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Jiquidi
- GenresRomanian Literature
510 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2007
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August 3, 2022
Human relationships have changed a lot, and have changed for the worse. Well, I am talking about
Jiquidi
as a novel, of course. No hint whatsoever to anything exterior. Basically, in all dimensions, the deeper relationships have disappeared. A disciple-master relationship is dangerous, because to go into the depths is dangerous, as you will need to be more and more alert, aware for each and every moment. But it is needed a friendship, a love with deep roots. Also, the work of a master is pretty clear, yet it is a very delicate affair to understand a master, as one has to pass through a great training.
So, I was thinking how can I find a Master by reading (many) books? Obviously, one will become more and more stuffed with knowledge, and that will be a/the barrier. But, that’s what happens. Someday somehow someone starts thinking of God, or Truth, or Beauty, or Life – and starts reading books. I thought too that is a way to find it.
So, in connection to that, I am reminded of a little story I read about the great Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore. It seems he was continuously thinking about beauty, what it is. A poet, naturally, is interested in beauty. His mind was meditating on what beauty is. One full-moon night, he was in his boat and the night was just majestic: the full moon in the sky and the silence of the river and the forest around. And he was alone in the boat. Just once in a while a bird might call – that was all – and then the silence would become deeper than before. But Tagore was pondering over the question: What is beauty? And he was looking into an ancient scripture. He had only a small candle burning (definitely symbolically if we don’t forget that there was a full moon night :D) Tired, in the middle of the night, frustrated, because even in that old scripture he could not find something real about beauty, just words and words and words...he blew the candle out and he could not believe his eyes. Suddenly, as he blew the candle out, the moonlight immediately came in. He was transplanted into another world! He looked at the moon, at the silence of the night, and the moon reflected in the river, and the whole river silvery, and the deep dense forest on the bank... and THIS WAS BEAUTY! But he had been looking into the book – and beauty was waiting for him, just waiting by the door. But that small yellow candle-light was preventing the splendor of the night. And he had become so much engaged and occupied with the thoughts of the scripture that he had forgotten completely that this was a full moon night. He threw the scripture into the river, and that was the last day he ever thought about beauty. He said: ≫ Thinking won’t help. Beauty is there – we have to be available to it. Just blow out the candle (which can mean many “small” things) and then the beauty penetrates you.≪
Well, Jiquidi the novel is not a scripture, and I am not RT :D😊 (definitely not in this lifetime) but Jiquidi can be felt as a beauty of written words, of amazing dialogues between elevated minds, of fantastic monologues on certain existential themes. I read it once and I was thunderstruck, fortunately just mentally. Now reading it again I am anew thunderstruck, but this time I am more engaged emotionally and physically. I can even say there was a deeper connection with Jiquidi , a closeness that showered more of his presence by absence. Ha. What a funny thing. He is absent but he is more than before present in my mental plane. Well, maybe he was loved in his youth, and never after, but despite the all great madness that followed afterwards, I am still finding myself drawn to him and reading his contradictory thoughts and ideas. Maybe not wholly, but I do feel myself better associated with him than other Masters. I know he had only male disciples, but maybe, maybe, there would be a chance for a woman disciple adoption too :D Well, why not, I can dream about that! It is possible, it is possible, why not!?
≫ [….]
