"You need only one thing—to be natural, as natural as your breathing. Love your life. Do not live according to some commandments. Do not live according to other people's ideas. Do not live the way people demand of you. Listen to your own heart. Become silent, listen to the quiet, faint voice within you, and follow it." Osho
"How well he knew how to seem new,
Jokingly to amaze with innocence,
Ready to frighten with prepared despair,
To amuse with pleasant flattery,
To seize a moment of tenderness,
To overcome warnings of innocent years
With wit and passion,
To await an involuntary caress,
To beg for and demand recognition,
To overhear the heart's first sound,
To pursue love and suddenly
Obtain a secret rendezvous...
And afterward, alone with her,
Give her lessons in silence!"
On their days off, Lyuba and Nikita went for walks along the winter roads outside town, or walked half-embracing on the ice of the sleeping Potudan River—far downstream along its summer course. Nikita lay on his stomach and looked down through the ice, where he could see the water flowing quietly. Lyuba settled beside him too, and, touching one another, they watched the secluded stream and spoke of how happy the Potudan River was, because it flowed into the sea, and this water beneath the ice would pass the shores of distant countries where flowers were blooming and birds were singing. After thinking about this for a while, Lyuba ordered Nikita to get up off the ice at once; Nikita was now wearing his old father's quilted jacket, which was too short and kept him scarcely warm, and he might catch cold.
And so they patiently kept one another company throughout almost the entire long winter, tormented by the anticipation of their near and future happiness. The Potudan River, too, lay hidden beneath the ice all winter, and the winter crops 24 slumbered beneath the snow—these natural phenomena calmed and even consoled Nikita Firsov: it was not only his heart that lay buried before spring. In February, when he awoke in the morning, he listened to see whether the new flies were already buzzing, and outside he looked at the sky and the trees of the neighboring garden: perhaps the first birds were already arriving from distant lands. But the trees, grasses, and fly larvae still slept deep within their powers and in their embryonic state. [А. Платонов"Река Потудань]
№Love knows no logic; it is above reason. Love dwells on the heights, above the valleys of reason. This is an exalted coexistence, the crown of being, and it is granted to only a rare person." "Martin Eden" by Jack London
"Love should be the revelation of two free beings. Neither submission nor possession, but encounter and recognition."
Simone de Beauvoir — The Second Sex
Months passed, strengthening the bond between the man and the dog. It was the same old pact made between the first wolf and man. And as all the other wolves and wild dogs had done before and after him, White Fang worked out its terms for himself. They were simple. In exchange for acquiring a god of flesh and blood, he gave up his freedom. From his god he received food, warmth, and protection. In return, he was bound to guard his god’s property, defend him, work for him, and obey him.
Possessing a god entails serving him. White Fang served out of a sense of duty and reverence, but not out of love. He did not know what love was. He had almost forgotten Kiche. Besides, he understood that, having willingly placed himself in the hands of his god, he had not only renounced his will and his kind; he knew that even if he met Kiche, he would not leave his god for her sake. His devotion to man was greater than his love of freedom, family, and kind.
And once again, the conditions of life began to affect him, softening what had grown hardened and giving it a more perfect form. Weedon Scott truly embodied the finger of fate in this case. He reached into the very depths of White Fang’s soul and, through kindness, brought to life the abilities that lay dormant there and had almost perished. One of these abilities was love. It took the place of mere fondness, beyond which White Fang had experienced nothing since the day he first encountered the gods.
But this love did not come in a single day. It began with fondness and gradually developed. Though he had the opportunity to escape, White Fang did not do so because he liked his new god. This new life could not be compared with life in the cage of Beauty Smith, and White Fang needed to have some kind of god. His nature demanded submission to a deity. The mark of dependence on man was impressed upon him on the day he turned his back on the wilderness and crawled to Gray Beaver’s feet, expecting a beating from him. This dependence grew even stronger when, after starvation, he left the wilderness a second time and returned to the village to Gray Beaver, who fed him fish.
Day followed day, and the transition from fondness to love took place quickly. White Fang himself began to notice it, although, of course, he had no idea what love was. Love manifested itself in him as a kind of hungry, painful, oppressive emptiness that demanded to be filled. It caused suffering and anxiety, relieved only by the presence of his new god. At such moments, love was fulfillment for him—a wild, frenzied joy. But away from his god, anxiety and suffering took hold of him again; he was weighed down by the feeling of emptiness and a hunger that never stopped gnawing at him.
