Category: Okategoriserade

 

A grand piano stands on the ice,

almost impossible to detect.

It is black on black ice.

At a distance,

a thin rocky islet covered with snow,

makes it possible to see the instrument.

Further out the ice is broken.

  Joyful presence fills your interior to the brink. The urge to dress your feeling of joy in words would make it leak, vanish, and disappear. Still, you do it.

The critical moment is to stay in silence. To allow the joy to be yours. At least for a day or two. To make it real enough. Not needing to qualify it by communicating with someone else.

Through your whole life, you walked along the roads you knew well. You dressed in an extra coat of responsibility. You almost touched a sense of acting dumb. You never even dared to imagine what the second level of living would be for you. 

Göran Stille

I
Monday morning
My morning sleep is broken
The fog is still there
Outside they start to dig into the street
Renovating the wastewater piping
Their machinery makes noise at seven thirty

II
Today we shift the location of living
Summerhouse to city living
Drove our car fully loaded from west to east.
Leaving morning dew and a sea like a mirror
preferring the big city.

I started to think and lost control immediately
What is civilisation?
Where is the best place to live?
Where we are going
or where we were yesterday?

III
Whenever it is crowded and messy to be a human
I fly away using words and thoughts,
always at some distance above the ground.
My consciousness abandons me
extracts me from participating
in what is.

IV
She told me to set my goals
on a fair level
not where I thought I ought.
This advice, I have heard before
But kept it at a distant
Did not understand this advice
in my core.

She gave arguments
to support her advice
But I stopped her.
I heard what she said the first time
and was fully occupied
by taking it emotionally.
I do not need to be that ambitious
to feel good enough.

Friday 23 November, Day 1555

Accountability – Number of words
This last week I wrote, on the average, 1028 words each day. Summing up to 7195 this last week.

Accountability – Substance:
Finally, I know how to make a transit from not knowing my goal in writing over to knowing that goal. Not knowing have plagued me for a considerable time. – My hammer did finally hit a nail.

I use words.

Their numbers concern me,

and what they communicate.

But, what does settle

with those who listen.

 

In desperation, I try to interpret,

analyse, and understand more than I need

I dress what I see in words, concepts and consequences,

I fear death

and to get trapped in existential permafrost.

 

Yesterday

A single glimpse of light struck my eye,

raw and primitive.

My intellectual varnish cracked.

I saw this thing as it is.

 

Göran Stille

In recent days something has happened to me and my writing. At least I think so. Well, to say it happened is to take on too much. Such an expression contains a thread of hope in itself. Just as if a long-awaited permanent change did actually occur. I better express it as: ”for a second something shimmered in my segment of attention.”
My next question is: what did shimmer? I feel as if this shimmering grain carries value. But it evades my ability to pin it down with words. But still, I am determined to make an attempt. I won’t satisfy any of your interests in me delivering this attempt pronto. Such an act with words would damage the core substance. But from now on, I will allow myself to be proud of my two sets of eyes. One pair seeing the raw and primitive light from things. The other seeing me seeing things. That is my version of meta-vision.
It took me 1541 days of writing on the average 730 words a day to get here. My doubt about me as a writer has grown continuously . This last 5 days I manage 993 as day average. Now, I think I did pass that membrane protecting me from extensive contact with reality.

Göran Stille

Our bedroom at 5 am

Yesterday morning I threw our sheets into the washing machine. Some time later they were ready to dry. I pinned them up on a laundry line going from the stem of an old tree over to a iron hook on the side of a huge rock. The sun and wind did their job. Soon our sheets were dry. There is a certain fragrance after drying in the sun.

At bedtime we enjoyed falling asleep on fresh sheets and cushions. We fell into deep sleep lasting the all night. At five, I woke up. A spot on the wall opposite to our beds was lit by the raising sun. The color of the spot was sunrise orange. I inhaled a slightly chilly morning air and fell asleep again in between fresh linen sheets.

A fox passes near to our house

My wife has got the idea that she needs to suppor the local fox with a nourishing diet. Somewhere she read that they liked crisp bread. A few meters from our house we have a pear tree about 160 years old. My wife started to place a few slices of this bread at the root this tree. She do so every night. Every morning they are gone. She was convinced that the fox knew its way and got the bread befor anyone else. At night, there were plenty of competitors. There were many birds around: magpies, craws and great black-backed gull as well as ordinary sea gulls. But my wife was convinced. It w.as the fox

One morning I went down early to take a leak. I got the idea that the fox might be around so I brought my camera and peaked out the kitchen window. And there it was. The fox was taking a piece of bread. He backed off a meter or two and chew on his bit. Then down for the second and third slice. I took many shots with my camera.

An old friend of my wife is a professor in physics at the University in Stockholm. It takes a lot to convince her. She was a guest at hour house. We all had our breakfast together a couple of hours later. I started to tell them a story about the habits and the beliefs of my wife. Be sure there was a fox behind my ear in more ways than one. Then I topped the story by telling both my wife and her friend that I had proofs. My wife bursted into unmistakable signs of joy. The professor doubts soon vanished into thin air.