- Cum de-a venit porumbita mea la mine, in colivia mea…fara s-o chem! A, cum a simtit ea, dulcea mea victima, ca…eu sunt stapanul, pasararul, singurul cetatean viu, singurul om cu memorie, singurul-singur! Singur, singur, singur! Da, frumoasa mea imbatranita, te anunt: chiar si acum sunt singur! Dar…nu din vina mea si nici din a voastra! Si…nici macar din vina istoriei! Ce, parca ea, asa-zisa, istorie…exista! Pfui! Noi, doar noi existam si…nu tot timpul, stii, cum e lumina care se stinge si se aprinde cand un copil nazdravan se joaca cu centrala… […]
Frumoasa mea…imbatranita! Ah, nu tresari…foarte, foarte usor imbatranita, esti…la fel, da, aproape la fel, si…stii ce fac eu acum? Suprapun, ca un bun fotograf, portretul tau de-atunci, pe care-l port in mine, chiar si la…da-da, chiar si la closet uneori, peste cel de-acum, ca sa zicem asa, desi, la drept vorbind, acum nu te vad prea bine. Nu, nu din cauza privirii mele, nu, eu am ochi de vultur, de soim! Nu, ci din cauza ta, de frica, de furie contra ta si a mea tu…tu de desfigurezi acum, stai teapana si rigida ca o baba, ca o toapa, ca o…pancarta, ha, ha, stii cum sunt acele figure de carton pe care le folosesc fotografii ambulanti ca sa decoreze un peisaj, o atmosfera! Sa sugereze un fel de exotic…Ah, exoticul, tii minte cat am suferit eu pentru acest cuvant ce in ochii imbecilului care eram trebuia sa devina o notiune, un concept! Tu, tu erai de fapt salvarea mea, exoticul meu…ce, ai uitat versurile pe care ti le-am scris atunci, cand eram inca capabil de a fi…da-da, de a fi ridicol! Porumbita mea…tremuranda! Da, ti-era si atunci frica de mine, dar, oho, ce frumoasa, nobila, rara frica! De magarul tau inteligent, de Ovidiu, pariez, nu ti-a fost frica nici o jumatate de ceas in lunga voastra convietuire. In hiperlunga voastra complicitate burgheza. Vai de barbatul care nu-i face frica in nici un fel…porumbitei sale, vai de coaiele sale!
- Se pare…se pare ca nu esti convinsa ca…esti in stapanirea mea; o ora, doua, o dupa-amiaza, ce conteaza! Si…daca o sa mai dai din picioruse, am sa…da-da, am sa te conving nu prin cuvinte, prin propozitii logice pe care voi porumbitele, in ciuda lecturilor voastre nu le percepeti cu adevarat, ci…printr-un gest! Da, un gest subit! Poti sa alegi…ce-ai vrea? Saaa…te sarut sau, ce mai, sa te dezbrac?
[…………………..]
- Acum…te-ai linistit, cred; ti-am spus ca voi, porumbitelor, intelegeti mai degraba de gesturi decat de…ce, ai sperat o clipa ca te voi viola?! Ce prostii! Eu…te-am violat de mii de ori in creierul meu si aveam dreptul s-o fac si tu…da-da, tu erai aproape de fiecare data de acord, daca-ti dai seama de enormitatea pe care tocmai am comis-o: ca femeia violata sa fie de acord cu violatorul! Ori una- ori alta, nu-i asa, astfel ne invata logica…ce spui? Dar, de fapt, e tocmai pe dos- este si una si alta! Nu, eu il las pe vechiul meu prieten, ce, mi-aduc aminte, pe vremuri era fascinat ca un caine de mine si de ideile mele pe care, ce mai, uneori le umflam, ca sa-mi bat joc de voi si de educatia voastra mic-burgheza, eterna si ea, ce mai…da, eu il las pe scumpul tau Ovidiu sa te…violeze! Si el o face harnic de decenii, iar tu, singura mea iubita ai ajuns intr-un asemenea hal de prostratie incat nu-ti mai dai cont de abrutizarea in care ai ajuns! De tradarea ta…da, ar fi trebuit sa te bat, sa te lovesc, pur si simplu, nu sa te dezgolesc, desi…ha,ha, sunt convins ca peste un ceas sau peste o noapte, cand ai sa scapi de aici, dincolo de furia ta jucata sau pasagera ai sa-ti amintesti cu orgoliu ca ti-am vazut corpul tau dulce, abia durduliu, asa cum…da-da, asa cum l-am parasit eu, cu decenii in urma! Care, la drept vorbind, m-a parasit el pe mine, deoarece ar fi trebuit, nemernico, dupa disparitia iubitului, disparitia pur-fizica, se intelege, sa te inchizi in tine si sa fugi de lume, pastrand doar pentru mine pielea si formele pe care eu le-am sarutat ca un…isteric! Da, femeie, tu de fapt ai tradat, dar…ce mai inseamna in secolul acesta pervertit si romanesc a…trada! Pfui!
- Ti-e frig…esti furioasa? Ce…cauti aici, hai? Data viitoare, te avertizez, te dezbrac la piele, o s-o fac fara remuscari, deoarece...da, deoarece, vad ca “te mentii”, cum se spunea altadata! Micuto, corpul tau seamana mult mai bine cu ce erai altadata, cand erai a mea, decat fata ta…vreau sa zic expresia fetei si…celelalte! A, n-ai decat sa-ti spui ca sunt nebun, e o buna scuza…nu? Pentru tine, bineinteles, numai pentru tine, sa-ti linistesti constiinta ta de gospodina de elita, ha, iti place expresia, nu?! Eu, ma cherie, eu n-am nevoie de scuze, eu sunt de mult, in afara…oricaror scuze si motivatii! Eu…da-da, eu sunt liber, chiar daca…da-da, chiar daca libertatea mea seamana cu dezordinea, autismul intellectual si psihic, cu nebunia, cu…neobrazarea sociala! Ce zici, buna expresie, nu? De altfel, uite, am sa-ti fac un cadou, ca sa nu zici, he, he, ca ai venit degeaba: reteta succesului meu – deoarece am si eu succes, nu numai voi, astia, invartitii social, chit ca…in sfarsit!-ei bine, secretul, reteta mea este o nestinsa, viguroasa si extrem de argumentata admiratie de sine…de mine, adica! Un…cum sa-i zic?...Da, sa zicem un narcisim logic, cauzal, o…nevoie absoluta de mine! O nevoie, fii atenta, o nevoie nu numai a mea, ci o nevoie esentiala, o nevoie…a timpului, dar nu timpul asta al vostru, trivial si fluid, ca sa zic asa, ci…celalalt timp, cel care se opune curgerii, ca sa zic asa! EU…traiesc in el, in acest timp, indraznesc sa traiesc in el, am acest…curaj moral! Expresia este nietzscheniana, dar sintagma este a mea: curajul subtil, tenace, de…a alege celalalt timp! Ha, celalalt versant! Si aceasta expresie, “celalalt versant” nu-mi apartine, am intalnit-o intr-un roman de prin anii optzeci al unui scriitor roman, la moda atunci, mi se pare, o expresie pe care nici el, autorul, nu cred ca a inteles-o prea bine! Desi, acelasi autor, in aceeasi carte sau…nu mai stiu bine, poate intr-alta, are o fraza care mi-a atras atentia: “Violenta creatoare de frumusete” sau “Frumusetea ca o creatie a violentei”, ceva de felul acesta, a la d’Anunzzio, ceva…ceva…in sfarsit, ceva ce, he, he, recunoaste, se potriveste si acum si aici: priveste-te, uite ce frumoasa esti! Ai devenit! Rod, ca sa zic asa, al unei scurte si inofensive violente! Dar…a fost, este acum violenta? Prostii! >>
So, I was thinking how can I find a Master by reading (many) books? Obviously, one will become more and more stuffed with knowledge, and that will be a/the barrier. But, that’s what happens. Someday somehow someone starts thinking of God, or Truth, or Beauty, or Life – and starts reading books. I thought too that is a way to find it.
So, in connection to that, I am reminded of a little story I read about the great Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore. It seems he was continuously thinking about beauty, what it is. A poet, naturally, is interested in beauty. His mind was meditating on what beauty is. One full-moon night, he was in his boat and the night was just majestic: the full moon in the sky and the silence of the river and the forest around. And he was alone in the boat. Just once in a while a bird might call – that was all – and then the silence would become deeper than before. But Tagore was pondering over the question: What is beauty? And he was looking into an ancient scripture. He had only a small candle burning (definitely symbolically if we don’t forget that there was a full moon night :D) Tired, in the middle of the night, frustrated, because even in that old scripture he could not find something real about beauty, just words and words and words...he blew the candle out and he could not believe his eyes. Suddenly, as he blew the candle out, the moonlight immediately came in. He was transplanted into another world! He looked at the moon, at the silence of the night, and the moon reflected in the river, and the whole river silvery, and the deep dense forest on the bank... and THIS WAS BEAUTY! But he had been looking into the book – and beauty was waiting for him, just waiting by the door. But that small yellow candle-light was preventing the splendor of the night. And he had become so much engaged and occupied with the thoughts of the scripture that he had forgotten completely that this was a full moon night. He threw the scripture into the river, and that was the last day he ever thought about beauty. He said: ≫ Thinking won’t help. Beauty is there – we have to be available to it. Just blow out the candle (which can mean many “small” things) and then the beauty penetrates you.≪
Well, Jiquidi the novel is not a scripture, and I am not RT :D😊 (definitely not in this lifetime) but Jiquidi can be felt as a beauty of written words, of amazing dialogues between elevated minds, of fantastic monologues on certain existential themes. I read it once and I was thunderstruck, fortunately just mentally. Now reading it again I am anew thunderstruck, but this time I am more engaged emotionally and physically. I can even say there was a deeper connection with Jiquidi , a closeness that showered more of his presence by absence. Ha. What a funny thing. He is absent but he is more than before present in my mental plane. Well, maybe he was loved in his youth, and never after, but despite the all great madness that followed afterwards, I am still finding myself drawn to him and reading his contradictory thoughts and ideas. Maybe not wholly, but I do feel myself better associated with him than other Masters. I know he had only male disciples, but maybe, maybe, there would be a chance for a woman disciple adoption too :D Well, why not, I can dream about that! It is possible, it is possible, why not!?
