Scattered Thoughts

I think it's not true that only curious people find the most interesting things ... From my experience I can say that I found the best things in life (different peaceful feelings or knowledge facts), only when I was released from the constraints of curiosity, from my attempts to find something at any cost. It 's like abandoning the desire to reach the top of a mountain. The ability to give in to the river the precious stones that you just picked. Rivers know their own purpose better than the analytical mind of a human being.

I begin to be convinced that I am guilty of a sort of self-cannibalism as a poet or in other writings of mine, devouring my own treasure of past and present thoughts ... what will remain of me?..     .

I remember that in my youth I read the Book of Blockade in difficult times for me.  I believe that it was there where I found the shocking image of a mother who feeds her hungry baby with her own blood. The book was published again in Russia in recent years. They made a film of it.  Some people, among whom I counted myself, have a tendency to accept their own suffering easier when they read about things infinitely more serious, such as war consequences.  It is a certain kind of catharsis, a half-identification with the plagued characters, overcoming your own pain by acquiring a larger heart. One that can be fit for more pain. The same thing happened to me reading the Decameron, where the storytellers face the black death sharing their merry or not so merry stories. 

But there's also the saying " my God do not give to man as much as he can bear." In a later stage of his prolonged misery, such tricks cannot help the unfortunate one. He can try to observe his own misery with a detached eye, as if he would rise above the roof, above the house, the city he lives in, his country and finally the whole planet, a planet that is haunted by so many spiritual or material plagues over time. Above his Self.  This is no more catharsis, it is a kind of cleavage of his consciousness, the reasoning self is lost and rediscovered in another dimension, in another setting.  It can be found where it belongs, in his humble home with his daily difficulties he has to cope with, but wearing another armor against desperate feelings. Looking back his troubles seem so small and life is the only possible blissful experience. He is stronger, he can face everything. But if this man is reunited with the whole of his suffering, with all his bitter conclusions about life, this time nothing can facilitate his rebirth, because the umbilical cord is like a noose, tightened around his throat. He falls from grace once again, he relives the past and sees only the obstacles, he is forever hopeless.

I believe that the human mind is not driven by the thirst for knowledge, but by the need for self-control and self-fulfillment. By self-fulfillment I certainly understand the need to harmonize one’s self with the environment, a more advanced stage of self control, involving a mature consciousness.  

When the night is so starry, the necessity to face this cold winter of sheer loneliness burns my heart.