tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40335691662758969482024-03-05T15:40:25.886+02:00No ideaZanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-29689115672268808282012-10-11T23:14:00.000+03:002012-10-11T23:14:07.482+03:00Nu e un râu?
"Mujo se trezeşte într-o zi, după o noapte de beţie, şi se întreabă care e sensul vieţii. Se duce la muncă, dar îşi dă seama că nu asta e ceea ce ar trebui să fie viaţa. Se apucă de citit filozofie şi studiază cîţiva ani, de la vechii greci pînă la contemporani, dar tot nu găseşte care e sensul vieţii. Poate e familia, se gîndeşte, aşa că începe să-şi petreacă mai mult timp cu soţia sa, Fata, şi cu copiii, dar nu găseşte nici în asta un sens şi îi părăseşte. Poate că sensul vieţii e să-i ajuţi pe alţii, îşi spune Mujo şi se înscrie la medicină, îşi termină studiile cu brio, se duce în Africa să vindece malaria şi să facă transplanturi de inimă, dar nu găseşte nici acolo sensul vieţii. Îşi zice, poate e bogăţia, aşa se face om de afaceri, cîştigă purcoaie de bani, milioane de dolari, cumpără tot ce e de cumpărat, dar nici acum nu i se pare că a găsit răspunsul. Se întoarce la sărăcie şi la umilinţă, îşi împarte averea şi cerşeşte pe străzi, dar încă nu descoperă ce e viaţa. Poate e literatura, se gîndeşte el: scrie un roman, dar cu cît scrie mai mult, cu atît mai obscur i se pare sensul vieţii. Apelează la credinţă, trăieşte ca un derviş, citeşte şi meditează la Coran - dar nimic. Studiază creştinimsul, apoi iudaismul, pe urmă budismul şi pe toate celelalte - dar sensul vieţii, ciuciu, nu i se arată. În cele din urmă, află de un guru care trăieşte în munţi, undeva în Orient. Gurul acela, se spunea, ştie care e sensul vieţii. Deci Mujo o ia spre Est, călătoreşte cîţiva ani, bate drumurile, urcă munţii şi găseşte nişte trepte care duc la guru. Urcă treptele, zeci de mii de trepte, îşi dă sufletul urcînd. Acolo sus sînt milioane de pelerini, trebuie să aştepte luni de zile pînă îi vine rîndul. În sfîrşit, a venit şi momentul lui, ajunge sub un copac mare, unde stă gurul dezbrăcat, cu ochii închişi şi meditează, într-o pace desăvîrşită - e clar că ştie sensul vieţii. Mojo îi spune: Mi-am petrecut toată viaţa încercînd să îi aflu sensul, dar n-am aflat nimic, astfel că am venit să te rog în genunchi, o, Maestre, să-mi divulgi acest secret. Gurul deschide ochii, îl priveşte pe Mujo şi îi spune calm: Prietene, viaţa e un rîu. Mujo încremeneşte, nu-i vine să creadă ce a auzit. Îmi spui, te rog, încă o dată ce e viaţa? întreabă el. Viaţa e un rîu, îi răspunde gurul. Mujo dă din cap şi spune: Tu, scursură a scursurilor pămîntului, tu, idiotule, muist jegos, labă tristă ce eşti, mi-am risipit viaţa şi m-am dat de ceasul morţii ca să vin pînă aici şi să te aud pe tine spunîndu-mi că viaţa e un căcat de rîu. Un rîu? Îţi baţi joc de mine? Ăsta e cel mai cretin şi găunos lucru pe care l-am auzit vreodată. Ţi-a luat mult să ajungi la concluzia asta idioată? La care gurul îi răspunde: Ce? Nu e un rîu? Vrei să spui că nu e un rîu?"
fragment din Proiectul Lazarus, de Aleksandar Hemon
Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-92062648460456059462012-04-09T02:40:00.005+03:002012-04-09T02:42:49.120+03:00Don't change<iframe width="450" height="259" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-ERjIhTPQy8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-41023639214780522442012-04-09T01:51:00.002+03:002012-04-09T01:52:19.907+03:002 leiHei tu, nu mai stiu cine esti. Si ce-i mai amuzant si amarui e ca acel tu pe care-l stiam e cel ma grozav om pe care l-am intalnit si ma ingrijoreaza ca m-am agatat de standardele alea. Ce-i greu este sa te separ in doua identitati diferite, sa inteleg ca ceea ce e "grozav" niciodata nu dureaza, ci se transforma de cele mai multe ori, degradandu-se. Stiu intr-un mod nerational, de neargumentat, ca acum gresesti si in mintea mea se imbina intamplari, scene, oameni si-mi iese in final un pret de 2 lei. Pretul de vanzare a acelui tu grozav. 2 lei. Si uite asa imi vine sa ard si sa topesc toti banii de pe glob. <br /><br />Da, chiar erai grozav, nu a fost o inchipuire si n-as fi crezut vreodata ca atat de putin si neinteresant lucru te va face sa dispari. 2lei. As fi vrut sa vad cum creste acel tu, dar l-ai pierdut pe drum. Nu mai stiu cine esti si ma deruteaza teribil ca ai acelasi chip. As vrea sa te rascumpar, dar e inutil orice efort. Asa ca nu mai vreau asta. Nici nu as avea cu ce, pentru ca toata bogatia mea nu e materiala.<br /><br />Mai rau e ca si eu ma transform, chiar daca mi-e greu sa renunt la lumea mea de basm si am tot amanat momentul asta. S-a dus naibii ceea ce acum pare doar un moment de puritate si idealism. O sa ma mocirlesc in curand si o sa incerc sa-mi spal ipocrit pacatele apoi. NU stiu cat o sa-mi iasa schema, dar poate pe parcurs reusesc sa nu ma las pacalita asa cum ai facut-o tu. <br /><br /><br /><br />2 lei. Chiar daca pretul nu este unul corect, pana la urma conteaza daca il platesti sau nu.Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-969649009721641532012-04-01T00:57:00.001+03:002012-04-01T00:57:56.068+03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpWRADTUL9ipCatFKRwEDWc9mQVrn8PnIzSMv4hYgxVXlhaQnfygUG0pV7u4UkXiBtLMVhTcv_4eXPOI0PzeZh9h-XU3Z4Z34R3yea2z7yEqtVMy2UwYhRsGs7f3JBpwMqSfnx06eevI/s1600/tumblr_m1rbhjEyuu1rnbfp2o1_1280.