≫ [….]
- Cum de-a venit porumbita mea la mine, in colivia mea…fara s-o chem! A, cum a simtit ea, dulcea mea victima, ca…eu sunt stapanul, pasararul, singurul cetatean viu, singurul om cu memorie, singurul-singur! Singur, singur, singur! Da, frumoasa mea imbatranita, te anunt: chiar si acum sunt singur! Dar…nu din vina mea si nici din a voastra! Si…nici macar din vina istoriei! Ce, parca ea, asa-zisa, istorie…exista! Pfui! Noi, doar noi existam si…nu tot timpul, stii, cum e lumina care se stinge si se aprinde cand un copil nazdravan se joaca cu centrala… […]
Frumoasa mea…imbatranita! Ah, nu tresari…foarte, foarte usor imbatranita, esti…la fel, da, aproape la fel, si…stii ce fac eu acum? Suprapun, ca un bun fotograf, portretul tau de-atunci, pe care-l port in mine, chiar si la…da-da, chiar si la closet uneori, peste cel de-acum, ca sa zicem asa, desi, la drept vorbind, acum nu te vad prea bine. Nu, nu din cauza privirii mele, nu, eu am ochi de vultur, de soim! Nu, ci din cauza ta, de frica, de furie contra ta si a mea tu…tu de desfigurezi acum, stai teapana si rigida ca o baba, ca o toapa, ca o…pancarta, ha, ha, stii cum sunt acele figure de carton pe care le folosesc fotografii ambulanti ca sa decoreze un peisaj, o atmosfera! Sa sugereze un fel de exotic…Ah, exoticul, tii minte cat am suferit eu pentru acest cuvant ce in ochii imbecilului care eram trebuia sa devina o notiune, un concept! Tu, tu erai de fapt salvarea mea, exoticul meu…ce, ai uitat versurile pe care ti le-am scris atunci, cand eram inca capabil de a fi…da-da, de a fi ridicol! Porumbita mea…tremuranda! Da, ti-era si atunci frica de mine, dar, oho, ce frumoasa, nobila, rara frica! De magarul tau inteligent, de Ovidiu, pariez, nu ti-a fost frica nici o jumatate de ceas in lunga voastra convietuire. In hiperlunga voastra complicitate burgheza. Vai de barbatul care nu-i face frica in nici un fel…porumbitei sale, vai de coaiele sale!
- Se pare…se pare ca nu esti convinsa ca…esti in stapanirea mea; o ora, doua, o dupa-amiaza, ce conteaza! Si…daca o sa mai dai din picioruse, am sa…da-da, am sa te conving nu prin cuvinte, prin propozitii logice pe care voi porumbitele, in ciuda lecturilor voastre nu le percepeti cu adevarat, ci…printr-un gest! Da, un gest subit! Poti sa alegi…ce-ai vrea? Saaa…te sarut sau, ce mai, sa te dezbrac?
[…………………..]
