Kuulasin hiljaaegu loengut kurjuse olemasolemise seletusest Islamis, kus muuhulgas toodi välja see, et Martin Luther King sa teha kõike seda, mida ta tegi tänu sellele, et ta oli kurjuse illusiooni läbi näinud. Vaid siis ei karda enam kannatust ja hukkamise võimalikkust. / I recently listened a lecture about the Islamic explanation of the existence of evil, where, among other things, it was pointed out that Martin Luther King was able to do everything he did because he had seen through the illusion of evil. Only then will there be no fear of suffering and the possibility of execution.
It is the time of reflection, it is the time of solitude, the time of inner settling. So much has been wound up and now it is the moment to grasp it, to acknowledge it. This time I am going to be red. Sometimes an awareness of something requires to live [I mistyped “love” for several times] through oftentimes – every time through a different spectrum. This time it is red. The awareness of my privileges is deeply in flesh and bones at the moment that I barely can breathe within the sea of blood.
Ma jäin paigale, ma olin kohal… Ja ta tuli, ta liikus mu ümber. Nagu vaimusilm näinud oli, ta järgnes loodusesse, kuid ta jättis mulle taganemistee. Kuidas oleksin ma enam tagasi astuda saanud? / I stayed there, I was still… And he came, he moved around me. As the spirit eye had seen, he came after I went into nature, but he left me with a retreat. How could I have resigned?
Siinsamas vanalinnas on ta leidnud end kaardistamata alalt. Ta püüab näha tundmatuses juhatust, kuid ei näe enam midagi. Kõik linnud lendavad ta selja taga, nende poole tagasi pöörduda ta ei saa ja silme ees haigutab seletamatu maa, milles ei erista mäge orust ja orgu mäest. / Here in the Old Town, she has found herself in an uncharted area. She tries to see guidance in the unknown, but sees nothing anymore. All the birds fly behind her, she cannot return to them, and in front of her eyes dehisces an inexplicable land, in which there is no distinction between mountain and valley and mountain.
Soovin kuulda lunastavast armust. Otsin selle kargust… Karastav on alati ühtaegu karm ja nii ilus. Ükski üleliigne mõte ega tunne ei leia külmas asu. Las see jäine iil puhastab. / I wish to hear about the expiatory blessing. I search the frosty crispness of it… Bracing is always so austere and so beautiful at the same time. No redundant thought or emotion will find its place in the cold. Let this freezing heeler purify.
Portreteerisin filosoofist sõpra Andres Luuret tema sünnipäeva (snd 22. mail 1959) puhul ning kirjutasin loo “Armsal teekonnal”. / I portrayed the Estonian philosopher and semiotic Andres Luure, a friend of mine for his birthday (May 22, 1959) and wrote the story “On the Lovely Path”.