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpWRADTUL9ipCatFKRwEDWc9mQVrn8PnIzSMv4hYgxVXlhaQnfygUG0pV7u4UkXiBtLMVhTcv_4eXPOI0PzeZh9h-XU3Z4Z34R3yea2z7yEqtVMy2UwYhRsGs7f3JBpwMqSfnx06eevI/s400/tumblr_m1rbhjEyuu1rnbfp2o1_1280.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726183844585938450" /></a>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-22917755394182460242012-03-16T00:15:00.002+02:002012-03-16T00:29:16.731+02:00asa cum esti<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-c9RSUY8rVU8FWtaAToUOpBcYDXUZ-QUKFvl-IVDctaYiBv1C9Cn-2_eD-52ZLl-U4gDVkJ4uVGXtUQLRPdfq-dFlpu1OkK0hzSLPdZrZQ5iVbUvMaGxdOs9pLBTdPU6EXAt1BuZBuc/s1600/oglinda.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 391px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-c9RSUY8rVU8FWtaAToUOpBcYDXUZ-QUKFvl-IVDctaYiBv1C9Cn-2_eD-52ZLl-U4gDVkJ4uVGXtUQLRPdfq-dFlpu1OkK0hzSLPdZrZQ5iVbUvMaGxdOs9pLBTdPU6EXAt1BuZBuc/s400/oglinda.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720250970794550594" /></a><br /><br />Mi s-a relevat o idee in mintea mea creaţă. Ideea e destul de simpla, dar dificil de explicat.<br /><br />Eu cred ca iubim (fiecare dintre noi) exact asa cum suntem. Prin definitie iubirea se adreseaza cuiva si te-ai gandi ca daca nu ai catre ce sa-l adresezi, acest sentiment nu exista. Mi s-a nazarit acum ca iubirea e in noi toti, asta ca un fel de premisa, doar ca suntem capabili sa o manifestam, defapt sa nastem sentimentul asta foarte rar. Tocmai pentru ca, ca printr-un blestem al ego-ului, trebuie sa avem siguranta ca orientam sentimentele intr-o directie si ca primim inapoi exact si la fix ce dam.<br /><br />Iubirea e in noi, mereu a fost, mereu va fi si fiecare iubeste asa cum este. Pe scurt, iubesti asa cum esti.<br /><br />- scris in ianuarieZanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-90669265878157992042012-03-06T22:57:00.001+02:002012-03-06T23:01:04.252+02:00Incomprehensible demandEh, poftim...<br /><br /><br /><iframe width="350" height="208" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GjEsAEsYCw4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-13313667114994934962012-02-21T22:51:00.001+02:002012-02-21T22:55:09.666+02:00Gradini si povestiNu mai cred in povesti si nu mai sper in perfectiune, desi ambele raman subiecte ale fascinatiei mele. Nu mai cred in ele pentru mine pentru ca in jur cred ca se intampla povesti cu adevarat tragice sau minunate, fie exclusiv, fie alternativ. As citi si as scrie povesti intr-una, prefer imaginatia realitatii oricand. Poate ca e vremea de afara, dar m-am saturat de gri si beton. Imi vine sa iau niste creioane colorate sa mazgalesc eu putin peisajul, ah si mi-ar trebui si o guma mare si buna, plus talent la desenat...<br />As vrea sa intalnesc oameni din astia care sa nu dea doi bani pe realitate, care sa nu se mai framante atat cu grijile maselor. Asta fara sa fie complet rupti de societate, insa sa fie capabili sa se detaseze si sa inventeze prin imaginatie ceva mult mai frumos: sa faca o poezie, sa cante un cantec, sa faca un desen, sa zica o gluma, sa confenctineze din hartie un urs cu limba scoasa... si asa, dar ASA mai departe. In mod ciudat ma simt singura, sau poate nu-i atat de ciudat, poate ca doar nu-mi gasesc locul de-o vreme. Poate nimeni si nimic nu ma multumeste, poate imi doresc foarte multe de la oameni, de la mine sau poate nu pot sa vad si sa inteleg inca simplitatea. Ma straduiesc. Poate trebuie sa-mi fac o gradina verde undeva si sa am cativa vecini de treaba, asta imi suna tare bine acum ca si proiectie in viitor. Si apoi sa merg prin lume colo-colo sa vizitez alte gradini frumoase sa facem schimb de rasaduri si seminte. Da.<br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/36873964?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/36873964">Josh Ritter - Love Is Making Its Way Back Home</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/joshritter">Josh Ritter</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-50495398922218449802012-02-13T23:26:00.002+02:002012-02-13T23:34:41.301+02:00Please be something else!<iframe width="400" height="233" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MejbOFk7H6c" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-19622009348153954892012-01-23T22:59:00.003+02:002012-01-23T23:03:53.585+02:00Despre mine<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTCpDuq5JWeXgtGGB7kVSxn0IW46B0DQMqrjkd3ffxLBG1j9x2Qw1nBRH3qULDuzYJy0YPBB8pwgex_HKR_Yh5ZzUCAhlU00sHJ2bxl-rk_ZyBpvCoRNTv6-Ji5Oht-0lWITmKOxh3cM/s1600/kids.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTCpDuq5JWeXgtGGB7kVSxn0IW46B0DQMqrjkd3ffxLBG1j9x2Qw1nBRH3qULDuzYJy0YPBB8pwgex_HKR_Yh5ZzUCAhlU00sHJ2bxl-rk_ZyBpvCoRNTv6-Ji5Oht-0lWITmKOxh3cM/s400/kids.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700935447661940434" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes<br />I struggle to find any truth in your lies,<br />And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know<br />My weakness I feel I must finally show.<br /><br />Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all<br />But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall,<br />Lend me your eyes I can change what you see<br />But your soul you must keep, totally free.