Tăcerea călugărilor

Una din cele mai grele ascultări e tăcerea. Tăcerea, pentru o femeie, pentru mine, e grea. Există întotdeauna tendinţa de a-ţi pierde sinele în mărunţişuri, în vorbărie goală, insipidă, fără rost. Logoree care disipează esenţa. Tristă îndeletnicire a uneia a cărei pasiune sunt cuvintele. Pervertire, la urma urmei. Şi o înşelătoare uitare.

Logosul e sfânt... Prin Cuvântul întrupat ne-am mântuit. Unde s-a pierdut capacitatea creatoare a cuvântului? Unde e Cuvântul din inimile noastre? Unde e Hristos, în fond?

Spuneam nu demult celui pe care îl iubesc că eu mă deşertez prin cuvinte, în speranţa că aşa el va avea acces la sinele meu. Am realizat apoi că greşisem. El vrea tăcere - iar tăcerea asta e cea care face posibilă comunicarea din adânc, existenţială, spirituală, mai presus de fire. Nu hărmălaia ce o făceam eu mereu - un imens obstacol şi subtil, extrem de subtil egoism.

Călugării vorbesc doar când sunt întrebaţi. Sau măcar cei ce şi-au luat asupră-le minunata nevoinţă a tăcerii. O tăcere în care Domnul descoperă şi Maica-Fecioară povăţuieşte. Să tăcem deci, şi să-l lăsăm şi pe Bunelul să zică ceva. Că săracul, la cât tot trăncănim, nu prea mai are când să contribuie şi El gândurilor noastre.

Doamne ajută!

Thinking for thinking's sake

I've been thinking these past days. I've been thinking long enough and late enough to miss some things that perhaps I should have not. I've been writing, too, which I haven't decided yet if it's a good or bad thing. We'll see.

As a rule, you must know that I talk too much. Some say I hyperanalyze things and thoughts and gestures. Perhaps I do, but that is how I am. Change at any rate is good, if it is done to serve a higher purpose than change itself - draw a parallel, if you wish, with "art for art's sake". And it's yabbering versus me locking myself up in the depths of my uncounsciousness, far, far away from the world. I either give all, or nothing at all. And I'd rather have the former than the latter, though the means are a bit deficient and badly chosen.

We have started walking on a road that I once knew where it will lead us... I had then a certainty naught could shake. Then doubts came, your manner of handling some things came, and I started censoring myself. And now... now I decided to bring back our beginning and make it even fairer. And after all, I think I know again where the road will end. It may be that a hope that stubbornly refuses to die will eventually become reality - it has been so in the past, so why wouldn't it be so in the future? We are given in the measure of our hope... "Fie mila Ta spre noi precum am nadajduit si noi intru Tine."

On another note, here's what I found today: http://www.lumeacredintei.com/sct_4/art_1230/criza_noastr_major_este_una_moral_i.htm . I was rather surprised to find it (pleasantly so, by all means).

And now we wait for the unfolding of the dream, until the dreamer wakes and finds...

Recollections and confessions

Love is very simple, as a rule. The by-word for love is sacrifice. The highest degree of love is not desiring perpetual (even if innocent) touch between the two lovers, but a spiritual communion - to feel the other like yourself, to give up your own desires in favour of the other's happiness. To have the desire to give up love itself so that the other might be saved. Everything revolves around one's soul... At least in our world. Or so it should be.

Perhaps I'm being too idealistic though. Well, I AM too idealistic as a rule. *giggle* Hm... time tells everything one needs to know, if one sits and listens to it. Do I regret what I have done and where I've gotten? Certainly. There is a great degree of foolishness in being impatient, because it can get you to where it has gotten me.

This is a new beginning. A fresh start, as they say. We begin anew with the hope for the best. With hope, especially. And on my part, let it be with realism also. I forgot caution and espoused uncontrolled optimism. We cannot see the future - as such, all we can do is wait. And He always proves the wait well-worth it.

So I leave you for now, pondering on sacrifice and beginnings and the fair sunshine outside my window. Pondering on the blue skies where He always lies. Doamne ajuta in everything!

