mental / musical /visual research
We have seen tons of cute animals online, not least on Facebook. These sweethearts are so lovely, but not really memorable, not as photographs.
This poor little ugly duckling, however, not cute at all, I will always remember.
I guess Christer Strömholm must have had pictures of cute cats as well, but wisely he chose to show us something else. I feel more love towards this little monster (though happy not to get scratched by him) than towards any cuddly cutie pie.
[I was trying to be funny when I came up with this headline, but actually it´s quite fitting.]
What does it mean to play a role in life? I am not talking about theatrical roles or “life roles (whatever they are) but about people adopting different roles towards each other. These can be short-lived and incidental, or long-lasting, as in marriages or between parent and child.
Roles we play with colleagues at work or waiters at our favorite restaurant are short-lived, though regularly recurring. Predictability is the keyword.
Roles we play with a partner can be more chronic. A usual variation: one person playing the parent role, the other the role of an irresponsible child. Such roles fit each other like hand and glove, which makes it hard, and rather uninteresting, to abandon the roles. “Why should we, when we fit each other so well…?”
But what happens if one of the persons leaves her/his role? Then what is the other to do? Where does the hand go when the glove is gone?
It very probably finds itself another glove, often very similar if not identical to the old one. And so the beat goes on — the same beat, same tempo and same (dis)harmony — identical roles hiding behind different faces.
This new glove makes it difficult — and, again, uninteresting — for the hand to change. Why should it, now that it has another fitting glove…?
However, if the hand is abandoned and left alone, glove-less, it might radically revise its role playing. No well-fitting glove-partner reinforces its old patterns, thus it is more free to find new roles. Or, radically, no roles at all.
(Of course, even if takes a long break from gloves (= pattern-reinforcing partners) it can still fall back into the same pattern when it meets a new partner, even after years of lonely life.)
I imagine that if it manages to leave its old roles behind it will be like a spontaneous actor — no script but all the freedom in the world. It can choose, in the moment, from millions of temporary mini-roles, all based on honesty of the moment (which is more than whim of the moment), instead of being weighed down by one or two roles that hijack it for for their own agenda.
A role, it seems to me, is a collection of habits, almost a syndrome. “This is how I usually act, react, think and feel.” Situation A leads to perception/ reaction B, meeting person C leads to reaction D, E to f, etc.
Habits are predictable and based on the past. Perhaps I, to be frank, would like to go from A to F, but I am so damned used to go to B… so I will probably just go to B!
Going from A to F (or J or Z) is what I would call “rocking” (the boat).
In a way roles are close to what we call “identity”. What people recognize as us is possibly just lingering roles and stubborn habits. When they see us acting “our way”, they think “Yes, that´s him all-right”. They could better say “Yes, there goes his old habits, his encrusted roles again.”
Habits are sometimes called “second nature”. Which leads to the question: What is first nature? and to the scary follow up question: IS there a first nature…? Or are we mainly a bundle of cohesive habits that are fused into roles, non-changing (or very slowly changing) patterns of practical, mental and emotional behavior?
Habits can be changed, with much persistence, and much desire to change them. If habits are changed, roles can be loosened, leaving more place for real spontaneity and in the moment-responses, instead of memorized reactions and reflexes. In short, more Now and less reruns of the Old, less sinking feeling of “There I go AGAIN... for the nth time!?!”
Desideratum: second-nature of roles and habits giving way to first-nature of the Real Actor. Aim: rocking the boat so as to get rid of “well-fitting” gloves.
Blah blah. It is quite obvious to me how abstract all this is. I have not fully digested these ideas; as yet they are mainly in my head, intellectual.
But it´s a start, if not yet rock´n´roll.
Hoochie Koo: To live a rock and roll lifestyle, free from worry and anxiety. Being a true free-spirit. (Urban Dictionary)
These are my souvenirs from my trip to the sun.
I know which will last longer.
This wasn´t just a geographic journey but almost time travel, a trip to a different season.