<br /><br />In these bodies we will live,<br />in these bodies we will die<br />Where you invest your love,<br />you invest your life.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/U7DcySekLKY?rel=0" allowfullscreen="" width="420" frameborder="0" height="315"></iframe><br /></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-78324480304293598782012-01-02T16:26:00.007+02:002012-03-15T23:43:19.070+02:00Cu funda-n par<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyIbEqmPhysrDA00WUgkAz3exoEDT6CCxlBHWtBxM2MJgWW_NxLZqS06DlmVobjkK8RUoLMsjtVx42YbreaDbT1RvtcZmVU5LV-eDtULiksY1wSKZ6bBV5cDnjIirT-VWwO5vTOjSHz8/s1600/fundi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 332px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyIbEqmPhysrDA00WUgkAz3exoEDT6CCxlBHWtBxM2MJgWW_NxLZqS06DlmVobjkK8RUoLMsjtVx42YbreaDbT1RvtcZmVU5LV-eDtULiksY1wSKZ6bBV5cDnjIirT-VWwO5vTOjSHz8/s400/fundi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693044368805744450" /></a><br /><br /><br />Mi-am amintit o scena din prima zi de scoala in clasa I, eu eram cea mai mica din clasa si probabil dintre toti cei adunati acolo. Aveam sase ani si imi amintesc perfect un baiat care statea cu mainile buzunar cu o atitudine foarte increzatoare si le zicea tuturor ca el are 8 ani. Avea un aer de Colombo cu parul castaniu valvoi si se plimba nonsalant printre noi ceilalti care stateam alinianti cumiti. Era de la A, eu de la C.<br /><br />Anul asta mi-am pus funda ca in clasa I, am dansat cu oameni noi si m-am uitat pe cer pana s-au stins stelele si zorii au luminat pe afara, dar nu si in visele mele. Nu cred ca stiu mai multe ca in acea prima zi de scoala, tot m-as uita lung dupa un tip cu spirit de "know-it-all" si cu aer de detectiv iscoditor. Simt ca n-am nimic pentru totdeauna si ca am sa raman doar cu pozele astea din amintirle mele si-as vrea sa las dorurile in urma dintr-o rasuflare si sa pot primi tot ce-i nou ca pe o urmare firesca, caci se pare ca asa e sa fie pentru mine.Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-80862669836055437752011-12-28T00:47:00.005+02:002012-01-07T11:49:56.140+02:00Cantecul asta da bine cu blogul asta penibil al meu plin de smiorcaieli si revelatii de doi bani. <div><br />I need to save myself.<br /><iframe width="350" height="208" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eJDSueNSMJE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-54916792507849268722011-12-20T01:28:00.002+02:002011-12-20T01:54:46.182+02:00Nu mai sunt tramvaie in Constanta. Si tramvaiele astea fac zgomot, dar parca sunt si ele parte din personalitatea unui oras, parca-i dau asa o grandoare, fie ea si de suprafata. Aveam momentele mele in tramvai; tramvaiele sunt si mistico-magice daca ai destula imaginatie si vointa. Gandurile mele taiate metalic sub rotile alunecand pe sine si zdranganitul gemurilor rasunand in urechi. Era ca un fel de masina de tocat griji, sau poate vise. M-am mai simtit asa cand mergeam la drum lung cu masina; ma uitam in urma si vedeam decorul micsorandu-se si marcajele de pe sosea fugind pe langa mine. Doar miscarea asta grabita, indepartarea de un punct fix pe mine ma elibereaza nu stiu precis de ce anume, dar ceva este. Poate de cate putin din mine.Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-50004896859251788852011-12-04T00:59:00.002+02:002011-12-04T01:03:19.809+02:00The ability to look away and keep me close, at the same time.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ve6u6Mh21axAMinA6axkl2OBr1KLHsZKDc2qbIlnmPlw_68lEbvAEeVFA3Tsb-lcmMX9PlMvD94XtouhZje58-c2cqLbw9mZyoZQ-B9MqJ0Ch1OlNIPhIfXVEke63u5w0clLX80tRU/s1600/close.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ve6u6Mh21axAMinA6axkl2OBr1KLHsZKDc2qbIlnmPlw_68lEbvAEeVFA3Tsb-lcmMX9PlMvD94XtouhZje58-c2cqLbw9mZyoZQ-B9MqJ0Ch1OlNIPhIfXVEke63u5w0clLX80tRU/s400/close.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682040671482475490" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">If two people are meant to be together, eventually they ll find their way back.</span></span></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-32067338849300153512011-10-14T23:41:00.002+03:002011-10-14T23:45:40.936+03:00The egg<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rVUe7UGN-AO7mGJGNVWxQja-d2oI-os11018T5iG90_AIycqE5UMxZr5iWh7w-VimYO4pfAdGzT1RHfHoAAeJfJWpVzikr7LDJfvjBkodoyKFi2vDMbQDu-aXVZzLbPgbxe28n2qKm0/s1600/uni.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rVUe7UGN-AO7mGJGNVWxQja-d2oI-os11018T5iG90_AIycqE5UMxZr5iWh7w-VimYO4pfAdGzT1RHfHoAAeJfJWpVzikr7LDJfvjBkodoyKFi2vDMbQDu-aXVZzLbPgbxe28n2qKm0/s400/uni.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663451788424718802" /></a><br />You were on your way home when you died.<br />It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.<br />And that’s when you met me.<br />“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”<br />“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.<br />“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”<br />“Yup,” I said.<br />“I… I died?”<br />“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.<br />You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”<br />“More or less,” I said.