What is Christmas?

By Camelia Micu

Vancouver, Washington

Christmas is my favorite holiday.  Now, you’re probably be asking yourself why did I choose Christmas as my favorite and not Easter, The Resurrection…Well, to be quite honest with you, I love Easter just as much for we remember the death of the greatest King bearing our sins and celebrate His victorious and glorious Resurrection.

Not only did our great King rose from the death, but it was that through his death and His precious shed blood that our sins have been washed away and He so graciously gave us His salvation…”For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)”.  What an amazing remembrance we have to know that our sins have been washed away through his death and received salvation and eternal life instead.  Who does that?  And, the chorus to this song came to mind…”How many kings step down from their thrones?  How many lords have abandoned their homes?  How many greats have become the least for me?  And how many gods have poured out their hearts to romance a world that is torn all apart?  How many fathers gave up their sons to die for you and me only to reward us with life instead?” No other King has ever done that for me!!!  So, that’s way I love Christmas for without the magnificent celebration and the birth of the greatest King on earth as in heavens, there will not have been death and a resurrection…GIVING…for it was foretold long ago: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6)“ and only because, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)”.

I will not be able to ever give back as much as God gave for me, but all I can do is give Him my whole heart and life.  By letting God be my Wonderful Counselor (and not someone I may visit an hour or two in exchange for money), by trusting in God’s faithfulness for only He is the Everlasting Father and by always being grateful and thankful when down in the valleys as well as when high on the mountain and not only for the material blessings (which again He gives to us), but for the ultimate gift of salvation and eternal life coming down from the Father of Lights…”Every good and perfect gift is from above coming down from the Father of heavenly lights. (James 1:17)”.

You see, Christmas is the gift itself and I’m not talking about the wonderful gifts we give and receive from one another.  Or is Christmas all about the gifts?  Is it all about the beautiful lighting displays?  Is it all about the tall and beautifully decorated Christmas tree?  Surely not, even as much as I love giving and receiving gifts, admiring the beautiful lighting displays and decorating my Christmas tree while singing along the beautiful Christmas songs, but, to me all this does is pre-setting our lives, hearts, minds and souls for the joyful celebration, the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ!

For, He is Peace!  He is Joy!  He is Love!  He is every good gift from God’s heart to ours for only Jesus is the Gift that perfectly fits every heart and it is with His love that all celebration starts.  We rejoice in Him as we remember His birth and thank God for sending His only Son to earth.  His life led from a manger to a cross on a hill where He faithfully followed His Father’s perfect will.  He freely laid down everything so that we could live and there is no greater treasure anyone could give.  Like a scarlet ribbon His love wrapped around the cross and He offered it to us all at the greatest cost.  So each time that we give we remember what He’s done and honor the perfect Gift – God’s one and only Son.  Together, let’s celebrate and share Jesus, the perfect gift in a way that brings “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. (Luke 2:14)”.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Blessings for the New Year, from my home to yours!

MIROASE A VESNICIE

Sufletului
Ii plac tot felul
De mirodenii.
Busuiocul, insa,
E preferatul lui.
Miroase a vesnicie.

VARTEJ SOPTITOR TIMPULUI

Cobor in mine,
Iau de mana
Lumea cuvintelor
Si incerc sa fiu
Vartej soptitor
Timpului.

INSEMN

Insemn clipa aceasta
Cu lacrima mea
Si simt
Ce dureroasa ramane
Amintirea…

DE PLICTISEALA

Ma misc intre ceva si ceva,
Eu, punct perpendicular
Pe axa lumii.
Beau in fiecare noapte
Cate o stea
Si-mi innod aripile
Cu ganduri.

CADEREA SPRE NICIUNDE

Cadeam mereu
Intre jos si sus.
Incepusem sa ametesc
De atata cadere
Spre niciunde.
Vesnicia imi transpirase
In palme.

DINCOLO DE NOI

Dincolo de uitare,
E neliniste.
Dincolo de durere,
E boala.
Dincolo de boala,
E fiinta.
Dincolo de noi,
Suntem noi

CUVANT ROTIT

M-am ascuns
In umbra unei idei.
Nimic mai frumos
Ca acest joc !
Sunt un cuvant
Care se roteste.
Nimic mai bun
Decat zborul
Cuvantului !

ARIPI DE ROUA
Botul umed al diminetii
Rumega viata.
Ingerii s-au trezit
Cu aripi de roua.
Cu ochiul beat
Eu decojesc clipa

SEMN

Ingenunchezi
In iarba cuvintelor
Si genunchii
Iti prind radacini.
In clipa urmatoare
Devii semn.

TABLOU DE IARNA

E primavara-n iarna, vezi prea bine
Ce rai domnesc e in gradin’-afar!
Au inflorit, in ram, margaritar,
Toti merii mei, au florile ciorchine.

Miroase-a flori de gheata pe asfalt !
Maret tablou in casa mintii mele !
Si vor ramane pururea eterne
Aceste clipe cu pridvor inalt.

Nici mana unui pictor n-o s-astearna
Pe panz-acest décor mirific, pur !
E-atata frumusete imprejur
Incat as vrea sa fie pururi, iarna !

A CAZUT UN INGER

S-a pierdut un inger pe strada !
L-am vazut adineauri, in port.
Are parul alb, ca de vata,
Si ochi mari, albastri de tot !

S-a pierdut un inger pe strada !
A cazut din cer, nu stiu cand.
Are mersul zburdalnic, de parca
Pare-a fi adiere de vant !

Si-are-un trup de magnolie roz,
Iar obrajii, de purpura vie.
Ma opresc langa el si visez
Ca-i al meu, de acum, pe vecie.

A cazut un inger pe strada !
A cazut din cer, nu stiu cand.
Toti plopii se opresc sa il vada,
C-are ochii de flacari arzand.

Daca intrebi in vis pe Stapanul,
Unde sunt ingerii Lui,
O sa-ti spuna ca nu este unul,
Iar acela e cel ce-l vazui !

Si-am sa-l duc la mine acasa,
Sa-l pastrez ca pe-o boare de crin !
Si-o sa fie un inger – mireasa !
O minune cu zambet senin !

MAI INFLORESC SALCAMII ?

E mult de-atunci, tin minte ca ploua.
Iti admiram, timida, haina alba.
Acolo-n parc, doar frunza fremata
Si ma uimea mereu o floare dalba.

Erau mai multi pe banca, sub salcam,
Plangea statuia si curgea izvorul.
De man-am alergat pe-un tainic drum,
Mi-ai alungat din inima-ntreg dorul.

Si din trifoi, cand am cules norocul,
Tu mi-ai zambit, si-am inteles ca noi
Mereu vom tine-alaturea intreg jocul
Iubirii noastre: frunza de trifoi.

De-atunci e mult si nu te-am mai vazut.
Salcamul a-nceput sa-si pice frunza.
Stau seara trista, in pridvor, si-ascult
Paianjenul cum isi mai tese panza.

Si nu te vad, azi pasul ti-e mai rar.
Indiferent mi-arunci un zambet fals.
Ma consolezi doar cu un gand amar,
Cu glasul stins ma mai inviti la vals.

Nu-ti mai e mana calda, ca atunci
Si par sa-ti fiu, din ce in ce straina.
Urmele noastre de prin vai si lunci
In fata mea, cu greu se mai inclina.

Nu-mi mai arati pe cer nici Carul Mare
Si nici romanta mea n-o mai asculti.
Privirile de azi nu-s ale tale,
Ca sunt mai reci ca neaua de pe munti.

Cand ne urzeam, atunci, placute vise,
Senina luna ne veghea zambind,
Dar azi e trista, razele-i sunt stinse
Si ochiul ei nu e la fel de sfant.

Azi, toamna-ncepe, vantul sufla iar.
Miroase, simt, a struguri copti in vie.
Stau singura pe un oblon de car
Si ma gandesc la noi, la ce-o sa fie.

E mult de-atunci, azi treci nepasator
Si ochii ti-i ascunzi de ochii lumii.
In umbra amintirilor cobor
Si ma intreb  „Mai infloresc salcamii ?“

POVESTE CU INGERI

I-atat de-nalt pridvorul in care plang copacii,
Caci ingerii coboara direct in poala lui.
Alaturi, in gradina, se-mpodobesc iar macii
Pentru-o printesa-a noptii, cu ochii mari,
caprui.

I-atat de-nalta clipa ce ne primi voioasa,
Caci visele stau roiuri pe scaunele ei.
Ma tulbura povestea asa de frumoasa
A codrilor inalti si-a florilor de tei.

Beatrice Silvia Sorescu

Caruta cu vise pe drumul stelelor

Avand obarsii in Balsul haiducilor olteni, Marin Trasca scrie precum respira, precum ii curge prin vene, departe de casa, sangele de roman. „Boala” scrisului a fost ursita inca de la nastere, de catre vreddnicele moase ale poporului roman, care l-au scaldat in busuioc, dandu-i puterea slovei. In copilarie prin joaca, amestecand literele forma cuvinte prin care adresa spunea celorlalti ceea ce simtea. Astazi impartaseste sentimentele in vers, intregii lumi. Este mesagerul, pe coarda sensibila a inimii, a frumusetilor ancestrale oltenesti, a apei nemuritoare, a vantului hoinar, a lunii singuratice, a soarelui stralucitor, a pribeagului plecat departe de tara natala, care isi colinda pamantul sfant in rime.
Debutul in poezie l-a avut in anul 1988 la celebra revista „Tribuna”, sub auspiciile Cenaclului literar „Ritmuri” de la Deva, pastorit de Valeriu Bargau. De atunci, a adunat, in zeci de publicati, tot pe atatea poeziii care vibreaza peste timp alaturea cu sufletul geaman al romanului.
Odata cu primii pasi ai libertatii Marin Trasca a imbratisat munca de ziarist, lucrand la mai toate ziarele din Olt, in acelasi timp avand o colaborare si cu Radio Oltenia din Craiova. Editorialele presarate in paginile ziarelor, gandurile usor stilizate ale lumii, construirea civilizatiei post-decembriste, sunt cuprinse in volumul  „Singur printre ziaristi”, care a vazut lumina tiparului in anul 2002 la Editura Pro Humanitas. Instantanee, flashuri, lumini, cautari, raspunsuri, semne de intrebare puse de jurnalistul profesionist, oglindite prin lupa scriitorului care croseteaza metafore. Desi traieste in Spania, nu a uitat de tara, de romanism, prin intermediul saptamanalului „Noi in Spania!” promovand arta, frumusetea, clipa de binecuvantare.
In „Caruta cu vise” sunt trairile, iubirile, dorintele, implinirile si aspiratiile ultimilor 20 de ani, care reliefeaza zbuciumul poetului deasupra caruia pluteste …singuratatea, acea stare care, atunci cand se aseaza in ungherul sufletului, te raporteaza la dorul dupa ulitele satului copilariei, unde  „mama s-a culcat cu Luna-n ochi” si se trezeste odata cu mangaierea razelor de soare, stamparata de doina dulce, atunci cand “ulita ningea cu amintiri”. Este greu departe de tara, este greu sa porti nestamparatele amintiri, este greu sa nu fi cu ai tai in momentele importante. „Avand   nevoie de lumina/ aprinse  un  Luceafar/ sa-l aiba de sarbatori”, ca o mangaiere a inimii pe care lacata strainatatii n-o mai poate stapani. Atunci cand zalele se rup salta de bucurie versul, poetul fiind in transa creatiei: “ Sunt un  cobai/ Al paginilor nescrise,/ Carora li se fura/ Nisipul din clepsidra”. Timpul incremeneste spre nemurire, limbile ceasului se opresc, iar cartea devine stapana meleagului celest.
Daca ar fi sa raspund la intrebarea poetului  “Cate lacrimi ar incapea intr-o caruta/ Cu sare?”, as spune ca tot atatea cata bucurie incape in versul neprihanit de durerea neimplinirii, tot atatea cata vapaie emana Lumina Lumii prin darul si harul ce s-au pogorat asupra lui Marin Trasca.
A fi poet este , fara doar si poate, ochiul care soarbe profunzimea ideii adaptand-o in timp si spatiu. Reflexia gandirii separa farama de ostilitate si puzderie de imagini se deruleaza in mintea artistului. Uneori, scandalizat de duplicitatea firii umane sau de zgomotul unui ras ironic, isi incruciseaza mainile cu un vag sentiment al pierderii, al goliciunii: “Imaginea lui/ Cu genunchii indoiti/ Si mainile/ In patru ganduri,/ Ar trebui sa fie asezata/ La poarta fiecarui Rai”. Apreciezi valoarea deosebita a omului ce imortalizeaza imaginea ideii in cateva cuvinte insirate cu dibacie in randuri suprapuse: “Puterea cuvantului mai poate despica lumea,/ Doar cand este spus in doi peri./ Poetul scrie ce nu vede,/ Dar este!”. Spre nemurire…
” Nimeni nu mai are timp/ Nici macar sa fie!” pare sa spuna ultimul vers dintr-un poem, inainte ca tu sa-ti dai seama ca mintea va deschide ochiului tau imaginea vie a cuvintelor. Poetul, descatusat parca de orice constrangeri, se dedica libertatii si magiei cuvantului. Marturiseste in poezie sentimentul durerii sau al frustrarii intemnitat cu buna stiinta de zbuciumul unui suflet insetat.
Poezia este o gradina botanica cu o splendoare stranie. Soaptele ei iti gadila sufletul sibilinic ca cantecul de sirena. Iti da senzatia ca plutesti pe valurile adevarului ce produce o stare de nostalgie extraordinar de placuta:” Daca mai canta si cucul,/ Am certitudinea ca/ Adevarul imi apartine”. Strafundurile sufletului se incarca de energie si parca inima iti bate in cadentele ceasului cu cuc, sau ale pasarii de acolo de la acasa.
Pendularea intre cer si pamant a spiritului poetic, atitudinea de razvratire si orgoliu sau de adancire in sine, este cautarea de innoire a ceea ce ne inconjoara: “Rezolva aceste legi, / Doamne,/ Apoi da comanda lumii sa ma nasca!” sau: „Dorul de a redeveni Om/ Mai tine pamantul pe umeri”..
Aflat in cautarea “rostului poetic”, alege calea dialogului: un timp al Prezentei, al instituirii, constituirii si reconstituirii expunerii, adecvat unui plan care vizeaza un scop conturat pe masura asigurarii intre tepusele celor mai potrivite intrebari pe care poate sa si le puna Fiinta: “Sa nu impiedic lumea la mers,/ Pana si somnul il am ghemuit”. Poetul aluneca in lumea conexiunilor (din cele existente, in cele posibile) pentru a gasi un model, o paradigma operationala a fiintei, capabila de o schema ontologic-topologica: “In lumea noastra stramta,/ Cea fara de spatiu,/ Iubirea nu se mai iubeste”.
Nasterea operei e o relatie mediata de Poet – subiectul, conceptul unei actiuni si morfologii divine: lui i se reveleaza, el gaseste “ferestre” si “pe calea astfel luminata” aglutineaza cuvintele rigide si elastice, pina izbuteste sa le aduca la un maximum de “imitare” a precuvintelor, a vibratiei lor proprii”. Ca si in cazul muzicii, aici trebuie sa cante golul, tacerea dintre cuvinte, ca si culorile pe o panza, cuvintele trebuie sa inceteze de a mai fi identic cu sine, incepand sa fie.
Pe drumul dorului singuratatea vine, asa ca atunci “Cand nu are cine sa-ti dea”buna ziua”,/ Nu te bucura”, pentru ca departarea de cuibul natal, in cautarea idealului are si un revers al medaliei: „ Libertate,/ Ce dor mi-a fost de tine!/ Vorbesc,/ Dar simt ca nu ma aud!”. Intr-o vreme in care „ Iuda ne plange de mila”, in care destinul strainului este:  „ de-a colinda prin lume fara sat,/ rostul de a plange/ la rasaritul soarelui/ si de a visa/ la scapatatul lui”!, poetul trece puntea pentru a numara statuile “Azvarlite in haos/ De neintelegearea mostenita/ La Facerea Lumii”, in cautarea salcamului care ”mai poarta pe umeri/ Povara unei lumi pierduta-ntr-un colind/ Al colacilor/ Aburiti de ochii mamei/ In diminetile de Ajun”.
Citind cartea veti auzi „tropote de cai inhamati/ La o caruta cu vise”.
Cu credinta din ce in ce mai puternica in Divinul Creator, cel care a facut Cerul, Pamantul, Apele si…Cuvantul. Care era de la El si El era Cuvantul…

Menut Maximinian

De sarbatori

pentru ca toate sunt asa cum sunt,
omul
trebui sa-si faca de lucru
cu timpul prezent la timpul trecut,

trase dupa el Carul Mare,
il inlocui pe cel Mic,
iar Closca o puse sa scoata pui
in palma unei femei.

avand nevoie de lumina
aprinse un Luceafar
sa-l aiba de Sarbatori.

Marin Trasca

OPINII FARA PERDEA – Studentul roman

Daca ar fi sa alcatuim profilul studentului roman obisnuit din orice colt al tarii si care invata la orice facultate din Romania, oare cum ar arata el? Cu totii stim ca studentul a evoluat de la student eminent la un student mai “cool”, mai ambitios si mai pus pe distractie, decat era in trecut, adica, un student care umbla cu mapa prin universitate si isi tocea  coatele prin biblioteci. Daca in trecut, pe saracul student il dureau ochii din cauza zecilor de carti citite si rascitite, acum il dor ochii din cauza jocurilor pe calculator, a filmelor vizionate online sau, in cel mai fericit caz, din cauza cartii citite pe suport electronic, extrem de necesara pentru „vesnicul” referat. Din pacate, bibliotecile si cartile cu miros de vechi au fost inlocuite de ipod-uri si de un laptop “teapan” de tot.  Nu mai zic de haina ponosita sau de incaltamintea pe care o purta pana ramanea fara talpi. Toate acestea au fost inlocuite de o haina eleganta sau trendy si de niste pantofi sport “ultimul racnet”. Daca mai are  o masina faina si un job bine platit, atunci deja vorbim de un student “aranjat” bine pe piata muncii, chiar inainte de absolvire. Ce lipseste din acest peisaj? Telefonul mobil, desigur. A trecut epoca telefoanelor fixe, acum la moda sunt telefoanele mobile “tipla”, care atrag atentia oricui le vede si sa vezi atunci ce mandru este studentul nostru, cand isi etaleaza accesoriul sau cand il foloseste ca sa se joace in timpul cursurilor, instalat undeva in spatele amfiteatrului. Studentul nostru se distreaza in cluburi, dansand pe ritmuri de house, minimal sau trance, servind de fiecare data un pahar de whisky sau de J.B. Care viata de camin sau mers la Filarmonica, la teatru sau chiar  la opera? E mai fun sa mergi in pub sau la un karaoke cu ceilalti colegi si sa-ti etalezi calitatile de  „ilustru” cantaret. Sau mai tineti minte in  sesiune, cand studentul nostru brav invata zi si noapte pentru nota maxima de 10? Ei bine, in prezent, studentul nostru se multumeste si cu un 5 amarat, numai sa nu intre in restanta. Nu prea poate sa aiba pretentii, din moment ce profu’ nu l-a prea vazut la cursurile sale si colac peste pupaza, la examen a mai venit si nepregatit.. Asa ca el se multumeste cu ce i se da. Nota 5 la teorie si practica, bingo! Bun sau rau, nu conteaza, important e ca este student si peste putin timp va fi absolventul unei facultati cu drepturi depline, chiar daca nu prea stie ce va face cu diploma primita. Un lucru este cert, studentul roman este in permanenta schimbare sau chiar in continua “tunare”, precum masinile imbunatatite. El se afla intr-o evolutie moderna si intelectuala, pe ici, pe colo.
In linii mari, cam asa vad eu conturat profilul studentului roman, insa sper ca in viitor, studentul sa insemne pentru societatea actuala un model mai bun decat este in prezent.
Olga TOMA,
anul III, Facultatea de Stiinte ale Comunicarii
Universitatea APOLLONIA Iasi

