ILLUSION AND REALITY IN DETACHMENT

"... I would say to the moment: 

remain, you're so beautiful"

- Fausto / JW Goethe -

On this day I remember my infancy 

in that magical time of school holidays

in Salamanca, late fifties of past century;

was the year-long waited occasion

of Epiphany when children receive presents in Spain.

The big family under the matriarch,

the imposing gothic dining room

with the wide chimney coated in walnut,

and its scent, characteristic odor;

the frieze of the octogonal perimeter, 

high leaded windows with historical symbols, 

the huge long table and the red velvet chairs…

was theater of the gathering for Christmas.

The dining room, that enchanted space, 

was closed "with seven locks" this morning

In which the children waked very early 

to warn grandmother and aunts

that the Kings perhaps have come already.

They had to appease our impatience impulses:

"wait for the rest to come down here all;

meanwhile you have already chocolate

and croutons: first do have breakfast

and after that, we will open the door. "

"Besides, I do not know for sure if Kings have come;

—a shadow of sadness were on our eyebrows

that moved grandmother to change the speech—

… thought I think so because someone has taken

the whole nougat that had been provided 

and the champagne; not even just a drop!,

there is no water left in the basins:

what thirsty camels must have brought!

... and also look, don’t you smell of incense?; 

it is indeed unequivocal sign 

that they've been round here

apart some news that people talk about

of caravans treading the neighborhood."

With these and other such "reliable" data

one almost could see them in flesh and blood 

cladded in their strange exotic garments 

bearing the gifts carried by entourages.

"But still not that heavy guy here present!;

we must go up to pull him from the bed,

throw him sawdust taken from the crib

and put under his pillow a shepherd or a cow... "

After a lapse that seemed to us eternal,

uncles, aunts, grandmother, friends and parents

and of course our noisy bunch of children  

were all assembled in front the closed door:

"who can this open?" but "where is then the key?" ...

What a thrill !, the mystery had us

taken upon his great exotic wings

in a magical and fascinating moment;

Oh yes "you're so beautiful"! , "but please do not stop!".

… and the doors opened -error- to heartbreak:

a great illusion while parcels were unpack

and contents seemed to match the expectations 

then a short time playing with the games;

and life went on, inexorable fate

to grow and thus unravel mysteries.

But these myths of childhood homeland,

layed the foundation of the entire development

to be man and look for other toys

and discard them moreover in detachment.

That was the lesson that taught the "day of Kings":

to make patent with overwhelming intensity

what is happiness and that is fully possible,

but remove shortly from the object the spell;

finally realizing that nothing can give me

the fullness that I am, moreover

I am the only one who put & withdraw

the bliss conveyed by the forms

and is my mind who manipulates the game

... and so stay at the end with the source

from which arrises all the joy and beauty:

my own independent identity no less,

freed from bondages to which I submit:

external things, people or circumstances ...

to be now lived directly from the bottom

where there is joy without motive at all.

© albertotrocóniz / 13

Text: from "AUTOBIO"

Image:"Gifts and Ice",

from "PHOTOPAINTING"

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on the board “AUTOBIOGRAPHY”:

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THE PILOT, THE DEVIL AND THE DEATH

Feel God even is for eight minutes,
master and lord of lives and destinies:
between my fingers having the life or death
of passengers entrusted to my care.

Alone in cockpit of Airbus 320,
I don´t unlock the door to enjoy the show
all by myself in this bright spring morning
where its rebirth enhances the contrast
to what is soon to come in those snowy mountains
to us approaching with sure and slow pace

... more and more, I an angel of death
to the encounter flying with my wings;
Germanic wings attracted to the impossible
towards a world of mechanical perfection
of orderly and accurate discipline that works
with the beauty and coldness of the engines,
with the beauty and coldness in those cliffs

... where the air is purer to the super-man
—his proper abode is in the peaks—
o Zarathustra! admired Zarathustra
which thus spoke through Nietzsche in the book:
to stay away from mob and the masses
as is the passage today I lead to doom.

The number does not matter,
the weak will never count
in front of the will of the great man
as in the mythical Germany of the Führer
which was also based on the sacrifice
of millions of people in his sake.

Desist miscreants to bang the cabin door,
let me enjoy these moments so special:
the privilege of a supreme will
in company of the devil and of death
—as in the genial engraving of Durero—
along the road that leads towards the chasm.

Yes the devil, he is my co-pilot
forever by my side since I was young,
putting in me this uncontrolled passion
for flying to join him as an angel
in the fatal plunge from the heights
while suggesting to me those weird ideas
of holocaust so much exciting me
sacrificing the herds to the dammed name
exhilarating in a huge bath of blood
and then sinking again into depression.

