Clepsidra spartă/Cracked hourglass

Clepsidra Sparta

Eram ingandurat Mergeam pe drumul pe care mergeau si ceilalti oameni. Era singurul pe care il stiam. Nu ne salutam, nu ne puneam intrebari. Nici nu aveam timp sa-i observ. De multe ori se parea ca sunt pe o scara rulanta aglomerata unde desi doreai sa schimbi directia, nu aveai cum.

Totusi era un drum. Un drum plin cu oameni in mijlocul carora insa, te simteai singur. Nu am observat cine m-a imbrancit sau mi-a pus piedica. Durerea cazaturii , praful, usturimea, au intrerupt rutina de pana atunci.

M-am ridicat... si pentru prima oara am vazut destinatia drumului, a drumului pe care ma aflam , de fapt singurul de care stiam. Ca orice drum avea si un nume, dar era prima oara cand il vedeam:”Larga este calea ce duce la moarte si multi se afla pe ea.” M-am uitat in jur si eram singurul care se uita la ce era scris pe indicator. Eram singurul care s-a oprit sa vada asta. Desi era mult zgomot, s-a auzit ecoul vocii mele cand am strigat:”Nu vede nimeni ce scrie pe indicator?”

S-a auzit un vuiet care crestea in marime ca o avalansa. Ceva se prabusea in apropiere. Era viata mea de pana atunci, eram eu , cu faptele mele si bune si rele, erau zilele vietii mele , una dupa alta, de cand m-am nascut si pana am cazut pe drum. Erau atat de multe lucruri puse unele peste altele si care pareau bine aranjate , dar care s-au prabusit intr-o clipita. Am intins mana sa le pun la loc dar mi se scurgeau printre degete precum nisipul. Da, le vedeam. Da, erau acolo insa nu putem intelege de ce nu le mai puteam pune la loc? De ce s-au prabusit toate deodata? Totul s-a oprit in loc si totul parea fara sens.

Timpul a ramas mirat , ca si mine cand a vazut ca totul s-a risipit intr-o clipa. Pana atunci el s-a crezut important in vietile oamenilor si credea ca are raspuns la toate. “Timpul le va rezolva pe toate”, ziceau oamenii intre ei si el era foarte multumit de rolul lui. De cate ori oamenii se uitau la ceas, stia ca e in centrul atentiei si ca toate se invarteau in jurul lui. Nu, nu el se invartea asa cum credeau oamenii, ci toate se invarteau in jurul lui. Toate actiunile lor erau legate de el. Sa fi punctual, sa ai un orar in fiecare zi , sa traiesti clipa erau lucruri pe care fiii oamenilor le invatau de mici. Toate aceste lucruri treceau prin fata ochilor timpului, care ca si mine ramasese mut de uimire. Nu ma putea ajuta cu nimic si nici eu nu-l puteam ajuta cu nimic.

Suferinta ii slutise fata iar expresia:”Am petrecut un timp frumos impreuna”, nu se mai potrivea cu ceea ce vedeai la el acum. Nisipul s-a scurs din clepsidra crapata, iar timpul si-a dat sufletul.

- Nuuu! Am strigat din cauza disperarii.

- Te rugam sa nu ridici vocea in prezenta noastra. Nimic nu e mai zdrobitor ca atunci cand vezi o multime de persoane amenintatoare si avand degetul aratator indreptat spre tine. Semanau cu niste judecatori dar in acelasi timp cu niste pagini scrise. Nu pareau a avea indurare si,... desi taceau trimiteau mintii o gramada de acuzatii. Eram ca intr-o arena dupa o lupta intre gladiatori, inconjurat de zilele vietii mele imprastiate langa mine in nisispul scurs din clepsidra timpului. La baza tribunei era o inscriptie care spunea:”Este randuit omului sa moara o singura data, si dupa aceea vine judecata”. Era a doua oara cand vedeam cuvantul moarte scris pe ceva si m-iam dat seama ca… poate e pentru mine ......

Degetele de la maini au ramas intr-o pozitie chircita, dureroasa. Am realizat ca ma balaceam in noroiul existentei mele si nu era nicidecum un loc de pasune si verdeata._

Nu te poti salva singur si nici o religie din lume nu te poate salva. Poti citi despre salvare, dar ea vine printr-o persoana, singura ce o poate oferi. Afla asta in Ioan 3:16-18.
Cati prieteni de felul acesta ai?

Cracked hourglass

I was thoughtful. I was on the road the other people were also on. It was the only one I knew. We did not greet each other, we did not ask each other questions. I did not even have time to notice them. Many times it seemed like I was on a crowded escalator where, although you wished to change direction, there was no way.

Nevertheless, it was a road. A road full of people, yet in the midst of whom you felt alone. I did not notice who pushed me or tripped me. The pain of the fall, the dust, the stinging, interrupted the routine up until then.

I got up ..... and for the first time I saw the destiny of the road, of the road I found myself on, in fact the only one I knew. Like any road, it also had a name, but it was the first time I was seeing it: “broad is the way that leads to death, and there are many who are on it”. I looked around and I was the only one who was looking at what was written on the signpost. I was the only one who stopped to see this. Although there was a lot of noise, the echo of my voice was heard when I cried out: “Does no one see what is written on the signpost?”.

A rumble was heard, which increased in magnitude like an avalanche. Something was collapsing nearby. It was my life up until then, it was me, with my good and bad deeds, it was the days of my life, one after another, from when I was born until I fell on the road. There were so many things placed one on top of the other and which seemed to be well arranged, but which collapsed in a moment. I stretched out my hand to put them back in place, but they were slipping through my hands like sand. Yes, I saw them. Yes, they were there, yet I could not understand why I was unable to put them back in place? Why did they all collapse at once? Everything stood still and everything seemed meaningless.

Time stood amazed, just like me, when it saw that everything was scattered in a moment. Up until then it thought itself important in people’s lives and thought it had the answer to everything. “Time will resolve everything”, people said among themselves and it was very pleased with its role. Whenever people looked at the clock, it knew it was in the centre of attention and that everything was revolving around it. No, it was not it which was revolving, as people thought, but everything was revolving around it. All their actions were bound to it. Being punctual, having a timetable each day, living for the moment, were things which the sons of men learned from when they were small. All these things were passing before the eyes of time, which like me had been left dumb with amazement. It could not help me with anything and I could not help it with anything.

Suffering had deformed its face and the expression, “We have spent a nice time together” no longer matched with what you saw in it now. The sand had run out of the cracked hourglass and time had given up its soul. “Nooo!” I cried out in desperation.

Please do not raise your voice in our presence. There is nothing more crushing than when you see a multitude of threatening people and having their pointing finger directed towards you. They looked like judges, but at the same time like written pages. They did not seem to have mercy and ..... although they were silent they sent to the mind a pile of accusations. It was like being in an arena after a fight between gladiators, surrounded by the days of my life scattered beside me in the sand which had run out of the hourglass of time. At the base of the rostrum there was an inscription which said, “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement”. It was the second time I was seeing the word “death” written on something and I realised that ..... perhaps it was for me ..... The fingers on my hands were left in a huddled, painful position. I realised that I was wallowing in the mire of my existence and that it was in no way a place of pasture and verdure.

Tradusa de David Wire

Despre religii

Cand pictezi un tablou, sunt lucruri carora le dai importanta si le pui in centrul atentiei dar sunt si lucruri mai putin importante care apar si ele in tablou pentru completarea imaginii.

Sunt multe persoane carora le plac tablourile cu corabii prinse in furtuna dar unii admira corabiile iar altii admira valurile si norii care le inconjoara pe cand altora le plac culorile. Fiecare vede ceva in acel tablou, dar el nu ar fi complet fara valuri, corabie si nori. De fapt, tabloul incearca sa ne povesteasca si despre artistul lui. Daca pui mai multe tablouri despre acelasi subiect dar facute de mai multi pictori, vei vedea ca nu o sa-ti placa toate desi toate “vorbesc” despre acelasi lucru.

In centrul discutiei va fi de multe ori pictorul si vei auzi mai multe critici aduse pictorului decat tabloului, iar unii pentruca il admira pe pictor vor admira si picturile lui oricat de banale ar fie ele. Si atunci vei fi surprins de un lucru: un grup de oameni adunati in jurul aceluiasi subiect nu reusesc sa se puna de acord macar cu lucrurile lipsite de importanta si de fapt oamenii vor incerca sa se scoata in evidenta mai mult pe ei decat pe cel ce a facut tabloul in sine.

Asa au aparut religiile. Toti cred ceva dar de multe ori ignora Pictorul si Tabloul, ca sa se scoata in evidenta de fapt pe ei.

Pana la urma, tabloul exista doar datorita pictorului si nu a celor care-l critica sau lauda.

Am gasit cateva randuri scrise pe alt blog:

''Istoria bisericii dovedeşte în clar, scopul real al religiei: acela de a camufla puterea sub o mască aşa-zis spirituală, pentru a i se da omului de rând iluzia că poate totuşi scăpa de torturile autorităţilor laice, refugiindu-se sub sutanele altor ticăloşi.

Un lucru este mai mult decât evident... dacă Iisus s-ar întoarce astăzi pe Pământ, primii care s-ar repezi să-l crucifice ar fi tocmai slujitorii bisericii, cărora le-ar ameninţa privilegiile, castelele şi averile, dând în vileag înşelăciunea care durează de milenii, organizată de aceşti purtători de anteriu şi mântuitori de păcate, pe bani.(sursa: http://antiiluzii.blogspot.com/2011/03/efectul-canar-tragedia-nativilor.html)''

Iisus a fost un slujitor, a venit sa slujeasca si sa moara pentru ai Lui. Daca cineva cere slujire, face facultati ca sa aibe avantaj si sa inchida gura celorlalti, se pune in felul acesta inaintea celorlalti, nu este un slujitor al lui Iisus ci doar un pradator, un lacom de putere si avere, un lup imbracat in blana de oaie.

Marcu Capitol 10

... priviți drept cîrmuitori ai neamurilor, domnesc peste ele, și mai marii lor le poruncesc cu stăpînire. 43 Dar între voi să nu fie așa. Ci oricare va vrea să fie mare între voi, să fie slujitorul vostru; 44 și oricare va vrea să fie cel dintîi între voi, să fie robul tuturor. 45 Căci Fiul omului n`a venit să I se slujească ...

Care facultate te invata asa ceva? Sau cine merge la facultate ca sa ajunga rob?:)

When you paint a picture, there are things you attach importance to and you place them in the centre of attention, but there are also less important things which appear in the painting to complete the picture.

There are many people who like paintings with boats caught in a storm, but some admire the boats and others admire the waves and the clouds which surround them, while others like the colours. Each one sees something in that painting, but it would not be complete without the waves, boats and clouds. In fact, the painting also tries to tell us about its artist. If you set out many paintings about the same subject but done by a number of painters, you will see that you will not like them all, even though all of them “speak” about the same thing.

The painter will often be in the centre of discussion and you will hear more criticisms brought to the painter than to the painting, but because some admire the painter they will admire his paintings, regardless of how trivial they might be. You will then be surprised about one thing: a group of people gathered around the same subject will not be in agreement even over the unimportant things and in fact people will try to bring themselves into evidence more than the one who did the painting itself.

That is how religions came about. Everyone believes something but often they ignore the Painter and the Painting, so that they actually bring themselves into evidence.

In the end, the painting only exists because of the painter and not because of those who criticise or praise it.

Translated by David Wire

Cu regret va anunt ca in data de 30 mai, tatal meu a murit in spital, Robert Nicolaescu a decedat din pricina infectarii cu coronavirus. La spital, cat timp era tratat pentru epilepsie, a fost lasat sa sufere de catre asistente, mereu plangandu-se ca nu le pasa si nu ii ajuta deloc insa el, a ajutat pe ceilalti pacienti de parca era treaba lui, eroic chiar. Dupa o saptamana petrecuta acolo, fix in ziua in care trebuia sa fie externat, a fost testat pozitiv pentru acest virus urmand ca o saptamana sa stea in carantina alaturi de alti pacienti iar ultima saptamana, a 3-a, a petrecut-o intubat, sedat. A murit fara durere, singur. Pacat ca singurul lucru care l-a putut scapa de chinurile zilnice a fost chiar moartea insasi. Adio tuturor celor care frecventau acest blog, fie ca viata lui sa nu fie in van, sa luati in connsiderare ca orice lucru mic care-l facea necesita un mare efort pentru el, desenele sale sunt o marturie a faptului ca daca vrei sa faci ceva, atata timp cat iti doresti din tot sufletul, absolut nimic nu te va tine inapoi.

I regret to inform you that on May 30, my father died at the hospital, Robert Nicolaescu died of coronavirus infection. There, while he was being treated for epilepsy, he was left to suffer by the nurses, always complaining that he didn't care and didn't help them at all, but he helped the other patients as if it were his job, heroically. After a week spent there, exactly on the day he had to be discharged, he was tested positive for this virus and will be in quarantine for a week with other patients. The last week, the 3rd, he spent it intubated, sedated. He died without pain, alone. Too bad the only thing that could save him from the daily torments was death itself. Farewell to all who frequented this blog, his life shall not be in vain. Consider this: every little thing that he made required a lot of effort for him, his drawings are a testament to the fact that if you want to do something , as long as you want with all your heart, absolutely nothing will hold you back.