Gratis, Adevarul…

Cand ma intorc de la serviciu,
Vad pensionari de-ngropaciune,
Cum stau la cozi sa ia, deliciu,
Pe gratis, vesti din tara, bune –

Poate se ieftineste viata,
Caci nu mai au deloc putere,
Decat sa isi arate fata,
Greu de privita lor avere –

Si la ce bun niste cuvinte,
Cand nu produc, n-aduc profituri,
Si la ce bun mai multa minte,
Cand nu sunt bani, nici de chibrituri –

Asteapta rabdatori la coada,
Sa mai primeasca, de se poate,
Ceva, pe gratis, sa ma vada
Ca nu e doar singuratate –

Cand toate costa, totul cere,
O veste nici nu mai conteaza
De-i rea, sau buna, da putere
La batraneti in metastaza –

Cat le-a albit, de cozi, tot parul,
Cum s-au schimonosit la fata,
De cand asteapta Adevarul
Sa il citeasca – despre viata –

Incolonati, par ca nu-s singuri,
Par chiar un cor de moda veche,
Sperand pomana unei linguri
De vorba buna nepereche –

Langa toneta de jurnale,
Tacand compacti, cand timpul bate
Satui imi par de tot, si toate,

Si-asa flamanzi de sanatate/ de vorbe goale –

Dar iata vine si masina
Cu Adevarul – si ei pleaca,
Citindu-si fiecare vina
De-a fi ramas mai singuri, parca…

Jianu Liviu-Florian

Valuing People Over Property

By Paula Ioanide PhD
Portland, Oregon

When I was in my first year of college, I decided it might be wise to take an economics class. Understanding the operations of markets, supply and demand seemed like useful knowledge to have in an increasingly complex global economy. Besides, all the ‘successful’ types at the college seemed to be economics majors. I enrolled in the class and purchased the textbook. The professor had instructed us to read the first chapter of the textbook as our first assignment. Eager to be a good student, I opened the textbook and read the first sentence of the chapter. My stomach turned. I read it again to make sure that I had understood what I had read. I stared at that sentence for a long time, unable to move on to the next one. It said something like this: “This textbook presumes that the people are self-interested individuals seeking to gain the greatest advantages for themselves.”
I closed the textbook, returned it to the bookstore, and withdrew from the class. I could not go on studying a subject whose premise, in my view, was essentially faulty.
Probably most students were not disturbed by this fundamental premise in economics. But to me, the idea that we were merely ‘self-interested individuals’ stood in direct contradiction to my beliefs about humanity. I was not so naïve to think that people weren’t self-interested; the evidence was all around me. Yet, I wanted to believe that we were capable of something more than that; in fact, that God’s will for us was to surpass our own ‘self-interest’ and private gain so that we might serve others and God.
Much later in graduate school, I did end up studying economics. But instead of approaching the subject from the perspective on an economist—whose job is ultimately to figure out how to gain the largest profit rate for himself, his clients or his corporation—I studied economics in relation to cultural and political systems. I learned that ultimately economic policies are intricately related to people’s socio-political ideologies. And I learned that as ideologies change, so do economic policies.
Today’s economic scares—from rising oil prices and utility costs, to the chaotic stock market, to the recent near-meltdown of the two largest mortgage companies in the United States, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac—is reminiscent of the United States in the 1920s. As most people know, the 1929 stock market crash led to the 1930s Great Depression. Many factors contributed to the crash, but the principal one was greed. Monopolies that had gained capital and wealth during the 1920s at unprecedented levels hit the ceiling and plummeted. Much like today, the housing market crashed due to people’s inability to pay mortgages. Several shifts in economic policies came about during the Great Depression, the most notable of which was Theodore Roosevelt’s 1932 New Deal.
Most people don’t know that the New Deal was established as a result of an organized movement led by inter-ethnic alliances between immigrants and other working class Americans. Historian George Lipsitz argues that the “culture of unity” that was created in the 1930s challenged the moral authority of dominant groups whose primary interests had been to gain excessive wealth at the expense of the working class majority. Some of the most important economic safety nets came out of the New Deal, among them Social Security, workers’ labor protections and rights, and the National Housing Act that established the Federal Housing Administration (FHA). By federally insuring mortgages and restructuring the federal banking system, the FHA made it possible for working and middle class Americans to become home owners for the first time. These benefits were disproportionately allocated, however, with 98% of FHA loans granted only to white Americans from 1934 to1968. Owning property in America turned out to be the best economic investment a person could make. It has been well documented that home ownership leads to intergenerational wealth accumulation, accounting for the disparities in wealth and education among different groups.
Since America is once again facing a housing market crisis, it is useful to know how we got here. Since the 1970s, economic policies in the US have generally shifted to serve the interests of large corporations, whose ability to move globally posed a number of problems nationally. These economic shifts came about in relation to political ideologies that have come to be known as “neoliberalism.” Essentially, the ideology of neoliberalism argues that serving the needs of most powerful and wealthy by placing fewer restrictions on the movement of capital—“freeing markets”—would produce benefits that would eventually “trickle down” to the less advantaged. An example of this would be to give tax breaks to corporations in exchange for staying in America instead of moving overseas. This was the ideology most ardently defended by Ronald Reagan, who initiated the movement to increasingly cut down federal “safety nets” in the name of reducing “big government spending.” But it was also an ideology followed by Bill Clinton, who initiated policies like NAFTA and the 1996 Welfare Reform Act, and continued the trend of shrinking the social welfare state. (The social welfare state includes insurance programs like Medicare and Social Security, public education, public works projects like the interstate highway system as well as programs for the poor like Food Stamps and Temporary Assistance for Needy Families).
Well, the relationship between corporate exponential profit seeking and a state whose role is theoretically to regulate and redistribute wealth is sort of like that between a child and a parent. The child wants more and more chocolate; the parent warns that eating too much chocolate will make the child sick; the child doesn’t listen and keeps eating more chocolate; finally the child gets sick.
Recently, the federal government had to take a parental role and rescue sickly Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae from going under by lending them $300 billion. The two companies hold or guarantee almost half of the nation’s mortgages, valued at $5 trillion. Corporate greed and the drive of ‘self-interest’ are some of the undisciplined children in this housing market meltdown. Wall Street, investors, companies in charge of regulating and overseeing mortgage loan approvals, and rating agencies all wanted to keep eating the chocolate produced by subprime mortgages and predatory loans (usually called fees). But the federal government hasn’t exactly been a good parent either, since it more often than not failed to enforce fair housing laws and regulations meant to stop unfair and predatory lending practices. The losers in this story are millions of people who have lost or will lose their homes. Particularly vulnerable were those who were working class, since they were the guinea pigs of the first wave of predatory loans. This is no small matter, since losing home ownership in America is virtually equated with losing opportunities intergenerationally.
Yet, as I mentioned at the beginning, economic policies don’t take place in a vacuum. Since the 1970s, the majority of Americans have participated and conceded to a culture that increasingly values private property over public goods. If one looks at changes in the taxation system, the annually shrinking budgets of public education from K2 to higher education, the falling infrastructure of public projects like bridges and roads, the closure of public parks and libraries, one thing is clear. For the past thirty years, Americans have disinvested from shared goods and have increasingly focused on their own private gain (and perhaps that of their families’). Additionally, a review of welfare policies indicates that any moral duty to help the poor has virtually disappeared. American attitudes toward the poor (the majority of who work full time but still cannot make ends meet) are defined more by contempt than empathy. The role of helping the disadvantaged has been left mostly to religious institutions and private charity organizations. As economic policies have produced an increasing gap between rich and poor, such religious institutions and charities cannot handle the numbers who need assistance.
It seems that the premise stated in my economics textbook—that people are essentially self-interested individuals striving for private gain at the expense of others—is truer today than at other times in American history. It remains to be seen whether this economic crisis, depending on how bad it gets, teaches us the consequences produced by a culture of valuing property over people. In the short term, participating in this culture yields the pleasures of eating chocolate, consumerism, and the status that comes with wealth. But in the long term, it produces consequences that inevitably lead to ethical emptiness. This is because valuing property over people—in its fundamental premise, if you will—requires that we serve ourselves before we serve others. It may even require (and it often does) that we exploit or denigrate someone so that we can serve our interests. Should we find ourselves reveling in the culture of valuing property over people, it may be wise to remember Christ’s warning: “One cannot serve both God and money.”

http://www.romaniantimes.com

Interviu cu Ana BLANDIANA

-25 martie 1942  se naste la Timisoara, ca prima fiica a cuplului Gheorghe si Otilia Coman, Otilia-Valeria, cea careia in familie si printre prieteni i se va spune constant Doina, iar in literatura se va numi Ana Blandiana.
-1959 Debuteaza in revista Tribuna din Cluj cu poezia Originalitate, semnand pentru prima oara Ana Blandiana
– 1960 Se casatoreste cu scriitorul Romulus Rusan.
-1963 Dupa o interdictie de patru ani, redebuteaza, de data aceasta irevocabil, in revista Contemporanul, condusa de G. Ivascu.
-1963-1967 Urmeaza si termina cursurile Facultatii de filologie a Universitatii din Cluj
-1964 ii apare prima carte,,Persoana intaia plural “,versuri,cu o prefata de Nicolae Manolescu,Editura pentru Literartura.
-de-a lungul anilor ii apar numeroase carti,la diferite edituri si face multe traduceri

– 2001 Este aleasa membru fondator al Academiei Mondiale de poezie care ia fiinta la Verona sub egida UNESCO.
Ana Blandiana este o militanta de frunte a vietii publice romanesti.O femeie frumoasa,inteligenta,cu o voce blanda,receptiva cu tot ce se petrece in jurul domniei sale si este o adevarata profesionista.                                                           Multumesc din suflet ca a acceptat interviul care urmeaza.Prenumele domniei sale de poeta,ziua si luna de nastere coincid cu ale mamei mele,o bucurie in plus pentru mine.