If one equates (as I do) sun and warmth with summer than I left my old, cold season behind and jumped almost half a year forward. And now, backward.
The stones tell an interesting story about time, and the meeting between mineral and water. And about waves. And about repetition. Droppen urholkar stenen — the dripping wears away the stone, the waves lick and polish it.
Ett litet avsnitt ur min kommande, i magen väldigt länge liggande, bok om salonger. (Människor som föds efter mer än nio månader betraktas som genier. Kanske blir detta en bok för genier också .-)
Fullt medveten om att jag kan ses som Pojken som ropade “färdig” kan jag nu meddela att värkarna har satt in!
…
Ett parallellt spår till salongens borttynande är konstens eller rättare konstnärers gradvisa hemlöshet.
Om en konstnär inte bokstavligt lever i kappsäck eller sover på parkbänkar har han troligtvis ett hem. Men om han inte är stugsittare med eremitkynne är hans ”andra hem” troligtvis ännu viktigare för honom. I salongen fann konstnärer under flera hundra år en fristad där de var älskade och beundrade, där de för omväxlings skull kunde äta sig mätta, pokulera (och kanske det andra ordet också), argumentera, konversera utan skyddsnät, konspirera, starta nya ismer, framföra sina sonetter och sonater för en entusiastisk alternativt buande, och inte bara konstpolitiskt väluppfostrad och vattenkammad, publik.
När salongerna efter hand tynade bort eller blev blaskigt utspädda drog konstnärerna upp sina bopålar och flyttade vidare – weiter, immer weiter! Caféerna blev under en period denna vildvuxna grupps nya fristad. Men även detta dubbelboende upphörde så småningom. När jag hälsar på i mitt hemland Ungern med dess fashionabla konditorier och mycket smarriga bakelser och frågar vännerna till vilket café konstnärerna går ler de generat, som om jag ställt en dum fråga.
Konstnärscaféer finns inte längre; konstnärerna träffas hemma hos varandra. Två hem har blivit ett. Vilket är ett annat sätt att säga att hemlösheten kommit över oss, att vi — alltså även vi konstnärer med vår sega motståndskraft mot dumma modetrender — blivit bitna av den lömska cocooning-flugan (= stanna hemma och drick ditt thé eller rödvin i nedsänkt ensamhet).
Och hur är läget i dag, 2016?
Hemlöst.
Konsten har varit död i cirka sextio år, tack vare den dumdristigt gränsöverskridande konceptkonsten. (Dess motto ”allt är konst” betydde egentligen ”ingenting är konst” (fast det förra lär bättre). Konceptkonstnärerna avrättade konsten och fick exekutionen att se ut som en frustande vital happening. Tragiskt — och på sätt och vis imponerande.)
Det som fortfarande lever är konstatomer, alltså ensamma konstnärer. Men var ska dessa atomer mötas, stimulera varandra, sammansmälta, explodera, alstra tankefoster, nu när cafékulturen också tynat bort och när salongen redan för länge sedan stängt sina välkomnande portar?
Det är en sorglig bild. På den plats där salongen en gång bredde ut sig med divaner, persiska mattor och Pleyel-flyglar gapar nu ett stort svart hål. Andra umgängesformer, inte minst digitala, har tagit plats på scenen men salongsumgänget har inte ersatts, den kan inte digitaliseras.
Man kan kalla Internetcaféer och digitala chatrum för ”salong” hur mycket man vill. Man kan också kalla Facebook eller ungdomsgårdar (!) [Fotnot: detta vilda tankekast kom från någon som tyckte att min franska salongsmodell var förskräckligt exklusiv.] för ”en sorts salong”. Man kan också kalla päron för ”en sorts äpple”. Jag menar att det är olika saker. Den som aldrig smakat ett äpple är möjligen villig att kalla det för päron; hos den som aldrig varit på en salong med finess går tanken – tveksam och trevande i sin bristande erfarenhet av delikat umgänge – möjligen till chat på Nätet. Men den oerfarne ska vara försiktig med likhetstecken, det är ett farligt skiljetecken.
