If we are not happy today, as we can be
them tomorrow?
them tomorrow?
- Phil Bosmans
Frost nips at the cheeks and nose. Sparkle snowflakes and groan under the boots. Pooch pose little feet in drifts, muzzle them rozgarnia, Parisian freestone snow, which pushes the nose forever wąchający everything. I do not know whether its joyous dance around its own tail is the same as my joy. I lack the words to shout out my delight, so I remain silent. And at the heart of thanksgiving for this moment. I could say here and now: Remain instantaneous're happy.
I laugh at myself. As if your ass frozen to the trousers, and the house would be hopelessly far away and desperately cold, empty, without the desire and ability to return, or would you say: perma-going are you happy? How wytrzymałabyś in the cold, and when, instead of thanking zaczęłabyś, curse, cursing fate, blaming the world angry and cold?
Sure, my sweet moment of happiness is carelessness, because sight is my safe, warm home, not at all empty and lonely.
called to order by your own common sense start to return to reality. And this suggests to me a calculator. As the winter is severe, far enough fuel? How przyoszczędzić?
And why so much coal in the stone, wood, why so expensive? Every day I cook for dinner? When did you purchase ... wash. Oh how I hate ironing. And why do I include reading, writing, when and so is the most important soup in the pot ...
Dogs also got something funny. For the feet przyczepiły the balls of snow. Ousting from time to time become lumps of ice, which interfere with the running. Meekly returns to the lead and probably dreaming if dogs are able to dream of a full bowl of chow. At home, pulls out in front of a fireplace, sleeps and have nothing more to be happy he is missing.
And I push myself in a chair with a firm commitment to complete the reading of a wise book. As the kitschy film. Prychające cuts sparks in the fireplace hornbeam, heat spreading through the house. This moment could well continue. How long? I fall into a doze, lazy walk, and hot tea. Once again, unread book. At the order's power. He escaped me time. Do not catch up. Now ordinary hustle home.
If its not there? If I could at will sit in a chair, read, think, dream?
not. The mere thought of such a life is getting sad. I like my bustle, I like to hear: Delicious! Nowhere have eaten such tripe. I like to stick dumplings. I sit It has taken a pastry board, and my only concern is if the cake is not too hard, if not overcooked ... maybe stuffing too salty? And the cheese somehow very impressed and potatoes watery.
Sometimes I forget and escape thoughts of the past. I see my mother like sticks his mug and tells me how you do, would not rozklejały and the dough was not too hard. I sit next to her and ask: A grandmother too blinded dumplings? Well, I know what I'm asking because the dumplings in a long line to set information Mamin memories. Listen and check. Which version is true? This last year or now? Future and on my turn, I remember, and it is my story, because I add, exaggerate, beautifies and dramatic here.
house is warm, odor and taste. Happy is the house where there is room for a real fire and the smell of freshly baked bread. How else is for whom the bread oven, with whom to eat, then it is really the DOM, for whom we live, work, learn, learn, leave and come back.
evening hanging out on the porch. I sink into the darkness, to admire the constellations of stars - the right As the size of a man. I do not even cosmic dust, a speck of soil on Earth, and sees, hears, feels and describes. Beyond measure with the mystery of existence. Sometimes it is so delighted with the stars and admire their ability to believe in his power, and power equal to God. Not only that, says that possessed the secret of happiness and necessarily want others to believe him. Enough, however, that from this zadzierania the top of his head hurt him hump, disappeared a little gray cells, flabby muscles, pale eyes and ears stępiał, and everything goes back to proper proportions.
Not all agree with that. Some, in anticipation of the revolution and the commune of eternal happiness here on earth, pop up a hospital window, I can not stand that a new revolution is still no. I feel sorry for them, pray for them, but I pray to God that their dreams are not fulfilled.
Who came up with that man can not be fully happy because it troubled the loss of happiness? Is not that just such people are asking Phil Bosmans: "If we are not happy today, how can they be tomorrow?"
I do not know what will happen tomorrow. Maybe my future will no longer be? I have no influence on it.
I can still only say with the poet "Ma patrie c'est la vie" . And never mind that it may stop loving me, as long as I live, I love them more than life. And it is good to me is this love.
I can only have a claim to life is that so late before me have discovered his secret.
consolation is that, and so I am lucky, I could die and never figure out why sometimes I'm so happy that I was looking at the stars and fall asleep by the fireplace instead of reading smart books.
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postscript
- When you cease to be true and worthy, is no longer worth anything - he said. Monicelli was active until the end. Until recently, he participated in protests against the reduction of state subsidies for culture, arguing that it alone stands Italy among other countries. Voted for the Communist Party and had a very subversive beliefs. When asked, what is the best hope, said recently that he hopes that it will end a beautiful revolution. Revolution, which had never been in Italy.
invite on Thursday to listen to Radio 168 broadcast incorrect www.radiopl.pl , and then in reruns until Sunday.
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