“Nu e nevoie sa ajungi la poezie, este destul sa tinzi catre ea pentru a fi salvat.”

Adalbert  GYURIS – De cand e colaborarea cu poezia  si cu    cuvintele ?
Ana  BLANDIANA- Imi amintesc momentul cand am scris primul text cu rime si ritm,asta intelegeam atunci prin poezie,in clasa a doua.Dar nu imi mai amintesc de cand toata lumea considera ca acesta este destinul meu,in orice caz, tot din prima copilarie.N-am avut niciodata problema optiunii.A hotarat pentru mine cineva mai de sus.

Atunci v-a venit ideea de a folosi un pseudonim ?
– Pseudonimul s-a nascut,din numele satului Mamei – Blandiana – si rima sa, cand eram in ultima clasa de liceu am trimis, mai multi colegi, poezii semnate cat mai melodios la revista ,,Tribuna” din Cluj.Ale mele au aparut,iar pseudonimul  s-a transformat in nume pentru ca Tata fiind detinut politic,n-as fi putut publica cu numele meu real-Otilia Valeria Coman.De altfel,nici asa nu mi-a folosit prea mult,pentru ca oficialitatile din orasul meu,Oradea, au avut grija sa comunice tuturor publicatiilor din tara ca”sub pseudonimul Ana Blandiana se ascunde fiica unui dusman al poporului”.

Cantariti mult inainte de a asterne pe hartie gandurile dumnea-  voastra ?
– In poezie,de obicei, inceputul vine de undeva din afara mea,primele cuvinte,sau primele versuri.Munca este sa fiu in stare sa continui,sa rotunjesc si sa inchei la acelasi nivel .Este ca si cum ar trebui de fiecare data sa dovedesc ca merit sa fiu destinatara acestor mesaje.

Poetului i s-a dat un talent de la Dumnezeu pentru a remodela lumea,de a o retrai si apoi  a o retransmite celor ce iubesc  poezia ?
– Nu cred ca poetii au fost vreodata in stare sa remodeleze lumea,ceea ce Dumnezeu le-a dat a fost puterea de a transmite oamenilor revelatia samburelui de lumina pe care il ascund fiecare,de multe ori fara sa stie,in ei insisi.

Credeti ca poetul e un ales in felul sau ?
– Da,cu siguranta,da.El este ales sa transforme suferinta in cuvinte si cuvintele in suferinta.

Este un avantaj ca sotul dumneavoastra Romulus Rusan este scriitor ?
– Da.Am avut in felul acesta fiecare cate un critic de uz propriu.Ceea ce nu e putin lucru.

Care este deosebirea dintre un poet si scriitor ?
– Poetul transcrie “vocea zeeasca” despre care vorbea Socrate,scriitorul este un intelectual care incearca,muncind din greu,sa creeze oameni si lumi.

Poezia poate salva frumusetea unor sentimente care azi risca sa fie macinate de partea materiala ?
– In masura in care oamenii vor intelege ca “a aseza poezia in centrul lumii”(asa cum se spune in textul fondator al Academiei Mondiale de poezie UNESCO) este un fel de a salva lumea.De altfel nici nu e nevoie sa ajungi la poezie,este destul sa tinzi catre ea pentru a fi salvat.

Sunteti implicata in ,,Memorialul Sighet”,a venit cineva la dumneavoastra care a lucrat la penitenciarul din Sighet spovedindu-se ?
– Nu.Ar putea face asta doar daca le-ar fi frica sau rusine de ceea ce au facut.Dar atata vreme cat reprezentanti ai fortelor de represiune au inca pozitii importante in societate nu au de ce sa le fie frica de oameni,iar de Dumnezeu nu le-a fost frica niciodata.In ceea ce priveste rusinea,ea nu poate sa apara decat acolo unde exista discernamant intre bine si rau.

Credeti ca Romania intrand in Uniunea Europeana va scapa de partidele nationaliste ?
– Nu mai mult decat celelalte tari europene. De altfel, nici acum situatia nu e mult diferita de alte tari, ca Franta, ca Austria,ca Slovacia.

Stimata doamna Ana Blandiana va multumesc tare mult pentru aceste destainuiri si va doresc dumneavoastra si domnului Romulus Rusan,sotul domniei voastre inca multe realizari in domeniul scrisului.Sarut mainile !

Adalbert  GYURIS

Respiratii duminicale…

Stiu cand e Duminica…

Stiu
Cand e Duminica
Si fara calendar,
Dupa felul
In care
Ma spun
Cuvintele…
Ele sunt
Martorii mei…

Om sunt si eu…

Om sunt
Si
Eu,
Locuit
De
Ganduri…

Durere…

Ce ma doare
Pe mine
Acum
O sa va doara
Si pe voi
Vreodata?

Discipolul…

Merg eu
Oare
Pe urmele
Mele,
Ori ele
Vin dupa mine…
Cine
Dintre noi
E
Discipolul?
Caderea in Cer…

Toate caderile
Dor,
Numai
Caderea
In Cer
Nu doare…

Duminica viitoare…

M-am visat
Cu mine,
E de rau,
E
De
Bine
Visul acela,
Nu stiu…
Sa aveti rabdare
O
Sa vi-l scriu
Duminica
Viitoare…

Ca-tren…

Nu v-am cerut nici bani pentru sicriu,
Nu v-am cerut nici flori de cununie,
Macar atat, raspundeti cand va scriu-
Tacerea mea prea-lunga o sa-mi fie…

Nicolae Nicoara Horia

Realismul tragi-comic si „Cobai in Tara Dezamagirilor” de Paul Polidor

Paul Polidor a evoluat constant si semnificativ. Ar fi putut ramane profesor de limba romana sau de limba rusa, dar si-a urmat chemarea inimii cu incredere, daruire si speranta. A ales cariera artistica, ce include nu de putine ori privatiuni materiale si chiar contestari. Au fost si acestea in viata sa, o viata de muzica si poezie. Neputand sa renunte la una in favoarea celeilalte, le-a ales pe amandoua. El scrie poezie, canta, compune, avand destinul tipic al artistului roman. E mai cunoscut in strainatate decat in tara. Canta in vreo 12 limbi straine, a lansat conceptul interferentelor muzicale, organizeaza turnee, festivaluri, isi editeaza opera sa, dar si a altor creatori; a inregistrat o serie de audio-book-uri in lectura unor autori contemporani – adevarate documente de istorie literara. El contrazice ideea gresita ca poetul ar fi cu capul in nori, dimpotriva, poetul reactioneaza lucid la evenimentele timpului sau cu arma cuvantului. A vibrat la drama Basarabiei, daca ar fi sa mentionam doar caseta ,,Basarabia, dragostea mea‘‘, dar si la multe alte drame, mai mari sau mai mici ale Romaniei postdecembriste.
Paul Polidor munceste mult si pe multe fronturi. Isi iubeste tara si de aceea vitupereaza impotriva celor ce au facut ca azi sa se traiasca prost intr-o tara frumoasa si bogata. E felul sau de patriotism, pe care nu-l gaseste nici anacronic, nici amendabil. Acesta este si sentimentul pe care ti-l lasa lectura recentei sale carti Cobai in tara dezamagirilor. Este o carte a revoltei, scrisa aproape furibund, cu dintii inclestati incercand sa opreasca hohotul de plans printr-un hohot de ras. Caci este vorba de Romania, tara lui rasu’-plansu’, tara balcanica, unde totul se ia usor, se schimba repede, fara avertisment si fara consecinte. Poeziile constituie reflexul la provocarea unei realitati contemporane, ofertanta intr-un fel de pitoresc promiscuu lezand morala, etica si estetica. Poetul, vorba lui Caragiale, simte enorm si vede monstruos, caci in jur sunt, cu adevarat, lucruri monstruoase. Ele sunt exprimate pe limba lor, in cuvinte tari, chiar licentioase, textele fiind uneori la limita dintre poezie si nonpoezie. Se apeleaza uneori la stilul folcloric, sau baladesc, ori chiar jurnalistic pentru a dezavua aspecte hilare ale unei societati malformate de vicii mai vechi sau mai noi, autohtone sau importate. ,,Am devenit tara americana‘‘ spune autorul, criticand valul de vulgaritate ce inunda canalele mass-mediei, spiritul de imitare gregara. ,,Am devenit tara de fite‘‘ mai spune, cu copii de bani gata, cu bodyguarzi, politicieni limbuti, tarfe de lux, droguri etc. ,,Sicriul patriei‘‘ e plin cu saracie, boli, crime, violuri. Cu o voita detasare cinica indica demagogia celor ce-si sacrifica propriul popor: ,,s-au facut donatii pentru Haiti, iar casele romanilor o iau la vale‘‘. Nu sunt uitati nici pensionarii umiliti de pensiile mici, muncitorii cu ,,salarii de caine‘‘, care sunt slugi la alogeni in propria tara, ori slugi dincolo de tara. Tara Mioritei a devenit ,,Tara disimularii‘‘, iar ,,maneaua a devenit brand national‘‘. Globalizarea, criza mondiala amalgameaza etniile, obiceiurile, metehnele. Romanii, printre chinezi, vietnamezi, tigani cu emblematicul Romica, subzista, obositi, dezamagiti, cobai ai unei democratii pe care nimeni nu o intelege. Cine este de vina pentru haosul din tara si din sufletele oamenilor? Raspunsul ni-l da tot poetul. Noi toti si fiecare in parte. Romanii, ,,popor rabdator‘‘ au uitat ,,aroma revoltei‘‘, care apare doar spontan, frizand comicul, autorul ironizand apelul razbunator cu trimitere la versurile unui clasic. ,,Sa nu dea Dumnezeu cel drept/ Sa vrem noi sange, nu curent/ N-o sa-apucati elicopterul/ Ca va-ngropam si noi, si cerul.‘‘
Sarja, umorul sec, expresiile necenzurate luate din vorbirea curenta dau un plus de autenticitate si savoare unei realitati tragi-comice, pe care Paul Polidor o surprinde supravietuind prin iluziile si deziluziile fiecaruia dintre noi.