…
(Written after having eaten slightly too much at a rich breakfast buffet..)
Sometimes I find myself in situations with unlimited free food. At Swedish Christmas dinners for example, but also other occasions.
In such situations my inner Stone Age Person — an old, atavistic guy who feels absolutely no trust in there being food at the table tomorrow — kicks in. He wants to eat EVERYTHING offered. Which of course would result in paltkoma as the Swedes say.
“Koma” means coma and “palt” is a nauseating Swedish dish made out of blood. (Paltkoma = eating so much you can´t keep awake.) Real cave man food, I think it would put me in coma even without eating much of it.
The Vikings and historic man very probably knew a thing or two about over- and under-eating. Much less about regular, square meals.
Anyway, something similar happens with children of very rich families when they enter a toy shop. You can have anything you want, anything you point at, says the parent. Wow, what a feast!
Sometimes these children grow up to be bibliophiles. A story tells of one entering an antiquarian bookshop, looking around, thinking for a minute, and finally deciding: “I´ll buy that wall.”
Not many of us have had this kind of childhood, or such a frivolously bookish life.
But there´s another example of You can have anything you point at-situation, much closer to us. The Internet.
With the Internet you can go to, visit, save, i.e. download, i.e. take with you, millions and millions of texts, pictures, mp3-s, YouTube videos. From certain sites you can download entire movies, CD-s, books, free (cracked) programs, etc..
In a way Internet IS a toy shop where you can have (“save”) anything you point at, or a Swedish Christmas dinner where you can eat as much as you want.
So Mr Caveman hasn´t really left the building. He is just hiding behind a new mask, a new identity — lurking, waiting for the next chance to overindulge and totally pig out.
One, two, or three? If you are lucky you can have all four. But then usually the trouble also begins.
I am standing with my feet deep in black sand. (EARTH) The Atlantic is playing tag (or is it Hsing Yi?) with me, attacking me playfully, then retreating for a new onslaught. (WATER). My lungs are drinking fresh oxygen. (AIR) And from above the yellow sphere with the warm rays, responsible for life on Earth, is competing with my sun screen (FIRE).
I seldom experience all of these elements in such a positive way. But when the quartet is so strong a fifth member tends to join in. I don´t mean ether, I mean tourists.
How fresh the air, water, sun and sand, and how dull and boring we humans. I don´t want to resort to irony or satire here, but tourist resorts… what to say about them?
Mainly that I don´t understand them.
Definition: Resort — a place to which people frequently or generally go for relaxation or pleasure, providing recreation and entertainment.
I can see the relaxation.
I can see the entertainment.
But I can´t really see the pleasure.
Of course people find pleasure in different places. This whole resort thing reminds me of a children’s holiday camp (the Swedish “kollo”), only more boring. Seems that it´s mainly couples coming here. Seems they don´t want too much change from home. They don´t seem to interact with other couples, and not too much with each other, either.
The vibrations are slow, but not meditative. (Old French sortir, to go out.)
So wherein lies the pleasure? Perhaps in being lax, walking around in shorts and flip-flops. Perhaps in exchanging one set of predictability for another.
Of course I am not tourist material and therefore cannot fathom the mystery. “Tourist” for me means a certain attitude towards life and its experiences: Not too much of anything, not too different from home, not too cold, not too close, not too strong, not too pleasurable, and most of it done in groups.
But I am not complaining. I am intensely enjoying four of five elements. And three of them are praised in this classical summer song.
Unless you are one, a real clown, that is. Today many of us are amateur clowns, amateur entertainers.
I have seen this in myself, how I take on the role and costume of The Entertainer of My Friends. On Facebook and similar places.
“Yes! I need to post a great video now, or a fantastic article. This will raise my value in others´ eyes. Isn´t that what the “attention economy” is about…?”
Not only that, also the Attention Begging and Attention Whoring.
I am not condemning anybody since I see this impulse in myself. But I try to step back from it and reason with myself: Who gave me the role of entertaining my friends?
