There's a legend of a bird
that sings more beautifully than any other living being on Earth only once in
its lifetime. As soon as it leaves its nest it starts looking for a thorn tree
and doesn't rest until it finds it. It crawls under its wild and intertwined
branches and, while singing, it stabs its body at the longest and the sharpest
thorn. While dying, its pain grows into a beautiful song, putting a nightingale
song in shade. The price for that beautiful song is life because the best things
in life can be achieved only at the price of a great pain...at least, according
to the legend. We dream of our towers since childhood but the fulfillment of
everything we carry inside us and the actual battles have to be fought there
where destiny throws us, at some nameless space without glow and beauty, without
witnesses and a judge. Life never gives us what it promises; it's always more or
less than that. We are dazzled by its vastness which we use for writing our
stories without an eraser. On its stage we play badly assigned roles with no
lines, without being able to choose whether to act in a tragedy or a comedy,
whether to laugh or cry. It is said that wisdom lies in accepting life as it is
and only sometimes dreaming of how it could be. But how to resist blue dreams
and comfortable white clouds which are constantly calling us, raising our looks
up to the sky? We're lost somewhere between the ground and the blue sky, not
knowing if we're going up or down, until the crucial moments - those which make
us choose - startle us. Some souls stay trapped forever within that invisible
boundary and sail through life as straws float down the river - they don't move,
they are carried; they don't know what they want and even less what they are
able to do. The ones with a restless spirit are constantly flying up and down;
while they are on the ground they watch the clouds and while they are in clouds
they search for runways to land. They always indefatigably go in circles and
they're never bored. They meet various people in their lifetime: the ones in
clouds, the ones on the ground and the trapped ones. There are those that are
afraid of flying. They spend their entire life firmly bound to the ground. Out
of great fear they never watch the clouds; they don't even dream of them. They
usually understand only the things they themselves have experienced; they can't
imagine something completely new and different. Some people express their
strongest desires in just one word; the sparkle in their eyes leaves no-one
indifferent. We feel that something important is happening. We watch them
packing their suitcases and setting off in a one-way direction - towards the
clouds. They are in search of themselves and their dreams somewhere high in the
endlessness of the blue sky, being constantly turned towards the stars, without
knowing that many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, that everything is
only a game of light and time...And all of us, more or less, somewhere deep
inside us, want the life in clouds without being aware that our entire happiness
lies hidden in the events happening while climbing up towards the clouds. Each
of us has experienced a terrible destiny and bitter inner struggles until we've
realized the beauty of simplicity. The strangest thing of all is that only in
the end do we get to know simple things.
Life in clouds, author
Suzana Stojanović, 05.27.2007.
۞
Postoji legenda o ptici koja peva samo jednom u životu, lepše od
bilo kog živog bića na zemlji. Čim napusti gnezdo ona traži bodljikavo drvo i ne
smiri se dok ga ne nađe. Uvuče se među njegove divlje i isprepletene grane i,
pevajući, nabode svoje telo na najduži i najoštriji trn. Dok umire, njen bol
prerasta u pesmu koja lepotom premašuje pesmu slavuja. Cena te predivne pesme je
život, jer ono najbolje što postoji u životu može da se dobije samo po cenu
velikog bola...tako bar kaže legenda. Od detinjstva maštamo o svojim kulama ali
ostvarenje svega što nosimo u sebi i stvarne bitke moramo da bijemo tamo gde nas
sudbina baci, na nekom bezimenom prostoru bez sjaja i lepote, bez svedoka i
sudije. Život nam nikada ne pruža ono što obećava, nego uvek više ili manje od
toga. Opiju nas njegova ogromna prostranstva po kojima pišemo svoje priče bez
gumice za brisanje. Na njegovoj pozornici igramo loše dodeljene uloge bez teksta
i ne možemo da biramo da li ćemo glumiti u tragediji ili komediji, da li ćemo se
smejati ili plakati. Kažu da se mudrost sastoji u tome da život prihvatiš
onakvim kakav on jeste i da samo ponekad sanjaš kakav bi mogao da bude. Ali kako
odoleti plavim snovima i udobnim belim oblacima koji nas uporno zovu i dižu naše
poglede visoko do neba? Stojimo izgubljeni negde između tla i plavetnila, ne
znajući da li ćemo gore ili dole, dok nas ne trgnu trenuci odluke kada moramo da
biramo. Neke duše zauvek ostanu zarobljene na toj nevidljivoj granici i plove
kroz život kao slamčice rekom - ne kreću se, njih nose; ne znaju šta žele a još
manje šta mogu. Oni nemirnog duha stalno lete gore-dole; dok su na zemlji
posmatraju oblake, a dok su u oblacima traže piste za sletanje. Stalno neumorno
kruže i nikada im nije dosadno. Na svom životnom putu sreću razne ljude: i one u
oblacima, i one sa zemlje, i one zarobljene. Postoje i oni koji se plaše da
lete. Oni ceo svoj život provedu čvrsto prikovani za tlo. Od silnog straha
nikada ne posmatraju oblake, čak i ne sanjaju o njima. Obično shvataju samo ono
što su sami iskusili, nešto potpuno novo i različito ne mogu da zamisle. Neki
ljudi u jednu reč unesu celo svoje biće, sjaj u njihovim očima nikoga ne
ostavlja ravnodušnim. Osećamo da se nešto važno dešava. Posmatramo ih kako
pakuju svoje kofere i odlaze na put u jednom pravcu - ka oblacima. Traže sebe i
svoje snove negde visoko u beskraju plavetnila stalno okrenuti ka zvezdama, ne
znajući da mnoge od njih odavno ne postoje, da je sve samo igra svetlosti i
vremena...I svi mi, manje ili više, negde duboko u sebi želimo život u oblacima,
a nismo ni svesni da je sva naša sreća satkana u događajima dok se penjemo ka
njima. Svako od nas doživeo je šamare sudbine i unutrašnje gorke borbe dok nije
shvatio lepotu jednostavnosti. Najčudnije od svega je što jednostavne stvari
upoznajemo tek na kraju.
Život u oblacima, autor Suzana
Stojanović, 27.05.2007.