Victoria Milescu

De sarbatori

De sarbatori, ma asez cu gandul la masa,
Il servesc cu tacam de argint si fin portelan,
Il poftesc sa guste bucata aleasa,
Din tava vietii umpluta iar.

De sarbatori, colind pe la case uitate,
De amintiri si sperante ce mor,
Sunt primita cu colaci si cu cupe de vin varsate,
De batrani tremurand,de anii cei grei.

De sarbatori il astept, pe Hristos sa vina,
Asa cum vine in fiecare an,
Steaua Sa va fi pe cer din nou senina,
Vazuta iar de Melcheor, Gaspar si Baltazar.

De sarbatori astept dimineti mai senine,
Cu zapezi si cu roua de gheata,
Voi culege in palmele pline,
Visuri, ganduri si pofta de viata.

Carmen Marin

Seven years of holiday – The party

When curly Edy suggested going to “The Cave” in Rosetti Square in the evening, my ears pricked-up like those of a curious bunny without asking for my permission.
It is a restaurant in my line, with all kinds of spirits and any dish that comes to your mind.
Located into an elegant half-basement, equipped, fitted and decorated with flowered carpets and polished waiters, rather long than wide, it wasn’t something that some poor students like us could afford, but Edy had just received money from home and had his heart set on getting to know Giulia better, a cousin of another friend of ours, Doru.
He had been introduced to her before, but he was determined to know her even better!
The arrangements had been made in advance by phone and both of them carefully planned all the details, they only had to introduce us and it was our own business how we would proceed afterwards, as we all had the legal age and had been given all vaccines in early childhood; they hoped we would be grateful to them forever after for such favor, that is to say they were officially playing the godparents’ role.
Later that evening when we left Voievod, the cafeteria where we used to eat and feign paying had not yet opened and my stomach was craving for something liquid, but Edy said to me self-assuredly:
–    Be patient, tonight we are going to drink and eat for one whole month! I won’t see other money, true, but I have a canteen card and you know very well that I’m not at all interested in archiving it.
His promise of a copious dinner soothed me. We stopped by the post office to pick-up the money and walked on.
I liked this boy, not because he was from Constanza as I was, but because he was like me… I don’t mean we looked alike, he was dark-brown and I rather washed-out, but once a month we had money sent from home. The remaining time, we wandered the streets aimlessly every day hoping to get rich once and for all, but for the time being we managed with the meager money sent from home every month.
I was hoping for the near future to bring me another friend of never-ending, if possible endless means.
This is how we, some dreamers from the Voievod hostel, would spend our time month after month!
The moon, up in the sky, covered her cheek ragged by the cold of a bloody November with a scarf made out of clouds, like a sinful collar, trying to hide her visible face and the crying eye that survived the last eclipse.
The wind was already dizzy raking the leaves left behind by the local florist who bought flowers from everywhere and in the evening rushed shivering to the restaurant door to welcome her favorite regular guests of the restaurant.
The bouquets were bordered with fern leaves and she had prepared, for any wallet, three and five carefully selected roses.
She read us getting off the trolley and she was right to draw us with a rather thin bouquet, but Edy generously pushed her away whispering:
–    If you want, you could offer me one flower to remind me of you, maybe I’ll stimulate and even impress by girlfriend! Come to our table in about 10 hours, we shall no longer be there, but remember you have an account opened with this empty pocket of mine!
The woman cast a glance at us, made an accurate assessment of our slim pockets, felt pity on us and gave him an anemic, pale reminder of a once flabby and rather bold carnation, which Edy immediately and proudly thrust into his buttonhole.
The avenue lamps cast spasmodic lights on the island we had taken shelter.
We were impatiently waiting for the girls in the round corner, turning blue and stiff with cold, teeth chattering and watching the ladies nosily clatter their shoes with metal hoods for heels.
Giulia had the unpleasant mission of bringing her friend along and eventually they both showed up!
They were coming straight from work at that late hour, rushing and hopping with joy, both of them chow hounds, after the meager meals they were used to.
As they came closer, I felt like Somebody’s (I won’t say who, an important person) grace came down on me!
They looked simply perfect, just like movie stars, splendid, a dark-headed and a blond, wearing long fur coats that almost swept the pavement – the campaign against hunting had not yet started – and when they left the coats in the cloak room, two fancy rags known as a skirt and a top were revealed trying to hide, or rather, expose their legs stiff in high boots and breasts spilling out of the map of our country to size of Europe.
Extremes tend to attract each other like the poles of a magnet! The only difference between them was that one had a different hairdresser do her hair and it was now time for them to be united in a pair of platinized, artificially curled head-turning girls drawing the eye of all standing in their way, not stepping aside.
Their walk was daring, like queens who can settle any battle in their favor, make any man knee down, to cut it short we were lost and subdued from the start!

People in the restaurant started to laugh at our sight,
–    What such pathetic excuses for men, human cartoons, could be doing with these marvelous women!
The envious guests were pretty confused and the entire place was humming in disbelief, but we paid no attention to them, especially as they were all dressed up.
Even Edy looked quite smart in a suit and tie, only I looked like I had run away from home in my sweater, disheveled, creased and badly-manner!
I scanned them with by expert left eye and, as usual, I couldn’t make up my mind anymore: cap it all, I was interested in the blonde, Giulia, although Edy was all over her with his good manners.
I was slobbering like a crocodile charmed by the most feminine, seducing and attractive creatures I had ever laid eyes on!
My eyes hanged for an endless second over the girls’ low cuts and I could barely lift it up to the height of the expectations, but after repeated efforts I was eventually able to focus to their faces… I was staring in admiration, alternatively and equally to both of them as I had learned from experience for fear I should raise any suspicions between them!
The other one, the one meant for me, did not attract me in a special way, although she was the reason for my being there than night.
For no particular reason I had unexpectedly fallen in love!
Therefore, as usual again, I performed against the program, but I was also surprised! Giulia too looked equally surprised …such nice pack of bones had never before met her eyes! It was something mutual, an incomprehensible attraction which made me understand I had been way off track until then.
I wished I could turn tables, but Edy was not willing to think of any other possibility, even a make-believe.
He had a visible crush on Giulia and normally I would have been delighted to have Mimi, but Giulia really run away with the show; not only that she physically dominated us, but her behavior beyond reproach pushed me to doing anything just to get her attention … her presence energized me and stuck crazy ideas in my head!.
There were big differences between the two girls; they worked in different departments; the friend Mimi was a bit married, but she couldn’t tell why; her eyes were dark, but how dark only God knew; the first time, in the rush of introductions, I didn’t understand it very well… the husband was either away or had been thrown out of the house, and the similarities … well, that night they were both free and willing to get friendly with likes of us…and what stroke me the most was that Giulia’s eyes were like grey like mine, let alone that she was as sly I as was.
The truth is that no sooner had I seen her, than I set my good or bad mind on her, I cannot really explain, but apparently she was inspired by the same good or bad thought, always watching me out of the corner of her eye, which definitely meant that the eyes had their own heartless corner, as there was no piece of brain left in my head.

