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27
Mar
“Thus Swedenborg boasts that what he writes is new, though it is only the Contents or Index of already published books.
“A man carried a monkey about for a show, and because he was a little wiser than the monkey, grew vain, and conceived himself as much wiser than seven men. It is so with Swedenborg: he shows the folly of churches and exposes hypocrites, till he imagines that all are religious and himself the single one on earth that ever broke a net.
“Now hear a plain fact: Swedenborg has not written one new truth.
“Now hear another: He has written all the old falsehoods.
“And now hear the reason: He conversed with Angels who are all religious and conversed not with Devils who all hate religion; for he was incapable, through his conceited notions.
“Thus Swedenborg’s writings are a recapitulation of all superficial opinions, and an analysis of the more sublime, but no further.
“Hear now another plain fact: Any man of mechanical talents may, from the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob Behmen, produce ten thousand volumes of equal value with Swedenborg’s; and from those of Dante or Shakespeare, an infinite number. But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.”
20
Mar
During our whole childhood, Bridget Kilkenny, always called Bibby, from Augharan, Aughavas lived with us in London. She was a truly devout person. There was a time when numerous assaults and muggings were being reported where we lived, but she had an answer to this problem. She came to my mother and told her that when she was walking the streets, that she would be just fine if she kept reciting the “Hail Mary”. Having advised her of this she went down the corridor and the four stairs to the kichen, but immediately turned on her heel, came back to the living room, opened the door a chink and said: “and bring a police whistle”!
Time drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and the woods
Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?
8
Mar
8
Mar
To those who Dwell in Realms of day
8
Mar
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
8
Mar
All that we know is nothing, we are merely crammed waste-paper baskets
unless we are in touch with that which laughs at all our knowing.
7
Mar
From my window I can see a white mulberry tree, a tree that fascinates me and was one of the reasons why I moved here. Mulberry is a generous plant - it feeds dozens of bird families with its sweet and healthy fruit all spring and summer. But now the mulberry has no leaves, so I see a piece of a quiet street, which is crossed now and again by someone walking towards the park. The weather in Wrocław is almost summerlike, the sun is blinding, the sky is blue and the air is clear. Today, while walking with my dog, I saw two magpies chase an owl away from their nest. They looked at each other in the eye just a metre apart. I have the impression that animals too are waiting for what will happen. For a long time the world has been, for me, too much. Too much, too fast, too loud.
So I don’t suffer the “trauma of isolation”, but I hate not meeting people. I don’t regret that they closed the cinemas. I don’t care that the shopping malls are shut. My only concern is when I think about all those who have lost their jobs. When I found out about preventive quarantine, I felt a kind of relief, and I know that many people feel the same, though they feel ashamed of it. My introversion, long suffocated and mistreated by the dictates of hyperactive extroverts, dusted itself off and left its wardrobe.
I look out of the window at my neighbour, a busy lawyer whom, until recently, I saw leaving for court in the morning with his “toga” slung over his shoulder. Now, in a baggy tracksuit, he fights with a branch in the garden, which I think he has started cleaning. I see a couple of young people walking an old dog that has barely walked since last winter. The dog wobbles on its feet, and they patiently accompany him, walking very slowly. A garbage truck picks up the garbage with a lot of noise.
Life goes on, of course, but with a completely different rhythm. I cleaned up the closet and took the newspapers that I had read to the paper waste bin. I replanted flowers. I picked up the bike from repair. I enjoy cooking.
I keep returning to my childhood images, when there was much more time and it could be “wasted”, staring out of the window for hours, watching the ants, lying under the table and imagining that it was the ark. Or reading an encyclopaedia.
Have we not returned to the normal rhythm of life? That it is not the virus that is a disorder of the norm, but just the opposite - that hectic world before the virus was the abnormal?
After all, the virus reminded us of what we so passionately denied - that we are fragile creatures, made of the most delicate matter. That we are dying, that we are mortal.
That we are not separated from the world by our “humanity” and uniqueness, but the world is a kind of great network in which we are stuck, connected with other beings, invisible by threads of dependence and influences. That we are dependent on each other and no matter how distant are the countries that we come from, what language we speak and what the colour of our skin is - we fall ill, we fear and die in the same way.
It’s made us realize that no matter how weak and defenceless we feel, there are people around us who are even weaker and need help. It brings back how gentle our old parents and grandparents are and how much they should be cared for.
It’s shown us that our hectic mobility threatens the world. And it’s brought up the same question we rarely had the courage to ask ourselves: What are we actually looking for?
So the fear of being sick has turned us back from a winding path and reminded us, of necessity, of the nests we came from and in which we feel safe. Even great travellers, in a situation like this, will try to get home.
The sad truth revealed is - that in a moment of danger – thoughts turn inwards and exclude the categories of nations and borders. At this difficult moment, it turned out how weak the idea of a European community is in practice. The EU actually forfeited the game, handing over decisions in times of crisis to the nation states. I consider the closing of state borders to be the greatest failure of this wasted time - the old egoisms and the categories of “home” and “foreign” returned, and that is what we have been fighting over the last few years, hoping that it will never again format our minds. The fear of the virus automatically evoked the simplest atavistic belief that strangers are to blame and that they always bring a threat from somewhere. In Europe, the virus is “from somewhere”, it is not ours, it is alien. In Poland, all those who return from abroad have become suspects.
The wave of borders slammed-closed and the huge queues at border crossings must have been a shock for many young people. The virus reminds one: the borders are there and they are doing well.
I am also afraid that the virus will soon remind us of yet another old truth; how unequal we are. Some of us will be taken by private planes to our home on an island or to a secluded forest, while others will stay in the cities to operate power plants and water supplies. Still others will risk their health by working in stores and hospitals. Some will make money from the epidemic, others will lose what they have achieved. The looming crisis is likely to undermine these principles, which seemed stable to us; many countries will not cope with it and in the face of their decomposition, new orders will wake up, as is often the case after a crisis. We sit at home reading books and watching serials, but in fact we are preparing for a great battle for a new reality that we cannot even imagine; slowly realizing that nothing will ever be the same as before. The situation of compulsory quarantine and the strictures of the family at home may make us realize what we would not like to admit: that the family torments us, that our marriage ties have long since melted. Our children will come out of quarantine addicted to the Internet, and many of us will realize the nonsense and sterility of a situation of enforced inertia. What if homicides, suicides and mental illness all increase?
Before our eyes, the civilization paradigm that has shaped us over the last two hundred years is blowing away: the myth that we are the masters of creation; that we can do anything and that the world belongs to us.
New times are coming.
Translated by me from an article in Kobieta.pl on 04/03/2021
3
Feb
A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also.
For him was lever have at his beddes heed
Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed,
Of Aristotle and his philosohye
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
Geoffrey Chaucer. (Canterbury Tales Prologue)
3
Feb
Nationalism is not to be confused with patriotism. Both words are normally used in so vague a way that any definition is liable to be challenged, but one must draw a distinction between them, since two different and even opposing ideas are involved. By ‘patriotism’ I mean devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world but has no wish to force on other people. Patriotism is of its nature defensive, both militarily and culturally. Nationalism, on the other hand, is inseparable from the desire for power. The abiding purpose of every nationalist is to secure more power and more prestige, not for himself but for the nation or other unit in which he has chosen to sink his own individuality.
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