White Fang was beginning to discover himself. Despite his mature age and the harsh shell shaped by the conditions of his life, his true nature was only now beginning to unfold. Unfamiliar feelings and involuntary impulses awakened within him. His former tastes and behavior changed completely. In his previous life, he had loved comfort and freedom from suffering, hated discomfort and pain, and acted accordingly. Now it was different. Guided by new feelings, he often chose discomfort and suffering out of love for his god. Thus, early in the morning, instead of wandering about in search of food or lying in a cozy, sheltered place, he would wait for hours on the cabin’s threshold to see his god. In the evening, when his master returned, he would leave the warm place he had dug for himself in the snow to hear a word of greeting and receive a friendly caress. He even gave up meat to be with his god, earn his affection, or go with him to town.
Fondness gave way to love. Love penetrated to the very depths of his soul, where fondness had never reached, and from the bottom of his soul a new feeling rose in response. For what he received, he paid in kind. At last, before him stood a true god, kind and radiant, under whose influence his nature blossomed like a flower beneath the sun’s rays.
But White Fang did not know how to show his feelings openly. He was too old, and his character had already become so firmly established that new paths in this area were closed to him. Constant solitude, restraint, and gloom had left their mark on him. He had never barked in his life and could no longer learn to express his joy at his god’s approach by barking. He never rushed to meet him and never expressed his love in an exuberant or comical manner. He waited for him at a respectful distance, but he always waited for him and was always there. His love bordered on adoration—silent, speechless adoration. He expressed his love only through the devoted gaze of his eyes, fixed intently on every movement of his master. At times, when his god looked at him and spoke to him, he felt a certain awkwardness born of the desire to show his love and a purely physical inability to do so.
Soon he adapted to his new life. He understood that he must not touch his master’s other dogs.
"He already loved it when his owner spoke to him, but he understood only two words: ‘Bim’ and ‘No.’ And yet it was very, very interesting to watch the white hair fall over his forehead, his kind lips move, and warm, gentle fingers touch his fur. Bim, however, could already tell with absolute certainty whether his owner was cheerful or sad, scolding or praising him, calling him or sending him away." — G. Troepolsky, *Bim the Black-Eared Dog*
It was toward evening. He walked quietly, gazing at the water. Suddenly, it seemed to him that something was struggling in the mud right by the bank. He bent down and saw a small puppy, white with black spots, which, despite all its efforts, could not get out of the water; it thrashed about, slipped, and trembled with its entire wet, scrawny body. Gerasim looked at the unfortunate little dog, picked her up with one hand, tucked her inside his coat, and set off home in long strides. He entered his little room, laid the rescued puppy on the bed, covered her with his heavy coat, first ran to the stable for some straw, and then to the kitchen for a cup of milk. Carefully throwing back the coat and spreading out the straw, he set the milk on the bed. The poor little dog was only about three weeks old; her eyes had opened recently, and one even seemed slightly larger than the other. She did not yet know how to drink from a cup and only trembled and squinted. Gerasim gently took her head between two fingers and lowered her muzzle toward the milk. The puppy suddenly began to drink greedily, snorting, shaking, and choking. Gerasim watched and watched, then suddenly burst out laughing… He fussed over her all night, settling her down, rubbing her dry, and finally fell asleep beside her in a kind of happy, peaceful sleep. No mother could care for her child as Gerasim cared for his little pet. (The dog turned out to be female.) At first she was very weak, frail, and unattractive, but little by little she recovered and filled out; after about eight months, thanks to the tireless care of her rescuer, she had become a very fine Spanish-breed dog, with long ears, a bushy tail shaped like a tube, and large, expressive eyes. She became passionately attached to Gerasim and never left his side, always following him and wagging her little tail. He even gave her a name—for deaf-mutes know that their grunting attracts the attention of others—and called her Mumu. Everyone in the house grew fond of her and called her Mumunya as well. She was extremely clever and affectionate toward everyone, but loved only Gerasim. Gerasim himself loved her beyond measure… and disliked it when others stroked her: whether he was afraid for her or jealous of her, heaven only knows! In the mornings she woke him by tugging at the hem of his coat, brought him the old water cart horse by the reins, with whom she was on very friendly terms, and went with him to the river with an air of importance. She guarded his brooms and shovels and let no one near his little room. He deliberately cut an opening in his door for her, and she seemed to understand that only in Gerasim’s room was she completely mistress; so whenever she entered it, she immediately sprang onto the bed with a satisfied air. At night she did not sleep at all, but neither did she bark indiscriminately like some foolish mongrel that, sitting on its hind legs, lifting its muzzle and squeezing its eyes shut, barks simply out of boredom—at the stars, as it were, and usually three times in succession—no! Mumu’s thin little voice was never raised without reason: either a stranger was approaching the fence, or some suspicious noise or rustle arose somewhere… In short, she was an excellent watchdog. I. Turgenev, “Mumu”
“People have forgotten this truth,” said the Fox. “But you must not forget it. We are forever responsible for those we have tamed. And you are responsible for your rose…” “I am responsible for my rose…” repeated the Little Prince, so that he would be sure to remember it.”