Mimi seemed pleased with my appearance; I was meeting the demands of a smart woman… an invisible, insignificant creature, as well as with the show I put on from the very beginning: showing off, petty, fireproof, tasteless, odorless, colorless and the whole package…to cut it short inappreciable, subtle, unworthy of any attention, but playing fashionable and pretentious.
When Edy went outside, God know why, probably for some air, the three of us got closer and I told them the truth as I was not into lying:
–    Girls, my friend Edy is irresponsible, we kind of ran out of money, though we would like to stay more… I feel like in paradise with Eve my girlfriend and all this drinking, but we do have to go… that’s all we can afford!
Mimi comforted me squeezing my hand over the table, delighted with my speaking straight from the heart,
–    Who said that you are the only ones to pay? I have some extra money right now and I have to strike some balance between income and expenses!
And Giulia, because this is why I fell for her, declared:
–    I have no money left, I bought this top today, but if you have so much… let the show go on!
We exchanged kisses so seal the pact … I offered them both on the sport a bouquet of flowers to split, trying to look like a big shot full of money!
Anyway, she had to look very deep into her small handbag to be able to safely leave home!
The café-concert music was not at all disturbing and our conversation ran smoothly as did the glasses we emptied, I was delighted with the arguments marching; sport was not topical, only the funny part of life had priority, the shows I wouldn’t miss for the world when I had money and the special very funny cases I was so full of!
I was in capital form! There was no dancing that night, but we would have shaken them a little bit on the dance floor.
Edy’s money vanished at the first go-off shot by somebody who didn’t appreciate our faces and started to make his usual poor mouth, with direct hints and diluted declarations,
–    God, I would give my ears for one or two more bottles and a good stake!
My bowels started to rumble and grunt so badly that even the waiter, himself belonging to that special breed not easily scared away, got scared; he didn’t know that everything had already been carefully planned.
Anyway, he started to gape seeing the fat wallet of Giulia’s friend; when she had the chance she whispered to me,
–    Be careful, treat Mimi nicely… she has money, unlike me or you!
This was the cherry on the cake! I realized that she was on my side ….under the table!
Both her arguments and her boot found support on my leg; I stoically stood its weight, especially as she kicked my shin bones whenever I came it a bit too strong!
I felt at ease despite of the place getting warm and noisy, hardly bearable, as the wine went straight to the heads of those seated at the tables around.
Edy and Mimi had but some sips, Giulia a bit more, to be fair; each of my gazes was an urge for her to have some more Cabernet and less Pepsi, since it was quite expensive…. it was instant confirmation that I was the only one drinking to no avail and I couldn’t help myself to prove it by gulping down some shots of brandy and several “three-quarters” of wine looking very much like pins as one more fabulous free feast for me.
And yet I was the odd man out; whereas all the others were played at smoking, I stood tall to …smoke the club out.
–    You’d better buy some more wine for that money! I had started to see three times as many people that they actually were in the heated wine-cellar; I felt full and satiated for two whole months!
Getting out of the Cave, Mimi proposed in the straightforward way I like people to talk,
–    Let’s go to my place, by man will be home in a year’s time and meanwhile we can dance! There is good background music and the walls are soundproof against any unexpected sound blast … just the right thing! The apartment is nearby … not far away in Drumul Taberei on the outskirts of and down into the potholes of Bucharest; we can take a cab, I have some money left, hidden away from the watchful eyes of the waiters!
–    No way! Giulia decided to my surprise; we go to my place, I live next to Ci?migiu, we can thus save the money; we can buy some more alcohol to see you satiated once and for all; we can take a short walk too, breathe all the fresh air we can, as I have but a small room. Mimi, remember we have to wake up at 05:30 tomorrow to get to work and it doesn’t seem we have too much time left to rest!
She ogled at me … the others’ opinion did not matter anymore; I figured it out she wanted to keep an eye on me!
We bought some Wiborova on the way, I wanted it mixed with tomato juice and pepper, but Giulia ruled,
–    Shut-up and drink it straight, we wasted the money of Cabernet and Pepsi already! And she led the way.
The fresh air braced me up and I realized fate had lent me a helping hand with Mimi in one and a bottle of vodka I wasn’t willing to loose sight of in the other!
The city lay motionless, long asleep, the wind ceased blowing; the frost had dried-out the seemingly empty streets, the symmetrically lit avenue narrowed away towards Opera square, the buildings seemed to be collapsing on top of me.
I focused my attention on the girl next to me and the bottle!
I was sliding through smoothly; Mimi took my hand and I immediately hid it in the furs, opening the coat with expert skills… we started to shake with cold as if bearing the “fragile” label; we both covered-up with her coat…the cold was still struggling to get to us; it was a long way ahead to Brezoianu, but there was no rush.. we were warm!
The time diluted inside me… I didn’t even notice the sky anymore!
Kissing me with wet and hot lips she wanted to make sure my manliness raised to the occasion but before I learned she had a wonderful pair of breasts fully capable to making me forget any Giulia, I didn’t move although Edy was shouting at us… they had already arrived to where we were all supposed to be, the official entry of a sumptuous building without a doorman.
I started to run holding Mimi’s hand, as happy as a lark.
Giulia called the elevator as she was the only one able to control it; it came down heaving, with unreasonable stops, but actually pretty fast. We went up to the last floor.
–    You paid only for this far, the elevator told us, having stopped unexpectedly smoothly, like an enraged asteroid landing on an unknown planet.
It abandoned us in a dark hallway.
Giulia and especially Edy, pinched with cold, were unreasonably rushing …they knew the place. I saw them getting out through a door blocking-out a bay.
I dragged behind for a second… I wanted to think, I took deep breaths of fresh air, I was happy.
I was on top of the world! The dream of any climber, to reach the top!
The alcohol sparkled from secret corners, the moon rose from among building tops, so low that I could have easily set it like an alarm-clock and humming tunes only I knew, multicolor arpeggios.
I was in the trance of a lover, drunk as I was to remain for some time on …my muse led the way for 2 more floors up to a lock-out tower, climbing the narrowest and steepest of stairs I could have imagined.
Giulia victoriously extracted a key from the pile of petty stuff.
There lay the oldest lock and door in the world; they opened almost simultaneously; the lock hanged onto a nail and the door almost flew opened, inviting us inside with a lugubrious creak.
We entered a small windowless bedroom.
A tiny reading-lamp fed the obscurity of the room. Once we have all entered one by one, I cannot imagine how Giulia managed to close to the door.
Edy had already jumped into the bed, getting undressed as he walked, with his political level high up, and decided:
–    I wouldn’t take off Adam’s suit for the world. He sprawled against the wall like a tomcat awaiting the canned desert.
Giulia, genuinely surprised at Edy’s Sunday outfit, stripped down to her bikini and a tiny negligee and followed his lead, I was next to claim my place; long-haired, skinny, in ragged, but surprisingly clean underwear; Mimi either did not like the gown anymore or did not want to pouch it, so she only left her tiny panty to protect her against the cold and tried to kiss me, ready and willing to go into more profound scientific research with me.
She reached out to me, but out of the blue I sensed an unbearable reek. She gave off smacks of Cabernet and the combination was not to my liking …I had long gargled the last sip of the last drop of vodka originating from the bottle I had left behind in the street; now I couldn’t bear mixing the drinks particularly as I had finally got the point and a striking idea, soon to become an obsession, stuck upon my memory.
–    I must kiss Giulia, by all means and right away!
Out of clumsiness and rush I mistook my props! There was no more vodka to restore my balance.
Giulia, in the pile-up, had leant against Edy, glided towards me and let her breasts free with the accuracy of a metronome into my hands. Never had I experienced such a match … and minding little the others I started to lick her lips… they were soft and sweet, full ripe and peach-flavored. We held each and let the world be
Mimi got the point… showed me her back, pleased that I let her meditate and started to whizzing.
We were like four pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle, the middle ones perfectly fitting together leaving the edges purposeless.
Meanwhile Giulia whispered annoyed for the neighbors to hear, although Edy didn’t have the courage to move a finger … he might have tried to touch Giulia, as any boy would do, but Giulia remained rocky.
–    Edy stop moving! The bed was not big enough and wobbled at every breath we took, but we paid no attention to all the knick-knacks and studied each other passionately.
Every breath Giulia had to take annoyed her.
–    Edy, stop fretting!
And we went on caressing each other shaping pieces of us!
Giulia remembered about the top and said to me quite loud, without any fear as we were confident we were alone, all the world evaporated when the boiling point was reached,
–    Let me take it off, it’s in your way!
And she threw the top away aiming for Edy’s head… poor Edy was completely forgotten about.
Edy continued to remain paralyzed, dumbfounded, he didn’t even breathe out of fear he could disturb us or upset the host, but mostly because no trolley was in service at that hour to be “hitchhiked” to the hostel. During a break Giulia recalled in anger:
–    Edy, why are you moving so much? And we started to mambo with the bed again.
Edy, sick and tired of so many urges, undid his curls from Ilena’s tunic, stood up clumsily, numb or dizzy from the bed, stepped over us, got dressed gropingly and took off without any further remarks; it was either very late or rather very early.
Good riddance to bad rubbish… more room for squeezing!
We didn’t bother to lock the door and took it easier on the coiling. I whispered.
–    Edy is off your hair now… you can stop kissing me!
–    Are you out of your mind? What do I have to do with Edy?
We went about our business. There was nothing left between us! We were alone at last.
We were still restless when the alarm-clock went off. Mimi got up and raised sand when taking inventory of the rags I used to cover her.
She didn’t realize I had protected her against the draft of air, although the room was stuffy and hot; it was like in the community bath I used to go to for a bath when I was a kid.
It crossed my mind to suggest Giulia to switch underwear, but hers was loose for me; her ass was bigger than mine, but no bigger than it should be and I gave the idea up pretty fast, though hers was not ragged as mine, but very fine, which made me utterly regret.
–    You can stay over and sleep if you’d like, but you are not to leave by 7:30 pm tonight when I am back; I only have one key and I won’t give it to you because I a’ not in the mood to be looking for you about Bucharest, find you nowhere and then be forced to break the door and face the dreadful possibility of not being able to lock it up again! Giulia reasoned.
I did not feel like being kept hostage on my own accord, so off we went to the bus stop on our two feet.
The girls would not see why they would not use their feet, they were beautifully equipped, but my legs were shaking with anger rather than cold, moreover, mine were the common legs of a common young man, that is to say slightly crooked, hairy and hollow as youth inherently feels. Do not picture me as Rudolf Valentino or some other sexy- porn movie star, but I felt it in the heart of hearts that I could be one if I tried hard enough so I kissed Giulia and she whispered back to me:
–    I’ll be busy tonight! See you tomorrow or… God knows when! Bye!
She held me tight as we parted…as I looked at her I could sense her vibrations and knew I had won her up!
Had I or had she?
They were gone right away in a car that had pulled over to pick them up. It instantly dawned on me…I shouldn’t look her up, no matter what!
Mimi annoyed me even more, she played lofty and didn’t even cast a look in my direction, I was sure I moved her…it was only last night or in the morning that she had kissed me passionately. She would have been an easy pray, my reflexes were sharp enough and I was thinking that as long as Giulia was busy, I could find shelter at her place, especially as she had boasted her tempting apartment.
I was innocent in my own eyes; it was only Giulia and her childish eyes to take the blame; some aren’t lucky in love and that’s that!
She refused to ever see me again…I can’t tell why!
The thin morning air was unusually cold and clear, but I felt the warmth had built in inside, it could have been the warmth of the soul; I had been walking away from the bus stop with my coat open and I could not care less, from Matasari I passed by a courtyard where a starving dog was silently prepared to ambush me; I knew it.
The hostel building was there, standing still like a diluvian several-headed monster, with entries and exits and two swelled wings.
Edy was not planning to get upset, but he was waiting for me impatiently to tell me
–     I will get you Giulia one day, mind my words!
In my head I accurately foresaw that day… to the kingdom come, but hoping was free of charge.
She didn’t like him because he jumped out of his underwear too quickly… but I knew he had an excuse, it was dirty and he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, to air himself, but she misread the gesture,
–    What is hairy thinking?…that I’m a punk who’s supposed to fall for him at the first sign?
I was perfectly aware that if once a man gets an idea in his head, not even a tank would make him flinch.
He meant nothing for her from the very beginning, only Doru always tried to convince her to accommodate him… he wanted to settle him down, but I stepped in, without no excuse… I fell in love!
Everything is as relative as the weather forecast!
Back in my room I shooed my roommates away to classes to have some peace and quite to meditate …I went down to the cafeteria and had some tea. The girls cleaning up the tables brought me two full helpings and a salt shaker all to myself.
The huge corridors were dark and empty. I plodded up the stairs to my room and dosed off in my king-size overlapped sheetless squatter bed.
The moon faded away in a purple sky and the sun melted down the white frost on the houses’ rooftops.

Stanescu Aurel Avram

Ramura de Mos NoEL

Dialog cu Maria

Ochiul semintei rabda in iarna
sa se faca ziua iesind din pamant
astfel si duhul de sine flamand
dintre Sine si numar- cuvant.