 

A birthday cake shadowed under lilac bushes

We did have a birthday party under the shadows of large lilac bushes. I was immediately reminded of the a famous painting of the Danish artist Peder Severin Krøyer. His painting is called ”Hipp, Hipp, Hurray” and shows a small group of people celebrating one member of the group. As we did.

We were served coffee and a slice of a homemade cake of extraordinary design and taste. I had to consciously brake my commitment to limit my intake of suger. I am hit by the disease named diabetes. The cake tasted delicious without comparison.

I had an interesting talk with a man at the party. I learned a bit about butterflies and the genes controlling the color of their wings. He was about to contribute to a scientific paper. We talked about how to write and how to help the reader understand the value of the results achieved. I became a bit overheated in my eager to be of assistance to him.

 

Pouring out my life experiences over Kalle.

The other day I shared a birthday cake made my a friend of mine, Kalle. The birthday celebrated was that of his sister. However I slided into talking to a great extent with Kalle . Maybe his sister thought it was rude of me as it was a party in her honor.

However we came to talk about how to make a paper interesting to an audience. He was about to contribute to one such paper about the work he was doing. Studying the coupling of genes to the color of the wing of a butterfly.

We touched the issues of addressing various audiences. There were feel researcher, the editors of certain scientific journals, and a more general public. We also touched the issue of the opinions of project leaders as well as any individual acting as his personal mentor.

Having a dinner among the apple trees

The late sun throughs a warm orange light over our garden. Every day this is the last thing she does before she sets behind the nearby hill. In the garden there is a couple of apple trees. All very old. Among the trees we placed an outdoor dinner table. Often, my wife and I have our dinner here. I often feel very content having a dinner at this place. A single glass of wine does add to this sense of being rich on things that does not cost much.

A group of five magpies.

A week ago a group of 5 magpies invaded our lawn. They made a lot of noise as they flew around cheating and nibbling each others tails. We use to threw small pieces of bread to them at then end of our meals. In some way they have studied our behavior and arrives screaming just at the correct time. I assume they are siblings and most of them act brave and jumps forward for the bread. One of them seems to act a bit retarded. She do not dare to approach the bread in the first line. She comes up behind screaming and tries to steal from the braver birds. The same behavior repeats day after day.

Two days ago they performed the same show. Afterwards they seemed to play with each other, all five magpies at the corner of our house. Then just of a sudden the play turned into a serious battle. One of the birds was beaten hard by the others. As far as we could see she managed to escape from the crowd. I think she found a branch in a nearby birch. There she found piece and mended her wounds and bruises.

My favourite writing place

Years ago, my wife inherited a house in the countryside. It is an old building. It was originally created in 1846 according to documents she has. Walls are made of timbered logs, The floor is made out of wide planks of pine. They are about 9 inches wide and with no paint.

In 2014 we redecorate a room upstairs. We made a bedroom out of the room. We covered the walls with a special thick wallpaper. We then painted the walls with egg tempera carrying a pigment giving a soft yellow color.

There is a window in this room, from where I see the garden, a big ash tree and my own garden inspired by Japanese buddhist gardens. It houses a wooden bench, a small pond, a few bushes, and a surface covered with nothing but gravel

Near to this window I have placed a small table and on top of that a brass candelabra. I light a candle and my writing session is on. At this location I dare to let my serious internal engineer withdraw. I need that to approach the ”empty spaces” where I am able to create.

Göran Stille © July 2018

I am a member of an international writing group. I have reached a quota of above 500 written words a day for more than 1400 days. I think this has been possible by following a straightforward strategy. I have been relying on the heaviest tacit knowledge I have in the area of writing. That is writing in a black notebook about personal problems I thought I had. This has been going on since 1956. My writing resulted in putting the issues on hold. But some part of my personality was childishly judging this result. He made me believe the problems were solved as they did cease interfering with my urge to act like a good guy. My primary call has been to fit into the social environment in which I live. Thus, my life strategy is closely related to the style of writing I used in this black notebook. For some time, I have been aware of this being a part of my tacit knowledge.

The challenge of this group was to get at least 500 words a day out of me and on paper. I had to use some form of experience to meet this challenge. I came to rely on the above experience or as some express it as my tacit knowledge. Thus oddly, my writing in the 500 group does ”show” the issue of not solving my problems through writing.

This spring I approached a million written words. I produce my lot of words each day. Well, not precisely each day. I allowed myself some quiet days or weeks. I kept my average well above 500 a day. But, there was something that irritated me. My writing was going in all directions. It often contaminated my writing with me addressing problems I encountered with myself when writing. I think they do disturb any storyline I may hit on.

Another angle of importance is me being in another lifelong track. Under a surface of being a well-tuned social guy, I tend to keep on my own. There is no one but myself to rely on solving my issues. I became aware of staying on this track. Beneath I have an intense longing for sharing my problems with someone important to me. I live with one such individual, my wife. But, I am too engraved in the deep track of not daring to open up my core. Not even to her.