I will certainly try to do that when they come home to me or if I´ve invited them to a party. Without a doubt, and with much pleasure! But now I speak of digital entertainment at a distance (tele). There´s a great difference between the two.
In the analog world entertainment-energy is flowing to and fro, there´s conversation, instant responses, nobody is hiding their face or voice or body behind a computer screen.
In digital “entertainment” most everything is hidden, masked, non-obvious. Nothing is really flowing; the energy moves like an old car on a bumpy road, sometimes totally still, sometimes jumping madly like a locust: most of the information (tone of voice, the face with its myriad muscles, our gestures, etc) is lacking and is replaced with primitive utterances like LOL, ROFL, LLAH, PITA and inchoate symbols (smileys) that try desperately but without success to make up for the colossal lack of nonverbal information.
The stage if set for misunderstanding, confusion and stealth. “Entertainment” on that stage is a muddy, unclear affair, hiding all kinds of unobserved motives, like seeking (sometimes desperately seeking) popularity, wanting to show off, wanting to put other people down, wanting to steal other people´s time and attention, and so on.
With that kind of entertainment, who needs neurosis?
But who am I, diarist, to talk? Blogging has the same temptations and dangers. “Aren´t you going to write a new post soon? The last one came, let´s see… fifteen hours ago! Your readership is WAITING!”
And there we are again… in the Delivering Entertainment-business.
So how to get out of it? One way is to change audience. Horatius Flaccus wrote, wisely: satis est equitem mihi plaudere – it is enough if the Knights applaud me. The Knights can be our excarnated friends and mentors, our invisible consortium. Let THEM — not the Facebook-crowd or anonymous readers/ browsers of your blog — nod if they approve of what you do.
The rest should not concern you. As for the clowning, the pros´ do it SO much better.
A wonderful evening with M & M. Interligence in action, which always makes you understand things better, or more fully. For example, it becomes more and more clear to me that music as a domain is going down the drain. Theater, film and literature thrives, by and large – and that is what counts in the long run – while music is extreme and lost in two ways: In popular music we have too much populism; the former songwriters and, yes, composers, like Lennon-McCartney are being replaced by a new animal of a different color, the “hit-maker”. He cannot write a good melody or a really memorable strophe, but he knows what sells, what “hits”.
The other extreme is the so called serious composer. He is too serious, takes himself too seriously. His attitude towards the audience is typified by his back. He looks away from the audience, which in turn makes the audience turn their back on HIM. There is some great music written today, and some sad attempts at populism, but generally the dynamic thread running between audience and creator has been severed. The lifeline is gone.
Other things that came at the not breakfast but evening snack table had to do with tasting. Of course. M really enjoys wine, and has knowledge to go with it. And my experience with music tasting matches his. We tasted a bit of Franz Schreker and a Petrarca sonnet by Liszt, played by the eminent Miroslav Langer.
I am still fascinated by the carefulness and the dedication that goes into wine tasting, the passion, the enthusiasm, the nuanced attitude. One could say that broadly there are two kinds of tasters. The barbarians who only count to two: They either like or don´t like the wine, or the music. With dedicated tasters liking is really not that important. The music or the wine doesn´t has to be “good” or “likeable”. Of course it shouldn´t be trash either, but the important thing is not the division into black or white but to really experience it.
Same thing in a way with photography. When I first started pestering my photo friends it was with the question “What is a good picture?”. I am not that interested in what is “good” nowadays. Lots of my favorite hate, the snazzy, postcard-like, soft porno pictures, can be called “good”, but they don´t deserve a second look. How do you take a picture that stops the viewer in his track, that captures and draws you in? That is a better, more relevant question.
And we must remember the quote from Francis Bacon: “There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.” Beauty is not enough, we need excellent beauty, and don´t forget the strangeness. Take away the strange and you end up with predictable, bland beauty. So, a good picture is not enough. What makes a picture strangely good? is now the question.