Consolatoare iluzii, iubiri decazute
Prin aceea ca vor sa ia in stapanire
Starea cea buna e cea care zideste
Da trup din ce pierzi, omeneste
A cersi nu e sfant nici cand
Se daruie ceea ce nu primesti intreit
Se daruie verbul in toate pulsand
Plans care canta, pom inflorit.

Ceea ce se exprima e ceea ce semnifica
Transfer intre tot ce e viu
Pentru a spori misterul zglobiu
Constelatia-n samburi se ramifica.
Ipocrit este cel ce ascunde in rune
Intre sudalma si rugaciune…
Dumnezeiasca din Duh goliciune
Cu viclenie greceasca, atee:
Adevaratul fruct e samanta, femeie.

Aici, in clarul vazator intuneric
Memoria contine codul numeric
Codex aureus, starea de bine
Sambure in care latenta devine.
Tu, care esti fiindca  Sunt !
Duh razand!
Cand mi te darui te-aud luminand.

Re- ligare

Mancat de cuvant ca o paine
care sporeste din sine mereu
spicele canta in Hermeneia
nocturnului, nevazut
Curcubeu.

Versetul zero

Bucura-te, miel al inimii pure
Zburda pe pajisti, inocent fericit
Pastorul canta dinspre padure
Canta sau plange, din cutit.

Invers murind

Multimile isi plasmuie demoni tangibili
Pentru a se lupta tematori intre ei
Numarati sunt cei ai luminilor reci
Delirantii cunoasterii, prin biblioteci
Scribii cu vierme propriu, filiatia
Si-o asuma rasturnand ecuatia
Cum invers murim, a renaste
In Veci.

Orb, abisul se uita in noi
A nutri nefiinta. Dar cuvantul e altoi:
In adanc, al constiintei de sine;
Unduie ochiul mareei divine.

Adevaratul fruct

Sunt samburii
in spic sau ciorchine
unicitate latenta
in multitudinea
ipostazei divine

astfel poezia
pe arac nevazut
se sustine.

Starea poetica

Cat timp te intrebi
Intre proportii si visare
Existi, fericirea nu doare.
O natiune
Cu prea multi poeti
Adevarati, este
cu atat mai nefericita.
Prin aceea ca in natura
ca infloririle
foamea cuvintelor canta.
E starea de auto-cunoastere
Inefabil timp
de dinainte
de nastere.

Tot ceea ce canta e plans
Triumf al inimii
Rezonant graal
Suflet nins.

Samanism

Acea iubire
Care ameninta
Frustrata
Este teama de sine
Disimulata
Este tendinta
De a lua in stapanire
Ca rasplata
De a fi astfel iubit
Rudiment samanic
In delirul
Terapiei cazute.

Nu uita

Nu uita
Si nu te lamenta:
Cand ai un prieten
Ii preiei si dusmanii.
Bucura-te !

Obelisc
sau cuibul de sarpe

Pe psihoza sclaviei
se zideste
Tirania.
In rabdarea ta
putrezeste virtutea.
pe uitarea ta
verticala
lespede.
In minciuna
Acolo se ascunde
Adevarul.
Taratoare
opera se ramifica
in satrapii.

Space sistem

Lui Niels Bohr

Dintre miliarde
cati dintre noi
stim ca zburam
cu o nava gigant
captivi
soarelui
nostru?
Ca electronii
pe orbitele
atomului.

Etapele arderii

Cei care ard mult
Mor mai mult.
Isi mor moartea.

Eugen EVU

Sunt un om pacatos.

George Danciu

Motto:

 

“In lipsa lui Dumnezeu, totul va fi îngaduit” – Dostoievski

Omul e singurul animal care roseste, sau ar trebui sa roseasca” – Mark Twain

Dumnezeu a facut pe om dupa chipul Sau, l-a facut dupa chipul lui Dumnezeu” – Geneza

Impotriva Ta, numai impotriva Ta am pacatuit si am facut ce este rau inaintea Ta” – David, in Psalmi

În om e un sir nesfârsit de oameni.” – Mihai Eminescu

 

 

CUM STIU CA SUNT UN OM PACATOS


De ce majoritatea oamenilor par sa nu inteleaga acest cuvânt, pacatos?

Unui om care nu a simtit niciodata durerea fizica e dificil si aproape imposibil sa i-o definesti. La fel, vorbeste-i unui orb de culorile deosebit de placute si atractive ale florilor de primavara, el nu va putea intelege pe deplin oricât ne-am stradui noi!

Am incercat fara succes sa-i conving de contrariu, atunci când un cuplu trecut usor de 60 de ani, afirma cu deplina convingere ca ei nu ar avea nici un pacat, si asteaptau sa prezint disertatia mea. Convingerea, cum aveam sa ma lamuresc mai târziu, poate fi adusa in inima si constiinta omului numai de lucrarea spirituala pe care o face Sfântul Duh al creatorului, in fiecare om care primeste vorbirea Sa. Cei care merg sistematic la biserica ajung sa se pocaiasca ca urmare a cercetarii constiintei lor de catre Duhul Sfânt.

Omul a ajuns sa aiba propria filozofie, sa aiba propriile sale legi la care se raporteaza. In fapt, se comporta ca si strutul, ascunzându-si capul in nisip. Si-a anesteziat demult constiinta, este foarte greu sa-i pui ceva in cont, nimic nu-l tulbura, nimic nu-i zdruncina linistea, poate doar atunci când nu are acces la cele trebuinioase sau dorite de el.

Un spirit foarte perspicace, Nicolae Iorga a afirmat ca: “Sunt unii care daca te vad la capatul unui trotuar si cu o umbrela in mâna, te judeca dupa acel trotuar si dupa acea umbrela” !

Ce s-a ales de constiinta noastra? Unde e? Sau este anesteziata tocmai de pacat?
Constiinta este un sentiment, o intuitie, pe care fiinta umana o are despre propria existenta. E vorba de o cunoastere intuitiva sau reflexiva pe care fiecare o are despre propria existenta si despre lucrurile din jurul sau. Constiinta, iti indica faptul ca iti dai seama, daca intelegi ce ti se intâmpla, atunci când cauti sa pui in cântar sentimentele si trairile tale. Dar fata de ce te raportezi?

Constiinta, contine si un sentiment al responsabilitatii morale fata de propria ta conduita. Omul isi face siesi un proces de constiinta, când cântareste o problema morala greu de rezolvat si când are loc o lupta sufleteasca generata de momente si situatii de viata deosebite, care pot fi cruciale. Atunci apare sentimentul de mustrare de constiinta, de remuscare, de regret. Avem expresia “a fi cu constiinta împacata” sau “a nu avea nimic pe constiinta” când omul e convins ca nu a savârsit nimic împotriva legilor morale sau ale legilor statului. A fi fara constiinta, e echivalent cu a fi lipsit de scrupule. Sintagma “libertate de constiinta” indica dreptul recunoscut cetatenilor de a avea orice conceptie religioasa, filozofica etc

Îmi amintesc ca profesorul de filosofie a dat o definitie mai putin pretentioasa starii de sanatate. Ar fi acea stare in care se afla majoritatea oamenilor care formeaza o colectivitate. Dar nu intotdeauna are dreptate majoritatea, adevarul nu e dat de votul majoritar. In societate, de-a lungul timpului, se practica stabilirea adevarului sau a deciziei de urmat, prin vot, printr-un for de judecata. Si, e de notorietate faptul ca judecata e oarba, de multe ori rezolutia vine ca la loterie, iar sentinta nu e rezultatul unei cumpaniri echilibrate de adevar.
Daca luam si termenul “introspectie“, ca fiind lucrarea de observare subiectiva a fenomenelor propriei constiinte, de autoobservare, de autoanaliza, vedem cât de subiectiv e omul daca nu are repere clare si unitati de masurat si de cântarit care sa vina din afara sa. Pentru animale, pentru flori, pentru lumea materiala, omul stabileste criteriile de judecata si comparare.

Dar, pentru om, cine stabileste criteriile de judecata, de cumpanire? Cine va decide, cine va judeca ce e gresit si ce e abatere de la regula, de la norma (canon), cine e in afara omului, echidistant, integru si competent? Nu poate fi altcineva decât cel care l-a creat pe om. Dumnezeu. El a dat omului si legile sale morale care trebuiesc respectate cu sfintenie, cu mare grija. Dumnezeu, vede si aude, cunoaste gânduriile si faptele omului, lui îi pasa ce facem. Ca un tata iubitor, e un Dumnezeu al iubirii de om.

La vremea potrivita, a dat pe singurul lui fiu, Isus Cristos, pentru ca oricine crede in El, in jetfa Sa, sa nu sufere condamnarea la judecata, ca vinovat, ci sa aiba viata, fiind inlocuit in moarte de Omul fara pacat. Caci plata pacatului este moartea.
Dumnezeu pune in balanta Sa orice neasculate a omului, orice abatere de la legile si poruncile Sale.
Pacatul este orice neascultare de legea morala a lui Dumnezeu. Orice ofensa pe care i-o aducem incalcând pretentiile sale.

Radacinile anomiei – ale lipsei autoritatii sau ale normelor referitoare la valorile morale, o oarecare dezorganizare si a lipsei de legi – apar în ruptura moralei de religie si a moralei religioase de legea divina lasata pentru om de Dumnezeu, creatorul omului.

Cuvântul pacat, atribuit omului pacatos, inseamana: calcare a unei legi sau a unei porunci divine, abatere de la o norma (canon); savârsirea unui lucru rau; minciuna, hotia, crima, lovirea, ura, faradelegea, fapta vinovata, greseala, pacatul stramosesc (sau originar); nedesavârsirea, rautatea, nedreptatirea cuiva, a vorbi de rau pe cineva, a bârfi.

