Did You Ever See Anyone Shot by a Gun without Bleeding? -- Haruki Murakami on Sputnik Sweetheart

Why do people have to be this lonely? what's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? was the Earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?

I turned face-up on the slab of stone, gazed at the sky, and thought about all the man-made satellites spinning around the Earth. The horizon was still etched in a faint glow, and stars began to blink on in the deep, wine-coloured sky. I gazed among them for the light of the satellites, but it was still too bright out to spot one with naked eye. The sprinkling of starts looked nailed to the spot, unmoving. I closed my eyes and listened carefully for the descendants of Sputnik, even now circling the Earth, gratifying their only tie to the planet. Lonely metal souls in the unimpeded darkness of space, they meet, pass each other, and part. Never to meet again. No words passing between them. No promises to keep. 

Sputnik II and Laika 

Over Analyzing

Religion started from a tranquility then ended with a construction in a tremendous moment. Buddha under the tree in Bodh Gaya, Moses in the top of the Sinai, Muhammad in the Cave of Hira. Every moment that has presented was a culmination and uncustomary when one felt the presence of the Most Powerful. The numinous, just like Rudolf Otto tried to describe, "mysterious, eeriness, and riveting". Saint Agustinus, 500 years ago, also amplified similar feeling, "I was trembling with love and thrill".

Religion started with a trembling, there were love and thrill, there were amor and horror. Centuries ago, after 'met' with the numinous, we are seeing something that no longer be solitude or silent. We are seeing glorious mosques, gigantic churches, golden Buddha statue which lies 14 meters, pagoda with the luminous top, majestic kenisah, and congregation people. Crowd.

Every religious's experiences are tried to be immortalized by something unbreakable, something strong. Which, those were all the shapes of a fantasy of something that can not be dead. Or something that loom, which that also include a shape of something that glorious, sublime, and noble. Or, something that shiny which shapes dazzling.  

In the end, it is no longer a solitude that takes over, but structure.

The thing that seldom be realised, structure is built by collected power. The same way as are about to build a business emporium, there were devices and strategies. There is no 'magic' moment anymore because calculation is the top of the matter. Time is becoming to be something that can be measured. Time becomes seculum.

That is how exactly secular possessed religiousness.

Happy Holy Friday dan Selamat Idul Adha. 

Не Первая Любовь, Только Снег Идёт (Not a First Love, Just a falling Snow)

Will be gladly if we can recall again the previous post titled 'Милый,Мой Старик'. Gladly, the continuity has been found. It was not that hard to find the continuity for you just flipped the next page (yes, please judge me, oh society). Better we face the truth then on that page which this toothless found. Ok, here we go, my friend, the story Снег (Snow) by К. Паустовский.

The previous story was ended in the scene where Potapov just stayed out the house and made a thought about coming home. While he was made an insightful thought, suddenly Mrs. Petrovna saw him and insisted him to come in. She already had sense that the guy was Potapov, her step son. The scene was describing that Potapov had a fancy and blank tea conversation with the host in the house, including Varya, Petrovna's daughter. An awkward conversation also happened between they both. Hours had passed, came the time where Potapov should have back to the battle-field-nature (for he is a Soviet soldier). Petrovna just said "Пишите. Мы теперь как родные. Правда?" (Write please, we are already just like 'family', right?". But Potapov did not say any single word to respond. Then, several days later after Potapov's visiting, He did wrote to Petrovna. The letter went like this:

"Я вспомнил, конечно, где мы встрачались. Помните Крым в двадцать седьмом году? Осень. Старый Ливадийский парк. Я шёл по дорожке в Ореанду. На скамейке около дорожки сидела девушка. Ей было, наверное, лет  шестнадцать. Она увидела меня, встала и пошла навстречу. Я смотрел на её. Она прошла мимо меня быстро, легко, держа в руке открытую книгу. Я остановился и долго смотрел на её. Это были Вы. Я смотрел тогда и чувствовал, что мимо меня прошла женщина, которая могла бы и разрушить всю мою жизнь и дать мне огромное счастье. Я понял, что могу очень сильно полюбить эту женщину. Тогда я уже знал, что должен найти вас во что бы то ни стало. Так я думал тогда, но всё же не двинулся с места. Почему -- не знаю. С тех пор я полюбил Крым и эту дорожку, где я видел Вас однажды и потерял. И вот Я опять встретил Вас. Если всё кончится хорошо и Вам нужна будет моя жизнь, она, конечно, будет Ваша. Да, я нашёл на столе у отца свое распечатанное письмо. Я понял всё и могу только поблагодарить Вас"

(I remembered, of course, where we met. Don't you remember year 1927? Autumn. Old Livadiskiy Park. I went on a way to Oreanda. On a bench there was a girl sat. She was, maybe, sixteen years old. She saw me, stood up and walked towards me. I saw her. She passed me quickly, easily, with her book on hand. I stopped and watched her long. She was you. I looked and felt that near me there was a woman, that maybe could destroy my whole life and give me warm happiness. I sensed that I could strongly love her. I then knew, that I should have looked for you by all means. I knew it but did not make any move even a little. Why? I dont know. I always love Krimea and it's path since all this time, where I saw you that day then disappeared. And again, I met you. If only all this happenings have to end well and you have to be my life, my life, off course,  will be yours too. Yes, I saw Papa's letters on the table. I see everything and can only say thank you.)

Yes, maybe one can think how romantic, sweet and naive he was. I myself hardly believe on a first-sight-love-kind-of-thing. Potapov kinda ruin my imagination though, kinda disappointed to him that he acted like a regular man near beautiful woman (not his false either). But couldn't he remember that Petrovna is his step mother? his Late Papa's wife? Those which he supposed to remember at the first place. 

Does not matter, the respond of Petrovna herself was unpredictable and...funny if can be said. It went like this:

"Боже мой, я никогда не была в Крыму! никогда! Но может ли теперь это иметь значение?"

(Oh my God, I have never been on Krimea! never! But could that be important now?)

Она засмеялась, закрыла глаза рукой. За окном горел и никак не мог погаснуть неяркий закат. 

(She laughed, closed her eyes with hands. Outside the window, snow has burned and the harmless rejection can not that easily be delivered.)

You have just mistaken me with somebody that already you knew too well, young man.