P.S. I'm not referring to modern or even youthful love. I'm talking about perfection, about how the One Most High loves us - and how we ourselves should love. But we so seldom do. Saints are rare and hard to find. But each of us has the chance and priviledge to become one. Where there's a will there's a way. :)

Who knew writing on a blog could be so technically challenging?

I'm apparently unable to find from where I can delete a post on my own blog. If it's possible in the first place. So now I've edited this post and have one more very empty post left to use. Hm... I'll come up with something. But not right now. I'm having an exam tomorrow and I'm not willing to make a pig's ear out of the examinations like I did in the summer. I was burnt once, I don't want to be burned again because of repetitive folly, of all things.

ETA: Well, I'm being silly and tired. "Edit posts" does the job. *sigh*

New Year and the days thereafter...

...were rather full, really. In one way or another.

I'm not even too certain of what to write. 2010 in recap: full of wonder and diversity, I guess. 2011 in prospect: I have absolutely no idea. I dare not think of how it shall be.

From these first days of the year I was made to realise that I need to learn to be more patient. I need to wait for things to come to me, instead of me grasping after them. I've learnt my lesson, I hope. If only I could stick it to my mind perpetually. That would be a boon to cherish for a lifetime. But alas, the human mind is a bit more stubborn and, dare I say, irresolute and forgetful. Yet I was also told, among other things (and by several people in different points in my life, not only now) to have hope. And one time, that advice went into my heart and stayed there (Facebook friends, you might remember, though it is so far back now). And I'm not altogether keen on disobeying - in a way - my father confessor or anyone else who wants all that is good for me.

I too need to think and I too need to make up my mind as to what I want. For some reason, I cannot worry anymore. Because I know everything will be taken care of most magnificently. And on that very high and optimistic note, I take my leave and return to the world with its stylistics.

God’s handmaiden, Ioana Andreea…

         Upon this day, a year ago

Three Lights I saw on me bestow

To sit and dwell upon my head,

As I felt Someone to have wed.

And as the psalm so well exclaimed,

With no family I have played,

Or made them see Holy Chrism

As the Seal of those who listen.

Thrice did I see me lying dead

And the third time, as it is said

My life began in the Great Book

As satan quaked and was forsook.

I danced with love upon that day,

The iconostasis arrayed

With Those that are dearest to me,

Whether in heaven or on sea.

“Isaiah dance!”, and so did I,

With not a question as to why

I am given this hallowed bliss -

I know what I want not to miss.

A white robe and a candle bright

Relinquished the hold of the night,

As my flame was kindled anew

For all the things I would hold true.

A splendid peace and flawless joy

Was for a while to enjoy,

Until the angel newly born

Managed to make grace flee forlorn.

Half an hour did I manage

Until I tarnished God’s image

In a most consistent fashion

By the vigour of my passion.

But the day is remembered yet

When at His table I first ate

That glowing ember that He brings

When as one heart the whole church rings.

                                                                                20 December 2010

For a love that lasted a single summer's day...

Well, here it is. All I'll say is 25 lines is 12 and 13 put together. Make of that what you will.

       Benjamin

We were both children – do you remember?

Much too young and with too hot a fire

In that day of August or September…

I loved you and you loved me – with desire,

With the wholeheartedness of childhood,

With a love that the years do not tire.

Do you still think of me in your manhood,

Recalling the time a fair-haired girl

For a short while in that clear pool stood?

I was the younger and waters did twirl

As I swam in the brightness of the sun,

My skin always the colour of pearl…

Therapeutically, the day was done:

You had come visit your ailing mother,

While I decided to have some fun.

You took me to the watery cloister

And there we just talked – about simple lives,

About astronomy and stars’ flicker,

About you and your childish pebble dives –

We were children on a fair summer’s day,

And we did not know the love that survives.

I later thought about having my way,

And of a blind search in your own city;

But can one so fragile have her say

For a love that lasted a single summer’s day?

                           18 December 2010