Once, I was planning to write about a Russian composer and pianist named Oksana. I had already met with her, talked, and taken some pictures of her, so I thought I had everything I needed. But there was no life in that material, something was missing... as if I could not find the key component. Suddenly, I realized what it was!
Almost everybody knows this Buddhist tale...
A man is strolling in the forest, when he sees a tiger, bounding down the track towards him. As the tiger closes upon him, the track comes to an end at the edge of a cliff, man jumps. Luckily, he is able to grab a hold of a vine, which brings him up short against the cliff. Below him another tiger is waiting for him to fall down...
About your essay “The Self is a Conceptual Chimera“.
It was a pleasure for me to read your essay in a book “What is Your Dangerous Idea?” It resonated with me, and I believe it’s the most brilliant idea of all those “dangerous” ideas in the whole book.
I realized that my desire to be loved faded due to a lack of faith that it was possible (the reason for this lack of faith is not important, but the consequences are) and gradually transformed into a desire to be admired
I guess I was trying too hard to understand what love is. All the time I had been trying to find myself, my place in life, solving my internal puzzles, and wishing for happiness—I was looking for love. I thought I had a glimpse, a vision of love…visions of love. One vision was that it’s a dimension between two people, a space just for them and nobody else, where they can be together.
I have realized that for me, giving love and receiving love were two different processes. Giving love felt altruistic, while receiving love felt more egoistic. Now, I see it in a completely different way. I see both as one. Giving love is not about giving something away—it's about sharing, multiplying, and extending. It's one of the few things, besides your word, that you can give and still keep.
Don't be afraid. Lies are not the reason for all human troubles. Lies are a result of a sickness, of fear. Fear of being rejected by people, by society, fear of loss. Human life is often all about consumption. We accumulate material possessions and use them to wrap ourselves as if in a cotton-ball blanket. This blanket separates us from real, true living.
Just when they get together and something may happen between them—it almost doesn't matter what that is—she is carefully listening. She may not even be aware of it, but she's listening to make sure his actions align with his words.
Perhaps, if she could find at least one pair of ear plugs before going to bed last night, Amy wouldn't have woke up from a slight metal clicking. But all earplugs seemed to have magically vanished from the house, and she was forced to expose her ears to all possible sounds night and morning could bring. Night wasn’t that bad. Besides, she slept much deeper during night hours, but became really sound-sensitive around morning time.
I noticed her the moment I came into that small cafe. That deep dark eyes... I bet I saw them before. I don’t remember where. She was sitting near the window in the cozy alcove, with her mug full with coffee. She sat so still and her face was so out of emotions that I could think that she was hypnotized. I could see her face from where I sat and it charmed me. I was trying to recall where I could see it before, when a small tear has dropped into her mug.