I took this decision for if they discover
what has been diagnosed of my mind,
for sure they would cut my wings
and I could never for rest of days to come
return to this beautiful skies and to these clouds
and of course that means it will be hell:
the anodyne of everyday life
relegated to bureaucratic jobs,
dropped and finally retired,
stuck on Earth plunged among the mass.

As Mephisto had proposed to me
I have to sign the pact with blood,
not only mine, also of innocents;
he has promised to give me my own wings:
those of a world-renowned reputation
so that I shall have eternal youth
never dying in the mouths of men;
in return he will take care of my soul
to accompany him to the abyss in the fall.

I push the button in the control panel
that initiates the gradual descent.

I conduct them to the sacrificial death
imperative in order to fly free
and in homage to this my strange ego;
after all what cost is to the orb
such common people, returning from vacation
or going to a college in exchange
where they teach merely trifles
and shit they say it is democracy.

Do they know of so many subtleties
that assault in a tormented soul
craving the ideal, searching the impossible
forever seeked by the great Germania:
that of our symphonic music,
of our idealistic philosophy,
of forceful and solid science,
the heroism of the teutonic knight...

As a child I always admired those pilots
who crashed on the enemies their planes;
I wanted to emulate —now I finally will do it—
the heroism of those kamikazes,
"divine wind", encourages the word;
"Gottlicher Wind" in unsere deutsche Sprache.

No, I will not answer impertinences
from radar towers that are requiring me.

The "blond beast" we carry in genes
of Aryan race, that of the ancient Greeks,
not these from now -are all half Turks-
and other defiled Mediterraneans
plus those Moors, Americans, Arabs...
(of all I have a sample among the passage)
and the Jews, surely there are a few
for they seem an inevitable plague.

All those screams sound merely as murmur,
come from the crew outside who begs to me;
I barely hear all the imprecations
as I have in my earphones some Wagner's music
as it is the "Ride of Valkyries"
the right background to match this trance.

You are sheep, you are flock, you are herd,
merely servers, only slaves
that a pharaoh needs in the hecatomb
to die but dying being courted
and keep an eye on my eternal sleep
inside the tomb that are those pyramids
of such silent and magnificent mountains,
forever associated to my name
immortal now entering Olympus
of the Alps, to its legend attached
...

Signed -with blood-

Andreas Gunter Lubitz. 

© albertotrocóniz / 15

Texto: de “POEMAS DE LA SOMBRA”

Imagen: “Ritter, Tod und Teufel”

de Alberto Durero (1513)

en “MUSEO”

Links in Spanish Related to this Post:

EL PILOTO, LA MUERTE y EL DIABLO

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THE REAL VALUE OF CURRENCY

Island of Yap in the Pacific Ocean:

lost among other thousands dispersed

in the archipelago of the Micronesia;

nothing is there; well yes, there is the sky,

the jungle, the sea (is full of stingrays)

their livelihood consists in fishing them;

is a brave people of daring navigators

in small canoes made of rushes tied

and they orient according to the stars.

They greatly value their ancient traditions

-we will see its economic importance-

that are transmitted across generations

by shamans whose only mission is

to keep always alive a "sacred flame"

taking care of the myths not to forget

repeating telling to everyone this rare story:

Some centuries ago a yapense chief

decided why not becoming rich?,

but there was nothing there to that effect

-I mean apart from what has been said-

that being so common they did not appreciate.

He was told that on a remote island

called "Truk" distant about two weeks

of sailing threatened with a variety of typhoons,

storms and heavy swell lashing the boats

there were enormous stones scattered throughout

of a material that could be easily carved

("aragonite" in geology is called).

And thus risking their lives on various trips

little by little they brought six thousand rocks

(some of them weighted about a couple tons)

carved them out producing circle shapes

and through the center bored an open hole 

so that by introducing there a stick

could be moved around the enormous mass

about the perimeter, as a gigantic wheel.

The task achieved was worthy of the Titans,

so a big value was rightly attached to it,

and the participants in the great enterprise

were granted a cuantity of stones

proportionate in number and in size

according to the merit, thus gaving them

among their people: status, honors,”wealth"

for it was a good so unusual for them

as gold or silver can represent to us.

They were deposited in the jungle banks

allotted each one to its proud owner,

nobody could move them readily around

-were also used to mark the edge of paths-

and so the jungle became a watched over “bank";

with a big plus: not subject to inflation;

as nobody can easily a large stone create

out of the blue as in "bank-money" occurs:

“he who wants fish then risk the bottom wet”;

go and repeat the ancestors so brave feat.

Gradually, over the span of time

such a wealth in the hands of a few

was being distributed: if one married a daughter

that means to give as dowry a large stone,

and with medium one to acquire a hut

paying the "architect" with any there small ...