- Acum…te-ai linistit, cred; ti-am spus ca voi, porumbitelor, intelegeti mai degraba de gesturi decat de…ce, ai sperat o clipa ca te voi viola?! Ce prostii! Eu…te-am violat de mii de ori in creierul meu si aveam dreptul s-o fac si tu…da-da, tu erai aproape de fiecare data de acord, daca-ti dai seama de enormitatea pe care tocmai am comis-o: ca femeia violata sa fie de acord cu violatorul! Ori una- ori alta, nu-i asa, astfel ne invata logica…ce spui? Dar, de fapt, e tocmai pe dos- este si una si alta! Nu, eu il las pe vechiul meu prieten, ce, mi-aduc aminte, pe vremuri era fascinat ca un caine de mine si de ideile mele pe care, ce mai, uneori le umflam, ca sa-mi bat joc de voi si de educatia voastra mic-burgheza, eterna si ea, ce mai…da, eu il las pe scumpul tau Ovidiu sa te…violeze! Si el o face harnic de decenii, iar tu, singura mea iubita ai ajuns intr-un asemenea hal de prostratie incat nu-ti mai dai cont de abrutizarea in care ai ajuns! De tradarea ta…da, ar fi trebuit sa te bat, sa te lovesc, pur si simplu, nu sa te dezgolesc, desi…ha,ha, sunt convins ca peste un ceas sau peste o noapte, cand ai sa scapi de aici, dincolo de furia ta jucata sau pasagera ai sa-ti amintesti cu orgoliu ca ti-am vazut corpul tau dulce, abia durduliu, asa cum…da-da, asa cum l-am parasit eu, cu decenii in urma! Care, la drept vorbind, m-a parasit el pe mine, deoarece ar fi trebuit, nemernico, dupa disparitia iubitului, disparitia pur-fizica, se intelege, sa te inchizi in tine si sa fugi de lume, pastrand doar pentru mine pielea si formele pe care eu le-am sarutat ca un…isteric! Da, femeie, tu de fapt ai tradat, dar…ce mai inseamna in secolul acesta pervertit si romanesc a…trada! Pfui!
- Ti-e frig…esti furioasa? Ce…cauti aici, hai? Data viitoare, te avertizez, te dezbrac la piele, o s-o fac fara remuscari, deoarece...da, deoarece, vad ca “te mentii”, cum se spunea altadata! Micuto, corpul tau seamana mult mai bine cu ce erai altadata, cand erai a mea, decat fata ta…vreau sa zic expresia fetei si…celelalte! A, n-ai decat sa-ti spui ca sunt nebun, e o buna scuza…nu? Pentru tine, bineinteles, numai pentru tine, sa-ti linistesti constiinta ta de gospodina de elita, ha, iti place expresia, nu?! Eu, ma cherie, eu n-am nevoie de scuze, eu sunt de mult, in afara…oricaror scuze si motivatii! Eu…da-da, eu sunt liber, chiar daca…da-da, chiar daca libertatea mea seamana cu dezordinea, autismul intellectual si psihic, cu nebunia, cu…neobrazarea sociala! Ce zici, buna expresie, nu? De altfel, uite, am sa-ti fac un cadou, ca sa nu zici, he, he, ca ai venit degeaba: reteta succesului meu – deoarece am si eu succes, nu numai voi, astia, invartitii social, chit ca…in sfarsit!-ei bine, secretul, reteta mea este o nestinsa, viguroasa si extrem de argumentata admiratie de sine…de mine, adica! Un…cum sa-i zic?...Da, sa zicem un narcisim logic, cauzal, o…nevoie absoluta de mine! O nevoie, fii atenta, o nevoie nu numai a mea, ci o nevoie esentiala, o nevoie…a timpului, dar nu timpul asta al vostru, trivial si fluid, ca sa zic asa, ci…celalalt timp, cel care se opune curgerii, ca sa zic asa! EU…traiesc in el, in acest timp, indraznesc sa traiesc in el, am acest…curaj moral! Expresia este nietzscheniana, dar sintagma este a mea: curajul subtil, tenace, de…a alege celalalt timp! Ha, celalalt versant! Si aceasta expresie, “celalalt versant” nu-mi apartine, am intalnit-o intr-un roman de prin anii optzeci al unui scriitor roman, la moda atunci, mi se pare, o expresie pe care nici el, autorul, nu cred ca a inteles-o prea bine! Desi, acelasi autor, in aceeasi carte sau…nu mai stiu bine, poate intr-alta, are o fraza care mi-a atras atentia: “Violenta creatoare de frumusete” sau “Frumusetea ca o creatie a violentei”, ceva de felul acesta, a la d’Anunzzio, ceva…ceva…in sfarsit, ceva ce, he, he, recunoaste, se potriveste si acum si aici: priveste-te, uite ce frumoasa esti! Ai devenit! Rod, ca sa zic asa, al unei scurte si inofensive violente! Dar…a fost, este acum violenta? Prostii! >>
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