Same thing with music. If you listen in the right way, not just listen with your memories and associations, many Beatles songs have strange proportions. The output of the hit-makers on the other hand is very much about taking away all that is strange, all that is “excellently beautiful”. The serious composers on the other hand are only strange. In their case one could paraphrase Francis Bacon and say “There is no excellent strangeness that hath not some beauty in the proportion.” To these people one wants to say, Don´t forget beauty, and by all means, write a melody or two from time to time. That is, if you can, for it is not given to everyone to be a melodist.
One more thing about tasting. With blind tasting, whether of wine, perfume or music, you are actually moving towards higher faculties. When you turn off your past-conditioned memories and associations you are more or less forced to live in the present. You listen to what is, instead of what was or what you remember. Music an sich. This is actually, I believe, done in wine / chocolate / cheese tasting, but definitely not in music, where associative and culturally conditioned trash is overshadowing the simple present.
The sea (a hundred meters from me) is noisy and actually quite loud. Why does it not disturb me?
Perhaps because of periodicity — which it lacks. There is a randomness to its waves, its rhythm is slow and uneven, not fast and machine-like.
True, the nightly wolf-like howling of dogs I heard some days ago was also aperiodic, but not soothing. So lack of periodicity is not enough.
Anyway, I, who consider me a mountain lover, have come down from the mountain and enjoy the sea much more than I thought.
Today I will also enter it, taste the waves. Or let them taste me.
En text på svenska, till viss del för att återknyta till det som nu är lämnat. Språk är som kläder, man kryper ur vissa, kryper in i andra. Man inte bara ser annorlunda ut, man tänker och känner sig annorlunda också.
Jag har skrivit så många ord på svenska, inte minst som kåsör, så jag har skaffat mig svenska “språkvanor”, vilka alltså inte bara handlar om språk utan om attityder och beteende.
Så vad säga om det gångna året? Och varför? Massmedia älskar den här slutliga utvärderingen, att göra kavalkad av årets händelser. Ett visst underhållningsvärde, viss hjälp för oss med dåligt minne (fast värdet i att erinra sig katastrofer och kriser kan ifrågasättas), ett visst perspektiv på mänsklighetens utvecklingsnivå. Därför.
Allt detta kan appliceras på mitt år. För det första kan man säga att det varit ett år av inåtvändande. Det där var ett fint ord, för det indikerar samtidigt riktning, svängning och resa. Man vänder inåt, man vänder åter.
Mitt intresse för “världen” och dess förehavanden, inte minst dess dumheter och problem — som jag förr älskatt att kattlikt observera, syna och kritisera — har krympt till en tummetott. Jag har kanske inte blivit världsfrånvänd, snarare omdefinierat “värld”. Medan världen förr var stor och global (och handfast materiell) har den nu blivit mer en liten täppa med grönsaksodling. Detta kan låta som ett krympande, det är också samtidigt ett växande, för den stora, globala världen är i själva verket mest en tanke, så länge som man främst läser och hör talas om den. Inte en realitet. Mina egna grönsaker är en realitet, och de sträcker sig på sätt och vis mycket längre bort, och högre upp, än alla nyheter om “världshändelser”.
Det där var ett långt stycke. Den kan kort sammanfattas till “mind your own business”. Det är det jag börjat göra, bättre sent än aldrig.
Rollen som samhällskritiker, något som jag mycket aktivt påtog mig med start i boken “Offensiv nostalgi”, känns dammig. Nytt rollhäfte behövs, nya repliker behöver skrivas eller bara improviseras.
En mycket konkret sak som hänt i världen (sic) 2015 är att jag blivit på sätt och vis hemlös. Sverige är inget hem längre. Dels har jag ingen bostad där, men jag har inte heller någon hemkänsla där.
Detta behöver inte vara något dramatiskt, så blir det ibland. Man tröttnar, sliter ut skon, och går vidare. Kanske barfota ett tag, eller så tröttnar man helt på skor, vill inte längre ha något med dem att skaffa utan nynnar på Povel Ramels melodi.