<br />“Are you god?” You asked.<br />“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”<br />“My kids… my wife,” you said.<br />“What about them?”<br />“Will they be all right?”<br />“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”<br />You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.<br />“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”<br />“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”<br />“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”<br />“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”<br />“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”<br />You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”<br />“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”<br />“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”<br />“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”<br />I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.<br />“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”<br />“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”<br />“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”<br />“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”<br />“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”<br />“Where you come from?” You said.<br />“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”<br />“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”<br />“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”<br />“So what’s the point of it all?”<br />“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”<br />“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.<br />I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”<br />“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”<br />“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”<br />“Just me? What about everyone else?”<br />“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”<br />You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”<br />“All you. Different incarnations of you.”<br />“Wait. I’m everyone!?”<br />“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.<br />“I’m every human being who ever lived?”<br />“Or who will ever live, yes.”<br />“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”<br />“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.<br />“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.<br />“And you’re the millions he killed.”<br />“I’m Jesus?”<br />“And you’re everyone who followed him.”<br />You fell silent.<br />“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”<br />You thought for a long time.<br />“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”<br />“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”<br />“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”<br />“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”<br />“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”<br />“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”<br />And I sent you on your way.<br /><br />The Egg<br />By: Andy WeirZanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-64446613596947018352011-10-14T23:38:00.000+03:002011-10-14T23:41:12.582+03:00Oh please don't barrage me with the questions to all those ugly answers.<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6EeQNmGknak" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"My ego's like my stomach,it keeps shitting what I feed it." :))Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-92022251238392601842011-07-27T01:02:00.004+03:002011-07-27T01:20:20.775+03:00Sunt un podCan't say much of anything that's new. Doar atat:<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(66, 40, 23); ">Sint un pod peste riu,<br />Catre tine mereu,<br />Pe nimic sprijinit,<br />Doar pe sufletul meu.<br /><br />Acest riu nemilos<br />Ma va sparge-n bucati,<br />Starea mea o-nteleg,<br />Dar si tu seama da-ti.<br /><br />Sint un pod peste riu,<br />Pe pilonii mei tristi,<br />Catre tine mereu,<br />Insa tu nu existi.<br /><br />Nu-ntelegi ca mi-e greu,<br />Ca mi-e frig si urat,<br />Sint greoi si sint fix,<br />Sint un pod si atat.<br /><br />Unde-apuc sa ma duc<br />Sunt silit sa raman<br />Ca miroase a fier,<br />Ca miroase a fin.<br /><br />Si deodata-nteleg<br />Ca sint trist in zadar,<br />Pe pilonii mei tristi<br />Ma cuprind si tresar.<br /><br />Tu simti tot ce simt eu,<br />Ba mai grav, ba mai mult,<br />Plansul tau permanent<br />Il preiau si il ascult.<br /><br />Si dau parca ecou<br />Si vibrez in alt mod,<br />In picioare calcat<br />Ca un om, ca un pod.<br /><br />Sint un pod peste riu,<br />Sint un pod peste mers,<br />Cite vanturi m-au scris,<br />Cite ploi m-au tot sters.<br /><br />Dar tu nu esti pe mal,<br />Dar tu nu esti cu ei,<br />Dar tu nu ma strivesti,<br />Tu ma tii si ma bei.<br /><br />Sint un pod ridicat<br />Peste-un riu incomod,<br />Sint un pod, esti un riu,<br />Esti un riu, sunt un pod.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">- Adrian Paunescu<br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">Si da, de la Amy stiu melodia asta si da, ma intreb si eu: "does't anybody stay in one place anymore?"