The other day we took our small boat out on the ocean. Well, not all the way into the open sea. We picked one of the outer islands of the local archipelago as our goal. After anchoring the boat, we took a swim in the salty water. Afterwards, we dried naked sitting on a rock. We were surrounded by shells of crabs. Seagulls have had a party at that rock. A thick layer of ice covered this part of the country some 10.000 years ago. When this layer moved, it made the surface of this rock smooth.

While drying, we came to talk. For once, I felt confident to speak with my wife about the problems I believe I encounter with my writing. She just listened, and that was it. Well …, there was this one thing she said:

– You know that it is not within your slot in time to solve these personal problems. Neither do you have the mental capacity to address them. You have tried, so you know that. You have no other way bu to accept them as elements of you. The only thing you have is your will power. When you apply that, you may to some extent reduce the negative influences of your setbacks.

For once, I believed her.

.

The age of digital abundance is here. It is spread all over the world. Today is June 2018, and I attend a writing project. In this project, I use the Internet and social media to connect with many project members all over the world. Words accumulate on my hard drive along with many other items. There are photos, videos, sharply written articles, and recordings of sound. Each day, I spend hours in front of the computer engaged in watching and reading, writing and editing. I have to store my data in an understandable and accessible structure. I spend hours creating this structure. I often say:” Later, I will have the opportunity and power to do something with all this highly interesting material”.
By my own measure, the amount of data I have accumulated and stored is enormous. What do I create using this data? What is my output? What is my balance of data in versus data out? I am pretty sure these flows do not match. In fact, I do not have enough time left here on earth to consume data I have stored. If I made myself a balance sheet, I would be in the red.
When young, I subscribed to magazines, bought books. I recorded music and radio conversations on a magnificent Tandberg tape recorder with 7” reels. Today my action pattern is similar. But, the amount of data I handle has increased drastically. At a younger age, I had many more years left until final checkout.
Let us shift perspective and look at the other end of this issue. At this point, I see myself and my capacity to process data. How many gigabytes per hour am I capable o take as input? What output do I generate? How do I create something of value from all stored data? Sixty years ago, I was young and fostered thoughts about myself and my capacity. At that time, I was far better to balance data input with what I was doing.
Today, I suspect I am profoundly out of balance. At least it feels like that. It has been this way for quite some time. I am beginning to accept it as a fact and hope I will act upon it soon. I regard myself as above average in operating computers and the Internet. But, I do not have a similar capacity to create value out of this data. I mean value to those near to me or myself. I am still able to immerse myself in vast oceans of data, at least technically. But I risk drowning or head for the ”delete” button in despair. To cope I will have to build an entirely new magnitude of personal will, decisiveness and discipline. And I have to do it now. How? Am I too old for this?
What am I talking about and how do I make something out of it? I do not want to whine about the effects of modern times. Do I take the old way out and describe my self as a victim of evil forces out there? Maybe a scheme designed by manufacturers of hard drives or flash memories. They appreciate when the market consume an ever rising amount of digital memory. After all the amount consumed transistors per year follows Moore´s law! Do I gain by describing me as a victim of having been born before the digital era? Did I not learn a healthy ignorance and distance to this new world. Or am I a victim of not having grasped this problem early enough and adequately prepared myself? Or do my kind of personality suffer a mismatch? Or am I just one single individual in a minority fading away? We soon grow into senile individuals and eventually die off.
Or am I an individual that happened to be sensitive to early low level seismic vibrations. Signals showing a potential future risk for major social disruptions and distress? May this distress risk to go far beyond anything humans have ever experienced yet?

Göran Stille, © June 2018

(Please feel free to send me your comments and feedback)

I have seen a human at the peak moment of her life, but not like this. The setting sun is illuminating everything in front of me and paints the image in shades of orange. Soon the sun will be obscured behind clouds and dip below the horizon. In front of me is the Dutch shoreline to the North Sea. The evening is calm and silent. Small waves break on the beach sand. My ears catch a rhythmic noise coming from far away. Rapidly, it increases in strength.
At full speed, an elegant horse is approaching along the shoreline. Four hooves splash the shallow water. Within seconds the animal passes just in front of me. A young female rides the horse in full gallop. Her ponytail stretches in the slipstream.
I was walking along Rue du Cherche-Midi in Paris. I passed a newsstand with a lot of postcards on display. Among hundreds of them, I saw one showing this scene. On the spot, I was overwhelmed by deep emotions. I started to cry. These emotions did no leave me until later that evening. I did not have a clue about why this happened.
The card carries a sentence written in French. My knowledge of this language is weak. But I happened to translate it into something like: ”You should take living seriously”. Later I understood that it was not that bad a translation.
The event occurred decades ago. Still, I don’t know why I reacted this way. This is one of my mysteries. I have a closet full of them. I better guard them and let them be my secrets.

Göran Stille, © June 2018