Att skriva denna text på svenska är därmed en märklig upplevelse. Svenska är ju mitt bästa språk, den jag behärskar bäst, den sjö jag simmat längst i. Men nu tar jag mitt upp ur vattnet och övergår till engelska, ett språk där jag har mindre erfarenhet, färre språkvanor, större fräschör, mer möjlighet att skapa något nytt, där jag inte dras tillbaka av mitt förflutna, min offensiva nostalgi.
Det känns naturligtvis (också) härligt att falla tillbaka på språket man väl behärskar, där man får till de rätta nyanserna och valörerna. Men så skönt ska vi inte ha det. Ett fall är ett fall, om än ett skönt fall.
Det gångna året har varit som en sträng men rättvis lärare. Den gamla sorten, den som slår en med linjal, eller något ännu vassare. Först blir man förbannad “Vad gör du, ska du slåss…!!?”. Sen, när sveda och ursinne lagt sig, börjar man fundera på om man kanske förtjänade stryk. Och vad “stryk” egentligen är. Vad “lidande” är. Vad man själv är, och varit.
Och då börjar svedan kännas nästan som kärlek. Åtminstone om man med kärlek menar något som knuffar (sparkar, om man är motsträvig) en vidare till nästa steg. Ett steg som man varit mogen för ett längre tag, men som man förhalat och skjutit framför sig.
En vishetslärare sa: Alla opponerar sig mot lidande, ingen protesterar mot ignorans. Det kanske borde vara tvärtom. Att vi inte accepterade vår ignorans, våra dumheter, vårt oklara tänkande och grumliga synfält, däremot var beredda att bära den smärta som är en konsekvens av ignorans och dåligt tänkande.
Låt mig också tillägga oärlighet.
Ärlighet, syns det mig, är något av det högsta en människa kan prestera. Vi prisar ofta sanningen, hela discipliner och domäner skriver SANNING på sina banér. Men yttre sanning kan vilken som helst idiot med ett bra uppslagsverk skaffa sig. Få av oss mäktar däremot med att vara riktigt, totalt ärliga. Inte nödvändigtvis offentligt, i en blogg eller TV-soffa, utan inför oss själva.
Förresten, hur vet jag att det är få? Ett antagande bara, en misstanke. Egentligen angår det mig inte hur många eller få som är ärliga; med min mindre (större) värld är det bara MIN ärlighet som är essentiell. Vad andra gör är inte min sak, vad samhället ägnar sig åt… jovars, jag tycker nog fortfarande att det är min sak att inkomma med rapport om vad jag ser, men inte på bekostnad av vad jag ser inuti mig.
Jag kommer nu på mig med att skriva alltför flyhänt. Det svenska språket rinner alldeles för lätt, jag fyller sidan med svenskismer utan att behöva verkligen tänka. Inte bra.
Så det gångna året avslutas nu. Ett år av lidande, skapat av ignorans och högmod. Men vänta… det är ju flera dagar kvar på året! Än kan det få ett riktigt happy end .-)
Det önskar jag er som läser detta. Happy inte i betydelse fri från lidande utan krympande av ignorans, och “gott nytt år” inte i betydelsen nya händelser och ting utan nya insikter.
Det är i alla fall planen för mitt nya år.
I pass a shop window and what do I espy there? A warning against keeping a diary. Apparently it can kill you!
Well, almost. I thought it said “Diarium” but when I look more closely it says “Djarum”. Which is a cigarette.
I don´t smoke, haven´t been able to start the habit (tried for years), but I sure would have bought this package if it really was called “Diarium”.
I might buy it anyhow. Seems this is a clove cigarette, perhaps easier to get addicted to than the regular ones.
And when I find the following on YouTube, I, avid for tasting — wine, cheese, perfumes and especially music — realize that there is such a thing as cigarette tasting.
But I only give him 3 of 10 for smoking in a car.
So, keeping a diary still seems to be a non-lethal pleasure. I´ll continue for a while, trying to keep it short to get a tasting (not eating) effect. As our cigarette reviewer says: “That cinnamon one, I didn´t really like it but it was a great experience.”
Thus speaks a real taster!
