipat candva, demult. Si daca as fi putut, i-as fi tras si o palma. Sa iubesc? Mi-e imposibil sa ma iubesc pe mine, deci … Dar mereu, ma intorc la El, jucandu-ma cu “cred” si “nu cred”, penduland intre ateism, agnosticism, gnosticism si misticism. Mereu, pasionata de Istoria religilor, mereu in cautarea acelui ceva, pe care-L simt in mine.

“Dumnezeu este Iubire.” Cuvinte din Biblie care-mi rasuna mereu in minte, cand cineva ma intreaba in ce cred. In iubire. Si in tot ceea ce aceasta implica. Binele pe care-l simt, pe care-l vreau sa-l vad in fiecare om, pentru care ofer toata generozitatea si energia mea. Dreptul la fericire pentru toti oamenii (desi astazi, inca o data, cineva ne-a atras atentia cat de diferiti sunt unii oameni – artisti/scriitori – de ceilalti), dreptul de a fi iubit, iertat, dreptul la urma urmei, de a trai. In lumea de aici, si-n cea de dincolo.