</span></span></div><br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/VT0sUSB0Y8U" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-22040363372693339852011-07-03T01:46:00.004+03:002011-07-03T13:18:40.581+03:00Tot ce ne trebuie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbiIkbjABNQMwrYyL_0r8KurCH5-frkHKelVse1v13ON6IOaKN9Jhk9yDaO4-ild4L9R2x6f3HNnFDcYKX7qAW5OAUh9uS8JWOySRlSrnQ2kKN48Eamt4Sbsr-9AnjEO0OU15Z089WdM/s1600/wha.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbiIkbjABNQMwrYyL_0r8KurCH5-frkHKelVse1v13ON6IOaKN9Jhk9yDaO4-ild4L9R2x6f3HNnFDcYKX7qAW5OAUh9uS8JWOySRlSrnQ2kKN48Eamt4Sbsr-9AnjEO0OU15Z089WdM/s400/wha.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624890381287669650" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Nota: Imi asum tot penibilul incercari ce va urma s-o fac. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cred ca mi se pare doar mie, dar iubirea nu-i ceea ce cred mai toti oamenii ca e. Afectiunea e una, atasamentul este si el ceva, dar iubirea... La radio aud "I'm lost without your love and I won't survive", da e o metafora, dar eu tot incep sa cred ca nu despre asta e vorba. Si mi-e dificil sa incerc sa dau o definitie pentru ca ma simt depasita de complexitatea a ceea ce incerc sa cuprind. Eu cred ca iubirea e rara; la fel de rara ca momentele in care suntem capabili sa renuntam complet la noi. Si cand zic complet ma refer la sensul total, sincer si absolut.</div><div>In unele curente de gandire/filozifie se spune ca intelepciunea se poate atinge doar prin iubire. Si eu zic la fel, tocmai pentru ca mi se pare ca avem de strabatut un drum in care sa invatam pas cu pas ce e iubirea. </div><div>Nu cred ca iubirea "te loveste", poate ca se intampla asta cu pasiunea, curiozitatea sau instinctul, dar iubirea...</div><div>In alte perspective mai apropiate bisericii ortodoxe se vorbeste despre suferinta si faptul ca ea este necesara pentru a fi mantuit. Am sa dau si acestei idei credit. Nu vreau sa fac lucrurile complicate in mod gratuit, dar cred ca asa-numita "suferinta" face parte din viata, ne purifica, ne creste, ne invata sa deosebim binele de rau, ne aduce cu picioarele pe pamant, dar ne face si mai curajosi cand ne nom dori sa visam din nou; si, pana la urma, suferinta ne invata si sa iubim. Sau macar ne preda cate o lectie.</div><div>De asta imi place poezia, de asta imi place simfonia, arta... ofera doar stimuli pentru a percepe un mesaj asa cum il putem simti. Gasesc justificata acea amiguitate si subiectivismul lor pentru ca sunt izvorate din cele mai pure si puternice sentimente pe care nu le poti incadra in concret si atunci intervine talentul si matifestarea sa artistica.</div><div><br /></div><br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aZD9nt_wsY0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-16205366069073015642011-06-28T01:57:00.003+03:002011-06-28T03:47:32.960+03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU9GS2_R80tvdA1as-xl4IC5tKzWkn7DMFeEcGIIFv9M0YuVaWT4L0NVezhCbI_THMF9rO5Z7RRZf2yYSM3cnAXL0aUuRnrfShEJHS56sumqCe4EnkHIMIZczp3yfbgGLlXxr9wWE-fQ/s1600/image-216566-galleryv9-rers.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU9GS2_R80tvdA1as-xl4IC5tKzWkn7DMFeEcGIIFv9M0YuVaWT4L0NVezhCbI_THMF9rO5Z7RRZf2yYSM3cnAXL0aUuRnrfShEJHS56sumqCe4EnkHIMIZczp3yfbgGLlXxr9wWE-fQ/s400/image-216566-galleryv9-rers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623065841323657490" /></a><div><br /></div>Ma plec...<div>In momentele cand ma simt mica, atat de mica incat n-as fi, atunci, paradoxal ma simt mai puternica, mai linistita.</div><div>Cand stiu ca oricat as vrea, oricat m-as perpeli, nu pot avea ce-mi doresc cel mai mult, aflu ca nu trebuie sa folosesc superlative pentru dorinte si ca totul este exact asa cum trebuie sa fie.</div><div>Atunci cand vreau totul, cand nu-mi ajunge, cand cer in plus, cand simt lipsa unui surplus, atunci sunt mai pustie si mai goala ca oricand.</div><div>Ma pierd mai des decat ma aflu, dar ma intreb mereu.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: medium; "><i>Ca să poţi să te fii, stai locului şi sfinţeşte-l, iar în călătorie trimite-ţi numai ochiul.</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: medium; "><i>Vai de cel care se odihneşte la umbra copacului sădit de strămoşul altuia. Lasă-te ars de soare, dacă n-ai moştenit vreo umbră de arbore. Sădeşte-te tu însuţi, dacă nu s-a sădit pentru tine! Fii strămoş, dacă n-ai avut norocul să fii strănepot.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >N-am rabdare si ma consum ca o mina ce mazgaleste cate putin pe foi neincepute.<br /></span></span></div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ma analizez cel mai mult, cel mai felurit, ma cert, ma uit, ma las, ma chem, ma alung, ma urasc, ma iubesc, ma mint, ma critic, incerc in cerc sa ma inteleg, sa ma accept, sa fiu.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: medium; "><i>Dacă vrei să existe cinste şi curăţenie, fii chiar tu însuţi cinstit şi curat. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Degetele mele simt, dar mai putin decat sufletul, care calatoreste, se indragosteste, se amaraste, se inveseleste, tanjeste. Da, tanjeste... Ce cuvant. Dur, poate greu de acceptat pentru un om orgolios, dar un cuvant atat de frumos si potrivit.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>Când seara s-ar face gri, Nu te-ai mai putea stăpâni...