But of course there are dangers with keeping a diary.
A tempting illusion: there is some intrinsic value in writing things — almost anything, an association or flimsy reflection — down. Actually it can be a way of losing values.
Writing something down is often a way of getting rid of it. Like going to the toilet. That explains the pleasantly surprised reaction to older texts. “Did I really write that…? I am impressed.”
Maybe you shouldn´t be: you managed to forget all about it. Retaining all small and large insights one has had, now that would be impressive.
Many of our holidays are family-dependent; without kin they are, if not empty, somehow less enjoyable. This doesn´t mean that if you have a large or even small family, holidays are automatically enjoyable — they can be torturous (speaking from experience). But at least you will be without that lonely feeling that family-less people are prone to. At least you will not be bored. Just check out all the family drama in Bergman movies.
Some of us go deep into the meaning of Christmas, put it into a larger context. Some only see it as a reason to connect with family, give and receive Christmas presents, make money on people buying Christmas presents, or simply an excuse to (over)eat. I mean, I´ve never felt as full as at the (admittedly fantastic) “julmiddagar” that my dear publisher David used to hold at Hotel Grand in Lund, Skåne.
Without intending to I happened to be drawn into a julbord yesterday, very far from Lund. And I noted that without necessarily involving religion, family or food orgies Christmas can be a moment of friendly, positive and warm energy. I was, guards down, touched.
May you who read this be similarly, or differently, touched by the “spirit of Christmas”. Touched by a special, non-standardized, extra-ordinary, non-commercial feeling.
To move away from the center, this way and that — and look, over there! – can be a most enjoyable sensation and feeling. I know it well.
As everything else, it also has a dark downside. If I were a bird I probably wouldn´t think much about it. I would fly to this bough and that, park on this tree and that park bench. But now I am a human, Homo sapiens, and there´s more to life than flying in different directions.
The directions and rays can be collected and directed in one specific angle. This is not longer a Free as a bird, happy go lucky-thing, more like a Let´s save and put money in the bank-thing.
One could say, it is not a Grasshopper but an Ant thing.
As I young child I read this fable (La Fontaine) and, without much reflection or doubt, identified subconsciously with the song and dance man: the grasshopper.
The fable in short; the grasshopper sings and makes music all summer long but when winter comes has no food. He then goes to the the ant, who has been constantly toiling toiling, to beg for food….
“What were you doing at the warm season ?
She asked this borrower.
— Night and day, to anyone
I sang, please you if it may.
— You sang ? I’m delighted :
So, go on and dance now.”
One could compress the whole thing into a short question: Food or Fun?
But actually centrifugality is not only fun. It is not the same thing as music or dancing. What centrifugality hinders or stops is building. You cannot (at least I cannot) dance a castle into reality. It has to be built stone by stone, which demands consistency and dedication, day after day.
So how to get out of this binary cul de sac, this choice between two evils (fun without food versus food without fun)?
Tim Ferriss has a great, balanced view on this (and many other thing). He suggests mini-retirements.
Tim Ferriss: Why You Should Take a Mini… by FORAtv
I quote from another page:
“Though similar to a vacation or a sabbatical, mini-retirements differ in some key ways:
So, the idea of mini-retirement seems to put an end to the old dichotomy between ant and grasshopper. You can dance and still have food for the winter!
However, this is not exactly the same as centrifugality and centripetality. The latter has a lot to do with inner peace, with being collected, calm, reflecting, with choosing “deepband” rather than broadband.
One more thing. The distinctions between regular retirement, sabbatical and vacation are worth pondering.
Regular retirement mean the end phase of life, you are winding down, you are out of circulation, old, worn, have not much to look forward too. Sabbatical, as the quote says, is a one-time event, at least not something recurrent. And vacations, well, some say that after many a vacation you need a vacation…
Perhaps what your really need is a mini-retirement. (The touristy aspects of vacations I certainly find tiring and exhausting. And very centrifugal.)
This subject is clearly not exhausted. Will come back to it, God and (centrifugal) Winds willing.