Now everyone to some extent has some

from the six thousand of the jungle bank;

to give a relative idea in order to compare,

the chief tycoon has twenty of varying size,

what makes him see the future in cheerful mood

if he does not by the way the island quit...

as there is where is solely recognized

that kind of money (otherwise behemoths)

based on a maintained reputation

renewed by shamans conveying the story

of the heroic deeds of the ancient folks

who crossed the sea venturing into the unknown

and thus endowed matter of economic value

morally-based as they risked their lives-

the massive stones are then transformed in totems-

coated of myth and culture that is allways refreshed

as ”yapense values” in all the possible meanings of the term.

I almost forgot: the stones are worth so much

that are not useful to be handled in dealings,

let us say to buy a fish (even when it is a stingray)

nor the firewood for the bonfire to cook;

such trifles are at a different scale

of value in a mind & matter sense

(if the economic from personal derives).

Required for carrying out such tasks

is something that can be used in change

that is lightweight and not a heavy block

fractionable, portable and "cheap";

for such petty details they use the dollars

“scraps of paper" that "Uncle Sam" supports,

but their precious "pietro-dollars" never touch.

© albertotrocóniz / 13

Text from: “AS I SEE IT”

Image: "Yapensa Pensierosa about the Money"

Image from: "PHOTOFILTERED"

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VERDADERO VALOR DE LA MONEDA

A HYPOTHESIS FOR THE "MOAIS": MERE COINS?

I propose a hypothesis to be verified

by scholars and the learned ones

in ocean themes and in island matters:

those of Easter, of Yap and the Marquesas.

Easter Island in the Pacific Ocean

with their strange and much disturbing totems:

that are the "moai”, shapes in stone carved

with the mystery of what could be their origin ...

... and the Island Yap in the Ocean Pacific

distant from the other about three thousand miles;

where its ingenious system of finance

caused sensation throughout French Polynesia;

that they "invented" to create their richness:

massive stones brought from very far away

defying typhoons in canoes rather faint

which gave to the adventure enormous merit

and thus commercial value was derived

-because of the difficulty of getting them-

from that other intangible value​​: bravery

that those sailors exhibited so well.

Is also known that some of these tribes

-inhabitants of the Marquesas Islands-

went to the sea, to the fearful ocean,

only guided by necessity and the stars.

Matches the legend that tells about how clans

rivals for power in the nation of "Heva"

make bloody wars between each other

finally expelling the losers from the land;

those must leave for other territories

of course by sea -no alternative was left-

amidst typhoons, great perils, risks and dangers

beyond the known, to the infinite horizon.

Undoubtedly many of them died in the attempt

after sailing the immensities of waters

(the Pacific Ocean amounts aprox to a third

of the entire surface of our blue Earth planet).

Today there are signs that thousand years ago

a bunch of these brave seafarers

led by a chief (named “Atu Matuna”)

reached "Rapa Nui”, that is the Easter Island.

and thus was brought to that lone territory

some of the goods of their civilization;

valuable things, foremost are to be mentioned:

their blood, sweet potatoes and the currency.

The blood: that now with modern DNA testing

taken from the old ladies and the old men

in both places so distant from each other

their connection convincingly demonstrates.

Sweet potato: a fruit that was indigenous

and it can never (as a coconut would)

float for months, it must be embarked;

reached Easter Island, then later went to America ...

The currency: -and here comes my thesis-

was here also made in the resemblance

of huge yapense stones of happy memory

and of so good result in Micronesia economy.

Are perhaps those so mysterious shapes

called "moai" -huge faces in carved stone

characteristic of the Easter Island-

a mere transcript of their financial values?;

Maybe these people devoid of gold and silver

sought valuable things by other means:

in the rarity and worth of somewhat

difficult to obtain; those "behemoths” perhaps?

… giving them faces, as we do also

in printed banknotes and in minted coins;

so they carved here the volcanic tuff

transporting finally their enormous weights.

There is no doubt, the thing has a great merit,

and it is not within the reach of a nobody

that can easily print hitting a button

(so money inflation therefore is kept away);

if anyone wants fish go and get wet;

reach the volcano and choose some block

of a size according to the greed,

scrub it tastefully and haul it afterwards

for a long way to take it to the "bank"

(here terraced fields facing the ocean);

nobody could make any embezzlement ever

stealing them because of their large weight.

With such a wealth ... if you marry a daughter

give her a dowry with a large sized face,

with a medium one she can acquire a hut

and pay with any small the "architect".

Everyone there to some extent had some

deposited in bank of hundreds in the banks,

which today represents an attraction for tourism,

thus the capital accumulated by the ancestors

leaves substantial revenue as interest today.

© albertotrocóniz / 13

Text from: "AS I SEE IT"

Image from: "PHOTOFILTERED"

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UNA HIPÓTESIS DE LOS “MOAIS”: ¿MONEDAS?