</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Desi ar parea ca astept, eu nu mai astept nimic. Eu sunt mica, mica, dar atat de puternica si pot sa cred -in primul rand in mine, in rest, nu ma mai astept la nimic. Dar voi iubi mai mult, voi zambi si mai mult. Asa naiv cum suna.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: medium; "><i>Nu trăim decât o singură dată şi numai o singură viaţă.<br />A avea un ideal înseamnă a avea oglindă.<br />Într-un ideal te speli ca-ntr-o apă curată. Într-o oglindă îţi speli chipul obosit, potrivindu-ţi-l până când accepţi să fii.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: medium; "><i><br /></i></span></div></div></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-3301253216721840292011-06-13T00:00:00.003+03:002011-06-13T00:06:44.459+03:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBHycPBqbRJDPrNj5cq_Z0PLm4nU28IkoL5D9It_Mnh3NXCn5tfPe1d3x0k63oTHuob9p1-RpWNz1v-XvbqilHLbnvkd6oyo1QFpEBrXjw3saZ2F9HgvFDJFsM4JINkSUumspp4x-r7A/s1600/loving+what+u+do.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBHycPBqbRJDPrNj5cq_Z0PLm4nU28IkoL5D9It_Mnh3NXCn5tfPe1d3x0k63oTHuob9p1-RpWNz1v-XvbqilHLbnvkd6oyo1QFpEBrXjw3saZ2F9HgvFDJFsM4JINkSUumspp4x-r7A/s400/loving+what+u+do.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617441896153895346" /></a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">1. Realize that you are employed by an organization to obtain results for that organization. You are not employed to like what you do, or to be acknowledged. Consider those just ‘bonuses’. Focus on the work itself and do your best to obtain the results you need to. The fact that you work to the best of your abilities has intrinsic value in itself. Choose to be peacefully content and train you mind-heart to produce joy when you do things with a sincere intention to do well. Remember that “a rose is beautiful whether someone looks at it or not”.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. Remember that<b> you are not your function, your work, your ‘success’/'failure’</b>. Step aside from your identification with what you do and how you feel in the moment. You are many mind-events moments, and the life energy inside you, which makes these moments possible, is different than the life circumstances you experience. What kind of person do you prefer to be? Right action builds more being and being with awareness leads to right action. Is there a type of action that is ‘always’ right? Maybe the will to do, with joy and contentment, whatever needs to be done to obtain the expected results, without expectations about the nature of the results. The data obtained through an experiment can be called a success or a failure. Or they can be called nothing and be seen as mere data.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">John C. Maxwell’s perspective – “The whole idea of motivation is a trap. Forget motivation. Just do it. Exercise, lose weight, test your blood sugar, or whatever. Do it without motivation. And then, guess what? After you start doing the thing, that’s when the motivation comes and makes it easy for you to keep on doing it.”</div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-62250905453221872212011-04-20T23:15:00.003+03:002011-04-20T23:58:47.734+03:00Imi doresc<div style="text-align: justify;">Ma trezesc dorindu-mi foarte multe lucruri, majoritatea dintre ele nefiid realizabile prea usor sau chiar foarte greu. Si nu e drept, stiu. As putea sa-mi doresc doar sa fiu sanatoasa si sa vad lumina soarelui. Si in sufletul meu am realizat cat de important e un lucru simplu pe care pana la un moment dat il iei ca ceva banal. E momentul asta al sarbatorii pe care il respect ca pe orice mister, moment in care toti se gandesc la cum sa fie mai generosi, un moment in care incerci sa iti purifici sufletul macar putin, dar eu ma amarasc ca o visina pentru nu pot sa-mi implinesc vise mai mari sau mai marunte. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Nu pot sa merg nici macar pana la nenorocita aia de Budapesta, care-i colea; vreau sa vad lumea si efectiv sunt depasita financiar si contextual ( adica nu am cu cine si nici un alt scop care sa ma duca pe alte taramuri). Si astea-s motivele aparente, pentru ca stiu ca este vorba si despre curajul meu de a face ceva in privinta asta oricat de greu mi-ar fi si oricat de multe bariere (proprii si externe) ar trebui sa daram.Visez la New York si la Tokyo de curand, visez la peisaje exotice si linistite si ma straduiesc sa nu transform in frustrari aceste dorinte si perspectiva lor slaba de implinire. Si obosesc uneori si simt cum incolteste oftica si mai mult tristetea ca am sa raman asa tare neimplinita. Daca ar fi sa ma autoacuz de lipsa rabdarii sau a maturitatii, nu as fii prea vehementa pentru ca as putea sa astept, sa am rabdare, dar daca as avea macar o perspectiva timida ca viitorul va fi tangetial cu dorintele mele. Ma gandesc ca nu merit, ca nu fac nimic concret in sensul asta si doar stau in fund si ma plang si ma gandesc ca nu vreau sa ma cert urat cu ai mei. Cred ca sunt toate astea, dar si faptul ca efectiv mi-e frica, ca ma simt singura in visele mele si nici nu mai cred in mine. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mi-am cumparat 2 sutiene si mai vreau sa-mi cumpar unu (foarte frivol stiu) si i le-am aratat cu ochi veseli mamei, care mi-a zis ca nu stiu sa-mi pastrez banii, ca asa toti ne dorim multe lucruri dar nu se poate... trebuie sa ne limitam. Si iaca-asa am fost eu crescuta si cum am tendinta deja bine cunoscuta mie sa fac fix invers, sunt total impotriva limitarii. Eu ma hranesc din bucurii mici, imi place sa economisesc, dar simt ca ma ofilesc daca imi tot aman implinirea dorintelor, simt ca mi se duce viata. De fapt, habar n-am de viata, ca e pe zile si ma tem ca o sa ajung la un punct cu vreo cateva economii in care sa ma intreb de ce n-am facut aia sau cealalta si sa fie prea tarziu pentru vreo recuperare. Asa ca sa-mi fie cu iertare ca nu vreau sa fiu prea chibzuita si sa-mi fie rusine ca nici acum nu mi-am cumparat o carte despre care am scris pe blog de mult "Jurnalul unei fete greu de multumit", al carui titlu incheie sugestiv acesta vaicareala.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Am notat aici ca sa citesc peste ceva timp sa vad daca tot asa neimplinita am ramas si eventual sa imi reanimez dorintele.</div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-56254234859623284262011-03-21T00:22:00.002+02:002011-03-21T00:32:49.072+02:00Endless<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R6pmkx1qg7s67OR9ze9jaHVZTloVjx7sFXNVGdtkb-s1A-JofseWBo53GTPU5t1-sj2p9d7Tis6GV1igOw8vtuIiBgjP0cid2zySdZ_ABxD6LKwOx9gB_WAqEGJig5d9I0B1HzDqTIY/s1600/allen_movies_one_best.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 344px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R6pmkx1qg7s67OR9ze9jaHVZTloVjx7sFXNVGdtkb-s1A-JofseWBo53GTPU5t1-sj2p9d7Tis6GV1igOw8vtuIiBgjP0cid2zySdZ_ABxD6LKwOx9gB_WAqEGJig5d9I0B1HzDqTIY/s400/allen_movies_one_best.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586293403390574130" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to sufer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope your're getting this down.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >- Woody Allen</span></b></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-57905766867836395132011-02-22T22:21:00.000+02:002011-02-22T22:22:00.464+02:00Viitorul unei amintiri excelente<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/CSYrKGRaf9A?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-43948753636850058612011-02-01T00:15:00.003+02:002011-02-01T00:20:43.518+02:00These are the moments in my life that I seek<iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="300" height="198" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0bmFl0seKII?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen></iframe><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(160, 82, 45); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(160, 82, 45); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(160, 82, 45); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><br /></span></div>Why must you shed such tender tears<br />In the evening of your years<br />No other love could stem the tide<br />Of the loneliness I hide<br />Open your heart and let me live<br />All the promises I could give<br />The sun and moon and all the stars<br />They bow down to you whenever you pass<br />In a world of fading sadness<br />An emerald ring, a photograph<br />That look in your eyes the brush of your cheek<br />These are the moments in life that I seek<br />No reason or rhyme, no presence of mind<br />Just a dance to the music of time</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(160, 82, 45); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><br />Why must you shed such tender tears<br />In the evening of your years<br />No other love could stem the tide<br />Of the loneliness I hide<br />Inside out, upside down<br />Obscured by clouds, or underground<br />The sun and moon and all the stars<br />They bow down to you whenever you pass<br />Wherever you are, whenever you speak<br />These are the moments in my life that I seek<br />No reason or rhyme, by chance or design<br />Just a dance to the music of time</span></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-33975955724872802922011-01-28T00:11:00.005+02:002011-01-28T00:19:08.248+02:00Nebuloasa<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYuqW0gMn8snLFc3ufAmrzQdTVWem0a0Xax9zwMZJUdouQzEz0NoCwbe6wtX2VLSSPc9jR4VFxogpeOgK8GmQBOEWhRZHPxEOIEOpuiEkBnhuzupBWMCgXravIGbIiFB-9tMFidxJOlw/s1600/nebula.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYuqW0gMn8snLFc3ufAmrzQdTVWem0a0Xax9zwMZJUdouQzEz0NoCwbe6wtX2VLSSPc9jR4VFxogpeOgK8GmQBOEWhRZHPxEOIEOpuiEkBnhuzupBWMCgXravIGbIiFB-9tMFidxJOlw/s400/nebula.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566993137240354786" /></a><div><br /></div>Am o mie de motive să sar într-un picior de bucurie, am o mie de motive să mă întristez. <div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">Nu săpa prea adânc, îţi zic,<br />nu </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">săpa </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">prea adânc, nu săpa,<br />că o să dai de cer<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">că o să dai de cer<br />de alt cer, de alte stele,îţi zic,<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">de alt cer, de alte stele<br />şi acolo între ele<br />de alt pământ, de alt pământ.