“On your planet,” said the Little Prince, “people grow five thousand roses in one garden… and yet they do not find what they are looking for.” “They do not find it,” I agreed. “And yet what they are looking for can be found in a single rose.”
In order to enjoy something and gain satisfaction from that enjoyment, training is necessary, because it is impossible to attain satisfaction or freedom (from the object of enjoyment) from a distance... You cannot learn to swim without entering the water. One truly experienced moment of enjoyment can bring satisfaction that even a thousand such moments may not provide.
You can love and enjoy only what is yours. You do not love what is not yours... what you do at someone’s command or under compulsion.
Never do anything without loving it or taking pleasure in it! Act only when you feel that your activity brings you something.
2. Genuine enjoyment (bboga) and superficial enjoyment (upabboga)
(Bboga) means genuine enjoyment or the experience of going through it. It differs from superficial enjoyment (upabboga).
With superficial enjoyment, there is contact with the object and with the pleasure associated with it, but without awareness of the pleasure being received.
“What is the difference between being carried away by the current and swimming with the current?” (When a person is carried away by the current, they are helpless. But when they swim with the current, they use it to achieve their goal, like a sailor who sets the sail so as to go wherever they wish and not be carried away by the wind and waves). One who swims with the current acts. The difference between genuine and superficial enjoyment is analogous. With superficial enjoyment, desires carry you away. Neither the reason for the action, nor what it consists of, nor its purpose, nor its consequences is known.
If there is no complete enjoyment from an action that has been carried out, the desire remains unsatisfied. Then it is not genuine enjoyment at all, but superficial enjoyment—the shadow of true enjoyment.
Genuine enjoyment, or a conscious, deliberate experiment, is necessary not only in the realm of what is pleasant, but also in what you consider unpleasant.
3. First become the doer (karta), in order to become the enjoyer (bhokta)
Genuine enjoyment is an action in which the doer knows what they are doing, why they are doing it, and what they gain from it. At the same time, they constantly ask themselves whether they are really getting what they want. They act and see what they are doing. The experiencer bboga(bborta) is in complete unity with the action.
Only one who is the doer (rarta) can become the enjoyer (bborta). First become the doer (rarta), then act.
When do you learn that desire can never be satisfied? Only when, having made every possible effort to satisfy it, you understand that you have done everything you could. Only then! That is all!
Desire disappears or is destroyed when the desired object is attained, and at the same time it becomes clear that desire can never be completely satisfied. If these conditions are not met, desire is not destroyed.
"People have completely forgotten that they need to live. Who has time for that? Everyone teaches someone else how they should be, and no one ever seems satisfied. If a person wants to live, they must learn one thing: to accept things as they are and to accept themselves as they are. Start living. Do not start preparing for the life that will come in the future. All the suffering in the world comes from the fact that you have completely forgotten that you need to live; you have begun engaging in activities that have nothing to do with life." Osho
“My friend,” said Omar Khayyam, “no matter how long we gaze at the stars—and we will look at them all our lives—we will still have to come down to earth. We are born here, love women here, and die here. Then we sprout as grass, or they make wine jugs from us.
“Dear Omar,” said Vaseti, “is there any point, then, in our vigils?”
“Enormous!” exclaimed Omar Khayyam.
“Is the revolution of the planets really so important?”
“Madly so!”
“And these calendars, calculations of time, and parallel lines?”
Khayyam stopped and looked into his friend’s eyes. “Could you live without them?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“There you are!”
The friends continued on. “Dear Maimuni, you are cleverer than you wish to appear. So do not make me repeat truths known for ages.
My late father sent me to study under the venerable Nasir ad-Din Sheikh Muhammad Mansur. This learned man lived in Nishapur, had students of his own, and theology was his principal occupation. Our remarkable poet Sanai studied with me. I remember how the teacher, answering our foolish questions, explained to us, his pupils, things that had long been clear and obvious. Things such as: the Jeyhun flows in the north, the Nile somewhere in the south, and the Ganges in the east... Whether unfortunately or fortunately—let each person decide that—Allah created man. Adam did everything necessary for us to multiply. And if that is so, we must live, although it is not so simple. To live means to love, to learn, to teach, to look at the stars, to solve problems...
Khayyam pointed to the fishermen who had cast their nets into the river. Some were fishing from the bank and, absorbed in their work, seemed to notice no one. They had no concern for the lovely sunrise, when the colors of the world change with every moment, when everything—from the heavens to the slender blade of grass—experiences in its own way this transition from night to day.
“They are procuring food for themselves,” said Khayyam. “They will sell part of their catch at the bazaar and try to feed their families with the dirhams they earn. It is not easy.”
Vaseti studied the fishermen’s gaunt, sun-hardened faces and said:
“Omar, do you think that an exact determination of the length of the year or the revolution of the planets would be of any help to these people?”
Khayyam plucked a blade of grass and examined it carefully.
“Their good fortune,” said Khayyam, “is that they live in the present day. One might say that this is medicine for both the soul and the body.”
They sat down on a huge log lying right by the river. Clear, bluish-green water lapped at their feet. It rushed onward, but near the bank it slowed so much that it seemed to be flowing backward.
Khayyam picked up a crooked stick three or four cubits long and lowered one end into the water.
“I confess to you,” said Khayyam, “that I think a great deal about Adam and about those who, over seven thousand years since the creation of man, have passed through this caravanserai called the world. Why is all this so, and for what purpose? I do not know.
“And what does Aristotle say about this?” Vaseti asked.
“Apparently, nothing.”
“Is not his entire philosophy of motion confirmation of the necessity of generations succeeding one another? Ultimately, is that not the meaning of life?”
“Maimuni, I have nothing to say in reply...” Omar Khayyam lashed the water with the stick, then tried to draw a straight line against the current. “See? The water resists. Life is like water: it resists those who go against the current.”
Vaseti smirked.
“And always drifting with the current is rather unpleasant too.”
Khayyam said, “Aristotle is undoubtedly right when he speaks of motion. We observe it every moment. I love this river for its swift movement. I often come here to rest. And it seems to me that in these moments I am renewed. You and I, Maimuni, whether we want to or not, also take part in this movement.
[Георгий Гулиа " Сказание об Омаре Хайяме"]
“There is nothing softer and more flexible than water, but try resisting it.”
Lao Tzu
“Pain exists only in resistance,
Joy only in acceptance.
Even events filled with pain
Become joyful
When we accept them with an open heart;
Even events filled with joy
Turn painful
If we do not accept them.
There is no such thing as a bad experience…
There is simply resistance to what is.”
Jalaluddin Rumi
“From this moment on, begin thinking in these terms: you are the cause of your life, your world. This is the meaning of spiritual seeking—accepting full responsibility for your own being. Suffering has no external cause; the cause is within. You always shift responsibility away from yourself, but the external serves only as a pretext. Yes, suffering is triggered by external circumstances, but nothing external creates it. When you are insulted, the insult comes from outside, but the anger is within you. Anger is not caused by the insult; it does not arise as a consequence of the insult. If there were no energy of anger within you, the insult would remain powerless. It would simply pass you by without disturbing you. There are no causes outside human consciousness; causes exist only within you. You yourself are the cause of everything in your life, and understanding this means understanding one of the most fundamental truths. Understanding this means beginning the journey of transformation.” Osho
Buddha did not accept the insults of the villagers and returned them to them, saying, “I do not accept your insults. I return them to you. What will you do with them? Take them with you and do whatever you wish with them.”