Pâna n-am ales sa scriu despre acest subiect, Sunt un om pacatos, filmul american Phone Booth, la noi sub titlul „Cabina telefonica”, era doar unul obisnuit, plin de tensine, actiune si suspans. Atât si nimic mai mult. Acum insa, cu altii ochi îl vad. Paradigma, lumea ideilor si învatatura, devine dintr-odata mai bogata si mai nuantata.
Actorul irlandez Colin Farrell e în rolul protagonistului. Acesta îl interpreteaza cu succes pe un tânar jovial, Stu Shepard, care lasa impresia ca el e placa turnanta sau punctul de inflexiune care le poate asigura ofertantilor propasirea visata. Permanent, da telefoane peste tot, in mass media, la diversi oameni, folosindu-se de informatii inventate, insa lasa impresia ca e unul bine informat, ca vorbele sale au acoperire. Promite in stânga si-n dreapta interventia sa binefacatoare care le va putea rezolva problemele. Se pretinde a fi cheia de acces la omul sus-pus sau jobul râvnit. Stu este bine imbracat, aratos, cu parul bogat si o barba subtire care sa-i contureze personalitatea, oarecum filfizon, dar cu sanse sa fie bine vazut mai peste tot.
Dar, trebuie s-o spun direct, Stu, ca multi altii, duce o viata duplicitara. Daca ar trebui sa-l caracterizam printr-un singur cuvânt, acesta ar fi: “mincinos”. Zilnic, oscileaza intre dragostea mare si sincera pe care i-o poarta sotiei sale, Kelly, si, flirtul, la fel de constant, aratat frumoasei sale prietene, Pam, o tânara simpatica, careia nu-i spune ca e casatorit si o curteaza impetuos, tratând-o ca prostituata. Dar dezastrul nu intârzie sa apara, fulgerator, pe neasteptate când toate pareau sa-i mearga ca unse.

Stu, avea un obicei. De la cabina telefonica din centrul metropolei îsi suna prietena de ocazie, însa nu inainte de a-si scoate verigheta casatoriei de pe deget, pentru a intretine relatia lor chiar si prin comunicare. De aceasta data, nu incheieiase bine convorbirea cu Pam si nici nu apucase sa iasa din cabina, când telefonul suna, iar Stu raspunde! Deja devenise putin agitat, caci un picolo insistent, in timp ce vorbea cu Pam, îi oferi o pizza, însa el refuza pachetul cu brutalitate. Acum, la capatul firului se afla cineva care stie multe despre el, atât de prietena, cât si de sotie, dar si faptul ca e un mincinos notoriu! Incet, incet, îl constrânge mereu, motivându-i constiinta, determinându-l sa le sune, pe prietena si pe sotie, in timp ce el, intrusul, auzea si dicta marturisirea lui Stu. Trebuia sa le marturiseasca adevarul, sa le spuna ca el e un mincinos.
Aceea era singura cabina telefonica utilizabila din zona, si, tinând-o ocupata, din cauza necunoscutului care-l ameninta sa nu intrerupa convorbirea, tinându-l in bataia pustii de undeva din cladirile mari din apropiere, normal, apar nu putini doritori de a folosi cabina. In fapt, el nu poate inchide, fiind amenintat cu moartea celor doua, apoi balamucul din jurul lui creste mereu. Vine curând politia deoarece intre timp teroristul, sa demonstreze ca nu glumeste, l-a impuscat mortal pe un prieten al lui Stu, care se apropiase prea mult de cabina, cu gând sa-l ajute cumva, deoarece toti auzeau si vedeau trauma prin care trece. In timp, drama creste mereu, Stu începe sa plânga, sa-si deplânga pacatul in fata teroristului si al oamenilor care-l auzeau, a operatorilor de televiziune care transmiteau in direct toata aventura de care vorbim. Teroristul nu era deloc indurator de cainta lui Stu. Era insensibil sau nu-l mai putea crede. Intr-un final, scapa cumva, atât el, cât si cele doua femei. Sotia e dispusa sa-l ierte, Pam trece mai departe si iese nevazuta din scena. Sub anestezia injectiei, aflat pe targa din ambulanta, il vede ca prin ceata la doi pasi pe teroristul care i-a distrus linistea, duplicitar de dulce, in care traia, si-i aude glasul, ca un tepus infipt in inima-i inspaimântata: „Ai grija, cum te vei abate de la o traire morala, voi reveni!”

Asadar, pâna n-am inceput sa scriu despre acest subiect, filmul nu-mi vorbea ca teroristul insinuat in viata lui Stu, poate fi identificat cu constiinta sa, a lipsei acesteia in timp. Dar, ea poate cumva a fi sesizata si vazuta , doar de cel deprins sa vada dincolo de ceea ce se vede. Ea incepe sa lucreze in “inchisoarea de fildes” a capului sau, si-l preseaza tot mai mult, stresându-l.
Un regizor dinafara scenei, ridica valul care ne impidica vederea personajului nevazut si introduce in scena drama propriu-zisa. Avem acum pe scena vazuta, tot ce i se intâmpla lui Stu, noi privind dinafara scenei de desfasurare in care se petrec lucrurile. Pentru toti ceilalti, din preajma si viata lui Stu, aflati in acelasi plan, situatia este in continuare de neinteles. Ca de altfel si pentru Stu. Sunt zvonuri dinafara lumii noastre. Creatorul nostru este in lumea de dincolo de dimensiunile in care traim acum, intralta lume spirituala. El e si regizorul care aduce pe scena constiintei noastre scene altfel nevazute si neintelese de noi, pentru a fi vazute si intelese, iar noi sa putem decide in consecinta.

Scriitorul Philip Yancey poveste cum un medic chirurg a trebuit sa-i repare un picior, apoi el a fost nevoit sa stea mai mult timp in repaus. Dar curând a venit vremea intâlnirii anuale de golf cu prietenii sai.
A cerut voie doctorului, zicând: „M-am antrenat sa nu-mi solicit piciorul stâng, pot sa-mi rasucesc trunchiul fara a-mi solicita coapsele. N-as putea sa particip?”
Doctorul i-a raspuns in mod ciudat dar fara ezitate: „As fi foarte nefericit daca ati juca golf in urmatoarele doua luni.
Mai târziu vorbind cu sotia sa, Philip, zice pe un ton de gluma: „De ce mi-ar pasa mie ca e nefericit ori nu?”. Apoi, marturiseste onest: “Dar eu eram interesat, nu numai fiindca platisem câteva mii de $ pentru operatie, dar era vorba in fond, de sanatatea mea”.

La fel, ce motiv as avea eu sa ma interesez de cum vrea Dumnezeu sa-mi traiesc eu viata? Acelasi pentru care voi cere parerea unui doctor. Ma las in grija acestuia stiind ca ne-am propus acelasi obiectiv, sanatatea mea fizica, si ca sunt beneficiarul priceperii si intelepciunii sale. Învat, astfel, sa ma raportez la pacat ca la un factor de risc spiritual – asemanator in buna parte, celulelor cancerigene, bacteriilor, virusilor sau plagilor – pe care trebuie sa-l evit cu orice pret spre binele meu. Invat sa cred ca Dumnezeu vrea sa traiesc cea mai buna viata cu putinta, nicidecum un simulacru lipsit de valoare.

Vizitând expozitia „Lumile trupului” din Londra, Philip Yancey istoriseste ca in catalogul de prezentare se aflau fotografiate parti ale trupului expuse in muzeu. La categoria organe, fusesera tiparite in oglinda, fotografiile a doua perechi de plamâni. Cei din stânga erau albi, încât puteai crede ca fusesera ai unui nou nascut. In mare contrast, cei din dreapta lor pareau sa fi fost folositi la curatirea unui horn. Un strat sedimentar negru ascundea, acum, membranele delicate cu rol de captare a moleculelor de oxigen. Textul insotitor dezvaluia faptul ca acesti plmâni apartinusera unui fumator inrait.

Nu pot sa inteleg cum un doctor, sau cineva instruit, care a vazut asemenea plamâni mai poate fuma vreodata.”- Philip Yancey
La Institutul Inimii din Cluj, pe peretii cabinetelor de consult medical, se gasesc planse cu organele vitale ale omului. Posibila afectare ale acelor organe (inima, ficat, plamâni, rinichi) este semnul dezordinii suportate de catre organismul omului, fiind inclinat sa-l supuna unui regim – alimentar si psihic – inadecvat.
Fumatului, i se acorda o intreaga plansa, punând in prim plan pericolele mari la care supune inima si plamânii, dar si alte organe.
Vorbind despre inima, ale cauzelor care o imbolnavesc – fumatul, alcoolul, alimentatia, stresul la care este supusa ea – am vazut deîndata ca o necesitate vitala ca fiecare educator si profesor sa le vorbeasca deseori elevilor despre corpul omenesc si organele sale vitale, dar si despre factorii care-i influenteaza sanatatea.

Nu oadata pacientul aude pe medic spunând: “– Prea târziu!” Sa fim atenti la mostenirea de sanatate primita de la creatorul nostru, sa nu o compromitem, sa nu ajunga trupul sau sufletul nostru o ruina.

Vorbind de pacat, vedem cum acesta la rândul lui ne intârzie cresterea si naruie sanatatea si sufoca duhul unei vieti noi.

Viciul nu e vatamator intrucât e interzis, ci e interzis tocmai pentru ca e vatamator”, spunea Benjamin Franklin.

Pacatul nu e vatamator intrucât e interzis, ci e interzis tocmai pentru ca e vatamator pentru om, spune Dumnezeu, cel care a creat omul.

Sa vedem, acum, doua ipostaze in care starea activa a constiintei este prinsa in versuri si de clasici ai poeziei românesti:

-Traian Dorz: Plânge ucigasul

Ma chinuie mustrarea si-n mintea mea rasar
vedenii ce m-alunga s-alerg prin noapte iar
caci ziua-n orice lucru si noaptea-n orice vis
vad fata-nsângerata a fratelui ucis,
vad chipul lui aievea, din ce in ce mai viu
si fug gonit din urma de-al spaimelor pustiu.

(…) Urechea de-mi acoper si ochii de-i inchid
Zadarnic, constiinta eu nu pot sa-mi ucid!

– Lucian Blaga: În marea trecere

(…) Tot mai departe sovai pe drum –
si, ca un ucigas ce-astupa cu naframa
o gura învinsa,
închid cu pumnul toate izvoarele,
pentru totdeauna sa taca,
sa taca.