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; ">(Către fântânar, N. Stănescu)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; "><br /></span></span></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4033569166275896948.post-24900818426247113072011-01-26T03:39:00.006+02:002011-01-26T04:25:38.641+02:00Ma enerveaza<div><b>Că:</b></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne transformam vietile intr-o cursa aparent nebuna si mai degraba monotona catre idei de succes care nu sunt ale noaste.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oamenii amana pana la uitare sa spuna cuiva ceea ce gandesc si sa actioneze ca atare.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne lasam foarte usor pacaliti de impostori care fac bani grei valorificand nevoile oamenilor de astazi: eliberarea de stres, evadarea fie si temporara din cotidian, iluminarea spirituala si filozofica. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Valul asta spiritualo-esoteric mixat cu "revolutia energetica din 2012-2013" cuprinde pe toata lumea. Imi place Oreste, e interesant sa te documentezi constant, dar in mare cred ca ne cacam pe noi si habar n-avem despre ce vorbim.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Exista mai mereu tendinta ca prostia sa acopere tentativele de inedit si inteligenta.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Avem impresia ca vom gasi la altii sau scrisa pe undeva formula magica si reteta pentru fericire. E mai simplu asa! Sa fie o metoda si un plan pentru orice vrem sa obtinem! Atat putem intelege in limitarea noastra umana: Sa gandim pozitiv! - Teoria autosugestiei pe care mi-o citatea mama in clasa 4-a din cartile unui contraspion roman este marea "revelatie" a zilelor noastre!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne agatam de false repere si nu mai credem in succesul onorabil.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne lasam condusi si subordonati de oameni mai prosti ca noi pentru ca asta e varianta cea mai sigura (aparent) si facila.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne ascundem, in loc sa confruntam demn persoane ori situatii.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Prea putini oameni sunt exigenti cu ei insisi si aleg sa se complaca in situatii neplacute/neonorante.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Nu mai credem unii in altii, o generatie in cealalta. Ne judecam, ne etichetam si speram hain si egoist ca noi vom ajunge mai bine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Suntem lasi si nu indraznim sa cerem ce ni se cuvine sau sa recunoastem ceea ce gresim. Ne complacem la gandul "ca se poate mai rau" si visam intr-un registru glumet la ce-am putea obtine cand.... se alinieaza stelele.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne place sa fim pupati in fund, sa ni se dea dreptate si daca se poate sa avem o mica statuie pentru toate realizarile noastre indiferent de anvergura.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne inscriem ca turmele la facultati.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne incriem ca turmele in trenduri necreative de distractie.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Plecam din tara, fugind DE ceva nu CATRE ceva.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mult prea putinor oameni le pasa de procesul de invatare al cuiva, de educatie si calitatea ei, si mai grav, nu le pasa celor care sunt implicati profesional in domeniu.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sunt prea multi firfizoni superficiali si semidocti cu aere de intelectuali.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Suntem "buni" doar la ocazii si ne gandim de doua ori daca sa ne ajutam intre noi fara a cere nimic in schimb.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ne luam unii dupa altii si intram in competitii stupide, neconstructive si egocentriste.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Facem prea putine lucruri care nu sunt in interesul si folosul propriu, ci in al altora mai defavorizati sau al societatii.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sunt oameni corupti la toate nivelurile si in toate domeniile. (Stiu, stiu.. eu si Vadim o sa ne facem un tricou!)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Suntem egoisti si vrem bani multi.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Prea putini mai lupta (si zic LUPTA) pentru ceva, o cauza (morala/etica/sociala/politica/etc), orice cu efect pozitiv/util.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Uneori astept prea multa implicare si sentimente de la oamenii apropiati mie si deci e vina mea ca ma simt singura.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mi-e dor si ma consum.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Nu mai sunt poetica si nu fac lucuri simple si frumoase.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Am crezut "ca ma fac eu mare" si voi invinge toate nedreptatile, dar parca mi-e mai greu.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Zanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15131828915763873302noreply@blogger.com9