Brancusi's birthday

Brancusi, one of the first to appreciate primitive arts and minimalism. It's his birthday today. He was born in Romania. About 50 miles away from where I was born. :-)

there are the words....

"There Are the Words..."

There are the words that couldn’t be twice said,
He, who said once, spent out all his senses.
Only two things have never their end –
The heavens’ blue and the Creator’s mercy.

Anna Akhmatova

the possibility of an island....

"(...) I would never forget her body, her skin, nor her face and I have never felt with such clarity that human relations are born, evolve and die in a totally deterministic manner, as inexorable as the movement of a planetary system, and that it is absurd and vain to hope, however slightly, that you can modify their course."

Michel Houellebecq - The Possibility of an Island

Alas, I find a meaning to this once again in my life.

what a day

Meetings, meetings, meetings and more meetings. I did not even get to see the inside of my office.

People think I've had this most extraordinary life and I talked to some today who did not fall off their chairs when they heard (almost) the whole story. It made me wanted to sing:
"Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal !
...

if only. I was thinking more along the lines: Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire. So, please leave me alone. One person told me she went to Europe 3 times. Another worked in Africa as a midwife. I said that there is no point in traveling per se, unless you learn and incorporate that in who you become. Besides, doesn't traveling imply also "arriving back home and/or a destination"? Silence. Not the kind that precedes profound thoughts though. The laid-back guy sitting across me at the table was laughing inwardly, I could tell. I decided I like laid-back men.... :-D

Temps retrouvé.

Bohemian Rhapsody

...something to listen to before chaos begins.

http://www.ted.com/talks/jake_shimabukuro_plays_bohemian_rhapsody.html

Is that it?

Anybody who knows a recipe for stopping time, please hand it over to me. Not because this moment is perfect, it's just that every single coming second seems to bring something new and I've reached "new" saturation. And so for a short period of time, I will be taking life in very, very small steps. Learning to hold my balance again, walk again, smile again and rediscover this person lying dormant inside me, waiting patiently to live life again.

I've learned a lot of good things too. I've learned a lot about friendship and quite a bit about trust. I've learned that you can reach out to a person you've never met, seen or heard and establish a trusting relationship. I have a lot of you to thank, so thank you John, thank you Jonathan, Mary, Anthony, Marianne and all the people who reached out to me and offered unconditional support - no questions asked, no strings attached.

This seems to be stuck in my brain for the last few days: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ezSGqbuo0g

English weather in Wisconsin

Well, while working on my next paper, I'm watching the rain. It reminds me so much of England. Strong sheets of water coming down from grey skies. Yuk! Somehow I do not find it depressing the way I used to when I lived in England. Maybe because I know that the clouds will break and the sun will come out. I can live with this kind of certitude.

I'm doing a practical project for my ED209 (an inspiring name). Or should I call it Developmental Psychology? Paper due on Thursday, so I'll get back to work and save my Bacovian musings for later.

Oh, here is the poem this rain reminds me of:

"Lacustine
So many nights I've heard the rain,
Have heard matter weeping ...
I am alone, my mind is drawn
Towards lacustrine dwellings.

As though I slept on wet boards,
A wave will slap me in the back -
I start from sleep, and it seems
I haven't drawn the bridge from the bank.
A void of history extends,
I find myself in the same times ...
And sense how through so much rain
The heavy timber stilts are tumbling.

http://www.aboutromania.com/bacovia4.html

George Bacovia (1881-1957)
Lacustra
De-atatea nopti plouand,
Aud materia plangand ...
Sant singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre.
Si parca dorm pe scanduri ude,
In spate ma izbeste-un val -
Tresar din somn, si mi se pare
Ca n-am tras podul de la mal.

Un gol istoric se intinde,
Pe-aceleasi vremuri ma gandesc ...
Si simt cum de atata ploaie
Pilotii grei se prabusesc.
De-atatea noprti aud plouand,
Tot tresarind, tot asteptand ...
Sant singur, si ma duce-un gand
Spre locuintele lacustre ..."

I used to know all his poems by heart: