Ah! Before writting more.. Gwen, thanks for recommend the blog, hehehe.. u know we live in an small world and today a bird told me u liked a lot "Animalario: en femenino" .. its obvious you are an intelligent woman and with a great sense of humour.
I know, well.. cant ensure it, so.. I think I have any other english reader/s. Well I have just a apologised for my English so I am not going to repeat it; just want to say thanks a lot for your time, that time you invest on me; in fact, improving my English is something I owe you too.. want you reading the blog and -most important- understanding it, hahaha... (bet someone I know would say "monkey" just now).
I have written a post in spanish (I'll publish it tomorrow, must add a video), but the video is in spanish.. so here u have the translation; it's an story from Jorge Bucay called "The Seeker". Enjoy it and, please, when u finish just think if I have added hours to your life, because I would love that!!!
Here we go!
THE SEEKER
This is a story about a man whom I would call a seeker.[…]
After marching along dusty paths for two days he saw Kammir in the distance. When he already saw the first houses of the village he noticed a hill on the right. It was of a wonderful green and there were innumerable trees, birds and enchanting flowers. […]
The seeker stepped through the gate and slowly walked between the white stones which stood scattered between the flowers. Like butterflies he let his eyes rest on every detail of this gorgeous and colourful paradise.
His eyes were those of a seeker and this was probably why he recognized that inscription on one of the stones:
Abdul Tareg, lived 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days
He got a bit frightened when he noticed hat the stone was not only a stone but a tombstone. It grieved him to release that such a young boy was buried here. When he continued looking about the man noticed that the next stone also beared an inscription. He approached and read:
Yamir Kalib, lived 5 years, 8 months, 3 weeks
The seeker was appalled deeply. This nice spot was a cemetery and every stone was a grave. By and by he began decoding every single tombstone – each had a similar inscription: a name and the precise lifetime of the dead person. But what scared him most was the fact that the oldest had merely lived more than eleven years. Overwhelmed with sorrow he sat down and cried.
The keeper of the cemetery came along and approached […]
The old man smiled and said: “Calm down. There is no curse. We have an old custom here. I will tell you about that:
After marching along dusty paths for two days he saw Kammir in the distance. When he already saw the first houses of the village he noticed a hill on the right. It was of a wonderful green and there were innumerable trees, birds and enchanting flowers. […]
The seeker stepped through the gate and slowly walked between the white stones which stood scattered between the flowers. Like butterflies he let his eyes rest on every detail of this gorgeous and colourful paradise.
His eyes were those of a seeker and this was probably why he recognized that inscription on one of the stones:
Abdul Tareg, lived 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days
He got a bit frightened when he noticed hat the stone was not only a stone but a tombstone. It grieved him to release that such a young boy was buried here. When he continued looking about the man noticed that the next stone also beared an inscription. He approached and read:
Yamir Kalib, lived 5 years, 8 months, 3 weeks
The seeker was appalled deeply. This nice spot was a cemetery and every stone was a grave. By and by he began decoding every single tombstone – each had a similar inscription: a name and the precise lifetime of the dead person. But what scared him most was the fact that the oldest had merely lived more than eleven years. Overwhelmed with sorrow he sat down and cried.
The keeper of the cemetery came along and approached […]
The old man smiled and said: “Calm down. There is no curse. We have an old custom here. I will tell you about that:
When a young person gets fifteen years old his parents give him a small booklet just as this I am wearing around my neck. From this moment we write down every moment when something very beautiful befalls you. On the left side you write down what has happened, on the right side how long it has lasted. […] And this way we keep hold of every joyful moment.
Every single one.
And when somebody has died it is our custom to open te book and count the moments of happiness to write the sum down at the tombstone. For solely this time is the time of his life when he actually was alive.”
Every single one.
And when somebody has died it is our custom to open te book and count the moments of happiness to write the sum down at the tombstone. For solely this time is the time of his life when he actually was alive.”
There’s nothing to add except maybe that again some moments stay “not alive” and we would miss life when we start to write down every tiny moment of happiness: the first birds whistling in the morning, an unexpected sunbeam parting the clouds, the smile of a stranger passing by…. But why being captious – after all it would be a great deal to be really aware of all these fantastic little moments.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario